As we reached the road, the sound of thunder hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer. Another round ripped through us and I gazed up at the overcast sky to see if it was about to rain.
“The cannons are firing,” Lizzy explained, still pulling me ahead.
“That was a cannon?” She smiled and nodded. What the heck? They are firing cannons at each other? We quickly joined a large crowd that stood on one side of the rock road. Smoke filled the air as the rampage of cannon fire continued with me holding my hands over my ears most of the time. After a while, blue and gray soldiers began to come onto the field from each side and marched toward the approaching enemy, shooting their rifles in ordered fashion. Horses galloped along the far side, each group running at each other, shooting their revolvers and clanking sabers as they passed, but no one ever falling off their horse. The men on the ground closer to the crowd moved forward and backward, shouting orders and shooting. Now and then, men would fall down, but not as many as if they were really in combat. More men moved into the fray, the long lines of infantry barreling down against each other in fierce, phony combat. Jeez, what a hobby.
I looked down at the gray, um, Confederate side and noticed they carried the battle flag, flinging it back and forth upon its staff. That emblem, the blue cross on a red banner, to me had always been an emblem of hate, something carried by the Ku Klux Klan to strike fear in every African American they could. But there, they carried it with pride like it had not gone out of style in 1865. All these men, they weren’t Klan members, were they? They had to be doing this for historic reasons, right? I mean, that would never have happened in New York without a few angry thugs beating the crap out of the guys. I felt a chill run down my back. It had been nearly one hundred-and-fifty years since the war and the country was still divided in two through by the Mason-Dixon Line.
Finally, the shooting stopped. Men lay scattered here and there, some moving, some not. It was a sad sight. A few men walked from each opposing side, stood out in the middle of the carnage, shook hands, and the battle was over. I guess there was a treaty to stop the fake war until tomorrow, maybe so they could get cleaned up to go to the dance that evening. To me, the whole thing looked silly, but before I knew it, all the people watching started to clap and cheer, like they had seen the greatest Broadway musical of their lives. I joined in the merriment as well, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
“Come on,” Lizzy grabbed me again and we were off. “You have to participate,” she said bluntly as we scampered down the road to a tent at the end of the field with a large yellow flag with a green H in the middle. “This is the hospital tent. It’s one of my favorite parts of the reenactment. We are going to be nurses.”
“Nurses?” I wasn’t able to keep my pet hamster alive for more than a week when I was ten years old, what did I know about being a nurse? Before I could protest, Lizzy tossed me an already bloody apron.
“Put that on and do whatever Doc Harrison tells you.” We looked over at the grizzled man wearing an apron like ours, hands stained with what I could only hope was fake blood, going over his surgical instruments.
“Lizzy, I can’t–”
“Come on, Hope. It’s just pretend blood. Just give the guys some water when they get in. It’s cold out, but they still need to drink.”
“Okay.” I shook my head, angered that I had allowed Lizzy to pull another fast one on me. This girl was tricky, but didn’t mean any harm in it. Maybe that is why Mr. Peet didn’t know about her crush on Hunter? Or maybe he didn’t want to know.
I did as Lizzy requested, filling up the soldier’s canteens as they came in, some wearing their own homemade bandages, some not. A few younger ones whined for their mothers as Lizzy and another girl made their way around to them, giving them the greatest of care that any fake field hospital could offer. It wasn’t long before a crowd began to form around us, listening to the dying men gurgle and groan. A couple of the doctor’s helpers, both men, began to pull the wounded up to the table one by one, doing the sinister task of play acting an amputation. Some of the soldiers would fight and scream. Some would act like they died in the middle of the arduous labor. It all looked dreadful to me and I could feel heat form on the back of my neck and run down my spine.
I took a deep breath and turned, right in time to see Jason step through the crowd. His face was grimy, the dirt and powder residue mixing with sweat to cause his once handsome face to look aged and tarnished. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth and his darting eyes were faded and obscured by whatever he had just seen. It was only a shell of what he looked like just two hours before, and without a word, he fell face forward on his knees and then to the ground.
