Finding Hope in Texas

by Ryan T. Petty

  “Ahh, okay.” I guessed that a Civil War mood was relatively depressing. There were some pretty songs, but most of the instrumentals cut right to the point: a lot of people were dead. “Mr. Peet, how many people died in this war?”

  “Mmm, a good number is around six-hundred-and-twenty-thousand. Some say more, some say less. But about two-thirds of them died from disease. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering.” Jeez, that must have caused a lot of heartache. All these men went off to war thinking it was some grand adventure and many of them didn’t make it home. That was a lot of loved ones who missed them for years to come. I guessed that if the families were lucky, they might have gotten the remains back for a proper burial, a chance to say one final goodbye as their tears fell into a six-foot hole. But many didn’t even get that chance. A letter had to do, if that. Some were just never heard from again, their bodies lost on some distant battlefield that might as well have been on another continent, not in some other American’s backyard. I guess I should’ve felt lucky about my loss. I got to give my loved ones a proper burial, say my goodbyes, our whole community did. At least they weren’t just gone and forgotten.

  Jeez, why in the heck do these people do this reenacting business? Do they really show what war was all about?

  The drive down was long but scenic, if you liked the open fields of Texas. The little towns that popped up along the interstate took just mere seconds to go through, nothing like the Dallas area. This was the way I’d always pictured the state, with flat plains where longhorn cows grazed in meadows and cowboys moved herds from one field to another. I guess a lot of us Northeasterners thought that way about the Lone Star State. Heck, it was probably the world that thought that, like it should be some blast back to the times of cowboys, Indians, cattle drives and shootouts. And Ft. Worth still had some of those attractions, for entertainment purposes of course. I didn’t know they had reenactments. Were any battles fought in Texas?

  The temperature stayed cold even as we headed further south. Mr. Peet still had the defroster going when we reached the Madisonville exit, only stopping once to get a bite to eat and stretch our legs. We rolled through the little town and headed out towards the park area. There we pulled to the side of the road to get out and register. The sun had already gone down, so the only glimpses I got of the canvas tent city were by headlights from cars entering the encampment. We approached a man sitting underneath a modern day canopy with a heater blazing away. After signing a waiver, paying the registration, and getting directions to our camp, we made our way down the rock road for our destination.

  Even with the cold, people were out putting up tents or loading them with the gear they needed to survive for the weekend. When we pulled up, most of them group stopped what they were doing to come and say hello or to even offer their assistance in helping us get ready for a night in freezing temperatures. Mike and Hunter were the first to appear, offering their assistance as Hunter gave a big hug to Lizzy. Daniel and his son Archer were next, but Jason never did show up.

  “Alright Lizzy,” Mr. Peet said, placing a head lamp on so that he could see, “if you would teach Hope the adventures of putting up a wall tent, we will knock my A-frame out real quick and then finish with yours, okay?”

  “No problem. Follow me, Hope.”

  We had already opened the back of the cargo trailer and began to peep into its insides. Man, I had no idea so much stuff had to be brought out for this hobby. Didn’t the real Civil War people only carry around a blanket and sleep under the stars? The Civil War of 2009 had trailers, heaters, and big plastic containers, full of God knows what. I guess it was good though, because I really didn’t want to do the whole sleeping-under-the- stars thing, anyway. We began to unload all of it, with Mr. Peet and Hunter grabbing the bigger boxes marked “tents” and moving them into position.

  I quickly found out that a wall tent was named so because it was a tent with walls. Duh. Basically it looked like a house that you would draw when you were about five years old, without the chimney. Lizzy and I unwrapped it and stood each side up on sticks while Hunter hammered in the ropes to keep it from falling over. Finally, Mr. Peet and Daniel hoisted the center pole to make it freestanding. The inside was impressively big, at least for us two. We soon filled it with a couple of cots, a cooler, and a large kerosene heater right in the middle. Once we got it going, the cool air was whisked away and we soon felt warm and toasty as we laid out our sleeping bags and arranged our clothing for the next day. Lizzy looked over my dresses and gave me glowing reviews on how pretty they were.

