Past Lives (9 page)

Still, I was used to being uncomfortable. I watched as some men around me shifted from foot to foot, trying to relieve themselves from the pain of standing for hours at a time. Then there were the rest of us—the workers. We were used to standing, sometimes for days on end, and we stood silently waiting our turn. When I finally made it into the tent, a brown bearded man in a gray military uniform sat at a wooden table on a small stool. He didn’t look up. His face was drenched in sweat, and he ran a swift kerchief over it.

“Name,” he said, probably for the thousandth time that day. His voice was gravel on cobblestones.

“James Sullivan,” I said, my fake name falling off my tongue with practiced ease. At the high pitch of my voice, however, the man looked up. I hoped my panic didn’t show.

“Age,” he said in the same monotone timbre. He was looking at me as though he already knew the lie that would come, and I gave him my most desperate pleading glance, and told him the truth.

“19, sir.”

He continued to stare. It was a battle I could see play out across his face. Did he let a child into the military, or did he send the boy home to his mother. I decided to give him reason for me to stay.

“If I could sir, I’d like to be with my brother’s regiment and fight by his side. His name is Jack Sullivan, sir,” I said, lowering my voice as much as possible without being too obvious about it. The man’s expression changed from skeptical to understanding, and I felt elated that my trick had worked. He scanned his quill down a very long list until he found my brother’s name and pointed.

“Head over to this infantry tent then, and welcome to the Confederate volunteer army. Please sign your name here,” he said finally, and I gratefully looped my initials before being herded over through a supply line. Hefting my new musket over my shoulder, I was also given a small choice of supplies, and I grabbed a pan for cooking, a cartridge and some bullets, a blanket, a canteen, and a tin cup. Last but not least, my grey soldier’s uniform was handed over in the smallest size they had. I placed everything in my bag and strolled over to my new infantry unit, mindful to keep an eye out for my brother so I could keep a reasonable distance.

“Hey you!” an angry voice yelled out, and I turned, afraid I had been caught for being a woman.
What would they do to me if they knew?
I wondered frantically. A large man in an officer’s uniform came storming up to me and he began to bark orders inches from my face, spittle flying across my mouth and nose. I stood still, trying not to think about what just flew onto my tongue.

“What are you doing here, you idiot!? You should be dressed and prepared for training. NOW!”

I wanted to tell him that I had literally just gotten out of line, but instead ran over to a group of tents, frantically looking for an empty one to change in. I found one a couple rows back and slid in, tossing my clothes aside and pulling on my ill-fitting uniform, all the while casting nervous glances at the tent flap, just waiting to be discovered. I rolled the starched pant legs and sleeves as much as I could, grabbed my heavy musket and set off at a run toward a long line up of men.

It wasn’t hard to spot Jack and Bastian…I had known them my whole life. It helped that Bastian had the bearing of one who had been used to being treated with respect, and he held that even as I watched an officer spit on his dusty boots. I sidled in next to another smaller guy in the back and stood straight, knowing that in the thick, oversized uniform, no one would take me for a girl. We all watched as the officer berated Bastian in front of the whole unit.

“I don’t give two shits where you came from,
soldier
. You are a member of the Confederate army! You have all officially fallen into the same class. If anyone forgets himself in this regiment, they can expect to have a
word
with me—and believe me,” he finished maliciously, lowering his voice an octave. “You won’t like it.”

“I want eight miles from all of you—NOW!” he screamed, a lower officer leading the group toward an outer trail. We all began to jog obediently, my shoes rubbing uncomfortably against my ankles. They weren’t made for running—and neither was I. After about three miles my breath came up in gasps, my hot uniform heavy, weighed down even further by the massive gun I was carrying. By the fifth mile men were stumbling—many of them didn’t have shoes and caught a bramble or stubbed their toe on rocks. And still we ran. I could see Bastian and Jack toward the front, leading the pack, and cursed them silently. They
would
be at the front, with all the nonsense they still got into at the plantation.

By the time we came up on our last mile, I was pouring sweat and minutes from fainting. The only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that if I fainted and had to go to a doctor, I’d be out of the regiment the minute he looked under my clothing…assuming they did that. When I could see our head officer once again I nearly cried in relief. As we realigned ourselves in our previous positions, I watched in disgust as several men vomited, and to my dismay, I began to dry heave. There was no food or water in me to release, so my body simply convulsed until it was quite finished.

When I looked up, bleary-eyed and beyond exhausted, it was to see a pair of gray clad legs standing right in front of me. With dread, I rose to a standing position once more, and gazed up into the cold hard eyes of our commanding officer. For what seemed like forever, we both stared. I didn’t dare give up eye contact, though all I wanted to do was run away screaming into the late afternoon sun. Finally, still holding my gaze, he smiled…the kind of smile I had seen a million times on the face of Miss Jean. The kind of smile that meant you were about to get whipped, and weren’t you lucky?

