The Calm and the Strife

by David J. Sloat

  She leaned farther down, her face alongside his, embracing him, comforting him, asking, “What? What is it?” He struggled to control his quivering lips as the tears streamed down the sides of his face. “What?” she asked again.

  “Down there,” he said hoarsely, “down there nobody talks about love. Down there, there are only men who are trying to be tough. It’s funny. We love each other, but we never talk about it. We fight and we kill people. We’re terrified our friends are going to get killed, and we don’t dare make new friends because that’s just somebody else to lose. We’d die for each other, but we’d never say we love each other. It’s a hard, man’s kind of love.” He wiped his eyes and looked at her as though he were in some terrible distress. His voice pleaded with her. “This is so different. You love me, I know that. You’re so soft. I need you so much.”

  She leaned down, her hair bathing his face, and kissed him, kissed him repeatedly, devouring his mouth in a kind of absolute abandon that made her forget who she was, where she was, forget everything except that they were there together. He embraced her, holding her so tightly that she had to struggle for breath, and they wept together, the taste of salt tears running into their joined mouths.

  Turning on his side, he reached over her to the edge of the blanket and pulled it up so that they were wrapped in a warm cocoon. She murmured, “No,” as he began to caress her shoulder but he silenced her protest with a kiss. She struggled, more against her conscience than against him.

  “I can’t, Jack. I can’t.”

  “Ginnie, please. I’ve been so patient. All the others in camp go with those...women, you know, who follow the soldiers around. I’ve never gone with them. I’ve had the chance. But I wanted to wait for you because I knew you would wait for me. When they laughed at me, I showed them your picture and said that I was waiting for you, and they stopped laughing.”

  She felt fire racing through her body, felt herself consumed by a frantic trembling that made her think she was going to faint. “We shouldn’t....”

  He kissed her neck, nuzzling her ear with his lips. “We’re going to be married. I’m so afraid I’ll get wounded and won’t be able to...or I’ll get killed and we’ll never have time to be man and wife.” His voice broke. “I don’t want to die without having had a chance to make love with you, Ginnie. I love you so much.”

  His weight pressed her against the ground. His lips covered her protests and she found herself unable to stop him. She struggled for a moment, gasping at the pain. Then it was over and Jack lay beside her with a sigh, nuzzling her neck. The buzz of cicadas filled the night air. Ginnie listened to their sound, a quiet contrast to the noisy confusion inside her brain.

  Chapter 16

  NORTH AND SOUTH

  North of Chancellorsville, Virginia

  May 11, 1863

  There was a deathly silence in the camp. Wes exchanged somber glances with those who passed by. Thousands of soldiers had been numbed into silence by one shocking death. A mere week after the greatest victory in the short Confederate history, the entire army had been plunged into gloom. General “Stonewall” Jackson was the reason for that victory at the small town called Chancellorsville, and for his success he had been given an ironic reward. In the darkness one night, his own men had mistaken him for the enemy and shot him. His wound had cost him his left arm, but pneumonia had eventually cost him his life. The news of his passing had arrived this morning and an agony of disbelief spread through the ranks.

  Wes sat with men he barely knew. It seemed that, in one way or another, everyone had gone on without him. Some were promoted, like Kyd, and now Ben had finally gotten his stripes and was serving as an aide on General Walker’s staff. Some had been wounded, like Charlie Sims, and were back home tending their farms. Many had met the ultimate fate in the fierce fighting a week before. Old Pete was one of them, caught in the throat by a bullet that tore the wind and the life from his old bones. And now Stonewall. They were all gone. Only he remained.

  Things had been changing rapidly in the past few days. Officers were promoted, units were merged and reorganized to compensate for the losses at Chancellorsville. With Jackson gone, the command of 2nd Corps had devolved upon Richard Ewell. The men knew him as a division commander, but no one could guess how he would function in command of an entire corps. He was a strange man, profane and full of fire. At first, he had not liked Jackson, but later had fallen under his spell, becoming the best of his division commanders. But the men, who referred to him as “Old Baldy” for obvious reasons, doubted that he was capable of filling the large shoes he had inherited.

  It was the new commander of the Stonewall Brigade, however, who evoked the most controversy. When the former commander, Frank Paxton, had been killed in action at Chancellorsville, Wes and the others felt that his replacement should come from the brigade itself. But James Walker had been appointed, having previously commanded one of Early’s brigades. No one in Wes’ company knew much about their new general except for one widely circulated story. Walker, while a student at the Virginia Military Institute, had been kicked out of Jackson’s class one day for causing a disturbance. Later, he went to see his professor to argue for reinstatement. But Jackson, refusing to listen, had shouted him down. Angered, humiliated, Walker had foolishly challenged him to a duel. Jackson declined and had young Walker court-marshaled and expelled from the school for insubordination. Now Walker was to command Stonewall’s old brigade.

  But Wes no longer cared who was in charge. The battles still took place. Men still fought and died. He moved when he was ordered, fired when the enemy was in sight, ate when there was food available and slept where he fell from exhaustion. No longer proud of the cause that had pulled him away from Gettysburg, there was within him an almost complete indifference to both life and death.