  “You know you could’ve used mine again.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just thought I should have something of my own. You and Mr. Peet have just given me so much already. I didn’t want to mooch off you anymore.”

  “Oh, come off it, you’re no mooch.” She looked out into the darkness between the two canvas sheets that were our front doors. “Dad sure is going to miss his heater tonight,” grinned Lizzy.

  “He doesn’t have one? But, it’s like thirty degrees out there.”

  “He’ll be okay. This is what he calls ‘roughing it’ for a weekend. Besides, he’s got his sleeping bag and enough coats and blankets to wrap up in that he will probably get hot.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t mean to take anyone’s heat, but sure I wasn’t about to give it up, either. The wind had a bite to it that no one should’ve been out in, except a bunch of crazy recreationists. I just didn’t want to recreate pneumonia or a non-Civil War era disease like swine flu.

  “So will Jason be at this event?” I asked nonchalantly, hoping Lizzy didn’t catch on that my whole entire weekend was based on her answer.

  “Mmm, I don’t know. Sometimes he has to work late at the hardware store, so he comes in early on Saturday morning. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason.” I spread a blanket over my sleeping bag, but the heater had already warmed the whole tent, feeling that I should give it to Mr. Peet instead of having it for myself.

  “No, reason, huh? Yeah right.” I gave a playful yet menacing glare at Lizzy as she gleamed right back at me. “Have you started Cold Mountain yet?”

  “Yeah. I’m most of the way through. Ida and Ruby are rebuilding the farm and Inman has just killed three Federal soldiers for stealing the hog of some poor farm woman.” I paused for a moment, feeling hotter than I should have. “It doesn’t end well, does it?” Lizzy gave me a look, but answered with a question.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s the Civil War. How many happy stories came out of it? Everyone...dies.” My mind flashed to the three caskets that sat at the front of the church, holding the remains of my family. God, why wasn’t it four? If I could have that question answered it would mean the world to me. Would it have been that much more of a tragic loss? At least we would have been together and in peace. People seeing our tombstones at the cemetery would have read the date in which we all died and cringed, wondering what horrible disaster had taken us. I bit hard against my lip, trying my best to keep controlled. Lizzy got up from the canvas floor and grabbed my hands, holding them steady and looking into my eyes.

  “Just read it, it’s a good book, and remember that it’s fiction, okay? None of what happens in it is true.”

  It had been a good book, but why did she have to give it to me, knowing what I had been through? Why was I foolish enough to read it? I took a deep breath and nodded, calming down a little. After a moment, she let my hands go and patted my arm. “Some of the worst tragedies have made some of the best people.” I didn’t know if she was talking about Ida, Inman, or me. She turned and walked toward the canvas door.

  “Where are you going? It’s cold out there.”

  “Do all you Northerners bellyache all the time?” she smirked as she sounded like her father, the strong Southern heritage coming out to belittle me in the best of ways. I couldn’t help but smile, pulling my modern coat tight around me and following her ou
t into the darkness. We found Mr. Peet and others already bundled up in their stylish 1860s wool uniforms sitting underneath a canvas canopy in front of a tent. They welcomed us into their round table.

  “What time is officer’s call in the morning?” asked Mr. Peet.

  “Well, you being the only officer here, shouldn’t you know?” asked Daniel.

  “Seven is what I heard,” said Mike.

  “Da–” Mr. Peet looked up at me. “Oh, sorry, Hope.”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t heard while sitting in your class.” A bit of laughter came up from the table and Lizzy scolded her father and his teaching antics.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he apologized. “It just slips out from time to time.” Then his glare fell upon me. “As for you, snitch, I feel a pop quiz coming up on Monday: FYI.” The conversation bounced around the table like a ping pong ball from what needed to be done for the event, who was there, who wasn’t, how everyone was doing, a few jokes, and finally everyone parting ways to get some sleep. Lizzy and I turned the heater up high as we packaged ourselves deep within our sleeping bags; another item I’m a sure soldier did without.