Shock ran through my system. I wasn’t just seeing him anymore. Tyler’s face ran through my mind. My sweet brother was lying there and I moved swiftly for him, the heat now encompassing my whole body
“No, no, no!” I rolled him over, seeing his eyes closed and mouth ajar. “Please, please don’t die. You can’t leave me, not here, not like this.” I threw my arms over him, pulling his head up into my lap. My little brother didn’t deserve such a death, none of them did. “God, why did you do this? Why did you let this happen?” I screamed as I began to fall apart, sobbing loudly as I cradled his forehead against my chin, rocking him as if he was a child. He was so limp against me, so cold, my body convulsing with each hard pant that I gave to force air to get in my lungs. Everything was gone in an instant by that foolish drunk driver. Why wasn’t I in that car with them? I buried my face against his, crying relentlessly. He was gone forever and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
It felt like forever before I pulled away from him, and it was a few more moments before I realized where I was. Lizzy knelt down beside me, her hand on my back rubbing it, as I held Jason there. I looked up to see so many eyes on me, many full of tears just as mine where.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Doc Harrison stepped from around his blood saturated table, “this is where I am supposed to tell you about the tragedies of the Civil War. But as you can tell, most of you saw it with your own eyes of how a loved one might react to the loss of another. Now I could sit up here and tell you the facts about this whole war, but what you just witnessed speaks louder than I ever will. Just know that all war is an ugly, messy piece of business and that the only people that should be sent to them are the sorry SOB’s that start them in the first place. Now give these young ladies a round of applause for their help today.”
People were cheering for me, for my breakdown in the middle of their reenactment. I looked over at Lizzy and she too had tears in her eyes. Then I looked down at Jason, whose eyes were fixed on mine. He wasn’t Tyler anymore; he wasn’t even dead anymore. But his eyes burrowed deep within me, trying to find what had set off such an episode.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered as the applause continued, but he said nothing. His facial expression didn’t change, but his eyes continued their search.
I took a nap after the hospital scene, getting back into my regular clothes and out of the camp dress. When I awoke, the winter darkness had already set in and I wasn’t sure what time it was until Lizzy broke through the canvas doors.
“You going to sleep all evening?” she asked. “You’re going to miss the meal and the dance.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
“Of course you are, now sit up and we’ll go get the meal.” She fished out the ticket, which all reenactors needed to eat for free. “They are having brisket and beans.” She pulled me up to my feet and slapped my sneakers on, saying that all the spectators were gone so I could dress more casual. I followed her into a large line just behind the great tent where we had had lunch.
“Well, if it isn’t Clara Barton,” I heard from a person walking by, noticing that it was Mr. Peet, accompanied by Mike and Hunter. “Heard you put on quite a show for the audience today. Doc said half the people left in tears.” I smiled but didn’t say anything. I’d never taken a performing arts class in
my life, everything that came out of me was naturally insane. “After y’all get your meal, we will be eating inside the tent here.” Mr. Peet and Mike strolled on, but Hunter stayed for a moment longer.
“Are you going to the dance?” he asked Lizzy, who smiled and nodded. “Well, would you like someone to take you?”
“Are you asking me?” He returned the smile and nod. “Well,” she gave a long pause, “okay.” They grinned at each other like two canaries in a cage before Hunter followed the men inside.
We joined them after grabbing our meals. Everyone was still dressed in their 1860s clothing except me, making me feel more distant and out of place. The conversation was about the battle, the mistakes that were made and needed to be fixed before tomorrow’s killing, the fun and excitement everyone had, and just a kind atmosphere of being happy to be out again, even in the cold weather. Of course, I had little to say, being the fifth wheel to the four. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come to this thing after all. I didn’t know what these people saw in it. Getting to know Jason had been my main goal, but he was busy being a corporal or sergeant or something. And when I did finally see him at the hospital, I literally fell apart on him. Yes, it might have looked good to an unknowing crowd, but he probably thought I was nuts, forever knowing me as the girl who fell too much and wept on command.
