I sucked in a lungful of air and held it, not daring to let it go, of the life-sustaining air or the spark of hope.
“So I nodded cautiously, not wanting to get my hopes up, right? So this old fart goes on to tell me his story. Seems a few days after Gettysburg, our salesman set out to make his rounds, and he passed a wagon filled with soldiers on the road. The fellow on the tailgate called out to the sutler and then fumbled with pulling off his boot. The soldier pulled a few crumpled dollars out of his sock and handed them over to the sutler along with a message. The soldier said his name was Robert Rivers, and he wanted to get word to his family in Michigan that he was alive.”
I waited for more, but Toby just stood there grinning.
“And?” I finally burst.
Toby’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Didn’t you hear what I said? A few days after Gettysburg. That means Robert didn’t die in the battle from which he is Missing In Action!”
I snorted. “I already know that. So tell me more, what else did the old goat say?”
Toby sighed, rolling his eyes. “But this is proof that he survived Gettysburg…”
“And? What else?” I refused to admit to him or myself that this bit of evidence proved priceless.
“Anyway,” Toby continued, “the old goat took the money, never intending to go to the trouble of relaying the message. However, he couldn’t get the soldier out of his head, and over the months, it began eating at his conscious. With all of the death he’d been witnessing and with him getting on in years, he figured he’d do good to wipe clean at least one sin off of his slate. So that’s why he came back looking for me.”
I closed my eyes, holding onto the buzzing elation the news had brought, not wanting it to drift away into the sucking despair the war usually demanded. I finally opened my eyes, ready for the next step. “Did he say anything more? Where was Robert heading? Had he been injured?”
“I’m afraid that’s about all he knew. He didn’t pay any attention to where the wagon headed or its purpose, nothing. He did say Robert looked more alive than dead, and had a clear head on him. I think, considering the source, that is positive news.”
I nodded slowly, trying to absorb every detail, figuring out what to do next. Then I felt Toby’s eyes on me, bringing me back to the present.
“Thank you, Toby. This means a lot to me.” I referred to more than just the good news; him not giving up on me and my quest, when the entire rest of the world had…
Toby understood. “You’re welcome, Bobbi.”
The next few days passed mundanely with the continued siege on Petersburg. Though now that I’d let Toby back in, life had certainly shined up a bit. At night, when not on guard duty, we ended up chatting into the dark hours about everything and nothing. Except for that first night, we didn’t mentioned my gender for quite a while. We kind of awkwardly danced around the subject, keeping as far away as we could. I guessed neither one of us felt brave enough to broach it, fearing any consequences, like that maybe we shouldn’t still bunk together now that he knew and I knew that he knew. But that first night, I just had to know something.
“So, Toby, um, just when did you find out my secret? And how?”
Toby flopped over in his bed roll to face me, even though in the darkness I could only see a hint of the white teeth in his grin. “From the first second I ever saw you.”
“No, there’s no possible way you could have known right off. Tell me the truth. Did I talk in my sleep? Let something accidentally slip? I know, you saw me sneak off to pee.” That last statement brought a red hot heat to my cheeks, and I thanked the darkness for hiding it.
“Nope, I knew from the first second.”
I propped myself up on my elbow and glared down at him. “I don’t believe you. Everyone who sees me thinks I’m a guy. I’m tall with short hair and wearing trousers, therefore I’m a guy.”
Toby shrugged smugly. “You forget our first meeting. If you recall, the night hung darker than a fruit bat in a pitch-black cave. I could barely see the trees to keep from smashing into them while on my guard duty. I heard you first, and followed you with my ears for a minute, trying to discern your threat potential. Were you a graceful, innocent deer out on a midnight stroll, or an angry, armed Reb on a moonlit hunt, searching for a lone boy in blue to take prisoner or to hand over to death? Of course, I had no idea the immense danger you’d really turn out to be.”
I leaned over and punched him in the arm.
“See what I mean? Anyway, as soon as I figured you as human, I yelled out ‘Hold it right there!’ and then you gasped…gasped like a dainty, little southern belle who’d seen a mouse.”
“I did not,” I shot back, highly insulted.
“Yes you did!” Toby chuckled. “I knew you for a female right away. So, imagine my surprise when I finally got a good look at you, disguised in men’s britches and cropped hair! I didn’t know quite what to make of you. Still don’t.”
We fell quiet while we remembered back to that day, Toby spitting out a chuckle now and then. For the longest time, neither of us broached the subject again.
The days rolled into October, passing quickly with soldering stuff and renewed efforts into finding information of Robert. I thought maybe the soldier-filled wagon that the old goat had seen may have been traveling to a hospital. As I couldn’t very well go hospital hopping, searching for a wild goose, I made do with writing query letters to every hospital I could find. One or two even wrote back, filled with sympathy and apologies that they had no records for a Robert Rivers, or anyone matching his description. Despite the dead ends, I kept trying. However, something kept itching at my brain; if Robert knew his identity, felt able minded enough to give the old goat a message, why hadn’t he contacted us himself? Something felt wrong. My insides squirmed and squeezed with worry; every passing day put more impossible space between me and my brother, and I couldn’t seem to do a single thing to make things better. Helplessness slowly strangled me.