  The winds had calmed by morning as we awoke to find that the dew had frozen to the grass, giving each fiber an individual look until our shoes waded through them. Mr. Peet busied himself with a small gas grill that he’d placed on his table, cooking eggs on one side, bacon on the other.

  “Ladies, grab a plate and have some breakfast,” he ordered. As we ate, we saw other people in our camp doing the same thing, either grilling or placing their food upon the open fire that was at the center. All the tents were laid in two lines facing each other, making a road down the middle of the encampment. On the opposite side of our row stood the A-frames in one long line, our side being the side for wall tents, besides Mr. Peet. At the end of the A-frames stood a small tent barely three feet tall.

  “Who would sleep in that?” I asked, knowing I sounded snippy.

  “That’s Jason’s. He must have come in during the night.”

  He slept in that? It had no front door and there were only a few blankets on the ground.

  Lizzy must’ve noticed my shocked expression. “Yeah, he is more hardcore than the rest of us.” Hardcore? That doesn’t sound good. She continued. “That just means he does a better job of living like they would’ve back then. He doesn’t use much modern day equipment through the weekend. If he freezes all night and doesn’t get much sleep, it’s that much better, since the average Civil War soldier would’ve too. But they used to sleep two in those tents. Our tents would have been for colonels and generals, not two girls.”

  “Man, he takes it that serious?”

  “We all do, mostly. Just most of us don’t want to go exactly through what they did back then. Jason, he’s of a different breed.”

  We both looked off at the little primitive tent barely big enough for one person much less two. I felt so weak, knowing that I couldn’t have slept in the cold all night like that. He had to have been shivering all night long rolling around on the uncomfortable ground. And men did this for four years, if they survived that long?

  As if he’d timed it perfectly, Jason passed down the lane between the tents to his own, falling to his knees as he began to go through his few possessions. Mr. Peet walked over and offered him a bacon and egg tortilla, which he’d just pulled off the grill.

  “No, I’m good,” he answered, holding up a hardened piece of cake bread, which he’d dipped into his cup to soften before eating. Mr. Peet could only shrug and began eating the food himself.

  “I’m going off to officer’s call here in a few minutes. Would you get everything going this morning, Sergeant, with a roll call? Have them fall in here and get a head count. I’ll just tell ‘em we have around twenty that will be on line today.”

  “Sounds good, Captain.” Jason stood quickly and gave a pointed salute, which now Captain Peet returned. Coming over to us, he explained the same thing, telling me to keep an eye on Lizzy and for her not to get me into any trouble. Finally, he shut down the grill, put it away in some old wooden box, and headed off to officer’s call.

  “Well, you want to get dressed?” asked Lizzy, already up off her canvas stool and headed back into the tent. Putting on my dress seemed sort of strange, knowing that all around me were men from God knows where and that my only cover came from a thin piece of canvas. Still, as we walked out into the open wearing our camp dresses; others said how pretty we looked in our 1860s garments. We watched and listened as Jason made the rounds, calling “Fall In” as he went, whatever that meant. The men in the unit did so, forming two thin lines one behind each other in the middle of the road. He went on to tell them about cleaning their rifles, being ready for drill by ten o’clock, and that the battle was going to be at two that afternoon. By that time, Captain Peet strolled back into camp.

  “So what’s the story at officer’s call?” someone asked. “What color are we going to be this time?”

  “Gentlemen, we are going to honor the North today as the 2nd Illinois Infantry.” You could hear a slight, but noticeable grumble come up from the ranks. “I know, I know. We haven’t gotten to go gray in a while. I guess you can call us the Con-Federals since we galvanize so often. But hey, someone’s got to do it down here, and as long as we get into a heck of a fight, why not us, right?” The little pep talk seemed to work on the men as a few more items on the day’s agenda were discussed before the group was let loose on their own.

