Finally he heard the brassy sound of reveille and went at once back to the camp. The corporals were busy waking up the men, and soon the camp was a beehive of activity. Some commanders allowed their men to answer roll call in any sort of dress, but Colonel Bradford insisted that his men turn out in full dress. Noel joined the sleepy soldiers as Cobb, the first sergeant of A Company, called the roll. Then the men were allowed to return to their tent for thirty minutes. Next came breakfast call, followed by sick call.
At eight o’clock the musicians sounded the call for guard mounting, at which the first sergeant of each company turned out his detail for the next twenty-four hours. Usually that meant digging latrines or chopping wood, but Cobb gave his men a careful look, saying, “All right, this morning you’ll fall in at the firing range for target practice.”
A cheer went up, and Jim Freeman exclaimed, “About time we got to do some shooting, ain’t it, Noel? I joined up to shoot Rebs, not to dig latrines!” Jim, a towheaded, happy-go-lucky young man of eighteen, was usually in trouble for minor infractions such as failing to make his bed. He was a Christian, but not a very dedicated one. Now he chattered like a magpie as the platoon trudged toward the rifle pits. His comments got on Manny Zale’s nerves.
“Shut your face, Freeman!” Zale growled. His temper, bad at the best of times, was like a land mine in the morning. He scarcely spoke before noon, unless it was to curse anyone who got in his way. Jim gave Noel a baleful look, then dropped his head to stare at the ground.
It took some time to issue the weapons, but as soon as the men had them, Cobb said, “All right, listen to me. The weapon you’re holding is a Springfield rifled musket. It weighs nine and three-quarter pounds, including the bayonet, and fires a .58 slug. By the time I get through with you, you’ll be able to get off three shots a minute. Right now, we’re going to find out who can shoot.”
He took a few minutes to show the men how to load the muskets, then said, “All right, there’s the target.” He pointed to a log barricade some distance away. A white target about one foot square was affixed to the barricade. Cobb said, “I’ll take the first shot.” Lifting his rifle, he got off his shot, which clipped the outside edge of the target. “All right, who’s next?”
All the men clamored for the chance to shoot, and Cobb said, “Armstrong, take a shot.” Armstrong, a short, trim man with a lean jaw, aimed carefully—and missed the whole barricade! A howl of derision went up, and Armstrong stepped back with a red face.
Noel stood back as the others shot, keenly interested in the affair. He had never even held a gun in his hand and was certain that he’d do no better than Tate Armstrong. Several of the men did very well; Manny Zale put his bullet within two inches of dead center. He grinned wolfishly at the others, boasting, “That’s the way to plug the Rebs!”
Finally Cobb said, “All right, Kojak, take your shot.”
As Noel stepped forward, Zale said, “Why, it won’t do no good to let the preacher shoot, Sergeant! He’s too good a Christian to kill anybody. Ain’t that so, Preacher?”
Cobb said irritably, “Shut up, Manny. Now just squeeze that trigger easy, Kojak.”
Feeling very awkward with the eyes of the squad on him, Noel stepped forward and lifted the musket. It was heavier than he had thought, but years of hard work in the foundry had given him a set of formidable hands and forearms. He leveled the piece and held it true on the target. Somehow, though he had never held a rifle, it felt right. He squeezed the trigger, taking the kick of the piece with his shoulder.
“Dead center!” Cobb yelped. He turned to stare at Noel with wide eyes. “You done a lot of shooting, Kojak?”
“No. That was the first time I ever shot a gun.”
“Beginner’s luck!” Zale snorted.
“We’ll see,” Cobb said. “Load up and take another shot, Kojak.” He watched carefully as Noel loaded the musket. Cobb was aware that his men would, on the whole, be poor shots. He needed a few good men to serve as sharpshooters. Zale was a good shot but a bad soldier. Oh, he was plenty tough, but he was always truculent and in fights.