After dinner, Lizzy rushed me off to change into our ball gowns. The sun’s last few rays where gone now, so Mr. Peet turned on a flashlight for us to get dressed by, although what I really wanted to do is crawl into bed and never come out again. Just one more day and my Civil War reenacting career would be over.
Again, the few men in camp said how beautiful we both looked, even though they could hardly see us by lantern light. Hunter was nice enough to escort both Lizzy and myself to the ball, and I quickly took my place as the fly on the wall as they began to do dances that hadn’t been fashionable since my three great-grandfathers had died. I watched Lizzy and Hunter do the Virginia Reel, some broom dance, and others. It was Lizzy’s time to shine, smiling and laughing and enjoying her time as the belle of the ball, and it was very nice to see all the ladies and men dressed in their best gowns and soldier uniforms. The war was over for the evening as blue and gray danced side-by-side having a wonderful time. Maybe Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis should have just had a dance to work things out?
Little Archer made his way past the table and chairs that had been my fortification between the dance area and me. “Miss Hope, can I dance the next dance with you?” He extended his hand and I could only smile.
“Of course you can.” I placed my hand in his and moved the better-fitting yet still cumbersome hoop around the debris. How could I say no to the cutest man in the room? We danced a waltz, and even though he was only pushing ten, he had the steps down better than me. My only hope was that the hoop didn’t catch on my shoe or his, thus tumbling us both to the ground, but after a few movements, I could tell that he had done this before and was quite a little 1860s dancer. John Travolta, eat your heart out.
As the song finished and we all clapped because of the apparent fun we were having, I noticed that Jason had snuck in and was sitting close to my chair. Jeez, why did he have to sit there? I thanked Archer for the dance and he gave the cutest little bow. What a gentleman. Then, slowly, I toddled back close to Jason and sat a few chairs away. We sat in silence as the next song began.
We stared at the gentle sway of the people as they followed the dance rituals of the 1860s, keeping up with the man who called the dance orders from the center of the room. It was an interesting procession to watch. Some looked like professionals and others simply tried to stay on their feet. All of this I really didn’t care about, but I was too ashamed, too shy to talk to Jason after the way I’d acted earlier, and he hadn’t opened the floor to conversation, either. We were just two bumps on a log, waiting for the next toad to sit on our heads. Finally, and happily, the man in charge announced that the last dance of the evening was coming up.
“What are you two doing over there?” questioned Lizzy as she and Hunter made their way over to us for a moment. “Jason, ask this pretty girl to dance right now,” she ordered, “I know you can waltz. You waltzed with me at Liendo. Now, get up and dance with her.” Oh, Lizzy, could you be making this anymore embarrassing? Luckily she took Hunter back out to continue with her own fun. I took a deep breath and looked over at him. He sat back in his seat in a way that didn’t look comfortable, looking back at me. His gaze was intimidating, like he knew he had a task ahead of him that would take every bit of energy to accomplish. He rubbed his right leg a few times and gave out a sigh.
“Do you wanna?” He nodded out to the floor as the music began to play.
“Okay.” He stood and walked out to the floor, leaving me in his wake to catch up. He gave me another look when I reached him, but this one was full of doubt and uncertainty.
“I’m sorry, I’m not any good at this.” The apology was more of a whimper and I thought for a moment that this strong, handsome man was going to fall to pieces like I had done with him.
“It’s okay. I’m not, either.” He released another sigh and held up his hands, which I accepted as he gently held one of mine and wrapped the other around my waist. We gazed into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. People were dancing all around us, but he couldn’t bring himself to start. Was it his leg bothering him? “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I muttered.