  The following weeks were interminable. In an endless hell of loneliness, misery and monotony, Wes felt trapped in a place where he no longer belonged. He was forced to scrape for information about the regiment’s battle plans, since Old Pete’s rumor mill had been permanently shut down. But no one would talk to him about where they were headed. Even Ben, when Wes saw him around camp, had become tight-lipped.

  Wes’ instinct told him that Lee would move the army north into Pennsylvania, and each day he became more and more anxious to know the truth. He began to have dreams about Gettysburg, of his sisters and brother in the house they shared in their childhood. But everything was somehow different. The figures he saw were his siblings, no doubt, but their features were different, and even the house was different. Outside, the landscape was barren, the trees shorn of leaves and bark, the grass withered and brown. Even so, he could not deny a deep yearning that began to beckon him home.

  One morning, word came down to prepare for a march. A shiver of excitement ran down Wes’ back as he stood at attention among the ranks waiting for the order to move. When it finally came, they began to march north, just as he had envisioned it, toward Pennsylvania. He waited at the end of the day for an order to countermarch, to return south again. But the order never came.

  * * * * * * * *

  Southwest of Winchester, Virginia, June 13, 1863

  Jack Skelly nibbled at his hardtack without much enthusiasm. Darkness was beginning to fall and he and three of the other company corporals were sitting on crates around a fire in front of their barracks, away from the troops. John Zeigler and Peter Warren, as usual, were deeply involved in their card game.

  Billy Holtzworth handed Jack a pot of coffee and he poured some into his metal cup, then dipped his hardtack into the coffee in an attempt to soften it up so he could eat it without breaking his teeth. The men called them “sheet-iron crackers” because they were practically unchewable. Hardtack was delivered in crates marked “BC” for Brigade Commissary, but the soldiers joked that the stuff had been made Before Christ. Jack examined his piece. At least there were no weevils in this batch.

  Peter threw his cards down in disgust, losing ye
t another round to John, who smiled and collected the small pile of rocks they were using as ante. They were playing with one of the “patriotic” decks that the army provided. In place of the symbols found in a normal deck – clubs, hearts, etc. – these contained shields, stars, flags and eagles, with the face cards portraying Federal officers, Miss Liberty, and other personages designed to appeal to the men’s patriotism.

  “Four Miss Liberties! How are you dealing that deck?” Peter roared. “That bitch’ll be the death of me yet.”

  John smiled and dealt another hand. Peter paused as if he were going to stop playing but, with nothing else to do, he picked up the hand with a sigh. Shaking his head, he complained, “I’m tired of this shit. All I want to do is get this damn war over with, go back home to Gettysburg and farm that place ‘til I drop. I’m never going to leave home again.”

  Jack nodded as he gnawed at the corner of his biscuit. “I hear ya, Peter. Sleeping in a real bed and eating real meals.” His eyes glazed as he dreamed of his recent trip home. It was only a few weeks ago but it felt like ages. “I tell you, it’s sure hard to come back to this,” he said, waving his hardtack, “when you’ve had some good hot meals.”

  “I’ll bet that’s not all you were sorry to leave,” Peter said with a leer. “Let me see that picture you always carry with you.” The only one in the group who didn’t know Ginnie, Peter studied the photograph, then grinned. “I can see it in her face. She could hardly wait for you to get home. Did she give you any?”

  Jack caught John and Billy exchanging an amused look.

  “Any what?” Jack asked, playing dumb.

  Peter laughed. “You know, any...soldierly comfort, any horizontal refreshment?”

  Jack made a sarcastic face. “Why should I tell you?”

  “Well, I just wondered. You seem to like to go out of camp to see Blanche. I just wondered what you did when you were home.”

  Billy said, “Peter, you don’t know Ginnie or you wouldn’t ask that question. She’s the most proper girl in Gettysburg.”

  John sputtered with poorly suppressed laughter, adding, “Peter, not even Jack, good-looking as he is, could get that girl into bed.”

  Jack couldn’t stand it any longer. “Well,” he said, with great drama, “it just goes to show that you’ve always underestimated me!”

  There was a momentary silence during which all the men stared at Jack in disbelief. “You mean,” asked Billy in astonishment, “that you did get her into bed?”

  “Sort of,” Jack said, relishing the attention.

  “What does that mean?” Billy shouted sarcastically.

  “It means I got her into the woods!” The three men roared in delight. Jack, carried along by the merriment of the moment, went on, “She wants to get married. So I told her this was our last chance, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get home again, what with the war and everything.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one,” Peter laughed. “I’ll have to use that one on my next leave.”

  “I told her we can’t make it public yet, because both of our mothers are against it. So, she thought this was like an engagement pledge. You know what I mean?”

  Peter nodded vigorously. “Something to remember you by, huh?”

  “Yeah, like a promise that we belong together, that we won’t do it with anybody else.”

  “You mean,” Peter corrected, “that she won’t do it with anybody else.” They all laughed.

  The laughing stopped as Will Culp, the company’s first sergeant, edged over to the circle. Culp locked eyes with Jack for a second. “Keep your voice down, Skelly. I can hear everything you’re saying.” He turned back toward his own barracks, leaving the others momentarily silent.

