Civil Love
Disclaimer: A fictitional view of a small calvary unit that participates in the civil war battle called the 7 days war.
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CHAP 1
What are you think’n Ester May? She bit her chapped lips, chewing dry skin. Her dirty pale hand rose off the broom handle she was sluggishly pushing around. Wiping away a sweaty strand of yellow hair she ignored the internal voice warning her, once again, to let dreams go. As usual, she let the delicious run of wild ideas sweep across her thoughts. It kept her awake during the high noon heat of the day. Downtown Buckley, Virginia was almost hotter than the pepper sauce her Grammy used to send in the postal.
The jingle of the draft horse harness as a buckboard moved down Main Street caught her dreaming attention. Farmer Michaels and his wife were arriving into town. Even in the heat, Mrs. Michaels was wearing a plain long dress, with a bustle and layers of petticoats. She looked flush and was fanning herself without cessation. Ester May sighed. I wish this weather would change. Although the changing weather wasn’t the only thing she hoped to change. The intense boredom and her current task had her thinking of escape. You’d better stop think’n and get yer behind busy. Think’n is just what got you into this mess in the first place.
She darted a nervous look toward the loading dock next door to make sure her boss, Mr. Roberts was still busy talking to some customers. Her gaze soon returned to stare longingly across the main. Pale blue eyes took in the view of the crowded train depot; a hive of activity as the northern troops camped around the area. Just this morning she heard Mr. Roberts growling his disgust at the invasion of the “blue devils” in his beloved Virginia. Her thoughts churned like butter as she took in the dark blue uniformed boys and men.
She began trying to carry her imaginary gun toward the battle front. The broom stirred only dust off the top layer of caked in dirt from the grooves of the wooden walkway in front of the mercantile. It was mindless work and the dust rose to tickle her nose. Her thoughts kept her from the growing frustration of her life. The layers of her linen dress clung to her legs, wrapping them up tighter than corn husk in the heat of July.
I could do it. She continued to ruminate, swiping a streak of dirt across her face. Just a quick chop of my hair, grab a pair of britches from Mr. Robert’s sons stuff, run to Owensville and sign up. A soldier? Nobody’d even come look’n. She swallowed back a lump that rose in her throat at the memory of her Pa passing two months ago. His even tone sounded clearly in her head.
“Being a soldier is tough, but not as tough as civilization, May. Being a soldier, I never fought in a fight that wasn’t tough on the head and heart. But as a stranger in a city the fights are random and just sad. I wouldn’t recommend too much of one over the other but it would have to be a soldier’s life. It’s not the life for just anyone. But, you only get one chance to make life important. Take that chance or watch it pass you by. That’s your only option.”
She felt his comforting squeeze of her shoulder. The squeeze became a sudden painful pinch as she was roughly swung around to face Mr. Robert. Their bodies touched for a moment and Ester May stiffened at the near embrace. She straightened abruptly to her full height of 5”10. The man who was running her life dropped his hand as if burned and stepped back instinctively, his perpetual frown deepened as his own 5’7 height was sorely shown in a state of disadvantage.
“You get your thick mind outta dem clouds, Ester May Echols. What you think your do’in here look’n at them soldiers. Ain’t you got sense the good Lord gave ya? Them’s Union trash. They cheat ya blind and let the world go to hell in a hand basket. Git yourn self back inside the store. And go wipe your face from the trough out back. You’re filthy.” His harsh whispered tones allowed no argument. He pushed her toward the door, hard. Catching herself against the wood brace of the walkway she scuttled inside.
One last glance over toward the visitors in town showed some soldiers sitting around in a couple of groups on the ground. Tack spread out across the dirt, polish and oils being rubbed diligently. Chatting and laughter were on their faces. A few boys even had needle and threads out, sewing up the small tears and worn seams. They seemed happy and content with life. She felt that growing knot of anger rising once more.
The evidence of Mr. Roberts mistreatment toward her was beginning to take a toll on her spirit. Ester May walked thru the overstuffed store full of goods to sell to the very people he was degrading daily. She walked out a back entrance to the shaded alley between the buildings. Dipping her hands into the cool of the horse trough, she washed her hands and face, remembering why she returned to this shop in the first place.
