by Edward Gates
13
First Day Army
Charlie felt someone nudging his shoulder. “Who…? What…?” he mumbled in his sleep. He rolled over and looked around. It was still dark. To his left he was startled to see his father.
“You have to come back, Archie.”
“Dad? What… what are you doing here?”
“Archie. You have to come back with us. Michael needs to talk to you.”
“Us? What are you talking about? Who’s Michael?” Charlie looked behind his father and saw Clemens and Jed being held by an android time-agent with a hole in its chest. Jed stood next to Clemens with tears in his eyes. Charlie let out a yelp of shock and scooted back against the wall.
“Why’d ya do it, Charlie? Why’d ya kill that Michael fella?” Jed asked between sobs.
“Jed. It was an accident. I swear it was…”
“We have to leave now, Archie.”
“No, Dad. I don’t want to go.”
“You better listen to your pa, son,” Clemens said.
“No! No! I can’t do that. It was an accident! This can’t be happening.” Charlie reached for his knife but his holster and knife were gone. “This can’t be real. This is not real!”
“Hey, there! Wake up!” Someone kicked his foot. “Wake up, fool.”
Charlie opened his eyes. He was sweating and breathing quickly. His hand was clutching his Green River knife, still in its sheath.
“You okay, boy?” asked the other man on the floor from his bedroll.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Charlie answered softly. “Thanks for waking me.”
The man turned over on his bedroll. “I hope you ain’t gonna do this every night.”
Charlie lay back down, afraid to go back to sleep and fall back into that nightmare. He eventually dozed off and, mercifully, the dream stayed away.
The rustling around of the other two men in the room brought Charlie out of his slumber. It was dawn. He rolled over to see a stocky, grizzled old man sitting on the bedroll blankly staring at him. His thin gray hair and sparse gray beard were dirty and mussed. He wore a filthy striped nightshirt that covered him to his calves. His gray socks were dirty and well-worn with holes in them. It was plain to see where the unpleasant odors came from. The other man, sitting on the cot, seemed younger, but still older than Charlie. Charlie guessed him to be in his forties. He was definitely the cleaner of the two.
Charlie sat up and stretched. The man who slept on the cot smiled at Charlie while he put on his boots. “Mornin’. Name’s Clarence Maximilian Weatherby. You had a rough sleep.”
“Yeah. Had a hell of a dream. I’m Charlie Turlock.” They shook hands.
“Where ya from, Charlie Turlock?”
“I came here from Summersville, Virginia.” Charlie looked away, figuring it would be better to be from a Southern town.
“Summersville, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever been there,” Clarence said.
“It’s not much. Small farming town outside of Charleston. Where you from, Clarence?”
Clarence buttoned his vest. “You know, I don’t care much for my given name. My friends call me Max.”
Charlie stood and picked up his coat. “Max?”
“Yep. Max. You my friend, Charlie Turlock?”
Charlie wasn’t sure how to answer since he had just met the man. Max had a brilliant smile that could put all around him at ease. His eyes were kind, but Charlie could see a hardness deep in those eyes. Charlie nodded his affirmation of his friendship. “Maximilian, huh? That’s an interesting name. Is there a story behind that name?”
Clarence’s lighthearted expression became stoic. “Nope. No story. Just named after my grandfather.” He picked up his jacket and derby and considered Charlie for a moment. “Is there a story behind your dream?”
Charlie, surprised by the question, gave a little chuckle and thought for a moment. “Yeah. There sure is. But nothing I can share.”
“Okay, then.” Max nodded at Charlie as he left the room.
Charlie looked at the old man on the cot and noticed he was staring at Charlie’s gun and haversack against the wall. “Howdy!” Charlie said rather loudly. The old man slowly turned his head and looked up at Charlie with no change of expression. Then he turned away and picked up his trousers. Charlie put on his hat and coat, picked up his haversack and pistol belt and slung them across his shoulder. He nodded to the old man, left the room and climbed down the creaky staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs, Charlie walked into the aroma of breakfast. His mouth began to water. He set his belongings on the floor in the hallway and walked into the dining room. Mrs. Hawkins sat at the head of the table, still dressed in her black ensemble. Max sat to her right and a young couple sat to her left across from Max.
“Good morning, Mr. Turlock. Will you be joining us for breakfast?” Mrs. Hawkins asked with a sweet, Southern, formal-hospitality tone.
“Good morning.” He took a chair next to Max. Roberta came and stood silently next to Charlie. He looked at Roberta. She sternly looked back at him but didn’t say anything or do anything. Charlie was confused and nervous; he had missed something or done something wrong.
Finally, Max leaned over and whispered to Charlie. “It’s ten cents.”
“Oh! Right. I forgot. I’m sorry.” He found a coin with the number ten on it and handed it to Roberta. She set a cup down in front of Charlie and shortly returned with a plate of biscuits, some bacon slices, and a ham steak. She filled his cup with coffee. Charlie was amazed at how formally the table was set. Fine china place settings were in front of each chair. He noticed the silver salt and pepper bowls on the table. Next to them were a dish of butter, a small wooden bowl of honey and a jar of jam. This was well worth ten cents.
