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A RIGHT HONORABLE Soldier

By Mrs. Jane Hadley.

IN WHICH the lovers make a solemn promise on the eve of battle.

XXIV

Outside Columbia, Kentucky
Thursday, January 16, 1862

THE rain stopped around noon the next day. The wagons were still nowhere to be found. In Captain Noah’s absence, Lieutenant Woodbury ordered a contingent of men to go catch up with them and help them along. With nothing to eat but the dwindling hardtack in their haversacks, Charley rounded up a few fellows from the Hastings squad and went a-foraging. Henry stayed behind, tending their smoky fire and a nasty headache that set in after they missed their morning coffee.¹

“Is that…sun?” Jacob said as he approached, squinting up at the sky. 

“Couldn’t say,” Henry replied. “I can’t remember what it looks like.” 

Henry had his boots off and propped up near the fire to to dry out. He had a hole in one of his mud-stained stockings. 

“It’s hard to say behind those clouds, but I could swear I see it,” Jacob said, then looked down. “Can I sit?”

Henry nodded and scooted over on the mud-smeared gum blanket he was sitting on. He wasn’t sure which one was his anymore. Jacob sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and pulled something out of his knapsack. 

“It’s been too wet to write,” Jacob said as he unwrapped a small notebook from a layer of waxed canvas. He took out a pencil and started scratching on the page. 

Henry looked into the fire. They hadn’t had mail since they left Lebanon. No newspapers either. Nothing to indicate what was happening anywhere outside of the muddy hills they were mired in.²

“You writing to the Missus?” Henry asked. 

“Yeah,” Jacob replied. He wrote a line or two more, then looked up. “The mail’s so bad, I can’t tell if she’s forgot me or not, but on the off chance she hasn’t, I’ll keep sending letters every chance I get.” 

“She hasn’t forgotten you,” Henry chided. 

Jacob sighed. “I can’t help but envy you,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve got your sweetheart right here with you.” 

Henry knew this was going to come up as soon as Jacob sat down. He pushed his face into his hands. “We shouldn’t talk about that.” 

“No one else is around,” Jacob replied. “They’re all off chasing geese.” 

“Well, I’m not answering any questions, if that’s what you’re angling for. If you want to satisfy your curiosity, you can ask Charley.” Except he’d really rather Jacob didn’t. He didn’t want Charley to have any other confidants other than him. 

“And get my head bit off? No thanks.” Jacob tapped his pencil on his paper. “But I do have a question.” 

“No,” Henry replied, and reached back to grab another half-whittled branch to put on the fire. He couldn’t answer any questions, because he couldn’t breach Charley’s trust, but also because he didn’t have any answers. They weren’t married, and they didn’t have a practical arrangement. Henry couldn’t articulate answers to Jacob’s questions, and it was humiliating because if they were in love, shouldn’t he? So much about their relationship was impossible or untenable. He didn’t want Jacob poking around in it and finding all sorts of holes, especially being married and settled himself. He knew things Henry didn’t. These things were, by and large, things Henry didn’t want to know. If he didn’t know what a blissful marriage was like, he couldn’t miss it. 

“Come on, it’s not about Smith,” Jacob wheedled. “I just wanna know how you found out.” 

“I told you. When we were in the guardhouse.” 

“Right, but how?”

Henry turned and glowered at him. “Smith just told me.” 

Jacob’s head twitched in surprise. “Really? Why?” 

“Because I’d accused him of being a spy. He traded the truth for me to back off.” 

“Oh,” Jacob looked up thoughtfully. “I thought it’d be a better story than that.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” Henry grumbled. “What are you writing about to Mary?” 

Jacob shrugged. “I dunno. It all feels so trivial when I write it down, but I want her to know what I’m doing and that all I do is think about her. But when we’re entrenched in the rain with no food or coffee—”

“—Ugh, coffee…don’t remind me—”

“—it feels like such a waste to be here and not with her.” Jacob sneaked a glance up at Henry. “You’re so lucky.” 

Henry poked the fire. “Maybe not. What if we see battle tomorrow and one of us dies?” 