About midnight one night, I slowly came out of sleep, deliciously warm and cozy, not wanting to wake up, but knowing I had guard duty. Reluctantly, I forced open my eyes and prepared to crawl out into the cold darkness, when a tiny little fact occurred to me. I froze, afraid to move, yet terrified to remain! Sometime during the night, I had unknowingly snuggled up to Toby. His arm draped securely over my shoulder, holding me close and warm.
Help!
Not a good situation. How did I get myself into this, and how in the hell would I get myself out without waking Toby?
Okay, calm down. I’ve faced armed Rebels proudly defending their homeland, surely I can deal with this, um, situation.
I moved slowly, inch by inch, sliding gently out from under Toby’s arm. He snuffled, and grunted, but didn’t wake up.
Almost there…
I moved too quickly the last few inches and accidentally kicked him in my haste. Toby mumbled something about feeding the cows, rolled over and started snoring. I collapsed on my bedroll, relief flooding my chest. If he had woken and found me snuggled up in his arms, how could I ever look him in the eye again? Embarrassed heat flooded my cheeks. I forced the thought from my mind, instead grabbing hold of images that were easier to deal with, like bloody battlefields.
After a few seconds, when I felt I could finally move again, I silently sat up and began pulling on my coat. That must never happen ever again, I warned myself, and felt strangely disappointed. I hadn’t slept that warm and comforted in forever.
I heaved a deep, warm breath down into my boot to chase away the chill before slipping in my foot. I tried to ignore the holes in my wool socks; I’d been avoiding that mending chore for too long now. In a few hours, my achingly cold toes would remind me once again. I slipped out into the crisp, chilly night, rifle in one hand, fistful of hardtack in the other, and made my way across the mostly sleeping camp to the edge of our siege lines. That night I had orders to patrol the western edge running through the forest. I found the guard who ha
d the hours before me, and nodded a goodnight to him. I envied him a bit, heading back to camp and his warm bed.
The hours dragged along with a chilling boredom. I tried to keep warm by marching up and down my line, by dreaming of the warm, summer sun pouring out her rays over a vast, blue Lake Superior, but that just made me homesick. Before I could stop myself, I found my mind drifting back to the tent, to just before I’d woken fully. How warm I felt, how safe, how cared for, curled up in Toby’s strong arms. My mind carried it a bit further, to see his warm brown eyes slowly open, to see tenderness in those eyes, to see him bend down to touch his lips to mine—
“Bloody bollocks!” I jerked upright off of the tree I had been leaning against. “What the heck are you doing, Rivers?” I shook my head and then forced myself into a swift march, trying to outrun the image lingering in my mind.
A nearby crashing through the forest brought me quickly back to my senses, and I scolded myself for getting distracted. I pulled my Colt out of my waist band, cocked it and squatted down behind a tree.
A small group of men stepped out into the clearing, three armed Blues surrounding one Rebel. A bobbing lantern swung, casting shadows on the surrounding tree trunks. I blew out my held breath; I’d been lucky that time. No more daydreaming on guard duty. I stepped out into their path and saluted.
“Need any help?” I offered.
“Naw,” the shortest of the three returned. “We’ve got it under control. Just one Reb out wandering around by himself. Now he’ll be spending the night in the prisoner shack.”
I nodded and stepped aside to let them pass.
“Hey, Rivers, is that you?”
I jerked my eyes to the prisoner.
“Robert Rivers? How’d you get here?”
“Shut your mouth, Reb, and keep marching!”
My jaw dropped as my heart skidded to a painful halt. I could only stare after them as they merged into the shadows, shock rooting my feet firmly to the ground, freezing my brain, my voice, my body into an unyielding piece of petrified wood.
When I finally shook free of the shock, the prisoner and his escorts had disappeared into the forest. As badly as I wanted to tear after them, to ask, beg or extract by force more information, I couldn’t. I had to stand guard until my replacement arrived. Anxiety gripped my guts as the rest of my shift slowly, so slowly ticked by. What if the Reb escapes before I could question him? What if they move him to a prison before I could find out just what exactly he knows of Robert? What if he refuses to talk to me, or if the guard refuses me access? But I could do nothing but stew in my anxious sweat until finally, twenty minutes late, my replacement wandered into the clearing. I glared at him and his half-hearted apology, and ran straight for the prison barracks.
“What do you mean I can’t go inside?” I demanded of the guard.
“Just what it sounds like, Private. I have direct orders not to allow access to the prisoners. It’s not that difficult a concept.” The bearded guard hocked up a wad of spit and deposited it near my feet, and then leaned back against the shack, crossing his arms.
I shot him a look of pure fury and disgust, while anger and a feeling of helplessness boiled up in my stomach. I clenched my fists at my side to keep from throttling that smug idiot.
“However,” he began offhandedly, picking at his fingernails, “if a person were to, say offer me a sack of coffee beans or some chewing tobacco, I may decide I have to visit the latrine for a few minutes.”
“You’d let me in for a bag of coffee?” Hope attempted to crawl up my throat.
