Echoes of Dark and Light

by Chris Shanley-Dillman

  Toby and I arrived at First Sergeant Mike Barlow’s tent about eight p.m. The evening sky had invited a horde of dark clouds that held a promise of rain, and the damp, chilly air crept under my uniform jacket with a sneaky determination. A sawed off stump served as a table with five logs encircling it for seats. I gratefully collapsed onto the log nearest the fire to wait for the rest of the poker players to arrive. I sunk into an exhausted stupor, gazing unfocused at the warm flames dancing and undulating, while Toby and Mike chatted.

  Before long, each of the five logs in the circle hosted an occupant, and Mike shuffled the dirty, dilapidated cards as he chewed on a cigar smelling distinctly of sweaty feet. I nodded to Kenny and Woody sitting opposite me, and waved a hello to Preacher who stood behind Toby. According to Preacher, God didn’t hold gambling in high regard, but that it didn’t hurt to observe. Well, I didn’t know about that, but I did know that one couldn’t exactly call what we did gambling, not when we used stones instead of money. In front of each of us sat a pile of river-rounded stones. Not that gambling with money didn’t occur in camp. But for one, most men’s pockets grew lean just before payday, plus, one of our group held the position of a noncommissioned officer, and didn’t want to damage any possibilities of moving up in ranks with a reputation of recklessness. Fine with me. My own pockets only held a few coins and I didn’t want to lose them to the randomness of a deck of cards.

  Everyone anted up with one stone tossed in the center, and Mike dealt out five cards to each of us. I knew the importance of keeping a straight face in the game of poker, but I couldn’t help but grin when I saw my cards. Instead of the usual suits of diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs, the cards hosted flags, eagles, stars and shields. The face cards displayed different generals, the President and Mrs. Lincoln.

  “Um,” Toby said, clearing his throat, “I’m assuming you’re not that transparent with your hand. So either you just got dealt a royal flush, or you’ve never seen cards like these before now.”

  “Definitely yes on the second thing, and a none of your business on the first,” I retorted.

  “Very patriotic, aren’t they?” Kenny commented. “Thanks to the ingenious talents of the Union Playing Card Company.”

  “I like the General Burnside card,” Woody grinned, showing everyone his hand that included a King of Eagles with the likeness of General Burnside. “He’s our general.”

  “The Army of the Ohio, right?” I asked, trying hard not to notice that he held out three kings for all to see.

  “Woody!” Kenny forced Woody’s hand onto the stump table. “How often do I have to tell you to keep your cards to yourself!”

  “I’m sorry, Kenny.” Woody drooped like a plucked flower.

  Kenny sighed, rolling his eyes. “Woody, come on; I’m not mad at you. Honest!”

  Toby lightly bumped his knee against Woody’s. “Relax, buddy. Kenny’s just worried about you. Now this here’s just a friendly hand of cards with worthless stones, but some folk might take advantage of your openness and try to steal your money. Understand?”

  “Yeah, someone like my brother, Kevin,” muttered Kenny.

  Mike pulled the smelly, soggy cigar from his lips to speak. “Hey guys, let’s get this game moving.”

  A couple of hours later, my pile of stones remained about the same, though Woody now sat empty handed while Mike chuckled as he arranged his large cache by size and color. The sweet notes of a violin drifted over on a breeze and I closed my eyes to better hear the song. Robert used to sing that tune all the time. I cleared my throat.

  “Fellas, I’ve got a question for you.”

  “He speaks,” Mike exclaimed. “I think that’s the first thing you’ve said tonight.”

  “Nope,” Woody said, shaking his head. “It’s the third thing he’s said.”

  Preacher pulled another log up and took a seat. “It does appear as if our new recruit is a bit on the shy side.”

  Me, shy? Hardly. It’s almost killing me to keep all these racing thoughts safe inside my head! I forced a shrug and held back all but a few words. “I’ve never been accused of that before.”

  “He claims,” Toby explained with a grin, “that he likes to keep to himself. I don’t know though; he seems to ask an awful lot of questions for a loner.”

  “And now he’s got another for us,” Mike added, absently shuffling the cards.

  This wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped.