“You can’t think about that.”

“I do though. I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“The same goes for me. Mary could get measles or some other damned thing and be gone before I ever know she was sick. It’s a fragile world, Henry. There’s nothing to be done about that.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

“Though, if I might make a suggestion—”

“—Something tells me it won’t matter if I agree or not.” 

“Very true. I don’t know why you ain’t married, but you should do, and fast.” 

Henry paused. “We can’t. She’s not—Smith’s not… able to.” 

“If you don’t, and then you die, she’ll be up a creek without a paddle.” 

“Just say ‘he,’ Jacob.” Henry looked around. There were fellows from other squads milling around, but they were well out of earshot. “He wouldn’t be. He’d stay and fight as before. If I die, Smith’ll have a proper vendetta to carry out.” 

“But if you die and you’re married, then Smith could get your soldier’s pension.” Jacob frowned. “That’s my greatest comfort. If I die, then at least I know Mary is provided for.”³

Henry frowned. “Smith provides for himself. He’ll have his own pension, if he survives the war.” 

Jacob raised his eyebrow. “You really think so? You think he’ll make it through without ever getting caught?” 

Henry didn’t say anything. 

“Even if you believe he would, it’s still a possibility. Reckless as he is, I’d say it’s a probability. If you go, and he gets caught, that pension would be a mighty fine safety net.” 

“There’s nothing to be done about it now. There’s no point. We’ll see the enemy any day now. There’s no one and nowhere we could go to get married anyway. And it wouldn’t be a legal marriage.” Henry buried his face in his hands. “It’d be bigamy.” 

Henry was glad he couldn’t see Jacob. He didn’t want to see the pity in his face. 

“Does that bother you?” he said after a long moment.

“I’d be lying if I said no,” Henry moaned into his hands. He really shouldn’t be talking about this. “But there’s nothing to be done about it. If she could get a divorce, she’d have done it, but there weren’t any grounds. So she left him. And I believe her, that she’d rather die than go back to him. But it still leaves me without anything to hold onto.” 

“What if she used a different name?” Jacob asked. 

“That wouldn’t hold up legally either.” 

“Then what is the law, really, but a bunch of words we all agreed to? If you have a marriage license and a pension and she has the name, what’s the problem? I don’t see why anyone would look into it.” 

“Until the same person is collecting two pensions,” Henry replied.

“No, no, in this scenario, there’d have been a dishonorable discharge. The pension is only for that case.” Jacob made a wry expression. “Which, I think we can both agree, is pretty likely.” 

“Only if chin-waggers like you don’t keep your damn mouth shut.” Henry tightened his fists. “Seriously, Jacob. I’ve made my peace with this. And it’s none of your damn business what we do or don’t do. Just because you’ve got a wife you miss, doesn’t mean I need to have one too.” 

Jacob wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t say anything more. He looked down to his paper and started scratching away again. 

“Nothing in writing,” Henry reminded.

“I know, I know. I’ve been as good as my word and more, give me a break.” 

Henry stared at the fire for a long while, listening to the soft sounds of Jacob’s pencil moving across the paper. 

“What, do you just save the letters until you have the chance to send them?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You must have a big stack by now.” 

“Nah, I sent what I had with Captain Noah when he went back to Lebanon. He took a whole bunch of fellows’ letters.” 

“Oh. That was nice of him.” 

“He really didn’t look good, Schaef.” 

Henry sighed and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Between disease, starvation, and exposure, the Rebs won’t have much left to fight.” 

“You are melancholy.” 

“It’s just because I haven’t had any coffee.” 

“Buck up. Wagons will be here soon. Rain’s stopped. Sun’s coming out soon, I can feel it.” 

“I hope you’re right.” 

⸻

Charley got back with the others clutching a veritable gaggle of geese by the neck. The relief Henry felt upon seeing her windswept face, grinning and proud, was palpable. They cooked their goose up over the open flame, Henry seated shoulder to shoulder with Charley and taking what little comfort he could from that slight contact. Jacob was right. He was melancholy. It was a blanket of malaise he didn’t want to look under, because beneath he knew he’d find fear, uncertainty, and panic about the impending battle. Rumors were abound that they were within ten miles of the enemy, and they were sleep-deprived, half-starved, and freezing. Even with months of training, Henry didn’t like their chances for success. 