One thing was certain—they were heading for some serious battles. Cobb and the captain had been concerned about leadership in the ranks. Now, as Noel brought his musket to bear, the first sergeant found himself hoping the young man’s shot hadn’t been a fluke. Kojak was a model soldier in some respects—always ready to do whatever the sergeant ordered, took good care of his equipment, and got along with the men. He was a Christian, but Cobb was willing to put up with that if he could bring some sort of steadiness to the company.
Noel took his second shot, and this time the slug hit not one inch away from the other. “Hey, that’s shootin’!” Jim Freeman yelped, and Sergeant Cobb said with satisfaction, “Good shot, Kojak. You can give the rest of the boys some pointers.”
Noel shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll have to learn a lot more than I know now before I can do that, Sergeant Cobb.” He hated being the center of attention and was glad when practice went on. He got only one more shot, though, for Sergeant Locke from regimental headquarters came up to give a note to Cobb. The sergeant studied it, then called out, “Kojak—fall out of rifle practice.” When Noel looked at him in confusion, Cobb held up the note. “Go by the adjutant’s and pick up a pass. You got three days’ leave.”
As Noel left in a daze, Manny Zale glared after him. “What’s he get a leave for? He ain’t done no more than the rest of us.”
“Why don’t you go take that up with Major Rocklin, Manny?” Cobb said with a grin. “If you don’t like his answer, dress him down.” Then he turned to the squad, booming out, “Get that rifle out of the dirt, Freeman!”
Noel hurried to his tent, put on his uniform, then presented himself at regimental headquarters, where a lieutenant gave him a pass, saying sourly, “You’d better be back right on time, Kojak!”
“Yes, sir!” Noel saluted and left the area hurriedly. It was seven miles from the camp to the city, but he managed to catch a ride with a civilian teamster who’d just delivered a wagonload of supplies to the quartermaster.
“Think you boys will be movin’ out to stomp the Rebs pretty soon?” the driver asked. He was a cheerful middle-aged man with huge hands that held the reins expertly.
“Guess so,” Noel said, then sat there listening for the rest of the trip as the teamster outlined the best strategy for overcoming the Confederacy. When they got to the outskirts of Washington and Noel stepped off, he said, “Git a few o’ them Rebs for me, sodjer!”
Noel grinned and thanked the man, then turned to make his way through Negro Hill. As he passed through the area, he tried again to find some explanation for his leave, but nothing came to him.
Passing into the Swampoodle neighborhood, he was greeted several times by acquaintances. More than once he had to stop and give a brief greeting to those who insisted on speaking to him, but finally he arrived at his house. He saw at once the horse and buggy drawn up outside. Must be the doctor, he thought, then froze for a moment when he realized it might be the undertaker. Many people had died of the flu, and fear fluttered through him as he hurried forward to enter the house.
As he moved down the walk, the door opened, and a large black woman with a red bandanna around her head came out of the house, pausing to stare at him. She stopped abruptly, staring at him with a pair of careful brown eyes. “What you want?” she asked directly.
“Why—I live here,” Noel said, faltering. Then he asked inanely, “Is somebody dead?”
“Daid! I reckon not!” The black face gave him a scornful look. “Whut fo’ you talk lak dat?”
At that moment the door opened again, and Noel was astonished to see Deborah Rocklin come sailing out of the house. “Noel!” she cried out, coming to meet him. “I’ve been waiting for you forever! Now come on and see your mother!”
Noel felt her hands on his as she greeted him, but there was a sense of unreality as he passed through the front door. Deborah was wearing a s
imple brown dress with a white collar, and the sunlight made her hair seem more golden than it really was. Her eyes were sparkling as she pulled him inside, where he got another shock.
The room he knew so well was gone—or rather, transformed! There was nothing really new in it, except for some dishes he’d never seen before on the shelves and on the table, but it was spotlessly clean. The floor was whitewashed and the walls were clean. The pots and pans were hung neatly on hooks instead of being piled haphazardly on the table. Most striking of all were the yellow curtains that framed the windows.
He stopped, looking around the room, a startled expression on his face. Then he saw Grace and Sarah sitting on a bed with a quilted coverlet on it. “Hi, Noel!” Grace said. “Deborah said you’d come today.” Noel went to her, noting how thin she was, but she said at once, “I’ve been real sick, but I’m fine now!”