“I want 50 pushups from all of you, and then you’ve got one hour to rest up before dinner and evening training,” he said, yelling the call for us to drop down. I saw spots, my vision fading to black as my arms screamed with each pump. The men who fell to the ground were swiftly kicked in the stomach for their lack of discipline. When it was finally over, I fell on the ground, believing that I would never be able to get up again. A whistle blew, and I heard water splash.

Glancing up, I saw a crowded water pump filling one canteen after another, and whatever resolve I had left lifted me up to that place. I waited in a daze, no longer fearing what others may think of me. No one could see outside of their own misery. After my canteen was filled I stumbled back to my small tent, grateful to see that I hadn’t gained a roommate yet.

Once I got inside and out of sight, I gulped down as much water as I could, stopping myself half way through so that I could savor the rest. Although I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, I had no appetite for anything but rest. Unfolding my small blanket, I lay down and rolled my arm over my eyes, as though that would somehow make this new world dissolve. I didn’t move from that position for the precious hour that we had, groaning when I could hear the other men rousing and making their way back to our training area. My body already ached, and it was only the first day.

Strapping on all my gear, I headed back with the others, taking up my place toward the end once again and sneaking glances at my brother and Bastian. They both seemed tired and serious, but certainly better off than the others. We were then all led as one to a dining area, which was comprised of a bunch of wooden tables set up before large pots of food…and yet another long line of men. Sighing, I took my place in line, careful to stay out of sight from anyone who might notice me. When I finally made it to the front, I was given a small bowl of something sloppy and brown with some dry biscuit before I was herded away for the next group of men to get their meal.

The tasteless slop was indiscernible, though I didn’t much care at that point. I ate it all, wiping up any leftover juices with my dried biscuits and drinking gratefully from my half-filled canteen. I glanced victoriously at the water pump line as I did, grateful for my own level of self-control. I knew then that it would be the only thing keeping me alive from that moment on. After dinner we were given some training on how to load and shoot our weapons, though no bullets were wasted in the process. When darkness fell, the men were so exhausted that no one made merry, but rather everyone fell into a tent and was unconscious by the time their head hit the ground.

By that point three other men had rolled into my tent and placed their blankets side by side. Uncaring and exhausted, I rolled over and over on the hard ground until my body relinquished comfort for sleep. This was my introduction to life as a Confederate soldier.

Chapter Thirteen

Duty Calls

The next three weeks pretty much went exactly the same. There is a monotony to military life that can be maddening, and it’s made worse by the fact that your free will is taken from you. You do what you’re told, when you’re told, and if you fight back, you are punished and publically shamed. We spent our days learning basic drills and weapons maintenance, with some fighting technique thrown in. From the conversations around the dinner tables, other regiments weren’t even getting that far. It all depended on the knowledge of each leader…some of whom knew only the basic methods of survival. I tried to feel lucky even though my life was completely miserable.

After the first week, the stench of sweaty, odorous men was overwhelming. The summer heat penetrated our clothing, our tents, even our water. Everything was a cesspool of heat and sweat, the warm water barely refreshing our parched bodies. Great cheers went out when a group of men stumbled upon a creek during one of their runs, and everyone stripped down and jumped right in, splashing each other like idiots. I watched for a brief minute, blushing at the hairy men’s bodies that I had always been forbidden to see…and rightly so, if you ask me. I carefully traced my steps back to our camp, and then waited until the chorus of snores erupted to sneak off and take a dip in the warm, now dirty water of the creek. Still, it was a lot cleaner that I had been in far too long, and I scrubbed every inch of myself, marveling in the dark at the new tone of my body, the leanness of my muscles.

As camaraderie grew among the recruits, the men began to whip out cards and sneak in liquor at night, and the cursing, spitting, and derogatory jokes about women were atrocious. There were so many times I nearly spit in a man’s face that I began to bite my tongue until it bled. It was on the last night of our third week in training that I came face to face with the need to defend myself. In hindsight, I’m surprised it took even that long—I was scrawny and an easy target. A few of the more pious men sat quietly reading the Bible during all the male bonding time, and I had managed to borrow one for the night. Reading quietly, I had found a tree just at the edge of the dining area and leaned back against its rough surface, curling my back to stretch out my wiry muscles.

“Since when did they start letting children into the army?” a slurred, masculine voice asked. I looked up to see a bear of a man stumbling his way over to me, and I froze. If any trouble was caused on my account, I could be out in a heartbeat. I had worked so hard to go unnoticed that I simply shrank back into the tree and hoped he wasn’t talking to me.

He was.

“I
said
,” he stepped up and kicked the Bible from my hand, “What the hell are you doing out here with the real men, boy?”

I chose my words carefully.