The sun didn’t come out from behind the clouds, and the wagons didn’t arrive until after dark, but as soon as they did, kettles were brewing coffee over every fire. They toasted to Sergeant Osborn, who’d got wind from the brand new Captain Woodbury that he’d be backfilling the position of First, now that Sergeant Nelson was promoted to Second Lieutenant. Henry couldn’t remember tasting a better cup of coffee. Then, they raised the Sibley tents. 

Inside, as the squad settled in for a much-needed night’s sleep, Henry found relief in holding Charley close, underneath their two musty blankets. 

“Do you think my coat will dry by morning?” Charley asked, glancing up at where she’d hung her greatcoat from the tent pole. 

Henry glanced up and shrugged, pulling her in closer. She smelled like sweat and rain and everything that was good. “Dry enough.” 

“I’ve never been more grateful for this damned Sibley tent,” she muttered into his neck. “Or for the ability to lay out flat to sleep.” 

“That was a brutal night,” Henry replied. “You did some quick thinking.” 

“Thanks. Wasn’t anything anyone else wouldn’t do.”

“Yeah, but you did, and I’m proud of you.” 

“Ugh,” Charley replied. “You can’t say that kind of thing to someone’s face.” But she snuggled close to him anyway, and he smiled into her hair. 

⸻

XXV

Eight miles outside of Somerset, Kentucky
Friday, January 17, 1862

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just carry it with us?” Jacob fretted. He held the kettle, hovering over the opening of the back of the wagon. The teamster rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, Griffith! We were desolate. You could never understand!” 

“Put it in the wagon, Robinson,” said Webster long-sufferingly. He was presumed sergeant now, though not yet officially. Osborn was running ragged across the camp making sure everything was being struck smoothly. 

“Rain’s stopped, Jacob,” Henry said. “It won’t be so bad today.” 

“We might be in battle before we get a next time,” Charley muttered. 

“Don’t tell him that,” Henry replied out the side of his mouth as they turned back to pick up the next load. “I barely survived that long without coffee.” 

“I was surprisingly fine,” Charley mused. 

“That is surprising. I had a headache like the dickens.” 

“I did too. Made me a ruthless goose killer, though.” 

“Maybe it’s not a bad tactic to prepare us for battle. I’d do a lot of desperate things for a cup of coffee.” 

The wagons were loaded within the hour. The boys were loathe to march ahead of them again, but orders didn’t care about that, so off they went. The sun came out from behind the clouds and though their clothes were still pretty damp at the outset of the march, they dried in the pleasant heat of the sun.⁴ After a few hours of marching, it got warm enough to take off their greatcoats and unbutton the sack coats, letting the breeze sail through. 

“When do you think you’ll find out about corporal?” Henry asked as they walked. 

Charley’s mouth twisted. “Who knows. Soon, I hope?” 

“It’s up to Webster, I suppose.” 

They both glanced up the ranks at the man in question. He’d been presumptive sergeant for five hours now and his shoulders were already sagging. 

“I feel like I have a pretty clear idea of what his wife’s like, seeing him like this,” Charley mused. 

“Oh, yeah. She’s definitely the disciplinarian, don’t you think?” 

“Definitely.” 

The roads improved somewhat as the day warmed. They marched ten or eleven miles, till they were just outside of Somerset. Rumors abounded about the proximity of the enemy, with word from the head of the column sighting the Cumberland River proper. They were set loose in an orchard near a pleasant running stream to start preparing camp while they waited for the wagons. With the sun shining and the temperature mild, Henry was sure it was the most pleasant camping ground they’d had since they arrived in Kentucky.⁵

“The enemy is all dug in,” Elias reported back after his requisite tour to gather the camp gossip. Henry was helping the others find dry tinder while Charley started another fire with some lint from everyone’s pockets. “They’ve got works on the shore of the Cumberland at Beech Grove. They may not deign to stand a battle at all, and we might have to shell them out first, then take them by storm.”⁶

Charley’s face twisted as she looked up from her tinder. “What? The cowards!” 