Mrs. Hawkins introduced Charlie to everyone at the table. Charlie listened while the other guests engaged in small talk among themselves. No one mentioned the war or the Union Army just outside of town. It was as if they didn’t exist and life was just fine. Eventually, the conversation turned to Charlie.
“So, are you going to be with us for a while, Mr. Turlock?” Mrs. Hawkins asked.
Charlie swallowed a mouthful of country ham. “I’m not sure. I just want to earn some money and move on.” There was a pause as everyone seemed to be waiting for more of a story from him. But he didn’t provide one. He spooned some honey onto a biscuit and shoved it in his mouth.
“So you’re looking for a situation, then?” Mrs. Hawkins asked. Charlie nodded. “Well, what is it that you do, Mr. Turlock?”
“I’ve done a lot of things, ma’am. Mostly I’m a blacksmith. But I’ve also driven a wagon and mule team.”
“You a freighter? A teamster?” Max asked.
Charlie looked at Max. He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t heard those terms before, but assumed they had something to do with driving a wagon. He smiled and nodded at Max, who returned the smile and put him at ease. It was the way Max carried himself and the way he talked. He spoke like everyone was his friend. It gave Charlie the impression that he was an honest man and could be a good friend.
“I run a freight business out of Fort Smith, among other things. I got a keelboat and a packet for the river and a number of wagons. I’m always looking for drivers. If you ever get down to Fort Smith, call on me.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks.” Charlie paused. There was a silent moment while everyone ate. Then Charlie asked, “What other things?” Max looked a little confused. “You said you run a freight business among other things. What other things?”
“Oh.” Max laughed. “Well, I help out the law in Fort Smith, which I guess makes me a lawman. I also own part of a saloon with my wife’s brother. He runs the place, though.” He turned to the two ladies at the table. “Begging your pardon, ladies. I rarely go into that establishment. I also own a storehouse at the end of Garrison Street by the landing.”
“You must keep pretty busy,” Charlie replied.
No one said anything for the next few minute
s, engaged in their meal. Then Charlie asked, “So, do you still run freight with this war going on?”
The smile on Max’s face evaporated. He looked around the table and lowered his head and took a bite of his meal without answering. Charlie looked across the table and the young couple also looked down at their food and remained silent. Charlie stopped eating. He’d said something wrong; he could see it on everyone’s faces. Mrs. Hawkins retrieved her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. The war! Damn! I guess we don’t talk about the war around Mrs. Hawkins! What a fool.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Charlie cleared his throat and stood and moved away from the table. “I’m sorry to leave such fine company, but I have an appointment this morning that I have to get to. I apologize if I said anything to upset anyone.” Charlie picked up his gear in the hallway and left the house. He could feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He walked out to the street, silently berating himself, and had turned to follow the road to the north when Max called to him from the front porch. Charlie stopped and watched Max come out to the street to meet him.
“Don’t worry about that in there. I forgot to warn you about Mrs. Hawkins. We try not to mention the war around her. Her husband was killed at Bull Run a while back.”
“Yeah. She told me that yesterday. Thanks, though.”
“Most of the men in this town are away at war. All of the younger ones, even some of the older ones left. Quite a few of them are already dead,” Max said solemnly. Charlie frowned but didn’t say anything. “Why don’t you come back in and finish your coffee?” Max offered.
“No, thanks. I really do have an appointment to get to.”
Max nodded. “Okay, then.” He turned, stopped, and turned back to face Charlie. “Just to answer your question, I still run freight, although not in the East. I’ve lost too much cargo to raids by both armies. Any cargo going anywhere is being intercepted by some army. Every once in a while, I’ll run the boats on the river, but it depends on where they’re going. If they’re heading near a port with an army nearby, I’ll just hold the freight. Right now, I mostly run wagons out west. I’m serious about that driver’s job.” Max smiled.
“I may take you up on that sooner than you think. What are you doing here if your business is in Fort Smith?”
“I come here a lot and always stay with Mrs. Hawkins. I’m looking to get shipping business. Her husband, Jacob, ran a hardware and seed business. He knew all the farmers and miners in the area. There’s a lot of peaches and corn and cotton grown here that have to be shipped somewhere. Jacob was a good friend and a good source of business for me. I owe the Hawkinses a lot. Lately, I just heard some fellas are starting to mine coal a little ways from here. So, I came up to find out more about it. Sounded like business to me.” Max laughed.
“Well, good luck with that.” Charlie turned and resumed walking up the road. The rain had ended, but it was still overcast and gray. The road was nothing but mud and puddles. The rich green color of the leaves on the oak, black gum and ash trees was beginning to fade. Fall was approaching. He walked for about a half hour before he came to a well-used eastbound trail to his right. This had to be the road to the Union encampment. He took that trail and it wasn’t long before he heard the commotion of a few thousand troops getting ready for their day.
Charlie worried about being a civilian walking around a military camp. He was certain he would draw attention. But after he arrived at the camp, he noticed a lot of civilians roaming around, local residents pressed into service by the army. No one paid any attention to Charlie as he walked among the rows of tents. He hoped that if he kept heading for the front of the line he would eventually stumble onto the officers’ section. Charlie stopped and spoke with a soldier that he had almost bumped into.