He touched her hair, which was, he noted, clean and brushed. Deborah pulled at him impatiently. “You can talk to Grace and Sarah later.” She pulled him into the bedroom, and he saw that the same magic had touched his parents’ room. It was his mother, though, who caught his eye. She was sitting in bed and was dressed in a white gown, her hair neatly done.
“Noel!” She spoke to him, and he went to her at once, bending over to kiss her. She clung to him, and he felt the thinness of her trembling body. “Are you all right, son?”
“I’m fine,” he said, then straightened up. He turned to look at Deborah, who was watching with a smile from the doorway. “I’ve been wondering how I got a leave. But I guess I know now.”
“She’s done everything, Noel!” Anna Kojak said, her eyes fixed on Deborah. “We were about gone. I think I would have died if she hadn’t come.”
Noel stared at the girl who looked so unlikely to be in such a place as this poor shack. She flushed at his look, then shook her head. “Oh, nonsense! You’d have been fine, Anna!” Then she turned and left the room, saying, “You two visit. Delilah and I have work to do.”
Noel sat down beside his mother. “Tell me,” he said, and for the next half hour Anna told him how Deborah had arrived and thrown herself into the battle to save them.
“She worked like I never knew a woman of her class could work, Noel! You know how dirty it is taking care of sick people, but she done it all. And the next day she brought a doctor and her family servant, Delilah. And that woman is a saint! She’s stayed here and nursed us all night and day. Them women have took care of us like we was their own kin, Noel!”
Noel sat there, his mind numb. He could not grasp what had happened, for it was something outside of his experience. Finally he saw that his mother was getting sleepy. “I’m better, son, but I sleep like a kitten—all the time taking little naps.”
She dropped off to sleep, and Noel looked down at her, reaching out to replace a strand of her hair that had come loose. Then he turned and left the room. “Go see your brothers,” Deborah commanded from where she sat with Delilah shelling peas. For the next hour Noel talked with his brothers and sisters, finding them all weak but obviously on the mend. He didn’t have to pry information out of them about their rescuer, for they could talk of little else.
“She went out and got us all new stuff to sleep in, Noel,” Joel piped up, pointing at a red nightshirt with pride. “I told her we just slept in whatever we had, and she went right out and come back with new clothes!”
Finally he went to where the two women were cooking on the ancient stove, saying, “Anything I can do?”
“Why, yes, Noel,” Deborah said. “I’ve got to go buy a few things. You can drive that cantankerous mare of mine and then carry my things to the buggy.”
He followed her outside, helped her in, then got in beside her and took the reins. “Go to the general store first,” she commanded, and he turned the horse back toward the business district. On the way, she spoke lightly and easily of his family.
“What about Bing, my brother?” he asked.
Deborah hesitated, then said, “He came to the house once. But he’s staying with somebody downtown.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “I had some difficulty with him, Noel. You might as well hear it from me. I thought he behaved badly, leaving the family alone, and I told him so.”
“You told Bing that?”
“Yes, and he told me I was a meddlesome woman, and then he—”
She broke off abruptly, and when Noel looked at her, he saw that her face was flushed. “Well, he tried to kiss me—and I hit him with a stick of stove wood!” she finished defiantly.
Noel laughed out loud. “Good for you, Miss Steele! I hope you laid him out!”
“Oh no, nothing like that. It made him so mad he went off, cursing me.”
“I’ll talk to Bing.” Noel sat there silently, then finally said, “Miss Steele, it’s—hard for me to say what I feel.”
“Oh, Noel, I hate thank-you speeches!” Deborah turned to face him, adding, “You swore an oath to serve your country, didn’t you? Well, I made you a promise that I’d help your family while you were doing that. And that’s what I’ve done.”
Noel struggled with the things that were inside him, but saw that she was speaking the truth. “All right, I won’t say any more, Miss Steele—”
“Noel, my name is Deborah. I think we’re friends enough for first names.”