  Preacher interceded for me. “Let the man speak his mind, my friends.”

  I flashed him a grateful look before quickly arranging my thoughts to keep from saying too much. “Anyone know a fellow by the name of Robert Rivers?”

  Five faces stared back at me, four blank and one grinning.

  Woody replied with dancing eyes. “You can’t fool me, Bobbi! Of course we know him, ‘cause he’s you! Everyone knows that Bobbi is a nickname for Robert. We both have nicknames, you and me.” Pride radiated at his ability to solve my riddle.

  I hated to knock over his blocks, so I smiled gently and tiptoed around him. “I can’t put one over on you, Woody, can I? Yes, Bobbi is a nickname of Robert. Though in this particular case, I’m looking for another person named Robert Rivers. He was part of the Sharpshooters, Company 17.”

  I watched in aching anticipation as each man ran the name over in their memories.

  “Nope,” Kenny said, shaking his head. “The name’s not familiar.”

  “That’s not saying much though,” Mike added, “as the Sharpshooters tend to stick to themselves, if you know what I mean.”

  No, I don’t know what he means. I opened my mouth to ask him, but Toby interrupted.

  “Bobbi, is this Robert guy related to you?”

  I nodded. “He’s my brother. He turned up missing at the Battle of Gettysburg in July.”

  “Oh, Gettysburg,” Kenny murmured. “Bad situation, that one. A lot of men killed—” He broke off when he caught my eye, and quickly added, “But I heard a lot of fellas got taken captive, and of course, there’s the deserters—”

  “My brother would never desert!” I threw back, my voice cracking with anger.

  Kenny raised his hands in surrender. “Take it easy, Bobbi. Fine, your brother wouldn’t desert. You don’t need to attack me; we’re on the same side, remember?”

  I pulled my eyes off Kenny. He was right, of course. He wasn’t responsible for Robert’s disappearance.

  “Wait just a minute,” Woody interrupted, his brow creased in confusion. “Since Bobbi is a nickname for Robert, that means you and your brother have the same name! Are you trying to fool me?”

  I sympathized with his confusion, and quickly reassured him. “Woody, I’d never try to trick you. Yes, believe it or not, my older brother and I share the same name. Plus, we have a little brother at home named Robert, too. Blame our conceited pa who demanded that every one of his offspring carry on his own name.”

  “But doesn’t that get confusing?” Woody asked. “Who do you know who’s being yelled at?”

  I shrugged. “Usually, I’m the culprit being yelled at, but to make it easier, we go by Robert, Bobbi and Robby.”

  “Ahh!” Understanding cleared Woody’s eyes. “I get it.”

  “So, none of you ever met him, but maybe you remember seeing him. He’s bigger than me, but he’s got the same red hair and blue eyes. He’s the best shot you’d have ever seen; he never misses a target…” My voice trailed off as one by one they shook their heads. I didn’t really expect to find Robert right away, but I couldn’t stop the lump of disappointment settling in my stomach.

  “Anybody up for another game?” Mike offered, reshuffling the cards.

  “I am,” Woody eagerly accepted.

  Preacher pointed at the empty spot where Woody’s stones had sat. “You’re out of betting stones, my friend.”

  Woody grimaced, then said, “Kenny, loan me a few of yours.”

  Their words floated around my head, none of them finding their way into my
ears. To hide my disappointment, I leaned over to retie my boots.

  “Bobbi.”

  Toby’s voice startled me and I turned to find him at eye level, bent over with his elbows propped on his knees.

  “I’m sorry we don’t know anything about your brother.”

  His kind words disrupted my thought process, I found myself staring at him, mere inches away, his breath warm on my face. I quickly sat up and fiddled with my cap to hide my uneasiness.

  He shrugged, offhandedly. “If you want, I could help you look for him.”

  His words confused me. My mental instincts warned me to keep as big a distance as possible, while my emotional intuition yearned to know more, to perhaps even become friends. That confusion rammed into the exhaustion from the long day of drills to cause my rebuke to come out more sharp than I’d intended. “Why should you care?”

  He jerked back slightly as if he’d suddenly caught a whiff of an offensive odor.