“I said no such thing!” the guard retorted. “I would never disobey orders for a bribe.” He glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “What I did say, was a bag of coffee beans just might entice me to visit the loo for a few moments. Big difference.” He winked slyly at me.
I nodded, understanding. “I’ll be right back.” I took off at a run towards our tent.
“I’ll be here,” a bored reply drifted through the pre-dawn darkness.
I stumbled through the tent flap, breathless and almost shaking with excitement. Toby blinked up at me through sleepy eyes.
“Reb attack?” he asked.
“No, guard bribe.” I fumbled with the straps on my pack, frustration growing with each second of delay.
“Huh? Here, let me.” He took the pack from my incompetent fingers and quickly unlocked the buckles.
“Guards brought in a prisoner,” I explained in brief gasps. “…the Reb called me Robert Rivers…have to donate our coffee to see him.”
Toby pulled out the bag of coffee beans and handed it over to my snatching hands. “Hold on a sec. I’m coming with you.” He pulled on his boots and stuffed a couple more items into his coat pockets before scrambling out of the tent on my heels.
“I should have recognized your work, Ernie,” Toby sighed as we arrived back at the guard shack. “Always out for yourself.”
“Who else is there?” Ernie said, grinning. He dipped his cap in thanks, stowed the sack of beans in his coat, and strolled off towards the latrines.
“Come on,” Toby motioned, unhooking the bar across the door. “We don’t have much time.”
“Thanks, Toby, for giving up the last of the coffee. It means a lot to me.”
He shrugged, grinning. “This is more important. Besides, it barely even qualified as coffee. We could have boiled dirty socks for better flavor.”
I grabbed a glowing lantern and we crept into the dark, cramped prisoner shack. It stood mostly empty except for the drafty breezes creeping through the cracks and one prisoner huddled on the ground against the far wall. The lantern chased some of the chill from the bleak and hungry room, but could do nothing for the stench emanating from the overflowing slop bucket in the far corner. I tried to ignore it, tried to breathe through my mouth, but then I could almost taste it, so I switched back to my nose. I turned my back on it, holding my dirty sleeve up to my nose to block some of the offensive odor, and then carefully approached the fellow who knew my brother. Toby held back, watching him and blocking the door, and I suspected, trying to catch a fresh breeze.
The prisoner warily watched our approach, but didn’t say a word. I squatted down in front of him, and set the lantern carefully on the ground.
“I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Yeah, and I need somebody to empty the slop jar,” he sneered. “How likely is that to happen?”
“This is very important!”
“So is my sense of smell!” he belted and then clamped his mouth shut, crossing his arms over his boney chest.
I turned back to look at Toby, at a loss for what to do. Toby approached, stooped down and unloaded his pockets just out of reach of the prisoner. On the ground sat two cans of beans and a can of condensed milk. Toby kept a tight grip on a can opener. I shot Toby a surprised look. I knew he’d been saving those cans for a special occasion.
“Now do you see some reason in talking to us?” Toby asked, waving the can opener.
The prisoner eyed the cans of food hungrily, even licking his lips. “Okay, okay, I give. I’ll talk for the food, use of the can opener, plus getting rid of that.” He nodded at the grotesque bucket.
Before I could protest, Toby nodded. “Deal. You’ll get use of this,” he tossed the tool up and caught it again, “after you answer the questions, and for good will, I’ll set the bucket outside. However, you don’t give us what we want, and the bucket comes right back in and the food leaves with us.”
Before I could move, Toby carefully picked up the slop bucket with his fingertips and carefully, slowly, crossed over to the door.
I would owe Toby big time for that.
“So, what do you want to know,” the prisoner asked. “I’m a busy man and I don’t have all day.”
I glanced around at the empty prison cell and then looked back at him with a raised brow.
He shrugged. “I have an early golf game with General Grant, and then I’m lunching with Mrs.
Lincoln at the White House, so hurry it up. Obviously, this isn’t about some top secret war business; they don’t usually send in privates to interrogate prisoners of war. I must admit, you’ve got my curiosity peaked.”
My excitement slowly dribbled down to nervousness. Maybe I’d misunderstood him back in the woods. He doesn’t seem to recognize me, doesn’t seem to still have me confused with Robert.
“Don’t—” My voice wobbled and I quickly cleared my throat and restarted. “Don’t you recognize me?”
The prisoner peered at me through squinty eyes. “Well, maybe you look a bit familiar. Why, should I know you?”
“Back in the clearing, just a few hours ago, you called me Robert Rivers.” I waited, hands clenched in tight fists at my aching sides.
“Oh, yeah, I remember. But with your face lit up a bit, I see I’m mistaken. You’re obviously not Robert. Sorry, my fault.” He shrugged.
My breath caught in my chest. I had to force out my words in a whisper. “But you know Robert Rivers? You’ve seen him? He’s alive?”
The prisoner nodded. “If you’re speaking of a tall fellow with dark red hair, from Upper Michigan? Yeah, he’s alive. At least, as of about two weeks ago.”
Toby grabbed my shoulder in a tight grip. I hadn’t even heard him return to the room. “Where is he?” Toby demanded. “Where is Robert Rivers?”
Echoes of Dark and Light Page 27