“We’re close though, right?” Williamson asked. 

“We’re within eight miles of the enemy works,” Elias replied. “This is it boys. Any day now.” 

“We’ve been saying that for months,” Jacob said. “I’m tired of saying it, to be entirely honest.” 

“Yes, but this time it’s true,” Elias said. 

“Care to make a wager?” Jacob shot back. “I’ll bet you we won’t have seen battle by the end of the Sabbath.” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Elias replied. “Your next month’s pay.” 

“Not a chance,” Jacob said. “Five dollars, that’s it.” 

“Must not be so sure, then. You have a deal.” Elias grinned at the other fellows listening. “Any of you want in on this? Henry?” 

“No thanks.” 

“Aw come on. Krüger? I know you like to gamble.” 

“Nein. I don’t gamble without knowing my odds.” 

After a measly dinner of hardtack and salt pork rations, Henry walked up and down the orchard rows with Charley, sunlight brindling the ground with a crisscross of branches. 

“Wish they had a storehouse stashed with apples,” Henry said, looking up at the hibernating branches. 

“What would be the odds of a third apple-related windfall?” Charley said. “Surely that would be some sort of sign from God—or whomever—that we were favored.” 

“I’d be happy to receive it as such.” 

They walked on apace, until they had left the bounds of their camp and climbed up a small hill. They could see for a mile or two in either direction, and as far as they could see in both directions were Union soldiers, tents, wagons, and fires. 

“Look at us all,” Charley said. 

Henry pointed to the southeast. “I think that’s the Ninth Ohio, over there.” 

“Very nice,” Charley replied. “Shall we go over and visit your uncle?”

“Will we actually get there this time?” 

Charley tried to hide a blush. Henry grinned. They started off in that direction. 

“I talked to Jacob yesterday.” 

Charley got quiet. “Oh? What’d he have to say?” 

“Just wanted to ask questions. Don’t worry, I held him off.” Mostly. “Say … do you have a plan for if you get caught?” 

Charley stopped and glared at him. “What?” 

“Just in case, I mean. Not that you’d plan to, but if something happened. Like, if say Krüger had walked in on us instead of Jacob.” 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“I understand, but…” What did he get himself into? “But if that were to happen, it would affect me too. I want to be united in our response.” 

“What’s there to do?” Charley muttered, kicking at the clods of winter grass as she walked. “If I’m caught, then I have to go. You have to stay, so that’s that.” 

“That is not that. Charley. Are you serious?” Henry grimaced. “That is not that!” 

“Well, what do you want me to say? ‘Desert the army and abscond with me into the night?’ I can’t ask that of you.” 

“I know you won’t, regardless of whether or not you think you deserve to. Charley, if you’re caught, I’m implicated. I could be discharged too, for indecent conduct.” 

“Well, I’ll do my best to protect you—”

“—I don’t want you to protect me!” Henry threw his hands in the air. “I don’t want to be here if you’re gone.” 

The gravity of his words echoed off the tree trunks. Even the birds seemed to hush. Charley was staring at him with those round, brown eyes, dark and guarded. He’d looked into those eyes so many times, wondering what secrets she was hiding. She gave away so little, and he’d just given away everything, without even meaning to. 

“I know your first priority is soldiering,” Henry said. “I know that. You’ve made it abundantly clear. But I don’t think mine is. If it comes down to a choice between my duty to the army and my duty to you, dammit Charley, I’ll choose you.” 

Charley blinked. 

Henry barrelled on. “Jacob said he thought I should propose to you, so if I die in battle and you got caught before your three years are up, you’d have my pension. And I know it’s not possible, and it’s not what you want, but that’s the kind of thing I want to do for you. I want to … to provide for you.” Her eyes widened. “Not in a patronizing way. In the way people love each other, the way people belong to one another. It’s not owed, it’s not obligated. It’s freely given, joyfully given.” Henry shook his head, tried to find the thread of what he was actually trying to say. “So I want to have a plan, together, for if you get caught. Maybe we’ll never need it. But I’d feel a lot better if we had one.” 