Since her Pa got sick back in the winter, she didn’t regret coming to town to buy the medicine needed. It was the only thing that seemed to keep him out of pain. But, the mistake of trusting Mr. Roberts with her father’s belongings passed in trade to pay for the medicine. she blamed her ignorance and innocents for, every day. She was just too worried to notice the greed gleaming from the mercantile owner’s eyes when he spied regimental military bugle she was sure came from her grandfather. Her Pa always referred to the bugle as his sweet ‘Betta’. And from the first time she played on the bugle herself, Ester May knew Betta would be a sweet friend to her one day too. She’d spent her early youth learning the notes and command callings her father’s father had passed down to his son. Her Pa let her learn and practice for the joy of music and entertainment. The woodland was a vast learning place where he’d chosen to raise his young daughter and he wanted her to have all the knowledge he could teach her. By the age of ten she could ride, rope, hunt, fish, cook, sew, swim and all manor of outdoor things. But, she could also read, count, add and multiply, sing, and dance, as well as, play the military bugle calls with the best of them. She listened to her father’s history lessons on people and war, learning the strategy used and the knowledge that came with the changes of these wars. She was well aware of the last few years of the growing discontent among the South and North.
When her Pa finally died she returned to Mr. Roberts to work out the agreed deal to get her goods back. She was to work for him at the mercantile to pay off the debts. Although the smaller items of pocket knife and silver time piece she’d bartered had been returned, she’d yet to see the velvet cloth covered bugle in any storage box yet. Mr. Roberts seemed to have conveniently forgotten where he stored it.
Asking lately seemed to cause him to grow angry and resentful. Twice now he had raised his hand toward her. He was beginning to act very possessive of his rights toward her. She felt his eyes on her more than once while she worked in the store.
I’ll find you Betta. He can’t keep me here forever. Just gotta find out where he hid you. When I find you we can leave this place.
************************
A short two month later…
“Quiet now lads, they’re a’ head’n this a’ways.”
Sergeant Pete’s Scottish burr whispered in the dimming evening. He checked the three fresh recruits he’d been sent to collect. The biggest fellow was part Indian even if he didn’t claim it. Long face and dark hair, broad shoulders and trim waist, Bo Higgins was a silent hunter, still and ready. Pete would bet the Jack of Spades in a Spade Hunt, Bo was going to be a terror in a fight. The middle youngster was thin, but definitely hard. He was a scrapper to the roots of his red hair and obviously common class birthright. He as much proved his worth by insisting on helping unload the cargo box of the train at Tucker Hob while waiting to be picked up. Even now, he was unable to stand idle. Billy Pickard was a tough biscuit. His fists clenched unable to keep still during the wait’n.
Quickly moving to the last of the three rubes he gave an internal sigh. Just a babe, they be send’n babes into the fray. Things must be bad…. He blinked away that awful thought and spat a stream of black tobacco at the ground. By far the youngest he’d seen arrive yet, the wee lad, clung tightly to his leather carry pouch, paling more at every twitch of a branch crackling in the breeze. Tall and thin as a reed, the lad looked like some high born and more fragile every second.
As if hearing the cynical internal thoughts, young Emmit Echols turned his wide-eyed gaze to the striped blue coat figure leading their small group. Sgt. Pete was hard pressed to hide his surprise when the young lad managed a small grin. Not a scrap of fear lurked in the steady look he was given back.
For a second Pete felt a chill of unease. As his dear Pappy used to say, “someone twas roll’n in der grave, boy. Bes to keep yourn eyes wide open, for dey roll on ov’r yous.”
Years before he’d felt the weight of his Da’s whispered words, the night his younger brother was shot in a hunting accident and the family dog howled deep into the midnight hour. A second memory returned; his dear old Da tell’n him he was beloved, only to have him pass in the nigh to a better place. The memory struck him wary. Now for a third brush of the saying to strike his bones, he was once again feeling the truths of those eerie words touch him within. A git of a boy, looking upon him, with those pale blue eyes, cause him to shift in his place.
He felt the boys regard like the devil casting an eye toward a weak soul. Sgt Pete chewed a few bitter bites of his ‘bacca and looked into those young innocent eyes. Maybe it was more like an angel check’n to make sure I’m do’n my part in it all. And as if, Emmit could hear him, the boy made a quick wink. The shared glance was broken. The child lifted his gaze to look beyond the wagon. Pete shook off the sudden swell of joviality he felt rising at the youngsters bantering demeanor. War was no place to smile and wink. He scowled at the three near him and turned to see what the lad was looking toward.
Coming down the road, a horseback, was a two man patrol. Their gray sash waist bands, knotted to the side, and the dusty boot leggings, broad cuffs turned down, were obviously southern. Spitting a nip of the tobacco he’d chewed on all morning, Sgt Pete felt the rising flush of battle in his guts. He fought the urge down. No time to be gett’n brave. You done pretty good so far, Pete. Just keep yourn head on straight and take care of yer recruits. He made a motion to remain quiet and hold still. The three lads made small and held their breaths.