“That was God’s book, sir. Surely you would not cast more sin upon yourself by harming one of your own.”

I noticed then that the man wasn’t alone. This was apparently a group effort to cause trouble, and I had been the unlucky first contestant. His cronies were bearded and dirty, in spite of the fact that we now had a creek to wash in. They began to laugh and cheer on their black- bearded leader, who stooped down and grabbed me by my gray lapels, holding me up with no effort at all.

“Hang him upside down, Hal! Show him to respect a real man!” one of the cronies shouted. I dangled, trying to tire him out with my dead weight. It didn’t seem to have any effect, so I tried to pick my brain quickly for a solution, trying to remember any fighting tactics I could and coming up short. If he hung me upside down, surely the whole regiment would see my lie the moment my shirt went up. I panicked.

“Please, just leave me alone!” I squeaked. This made the men break out in raucous laughter, my captor included. He jostled me and I gasped, adding to their fun. His breath reeked of distilled liquor and rotten meat, and I held my breath to keep from vomiting on him and making this worse.

“I think he wants a little beating before we string him upside down, eh boys?” he goaded, and unsurprisingly received cheers. He let loose a hand, holding me up with an amazing show of strength with one fist only, his other fist winding back to make the blow. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying not to cry.

“Oof!”

Suddenly I was plummeting to the ground, where I landed hard on my hip and scooted back to the cover of the tree without looking up. I began to pat down my body, trying to discern how I had made such a noise…when I realized it wasn’t me that had made it. Glancing up, I watched in awe as Bastian, whose initial hit had already succeeded in forcing the man to the ground, violently kicked him in the stomach. When the man stopped moving, but was clearly still conscious, Bastian glared at the group at large.

“We are soldiers of the same side,” he said loudly, his voice clear, demanding no argument. “It is beneath you to treat any living creature in such a way, much less your fellow man. If I catch any of you behaving this way again, it will be reported and I will make absolutely certain that each of you pays. We’re fighting a war, if you’ve forgotten,” he finished, properly shaming them all. He stood over the man on the ground, glaring them down until his drunken friends were able to heft him up and drag him away. Then he turned to me.

“You alright, boy?”

There was no hiding it now. I waited as his eyes combed over my face, realization and horror dawning simultaneously. He dropped down by my side and began to inspect my face, his fingers holding my chin this way and that as he looked for bruises and cuts. He said nothing, though the fire in his eyes spoke volumes.

Bastian was furious.

Finally, he spoke, his voice dangerous and low.

“What have you done, J?” He sat back on his heels and stared at me in bewildered disbelief. Suddenly my reasons for enlisting seemed stupid, and I didn’t want to tell him why. So I stuck to the basics.

“I won’t leave my brother,” I said truthfully. “He’s all I have. And Miss Jean told me to go. She…she wouldn’t have it otherwise,” I stumbled over my words, trying to convey that she would have made my life a living hell without insulting his cousin. He ran a calloused hand through his thick blonde hair and gazed up into the leaves, dancing carelessly above us as though our lives weren’t about to be torn apart.

“I’m sending you home tomorrow,” he said finally, not looking at me. “You’ll have to keep a bonnet on tight until your hair grows back, but you can do it.”

“No!” I cried, my hands flying to my mouth as though to take back my own disobedience. There was no changing the fact that Bastian was my master, even if as soldiers we were technically equals in this arena. His responding look brooked no argument, and I crossed my arms like the small child everyone believed me to be.

“J, I’m not doing this to be mean. If you’ve been here these past few weeks,” he looked me up and down, his expression incredulous, “and it would seem that you have, you’ll never be able to keep up this façade. What happens when we all find a creek and need to bathe? Jesus in heaven, you’ve probably already seen everyone here naked!” he stood and began to pace. I sat and watched him struggle with my choice, fascinated. He really was very handsome, and had just saved me from a beating.

But he wasn’t going to stop me from fighting as a soldier.

I allowed him to pace and go over all the horrifying things I must have just gone through as a delicate lady being exposed to a man’s world. It was cute how he thought I had never experienced anything like it before. I mean, don’t get me wrong…there was
a lot
that I wish I could have unseen by that point, but I was an overworked servant in a massive household before. I knew how to suffer in silence and carry on.

“Where are you sleeping?” his eyes were bulging out of his face by this point. It was a little funny, even if I knew I faced the wrath of my brother next. I decided to go for casual.

“Oh, just toward the back end, with a couple of nice blokes. Really, they don’t hog the bed or anything,” I said, cheeky. Since when was I allowed to be cheeky? Pretty much since the moment I began to load my weapon faster than everyone else, I would say. To be honest, even though our freedoms were taken, I had never had them anyway. It was nice to be able to work my way to a better level, rather than being held underwater by a certain pompous blonde. I would rather walk first line into battle than go back to the house, and I would be damned if Bastian thought he could make me.