  “I guess I shouldn’t,” he said slowly before sitting back with an air of bruised feelings.

  I stared at him, surprised that my harsh words had caused such a reaction. He refused to meet my eyes, instead turning his attentions back to the card game with his arms crossed over his chest. An urge stronger than ever welled up inside of me to get to know him, to count this Toby guy as a friend. But right then I had no free stone to gamble on a whim of trust that could possibly destroy my entire quest; my identity and my feelings weren’t the only things at stake.

  With determination and resolve to continue solo, I reached down to gather my hand of cards. Still, I couldn’t fight off a feeling of regret as I glanced over at Toby’s masked face.

  Just as I displayed my winning hand of a straight, ace high, the guys jumped to their feet in salute. In my befuddled mind, I wondered if this were some form of congratulations to a good poker hand when Toby kicked my ankle and nodded to something behind me. Slightly annoyed since his kick had actually hurt, I glanced around and gulped in surprise before I too leapt to my feet and threw a hand up to my brow in salute.

  Captain Truckey saluted in return. His uniform appeared just as neat and pressed as yesterday, his air just as calm and confident. “How’s the game, men?”

  First Sergeant Mike Barlow stepped forward. “The card game is proving to be quite entertaining, sir, thank you for asking. And you may be pleased to see that we are playing a nice friendly game with stones only. No gambling for us.”

  I raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Mike, wondering if his eagerness at pleasing the captain was as obvious to everyone else. I caught Kenny rolling his eyes, and Captain Truckey’s lip twitched slightly as if holding back a grimace of irritation before speaking.

  “Fine, fine. I just wanted to inform everyone that we’re moving out in the morning, so you might want to turn in soon to catch some rest.”

  “Sir, I’d like to volunteer my services to pass on your message,” Mike offered. “I’m sure an important officer like yourself has more important jobs to do.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” the captain quickly returned, “but I’m enjoying my stroll in this bit of crisp autumn night air.” He turned to me. “Private Rivers?”

  “Sir?”

  “I hope you found your first day agreeable.”

  “Just fine, sir.”

  “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He returned our salutes and then sauntered over to the next campfire.

  As soon as he had walked out of ear shot, Kenny reeled on Mike.

  “You brown-nosing suck up! Don’t tell me you think the captain buys all that ‘I’m an eager soldier’ crap!”

  Mike turned a haughty eye on Kenny. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now you heard the captain, time for shut eye.” He turned his back on us and set about extinguishing the fire.

  “Guess the card game’s over. Come on, Bobbi.” Toby led the way back to our tent.

  Yawning, I stumbled after him. He didn’t say another word, not even a ‘good night’. He still felt miffed at me. Well, it was probably for the best, despite the nagging regret gnawing at my conscious.

  Toby sacked out immediately. I, on the other hand, laid on my bedroll staring at the canvas walls patterned with tree shadows swaying in the slight breeze. Despite exhaustion pulling at my bones and the hour being past midnight, my eyes refused to close. I gave up after a while, deciding to write a letter to Emma. I owed her a real letter letting her know I’d arrived safe and sound in none other than her own pa’s army. And as soon as she knew where to write, I’d be receiving mail in return. How I longed for words from home.

  November 1, 1863

  Dear Emma,

  I’m attempting to write to you by the light of the moon, but that’s proving a bit tricky as the moon seems determined to slip behind the clouds. I don’t want to disturb my new tent mate with a lantern, so I’m making due with what nature offers. I really should be getting some much-needed sleep, but for now, my eyes refuse to close. Instead, I decided to write to my best friend.

  As you probably guessed, I have finally arrived down south, Tennessee to be specific, and I’ve joined up with the Union Army. But what you probably never would have guessed, ‘cause I certainly wouldn’t have, is that I managed to join up with the 27th Michigan Volunteer Infantry. Sound familiar? Thank God your pa didn’t recognize my name, or maybe you never mentioned me to him. Either way, I am now Private Bobbi Rivers, assigned to the Army of the Ohio. Impressive, eh? Well, let me tell you, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Today, we spent hours upon hours marching; marching in circles, marching in lines, marching in place…So, I guess now I officially know how to march, which is good since when the sun rises, our camp is packing up and moving out. And let me tell you, that will be a major event because the camp contains about a zillion people! It should be a sight to see. Captain Truckey didn’t mention where we are headed tomorrow, and I didn’t ask, but I guess I’ll have a chance to practice those marching skills.