The horses moved up the dirt road without pausing. The wagon was barely glanced at.
The foot bound foursome slowly moved out again as they made their way toward the main encampment. Sgt Pete let them know they were in for a long walk.
The newly created name of Emmit still offered Ester May a world in her new hands. She held still as a church mouse as the two Grays rode by but she didn’t feel any fear. Her thoughts were too busy swimming with excitement and anticipation and more. She probably should have been scared but just like her borrowed clothing covered up her physical difference; she had already begun to reshape her inner self to match. The other boys weren’t scared. She needed to become the boy she was now portraying. Thanks to the hard work and free upbringing her father had provided she figured she might have a chance. A background of bareback riding, fishing, living off the land, and hunting in the wilds made her more ready for the frontier lifestyle of the soldier than others. But, she was cautious to keep her wits about her. The Sgt’s direct stare had her worried for a moment until she remembered her Pa’s advice. “Nothing breaks a stranger’s mistrust like a shared smile.” She almost sighed in relief when the Scot’s mustache twitched in response.
The breeze across the barren back of her neck felt glorious as she kept up with the other three. Her trapped life as a young girl was never going to be remembered without feeling the constriction of the layered ‘wares’ she had once endured. Even her father had let her get away with boys coveralls. The outlook was more than fair. Emmit Echols almost whistled as they moved across the land. At least as a boy she had a chance to choose a path that she wanted. And with Betta soon to be in her hands the soldier’s life seemed a perfect home.
She adjusted the burlap bag holding her belongings, getting a smidge more comfort. Running a few fingers over the bulk, she secured her fears once again of not losing the most important item. When I get my chance to play you I hope I’ll make Pa proud.
*************
“You horses are abedded down, Capt’n. I be tak’n your coat and blank’t to air and find me some shine for dem boots.’ Baba Roops commented in his soft voice as he started toward the items he sought. A mass of equipment was resting on and near the single wooden chair set inside the one room tent. The 6’0 foot figure nearby, standing tall in the stiff white blouse and sky blue trousers, while sporting bare feet, looked up briefly from the multiple maps that were spread out across the wood table. Baba accepted the nod he was given by the fair haired commanding officer; he quickly looked away from those penetrating green eyes, separating the metal sword belt plate and dragoon sword from the dark blue jacket. He fished up the horse sweat smelling coarse blanket in his other hand. The young black didn’t hesitate to be quick. While his job was to aid and take care of the captain, he still felt a might twitchy in his presence, although he was treated better than he’d ever been before. The captain rarely spoke unless requested to respond directly or if he was giving commands. Baba had figured the captain never had no aid so he tended to let Baba do what was needed. Regardless of the youthful look of the man, his capable battle strategy had played their company well for the last four months since he took over. The 28 odd riders were well under control and followed their leaders every notion. Baba could forgive the itch he felt around the man for as much care as he showed them all. Wasn’t a night he didn’t walk through the camp checking on each member, including Baba. The 4th Regiment Virginia Calvary seemed in the best of hands with only six months of being built for the corps.
Baba remembered his mama’s parting words prior to his northern escape and consequent volunteer to the Union Military.
“I knows you, Baba. You go’on to git mix’d wid dose white folk dat fights. But yous hear me now cus I tells you da troof. You fine yous a Rooster and all you hav is dem roosta feathah and hens. You fine you a Bull and yous nev’r have peace. What you needs is fine yous someones who sits tall and direct, someones who be honos’ and true. Fine you nows a Mustang. Dat be a horse like yous and me never see down heh in da Soud. A Mustang, dey leads da way and knows all da twis and turns. Dis be best. Yous fine a mustang that takes you a straight fo’wad ways. I knows you, Baba. I loves you. You be a man but be a good man. Follow one you knows is a good one.
He still felt the awe of looking upward at Captain Woolman sitting on his horse high above him and the rest of the recruits brought in that first day. He had seen those green eyes peer into his soul. The captain gave only a single nod to him from the start to accept his aid. But Baba knew in his heart there was an inbred goodness inside this leader that he could trust. Besides, Baba saw the truth right away. Captain Holton was riding a mustang, a fairly wild beast that only he seemed to be able to control. Baba knew anyone with that power over his horses was a mustang leader. With rumor running that the new Captain was fare and right, as his word was good and his leadership brilliant, Baba never looked back. With his family still down there and subject to slave trade and random killings, if this war allowed them to be free he’d fight along side any Northern soldier. But he knew his chances were increased with Captain Woolman.