“Could you tell me where I might find Colonel Carr?”
The young man pointed in the direction Charlie was walking. “He’s up that way. All the way to the end and then a couple rows to the left.”
Charlie thanked him and headed toward the colonel’s tent.
When he arrived, he saw that the colonel was meeting with other officers, so he stood outside the tent waiting for the meeting to adjourn. Charlie overheard the colonel mention that they were planning to move out soon and head east toward Helena. Charlie worried that he would be dragged along with the army. After a little while, the officers left and Colonel Carr came out of his tent and stood smoking a cigar looking over the encampment.
“Excuse me, Colonel Carr?”
“Yeah? What is it?” The colonel looked at Charlie. “Who are you?”
This was not the welcome Charlie expected. “You asked me to see you this morning, Colonel. I’m Charlie Turlock. The blacksmith. You said you had some work for me?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re that fella Reese picked on. How’s your chest?”
Charlie smiled. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Good. Did you get something to eat?” Charlie nodded. “Follow me. I’ll show you what I got. You tell me what you can do with it.”
After a while of walking in silence, they came to the top of a rise. Charlie looked out over an open field littered with various sized wagons, carts, cannons, carriers and who knew what else. They were all in some form of disrepair. Some were completely destroyed and lying in pieces. To Charlie it all looked like junk. They were strewn across the field for as far as he could see. He was overwhelmed. This is too much! I can’t do this! He could feel an anxiety attack welling up inside him. He began to shake inside while sweat formed on his forehead.
“Rebs’ artillery banged us up pretty good. We hauled it all back here to look over the damage. Can you read?”
“Yeah. I can write, too.”
“Good. I want you to go through this equipment and give me a report on what can be fixed and what needs to be destroyed. If you need to take pieces off one to fix another, do it. I need it done quickly. I have to have that artillery. We’re in a war and I need to move these troops elsewhere.” The colonel patted Charlie’s shoulder and turned back toward the camp, leaving him alone on the rise overlooking the broken equipment. Charlie froze. He wondered how he could do this without Clemens’s guidance. The anxiety and self-doubt clouded his mind. Get a hold of yourself! You can’t fall apart at every problem! If you want to live here, you have to get control! Think!
Charlie turned to the colonel. “Colonel Carr!” The colonel stopped and turned back to look at Charlie, who walked down a little to join him. “Where’s your forge and your tools?” Charlie took a deep breath. He needed to get control of himself and the situation.
“You’ll find some portables mixed in with those busted caissons. Tools should be there as well. Anything else you need, you let me know and I’ll get it here. Put it in your report.” The colonel turned to leave but once again Charlie called to him.
“Caisson, Colonel? What’s a caisson?”
The colonel stopped and escorted Charlie back to the top of the rise. “I forgot you’re not military. You know the cannons?”
Charlie nodded. “I know what they are.”
“Well, we got a few six-pounders, but mostly twelve-pounders. There’s a lot of other equipment there as well. The two-wheeled carts are either caissons or limbers. The smaller ones are the limbers that haul the ammunition, and the larger ones are caissons. They’re used to carry equipment and supplies. The rest of it, the wagons and such, leave. I need that artillery, son.” The colonel looked at Charlie. “Understand?”
Charlie nodded. “Got it.” He paused for a moment and turned to face the colonel. “What am I getting paid, Colonel?”
“I already gave you ten dollars gold.”
Charlie was nervous, but he couldn’t let the colonel see his weakness. In his previous life, even if he disagreed, he would lower his head and accept the voice of authority without as much as a whimper. But this, this was way too much work for just ten dollars. Any confrontation with authority was the hardest thing for Charlie to overco
me. He thought of his father and the constant condemnation. He had to get beyond his feelings of inadequacy. You got this! With all the courage he could muster, he let out a snicker and looked the colonel in his eyes. “Ten dollars will buy you three days’ work,” He took a deep breath. He could see the surprise on the colonel’s face.
Colonel Carr thrust out his chin and took a step closer to Charlie. “I could make you work here for nothing.”
Charlie was coming apart inside, but he forced himself to stand there and stare at the colonel. “No. You could probably make me stay here. But you could never force me to do all this for ten dollars.”
The colonel stepped back and removed his hat. He scratched his head and looked at Charlie. This time he wore a different expression. Charlie thought he noticed a hint of respect in the colonel’s eyes. “I’ll tell you what, Turlock. Nobody knows this yet, but we’re moving out of here in ten days.” He put his hat back on and stepped closer. “You get those cannons and limbers operational in ten days and you’ll get two more eagles when we pull out. Okay?”
Charlie smiled. “Okay.” He thrust out his hand and the colonel shook it. He watched the colonel walk back to the camp, then turned back and surveyed the field of junked equipment. He started to repeat some affirmation phrases to himself out loud. “Okay. You can do this. Your mind is at peace. There is nothing this world can throw at you that you can’t handle. You are the master of your situation. You are at the top of your game.” Charlie let out a sigh and just stared at the task before him. “Okay. So, I can do this. But where do I start?”