I Shall Be Near to You(23)

I make my voice go low. ‘Sure is.’

‘Anybody around here got a fire going?’ he asks.

I shake my head, ‘Not that I’ve seen.’

‘Goddamn it!’ Foul Mouth says to my back as I hurry off. ‘Fucking useless!’

Farther down the aisle, in front of the tent Sully moved himself to, a narrow-faced, towhead boy looking younger even than Jimmy sits cross-legged on the ground, his lips moving as he reads the Bible cracked open on his knees. I think about asking after Sully, but the boy don’t look up so I keep on past and slip back into our tent. Jeremiah stirs under the blankets but I don’t try waking him. Both O’Malleys look dead to the world. I sit myself down, tired already from worrying on getting caught and pretending for even an hour alone. But there ain’t no other way.

The blast of a bugle comes blaring. Jeremiah jumps out of the blankets, his hair every which way, and looks around like he’s lost something. He sees me and a hint of a smile lights and then fades. He rakes his hair with his fingers and it is good he has got all his clothes on so he can pop right up and go. Grumbling voices gather outside and Sergeant yells, ‘It’s reveille! Get moving to the parade ground!’

‘Let’s go,’ Jeremiah says.

‘I ain’t keeping you,’ I say, and haul our blankets apart. Jeremiah takes one look at the O’Malleys still sleeping and starts in on them, pulling at their feet. ‘Hey! Henry! Jimmy! Wake up!’

Henry kicks out and says, ‘Leave me be!’ and I get to wondering how he ever got to any farm chores, but everybody knows the O’Malley farm don’t prosper and maybe their Pa being gone ain’t the only reason.

Jeremiah practically drags those boys out of their blankets and into the sun, Henry grumbling and complaining the whole time while Jimmy trails after us, keeping out of the fray like always.

We line up on the parade ground, me taking Sully’s old spot beside Jeremiah, Sully off in the back row somewhere, Jimmy still sucking himself back. Leatherskin and wiry Foul Mouth and stocky Black Eye are in the row ahead of us. And then there is Captain Chalmers at the front with his wife looking small beside him, that black ledger back in her hands. She marks things in that book while Captain calls roll.

‘Levi Blalock!’

‘Yes, Sir!’ a short and squat boy not much older than Jeremiah answers.

‘Ambrose Clark!’ Captain says loud.

‘Here, Sir!’ says that serious-faced canalman to my right who has got the same liquor smell as Mr. Lewis back home.

Captain walks up and down the line yelling out names, and that is how I learn that Towhead Boy is Will Eberhart and Leatherskin is called John Morgan and the younger man beside him is his son Frank. Foul Mouth is Hiram Binhimer and his friend Black Eye is Edward Stiles, the two of them making a naughty pair. When Captain calls out ‘Ross Stone,’ there is a long pause and Jeremiah elbows my side before I remember myself. I forget to make my voice deep when I call out, ‘Present, Sir!’ My throat almost closes up to see dainty Mrs. Chalmers staring at me, but Captain keeps on down the line.

When all our names have been called, Mrs. Chalmers takes a small book from her apron and gives it to Captain before she swishes away in her long skirt. He opens it, flipping through the pages.

‘I ain’t ever seen book learning be any help when push comes to shove, but Captain can’t get enough of that manual,’ Ambrose Clark says, his voice thick and slurry.

‘It’s his wife I can’t get enough of,’ Hiram laughs from ahead of us. ‘Don’t know how he found a sweet-assed angel like that, but I’d sure like push to come to shove with her!’

My neck prickles. I want to get farther away from Hiram, but instead I stand tall, pretending not to see Henry’s smug face and the eyebrow he raises at Jeremiah.

‘We move together to keep safe,’ Captain tells us.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Ambrose says, ‘There ain’t no place safe on a battlefield.’

But Captain don’t hear him, one hand stroking his beard as if he’s ironing it, his eyes pasted to that book in the other hand. Finally he yells, ‘Company H as Skirmishers, by the Left Flank, Take Intervals, March!’

It ain’t a drill we did yesterday, but the other boys turn left so I follow.

We march forward twenty steps more and then Jeremiah whispers at me, ‘Stop right here and face front and then move ten steps to the right!’

I do like he says even though there ain’t no more orders coming from Captain yet and I don’t see how I’m going to get this drill straight, learning after everyone else already did. When I turn, the whole line of our Company is stretched out, some men kneeling and some lying down. I keep standing. I don’t see either how kneeling or making a left flank is going to help when the bullets start flying, but I feel better when everyone is doing the same thing.

Jimmy says, ‘Ross, take cover,’ and he kneels down on the ground so I do too.

And then Captain yells again, ‘Company H, Assemble on the Right Flank!’ and as we stand, Jimmy whispers at me, ‘Go back into fours!’

We keep drilling, going from marching in column to fanning out in line of battle and back again, ’til the ground that started out icy has turned to mud again. We get to where we move in a herd, only we don’t do it smooth on the flick of an ear or the turn of a haunch. After every new order, Captain looks up from his book to see if we’re doing like he said, his ironing hand sliding inside his frock coat.