“I can do this,” he answered back, more determined. Finally, with a lift of his leg and a guiding hand, he led me into the crowd of twirling dancers. I watched him as he made the three steps, his eyes darting around to make sure he wasn’t about to collide with anyone, the hidden grimace on his face as he continued with the ordeal. Oh, I didn’t want to do this to him, I didn’t want to see him suffer like this because of me. But he wouldn’t relent and continued until the Civil War band in the corner played the last chord. He gave a soft smile and clapped along with the crowd as the music died away. Lizzy and Hunter walked up as everyone began to make their way out of the large tent.
“We’re headed back to camp. I guess you are too?” she questioned.
“Um,” I looked at Jason, “Yes, of course.” I expected Jason to join us, but he gave a nod.
“Thanks for the dance,” he said in the driest way possible. He clinched his leg and limped out of the tent. I looked at Lizzy.
“He’ll be okay.”
Chapter Nine
The wind had died down by evening and the overcast had dissipated leaving a starry night with a half moon over our heads. The evening seemed to be social time around the camp. Some of the men sat under their canvas canopies and played cards, but most everyone was gathered around the large fire and enjoying each other’s company. Lizzy and I both changed back into normal clothing before we joined them. Hunter was nice enough to hold two seats for us.
“I couldn’t believe they had that many Confederates out there today,” a man from across the fire remarked. “We were probably outnumbered close to two to one. Did these guys ever read their history books? How many battles did the South actually outnumber the North, maybe two? It just doesn’t look good if we can’t even do that right.” A few men agreed as Mr. Peet chimed in.
“Well, Bobby, it’s the game you play out there. Colonel Trent probably just promised too many units they could go gray, is all.”
“Or they all just forgot their blues,” piped up another.
“Either way, if it makes all these die hard rebels happy, then so be it. I mean we got a good fight in, that’s all I’m concerned about.”
“But Captain, when we go to a national, and all these same men that think they can pull this kind of crap up there that they do at a local event, what is going to happen? You’re going to have Lee outnumber Meade at Gettysburg, for Pete’s sake.”
“Yes, for my sake,” Mr. Peet said, acknowledging his last name. “Well, I’ll ask about it at the officer’s
meeting tomorrow, but y’all know how I feel, that this is just a hobby and we are out here for fun. The battle, it’s always about the silliest thing we do over the weekend. Sometimes I think we should just be out there with water guns. It might be more entertaining that way.”
“Our ancestors would be rolling over in their graves if they saw us doing half the crap we do our there. I saw a dead Confederate up on his elbows taking pictures of the whole thing. I mean, how stupid does that look to a spectator?”
“Speaking of ancestors,” piped in a younger man I didn’t know. “Look what I got today.” He unraveled a battle flag that was printed with the words Heritage Not Hate. I didn’t say anything, but my mouth gapped open. Really? Heritage? Slavery was your heritage, but it didn’t involve hate? How stupid was this guy? I looked over at Lizzy, but she was more focused on Hunter. Then, I caught Mr. Peet’s tart expression. He had to be just as offended as me.
“Oh, put that away, boy,” someone told him. “You don’t want to upset the captain.” A few snickers went up from around the campfire as everyone focused on Mr. Peet, expecting him to respond.
He did so with a shrug and a laugh. “Well, I’m not teaching today so you can wave that thing around all you want.”
“But really, does it offend you?”
“Mmm,” he said as he thought about it. “Again, I don’t want to teach the subject since I’m not getting paid, but yes. Our southern ancestors made a horrible mistake that’s easy to see today, but was not back then. They were fighting to keep a constant underclass, so that whites would always be better than others. Slavery was the economic fuel of the southern fire as well. It’s what people owned to show that they were more prominent than others. If you were keeping up with the Jones’, you did so by owning slaves. And I won’t even start with all the events from the Declaration to Ft. Sumter that show that this was a war about slavery. But, really, if you think about it, if you take slavery out of this war, do you really have a war?”
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