Charley’s jaw worked. Her arms were wrapped around herself, and she looked about as uncomfortable as he could have expected going into a conversation that touched on tender feelings. “I… I thought, if I were to be discharged on the march, I’d travel back to Lebanon. Miss Sterling, I think she saw through me. She said I’d find friends there.” 

Henry experienced a clutch in his chest, a strange, jolting rage entirely unexpected. “No,” he gritted. “No way in hell.” He stepped forward and took Charley by her shoulders. “Promise me, if I’m not there to go with you—” 

“—You can’t just go with me, you’re a soldier, you’re the property of the Union—” 

“—Promise me you won’t do that.” 

Charley looked at him like he’d just grown horns. “What? Oh—that? Henry, did you think I meant to whore myself in consolation of a dishonorable discharge? Dear God—no, I meant I’d go there to regroup. I have no intention of divesting of my masculine clothes, or taking up the oldest profession, for that matter. I like swiving but not that much.” She reached up and touched his face. He realized his jaw had been set like an anvil. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m caught. I don’t know where I’ll be or who will be with me. I don’t want to think about it. If I think about it too much, it feels like I might make it happen.” 

“If I’m there,” Henry gritted out. He stopped to swallow around the prospect of his own death, then carried on, “If I’m there, I will go with you.” 

“You can’t.” 

“Army be damned. I will go with you.” 

“Lots of couples have had to separate for the Union. We’ll find each other after—”

“You’re not hearing me. I. Will. Go. With. You.” 

Charley looked up at him. For a long, breathless moment, Henry feared he had disappointed her. After all, he knew how much she cared about this fight. Would she think him a coward? To abandon his duty for her? Even if it was in some hypothetical story about a possible future they both had no intention of allowing? 

“We’d sneak away in the night,” Charley whispered. “We’d find disguises, travel behind enemy lines.”⁷

“What?” 

“We’d sabotage Confederate works from the inside,” Charley said, a smile forming on her lips. “We wouldn’t have any orders to follow. We’d be a force to be reckoned with.” 

Henry’s face split and a laugh came out. “Alright, yes, we could do that.” 

“We could pull up rail ties,” Charley went on, laughing now too. “Set fires to storehouses.” 

“You are a demon.” 

“I am a valkyrie,” she replied. “Like you said. And if the army won’t take me, I’ll find some other way to fight.” 

“Charley, I love you.” 

Henry didn’t need to look around before he pressed his lips to hers. They were on the ridge, under the cover of trees and shadows. The pickets were still a handful of rods beyond where they stood. He could kiss her here. Hell, he would kiss her here. Damn the consequences. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just abscond now?” Henry murmured against the comfort of her mouth. 

“And do what?”

“Like you said.” He held her head in the cradle of his hands. “Sabotage. Behind enemy lines. Together.” 

“We’d still have to sneak around.” Her eyes were sad. “I think we might always have to.” 

“Always?” 

“I don’t know, Henry.” She looked down. “I just … I can’t marry you. And regardless of whether we get to have a future after the war or not, I’m not sure I can stomach walking the world as a woman again.” She winced. “When I put a dress on, I disappear. I’m not me anymore. Does that make any sense?” 

Henry took a deep breath. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined a future with you after the war. Hell, leaving the army sounded pretty damn good as recently as yesterday. And it brought me comfort to imagine what we’d do, where we’d go. If we were free to do anything. And I think I do understand, because any fantasy of domestic bliss felt … I dunno, wrong, I suppose. False. Hollow.” He ducked his head and laughed. “And it’s strange, because isn’t that what I’m supposed to want? Father, mother, children—family—in a house, with some productive enterprise to sustain it all? Isn’t it our nature to want that comfort, the kind we grew up in? But I can’t … because I still can’t imagine you in a damn dress!” He threw his hands up and laughed some more at the absurdity of it all. “That’s not a future I can see you in. And I can’t see any kind of future for me without you in it.” 