  I’ve started searching for Robert, but I’ve no good news to share yet. I have learned one important searching technique, and that is not to announce that the person being searched for is presumed dead. The task looms hugely before me, and I’m trying not to become daunted. My tent mate offered to help, and just between you and me, I need all the help I can get, but I did refuse his offer (and refused it a bit rudely, I’m afraid). But it’s for the best. I’m practically sleeping shoulder to shoulder with this guy, and it’s going to be hard enough keeping my secrets from him. His name’s Toby, by the way, and he’s from the south. I know, my curiosity sparked, too; why would a southern boy be fighting for the Union? I’m dying to know, but I’m trying to keep to myself and it’s practically killing me keeping my mouth closed (you’re laughing right now, aren’t you? I admit it, I do tend to talk a lot). All in all, Toby seems a decent enough fellow; I like how he has a basic respect for others. There’s this one fellow named Woody, he’s a bit on the simple side. Toby offers him support and friendship, seeing beyond his lack of genius. Oh, and then there’s this fellow everyone calls Preacher. Why, you ask? Because every other word out of his mouth sounds like a Bible-toting preacher in the middle of a steamy Sunday sermon. But Toby seems to accept him for himself, annoying quirks and all. Yeah, Toby is okay; he has a good sense of humor and an even temper, though I’ve somehow managed to make him angry more than once already.

  I’m homesick; I miss Gran and Robby dreadfully. Would you mind checking in on them now and again? Especially with winter looming (has Marquette had its first snowfall yet?). I miss you, and I hope that I’ll soon be home and introducing you to my big brother Robert.

  Your friend,

  Bobbi

  P.S. Captain Truckey seems to be a fair-minded sort of fellow. I think I’m going to like him just fine.

  As I folded the word-crowded page and carefully inserted it into an envelope, a deep, grating thunder grumbled out from Toby’s bedroll.

  Great, my tent mate snores…really lou
d.

  I glanced over at him and sighed before crawling into my own blanket. After a moment, I tried rolling over and pulling my balled-up jacket over my head. This promised to be a long, noisy, sleepless journey.

  Raw blisters popped and tore on my aching feet, and a deep throbbing moved up my back with each step. We’d been marching for days. Exhaustion blurred my mind so that just exactly how many days had passed slipped out of my grasp. Well, maybe if I thought really hard…eleven. We’d been marching for eleven straight days. At least the sun decided to finally make an appearance. For the past ten days, rain had fallen almost constantly from the ominous gray clouds, soaking every one of my meager belongings. I pulled off my cap, completely wrinkled from the constantly wringing, and absorbed the winter sun on my damp head.

  Captain Truckey had explained the game plan, though Toby warned me that plans could change with little or no notice. But for now, we marched toward Lenoir, Tennessee to assist in preventing the southern Lieutenant General Longstreet from advancing. When we’d set out on November first, I took an active interest in just how an army of this size undertook such a move. With order, discipline, precision and hard work, that’s how. But after days of marching long past sunset, and stumbling into my bedroll on a belly half full of cold salt pork and hay bales, I could care less. One night, Toby and I had even drawn guard duty. I’m ashamed to admit that Toby caught me dozing on my feet. To his credit, he never criticized or reported my mistake. Though, come to think, he’d barely said three words to me since the poker game.

  I glanced over at him, his face drawn and slightly pale, his uniform splattered, his boots plowing through the thick mud. As if feeling my gaze, he offered a weary smile.

  He didn’t seem angry, so why wouldn’t he talk to me? I’d expected the grueling task of keeping my own mouth shut, but I thought at least I’d have the distractions of listening to others chat. All around, men carried on conversations, but they kept their voices to a minimum, and I couldn’t hear anything over the dim roar of wagon wheels and thousands of feet sloshing through mud. Then again, conversations probably just centered around complaints, and I could complain to myself more than enough.