“Thank you Baba. Don’t fight so hard on them boots. The leather is going to have to last for a while. Just put a knife through the dirt in the seams.” Captain Rosco Woolman gave directions to the side aide assigned from available incoming recruits. Those green eyes watched as his black aid grabbed up his belongings and was out the tent in seconds. A soft bite into the inner cheek of the mouth was the only response.
Rosco turned back to the table with a small sigh. Being leader was fine when on horseback and routing out the confederates. But, one on one was a little different. The young black had acted strange towards his commander from the beginning. Rosco realized the youth was fresh from the South and not sure of his ways. So in the long run they were two peas in a pod, the newly appointed Captains promotion still with wet ink. That was the main reason Rosco took on Baba as the aid-de-camp to begin with.
Most officers had one if not some regular tending to their gear and horses and such. Rosco didn’t want to be outside of the normal in more ways than one. As it was the offer of command of the small unit coming directly from Colonel Will Franklin during those first weeks of his own promotion stirred a few pointed looks in the wrong direction. Rosco just wanted to participate in the Army’s Calvary. The very fact that the Colonel field promoted “the young Woolman” to a Captain position to “see what the youngster could do” was playing a wreck on Rosco, building a tension to the Woolman’s secrets that were deeply wrapped up in the military. Little did the Colonel know but, the younger buried brother, one Rosco Woolman was the only other soul that recognized his older sister Sarah Ann as part of the Army regulars. Changing her name from Sarah to Rosco and joining up under disguise was seemingly the right choice given her effortless ability to lead and win in battles. But, Sarah knew things were building to a much higher pitch of violence. Although everyone knew her as the Captain Rosco Woolman, she whispered not a word to anyone of the guile. She was just sure Baba’s reaction was toward this end. He was proving a competent assist to her position and letting him near her was a risk she new she had to take. But his uncanny draw to her nature was somehow recognizing a difference no matter what pains she took to hide the secret.
The few blacks that were integrated into the military mix were often placed outside the mass of recruits volunteering. The white troops were not quite up to the full change of integration, although fighting for some blacks rights, the actual providence of those rights were a tangled mess within the structure of the military. However, Baba knew that score and had showed wit toward survival. The unit accepted him quickly as he found a position of medium degree and yet still lower than a regular. He didn’t seem to mind except for the few times Rosco felt the weight of his stare.
She wasn’t too sure Sergeant Pete couldn’t tell as well as she’d caught many a side look from the Scottish man as she built the troops into the unit she knew they could be. She thought fondly of the older gent and glanced at her notes to check the date. He was due back any time with the new ones. Sarah grimaced at the friendly back slap Sergeant Pete often made to start her coughing from the force of it. She had to grant him leeway though. For all the side long looks and grossly spat tobacco trails, he treated her like one of the men and followed her with a loyalty she felt down to her roots. His brash take on his current circumstance seemed steeped in the folklore of his family legacy and he held his destiny to include his Captains guidance. Sarah felt he was knowledgeable about her reality but no words were spoken.
Of course her low voice and broad shoulders helped the illusion she offered. Her bare face was a nuisance but she’d rubbed a bit of dirt more than a few times to darken the cheeks. Her blond hair was short and clipped trim to the man but yet longer sideburns were shaped. The Hardee hat, with its angled jaunt, accentuated her strong jaw and aquiline nose lending her an air of sophistication. She did come from the best stock the new colonies had provided holding a bit of French and German in her familial line. But her most dominate feature was the penetrating stare she cultivated over the short 26 years of existence. She’d steered many a roughshod stranger away with that enigmatic look.
She looked back at the maps and tried to sort out the scattered military unit movement she was hearing from the scout runs. Her own unit was quickly shifted after she took control. They were moved over and over from state to state slowly moving eastern. Participating in many strategic skirmishes in the Ohio regions, her unit earned the rights to command the small area they were currently patrolling. Just between the Ohio and west Virginia borders, Rosco’s men were guarding and protecting activities ranging from small confederate attacks to skirmishes with the activated state guard members. Her boys were professionals at the game of rifle riding and finding the targets. Constant strategic practice was the current methods she used to implant self-assurance. Rosco was assured all the members of her unit were physically and mentally prepared to fight and survive. She’d been given news that a Union general was heading in with ground troops to secure some strategic resources. The only thing moving around here were the trains. Once Pete got back she would discuss the option to start moving in that direction.
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