Charley bit her lip. Then she reached out and pulled his face toward her, her face crumpling as she kissed him. “Goddamn you,” she whispered tightly. “I love you so damn much, I can’t … I don’t … Hell.” 

Her cheeks were wet but she kissed him harder. Henry wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He’d never let her go. Not ever. Maybe his life would be upended, maybe it would be nothing like he’d ever imagined it. But he wanted whatever that uncertainty might hold, as long as it was with Charley. 

⸻

XXVI

Henry Schaefer was going to die. 

Charley was sitting next to him at the fire in the Ninth Ohio’s camp, pretending to listen to the admittedly very gracious translation Kloepfer was providing for Henry’s uncle’s amusing anecdote. Henry’s vibrance, his smile, his joy—it was all further evidence of his doom. There was no possible way God would let Charley keep him. 

“Rosencrans was going through all the troops with a kind word and a quip. Sometimes clever, sometimes not, but always apt to the unit at hand, you see.” Kloepfer was explaining in her ear. She glanced over at him in an approximation of listening. “When he got to our unit, he said, in English of course, ‘Company B stings, I hope!’” Kloepfer stole a glance at Henry’s uncle. “Well, Sergeant Schaefer was still fiercely and stubbornly struggling with English, and he was locked in mortal combat with the difference between g and k in pronunciation. He couldn’t understand why the general, with a straight face, was hurling such an insult at the company.”⁸

Kloepfer looked at her expectantly. Charley tried to catch up. 

“What?” she said dumbly. 

“‘Company B stings,’” Kloepfer repeated. When she didn’t respond, he glowered. “He mixed up the g and the k sounds…” 

Charley blinked. “Company B stinks?” 

Kloepfer grinned, but it didn’t last long. “You’re supposed to laugh.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” Charley looked down at her hands. 

“Amerikaner haben keinen Humor,” Kloepfer muttered. 

“Sorry,” Charley said again, “I’m just in a brown study.”

“Concerned about the impending battle?” 

“Yes.” 

Kloepfer raised a brow at her, then glanced over her shoulder at Henry and his uncle. “It’s not so bad.” 

Charley frowned. “Kill or be killed is ‘not so bad’? Sorry, I’m confused.” 

Kloepfer shrugged. “The idea of it is harder than the action. When you’re fighting, that’s all you know. You can’t even remember half of it afterward.” 

“If there is an afterward,” Charley muttered. 

“Afterward feels exhilarating. You’ll never be more grateful to be alive.” 

“Until you find out who you lost.” 

“Until then. Yes.” Kloepfer finally looked at her. “You’re determined.” 

Charley swallowed hard over a tight throat. “I am determined. But no amount of determination can save lives. I can’t be everywhere at once.” 

“You’re not here to save lives. You’re here to take them.” 

Charley winced. “I am. I thought I was.” She glanced at Henry, then back at Kloepfer. She pitched her voice low. Most of these fellows couldn’t speak much English anyway, but she was feeling particularly cautious. “How do you stand it?” 

He leaned into her conspiracy. “What?” 

She sure hoped Henry was right about Kloepfer and his uncle. “The risk of losing him? Every time?” 

Kloepfer blinked. Not blankly. Just slowly, consideringly. He took a deep breath and sort of shrugged as he exhaled. “I’m not sure. I just … do, I suppose.” He looked at her again, so squarely, so matter-of-factly. “You can’t save him, or you’ll die trying. You just have to fight and hope and trust that you’ll get through together.” 

“But you won’t,” Charley insisted. “It is guaranteed someone will die.” 

Kloepfer snorted. “Boy, none of us leave this earth alive.” 

Charley grimaced. Was this what passed for comfort among the areligious? 

Kloepfer shrugged and gave an easy grin. “Now, do you want to hear about the time we had nothing to forage for supper but snakes?”⁹

“Dear God, no.” Charley buried her exasperated face in her hands.

⸻

By the time Charley and Henry returned to the Second Minnesota camp, the wagons had arrived and the Sibley tents had been pitched. 