Of course, he didn’t know that. So I let him believe that he had the upper hand. Leaning down, he offered his forearm to me to rise, and, in as masculine a way possible, I grasped it and heaved myself up, brushing the dust from my uniform. We made our way somberly through the camp to where Bastian and Jack had been staying. Bastian led me to another outcropping of trees.

“Stay here while I go get your brother. He’s not going to be happy about this…” he warned, striding back towards the tents. I stood by the tree, affecting nonchalance, but dread settled like a heavy rock in my stomach. Would Jack really be that furious with me? And what would I do about it, if he begged me to go home? Could I listen, knowing what waited for me there—a life under the polished fist of Miss Jean, never knowing if Jack would make it home to me? I couldn’t even stomach the thought of it.

“What is it?” I heard Jack’s voice, worried. “What’s happened?”

He manifested before me, freezing instantly as he took me in.

“No…” he whispered. His fists began to clench. I was really in for it now. It took him two strides to make it to me, his hands wrapped around my arms in a vice-like grip of fiery anger, and I winced.

“What have you done, J? What have you
done?”
he asked, running a hand through my jaggedly cut locks at the base of my neck.

“I’m fighting alongside you,” I said, matter-of-factly. He barked out an incredulous laugh.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not putting your life on the line! You’re a…
woman,”
he dropped his voice to a whispered hiss. “You wouldn’t last a day out there,” he finished, officially pissing me off.

“I’ve lasted three weeks out here…you think it’ll be that much different?” I bit back.

“Yes, I do!” he kept hissing. I couldn’t believe my brother would say such things considering he had just told me weeks ago how we were Irish survivors.

“I’m reporting you,” he said, dropping his hands and getting ready to walk toward the officer’s tent. “You’re going home, and I hope the flogging you get there teaches you a lesson.”

“Wait,” Bastian said, and our pair of matching blue eyes both swung at him. He looked at Jack, defeated.

“We can’t do that. There could be consequences beyond our control that could put her in more harm if we do,” he said reasonably.

“We still have the wagon,” he continued. “We can make an excuse to send her back home with it first thing tomorrow…we’ll think of something. I just think we should be stealthy about it.”

“Bastian, she’s already in the
books.
That would make her a deserter,” Jack protested. Bastian shook his head.

“That would make whatever male name she gave them a deserter, not her. Please, Jack. You know I’m right about this.”

Jack stood with his hands in tight fists, his knuckles bone white. Finally he looked back at me, and our eyes locked in a battle I knew he would not win.

“Fine. Let’s get you to our tent tonight, and we’ll ship you back first thing in the morning,” he sighed, turning away. “I just can’t believe you would do something like this, J. I love you too much for anything bad to ever happen to you.”

“And is it so wrong that I should feel the same?” I asked softly, wishing I could place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Knowing how funny that would look, I stood, vulnerable and helpless, and yet still somehow a Confederate soldier. His shoulders lowered, and I watched the anger drain from him as he finally released his hands. Not bothering to turn back to look at me, he mumbled, “No, I suppose it isn’t so wrong at that.”

Darkness was settling on the camp, soldiers making their way to their hard, uncomfortable beds. Bastian sighed.

“Well I suppose you’ve seen and done enough that wouldn’t do for a lady. Sleeping safely with us can’t be that much of a sin now,” he said. I felt like a fallen woman, as though I had become some kind of prostitute simply for taking steps to protect my brother by his side. I grew resentful for the way I was treated by these two men, who I was sure I could outmatch in a shooting contest.

“I guess so,” I said blandly, allowing him to lead me to their tent. My brother had disappeared, leaving me and Sebastian alone to stand awkwardly together in silence. I was relieved when I saw his shadowy figure stalking toward us, all my belongings wrapped tightly in his arms.

“Your things,
Private
Sullivan,” he ground out through clenched teeth. Briskly, I grabbed them from him and shouldered them into the tent. I wanted him to see that I was capable, that I had already passed the test. Laying out my blanket at the furthest most edge, I waited for my brother and Bastian to appear, the reality of what the next day would bring settling heavily on my shoulders. As the darkness turned to black, I could hear their muffled conversation outside, though I couldn’t make out any words. Stubbornly, I turned my back against the tent and faced the cloth wall, waiting. When I finally heard them slink in, I tensed, but said nothing.

I felt Jack slide in and lay on his back by my side. It was just the three of us in there, and the tension was as thick as a cream soup, the pressure to scream sitting heavily on my chest. That burdensome silence held out until I could hear them both breathing deeply, and I allowed myself to relax. Somehow, someway, I was going to have to thwart their plans.

But that was something I would have to think about in the morning.

***

The sound of wildly ringing bells and shouts tapped at the outer wall of my unconscious mind, slowly bringing me back to the world of the living.