  The time before the battle was pretty relaxed with men getting ready by loading rounds into little tubes of paper, cleaning their weapons, or drilling, with Jason leading the unit out into the field to do. Lizzy and I watched from a distance as the group moved ever so slightly into different positions. She explained how they would only make up a small portion of the Union army and would be joined by other infantry regiments in long lines, two men deep. Then she took me up the road to the sutlers, who had sat up in large tents to sell their reenacting equipment to all those interested. The hobby wasn’t cheap, and I could see how someone could spend a few hundred dollars in a short period of time. What I really couldn’t believe was that people actually made a living selling these items: the thought shouldn’t have been that abrasive to me since I’d shelled out three hundred bucks for my clothes. Needless to say, neither of us bought anything.

  Before I knew it, it was lunchtime, but instead of cooking on the tiny gas grill, which was a big no-no for some reason, we stood in line at a local food vendor’s trailer. There was an assortment of greasy food to choose from and I was having a hard time deciding between roasted sausage on a stick or a foot long corny dog. My arteries tightened up a bit just thinking about it.

  “Hey, Jason, how was drill?” Lizzy said, much to my surprise as I turned to see him.

  “We’re a bit rusty, but it will all come back for the battle.”

  “What time did you get in last night?”

  “About two. Worked late.”

  I decided to thrust myself in the conversation. “How are your buttons?” Lizzy gave me a strange look, like I had lost it again, but Jason smiled with those pretty white teeth of his, tapping his coat.

  “They look good on here, don’t you think?” I could only smile back, thinking that he could’ve been wearing a potato sack and still look impressive, but I only gave him a nod. Lizzy moved up in the line as we continued talking.

  “So, did you drive your motorcycle all the way down here?” He shook his head.

  “Nah, it’s too cold for that. My grandfather let me borrow his truck.”

  “Well, I’ve heard that you take this seriously, like you try to live as much like a real life soldier as possible.” He gave an innocent nod. “So why are you standing in a food vendor’s line? Shouldn’t you be eating tree bark or something?” It was a snide comment, but I gave a quick grin letting him know it was playful. His eyes darkened for a moment and I thought he was mad, but he stepped forward and, putting a sturdy hand around
my waist, he turned me slowly so that I could see the chalk menu again. I could feel him lean over my shoulder on one side, gesturing up at the menu with his free hand.

  “Turkey leg,” he explained with a whisper. I looked back at him, his head ever so close to mine. “If they were lucky enough, they might have gotten a wild turkey to eat.”

  “Oh.” That’s all I could muster. I really didn’t give a crap if he was eating McDonalds for lunch. The way he felt draped over my shoulder, one hand on my hip, it was too much to care about food for the moment. But he pulled away gently and resumed his position in line, all of this happening without the notice of Lizzy or anybody, for that matter. Another little passing gesture between us; did it mean anything or was I just hoping it did? A soft sigh left me as I stepped forward in line. This is what that pasty Twilight girl must have been feeling about the all-too-white vampire boy.

  We ate our food with Jason under the large circus-like tent, Lizzy noting that they would be having the dance that evening. Both of us stayed mostly quiet as we sat listening to her. I know I was nervous, but didn’t really know why. Was it the strong, silent thing getting to me? He must have had a girlfriend, with looks like that. Jeez! I was starting to sound and think like a teenager for the first time in my life.

  It was about one in the afternoon when the men in the unit formed up with all of their accoutrements to go fight their fake battle. The few of us women there clapped as they marched out of the camp. What for, I didn’t know. They were coming back in a couple of hours. It wasn’t like we couldn’t just go out and watch them do their little play. I guess it made it feel more like the real thing with us cheering them on, but it just made me feel like an idiot. Thank God this was three hours away from DFW, not that everyone didn’t already know about my parade incident.

  We waited around camp for the remaining hour until the battle, playing with Archer, Julie, and a few other kids on their rope swing that their dad had placed on a tree to give them something to do. They had also brought their pretty, but gigantic, German shepherd, Romo, who kept a watchful eye over the kids while playing fetch with us. It was nearly two o’clock when Lizzy pulled me away towards the battlefield.