They spent more time than was necessary buying the things she’d come for. She made him tell her all about his experiences, and to his amazement he was talking more than he ever had in his life. He found himself telling her about the rifle practice, about his difficulties with Manny Zale, and about his efforts to keep Jim Freeman out of trouble. He was amazed when they arrived at the house. Helping Deborah down, he shook his head, saying ruefully, “Gosh, I don’t think I ever talked so much in my whole life!”
“It’s been fun, Noel,” Deborah said. “I guess all of us wonder what it’s really like, being in the army.” A thought came to her, and she said, “Before I leave, there’s something I want to talk to you about. But not now. You get some wood chopped, and I’ll see how Delilah’s doing with the cooking.”
It was a fine day for Noel. He chopped enough wood to last a week, then spent hours with his brothers and sisters, telling them about the army. Finally his father came home, and Noel was shocked to see how thin and pale he was. “Glad to see you, Pa,” he said, going to meet him as he came down the walk. “You’ve had a hard time.”
Will Kojak stared at his son, taking in the neat blue uniform, the tanned face, then nodded. “It ain’t been no picnic.” He paused, trying to think of some way to ask what had been on his mind for days. Finally he said, “That woman who’s been comin’ around here—old Rocklin’s granddaughter? What’s she doin’ it all for? Taking care of your ma and the kids and buyin’ no end of stuff?”
“Why, she just wants to help. She’s done a lot, hasn’t she?”
Kojak stared at the ground. He was a rough man, in form and in manners. The sickness had been his first illness, and he had been frightened by it. Always before he had been strong enough to meet whatever came, but the flu had nearly killed him. Now he was feeling his own mortality, and the appearance of the Rocklin girl had confused him greatly. His was not a world that was filled with people who were willing to give. It was a dog-eat-dog existence, and he could not get the girl out of his mind. Now he looked up and asked abruptly, “She want to marry you?”
“Marry me!” Noel stared at his father, shocked at the suggestion. “Land no, Pa! She’s a fine lady. That’s crazy!”
“I guess so.” Kojak shook his head wearily. “She had a row of some kind with Bing. He says she’s no good.”
“Well, you know Bing, Pa. Come on in. Supper’s on the table.”
Kojak said little at the table as Delilah moved around efficiently, keeping all the plates full. He watched her cautiously but said nothing. Finally, when the meal was over and Delilah had washed the dishes, it was growing dark.
“I’ll drive you part of the wa
y,” Noel said. “This is a rough neighborhood.”
“All right,” Deborah said. “Delilah, I think this is the last night you’ll have to stay. I’ll take you back home tomorrow.”
The night was warm, and Noel insisted on driving Deborah all the way through the worst district. She protested that it was too far for him to walk home, but he only laughed at her. The streets were filled with people out for late walks, but by the time he reached the better neighborhoods and pulled up, the stars were faintly shining.
“Don’t get out, Noel,” Deborah said. “I want to talk to you about your writing.”
“My what?”
“Your stories.” Deborah grew serious, her lips firm and her eyes glinting. “Your mother gave me some of them. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why, no, Deborah—but they’re just stuff I made up for my own pleasure. Can’t think why they’d interest anyone else.”
Deborah had not been anxious to read the stories. She had not, as a matter of fact, touched the tablets for several days after she had taken them from the drawer. But once Delilah had come and the work was done, she found time one afternoon and took out the tablet, thinking to scan it. She well knew that she would have to comment to Anna on it and wanted to be able to say, “That’s nice,” or something that would please the woman.
But it had not happened like that. She had begun to read rather carelessly, admiring the fine penmanship but not at all excited about reading what she assumed would be a crude type of amateur fiction. Deborah loved literature and had at one time considered becoming a writer herself, but she quickly discovered that it was one thing to appreciate good writing and quite another to produce it. She was honest enough to see that she did not have the gift and had resigned herself to reading. She read everything, but fiction was her first love, and as she began to read the story titled “No Hope for Emily,” she was rather blasé about it.
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 42