  “What’s with him?” Peter asked, perplexed.

  Billy looked at Jack, then explained, “Ginnie used to be his brother’s girl.”

  “You mean his reb brother?” Looking at Jack, Peter exclaimed, “You mean, that reb used to go around with your girl?” He whistled dramatically as the light gradually dawned. “So you sort of got her to...declare her loyalty to the Union, so to speak.”

  Jack nodded, and with a parting glare toward Will Culp leaned closer to them. “And best of all, guess where we did it.” He waited for the curiosity to build before he whispered, “Culp’s Hill.”

  After a moment, Billy hooted in admiration. “Holy shit, Jack. You screwed both of them at the same time.” Gales of laughter.

  Jack smiled in satisfaction. “That ought to show Wesley Culp who’s in charge back home.”

  After breakfast the next day, the mail cart rolled into the Federal camp, kicking up a plume of dust behind it. The soldiers raced for a place around the cart’s perimeter and Jack made sure that he was near the front. The sergeant opened the white canvas bag and began calling names.

  “Skelly!” was the third name called. Jack grabbed the letter with a grin and shoved his way back through the crowd, waving the envelope aloft for everyone to see. He sauntered over to his cabin where Billy and Peter were sitting, waiting to hear the latest from home.

  He tore the letter open casually and scanned the lines. Expecting the usual mundane details of life in Gettysburg, the words struck him instead like a blast of ice water, and the blood drained from his face before he could turn away. They couldn’t miss the look of horror on his face before he dove into the cabin to avoid their curious eyes. Sitting on the bedroll he read the lines again, slower this time, focusing on each word.

  Gettysburg, May 28, 1863

  Dear Jack,

  I wish I could tell you this in person. I know you have enough problems just being in the army without my worrying you about things like this. But I have to tell you, and I knew you would want to know.

  This is very hard to say, and you must keep it a secret between us. I think I am expecting a child. I know this is impossible to believe, but my sister is expecting one, as you know, and so I recognize all the signs. I have not told her, or anyone, but I have talked to her enough to know that I am probably not mistaken.

  I know this all came about because we were planning to be married. If I could not depend on your faithfulness and your promise of marriage, I could not live with this situation. I will be disgraced if this comes out before we are married.

  Is it possible that you could get home again so that we could have a quiet marriage ceremony as soon as possible? We can no longer afford to wait until your anniversary leave in September. If it was private, we could let people think that the wedding had taken place earlier. I need you to help me find a way out of this terrible situation.

  I love you, and I know you will not leave me alone to face this problem. Please write me an answer as soon as you can. I will wait for your letter hopefully.

  With my love,

  Virginia.

  Jack stared at the words, too stunned to feel anything. Then the anger began to build inside him. She was doing this deliberately, he was certain. She was saying these things to punish him for forcing himself on her, hoping to hurry him into a marriage he was not certain he really wanted. His fists curled around the letter until the nails dug into his palm. At that moment, Peter popped his head through the door.

  “Jack?”

  Jack whirled toward the entrance. “Get out!” he screamed. Peter withdrew as if he had been shoved.

  Jack sat alone in the cabin, his thoughts racing. During his last visit home, he had realized how much the war had changed him. Ginnie must have sensed this too, must have noticed some subtle difference in him. Perhaps she feared losing him, and this talk of pregnancy was a ruse to get him to marry her. But he had known then, and was even more certain now, that they had little in common. His life was filled with things that she would never understand. There was an unbelievable horror in the bloody battles he had endured which had burned itself into his mind. But there was also something intoxicating about army life. There was a kind of belonging, an excitement, a purpose here that he had never known and which was indescr
ibable to outsiders. He had never realized what possibilities the world held until he had escaped from home. When he was with Ginnie that last time, he finally understood just how small and cloistered her world was. He could no longer imagine returning there for good. But she knew no other world, and now she wanted to pull him back into it with her.

  He stood suddenly, moving quickly through the door and back into the circle around the fire. The others paused to look at him curiously, but they collectively held their tongues.

  “Who wants to go with me to ride a couple of the gals?”

  John and Peter shook their heads but Billy jumped up. “I’ll go.” Jack headed up the path without looking back. The camp was laid out in a grid pattern, prescribed by army regulations. Each company was billeted in a row of crude buildings, the front of each cabin facing the rear of the one ahead. To either side were other rows inhabited by other companies. At the head of each row of cabins were the buildings that the non-commissioned officers and the company commanders lived in. Beyond these, and facing the rest of the cabins, stood the houses of the regimental staff, considerably larger and more comfortable than those of the foot soldiers.

  Outside of this temporary city lay the huts of the various hangers-on who followed the army wherever it went. There were traders and merchants, as well as undertakers and embalming surgeons, who sold their wares and services out of the backs of their wagons, retreating only when the fighting became too fierce. Separate from these wagons were several shacks which housed the army whores. Sometimes the women were allowed within the camp itself, but Major General Milroy, the army commander, was more prudish than some of his predecessors. He had banished the women to the outskirts of town, causing much grumbling among the men who were now forced to hike half a mile to seek the women’s services.