“Good of you to return from the Castle of Indolence,” Robinson complained as they arrived. “Lolly-gaggers.” 

“I don’t know why we had to put tents up in the first place,” Williamson said. “This weather is so fine, I might sleep out under the stars!” 

“Speak for yourself, Williamson,” Hower put in. “After last night, you’ll have to pry these tent poles out of my cold, dead hands.” 

Twilight was falling, limning all the tree branches with pink and gold, when Sergeant Osborn returned to their campfire. He looked drawn and tired, but happy. 

“There’s some forage at the kitchen tent,” he said. “Hogs.” 

Hower sprang to his feet and dug into his haversack. “I’ve never met more first-rate Union soldiers than these Kentucky hogs.” 

Robinson laughed. “They muster in faster than a shot off a shovel. They can’t wait to go for a soldier.” 

Charley followed them all on apace to the kitchen tent and got her portion of ham. 

“You look like you’ve got a cudgel to your brain,” Osborn observed as they walked back to the fire. 

“Hm? No, I’m fine.” Liar. 

“You know, I never thought I’d be so grateful for a scrap of overcooked ham,” Osborn mused. 

Charley knew she was being a terrible conversation partner, but she couldn’t manage more than a shrug in reply. Fact was, she agreed. She just couldn’t muster a thought for anything that could pierce through the thrumming refrain in her brain chanting, You’re going to lose him. 

“Well, come on, Smith,” Osborn said as they approached the campfire. “Your time has come.” 

Charley looked up. The rest of the squad was watching her as she entered the circle around the fire. Robinson was wresting a cork out of a bottle, and Webster was grinning. 

“We had some news while you were gone,” Webster said. 

“Yup, he’s Sergeant Webster now,” Williamson reported with a grin. 

“Officially?” Henry asked. “Congratulations!” 

“Yes, thank you,” Webster smiled as Henry shook his hand. “And we had a little vote too.”

“A vote? On what?” Charley didn’t like how everyone was looking at her. 

“On corporal,” Webster replied. 

“I thought you were choosing.” 

“I thought we’re here to defend a democracy, and perhaps we’d better act like it,” Webster replied. 

“That sounds like something Smith would say,” Williamson laughed.

Robinson poured some golden liquid from the bottle into his tin cup and held it out to Charley. “Congratulations, Corporal.” 

“Oh.” She took the cup. It smelled like applejack. “Oh!” She looked up. They were smiling at her, expectantly. She was going to lose them. Maybe all of them. “Thank you.” 

“Anything the matter, Smith?” Osborn asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I thought you were eager for a promotion?” 

“I am,” she said woodenly. She pushed the corners of her mouth into a smile. “I’m just surprised. Thank you.” 

Henry laughed. “He’s just terrible at taking a compliment. Look, watch. Charley, you’re going to do a great job as corporal. You’re smart and decisive and you have the best ideas.” 

Williamson cackled. “Ah, look at ‘im blush!” 

She was blushing. She also felt like she was choking on something. She hadn’t taken a single bite of supper yet. She took a sip of the applejack to force whatever it was down. 

“Ha! I thought you were gonna crow night and day for weeks,” Hower said, slapping a hand on her other shoulder. “Looks like you might have an ounce of humility after all.” 

Charley shoved him with the shoulder. “I do not. Take it back.” 

“Hower, how come you weren’t putting yourself up for it?” Henry asked. 

“Ack, Captain Bishop said I can’t,” Hower said. “Unless…” he looked at Osborn. 

“No,” Osborn said. “I just got promoted, I’m not tangling with Captain Bishop. Besides, you already voted for Smith.” 

“I did, at that,” Hower agreed and poured a slug from the bottle Robinson passed him. 

Charley took another drink. “Where’d you get this, Robinson?” 

“Found it slipped away in one of the wagons,” Robinson replied with waggling eyebrows. The bottle was making its way around the circle. “Don’t tell the Hastings boys.” 

“There won’t be any left for the Hastings boys,” Henry said, swirling the bottle. “There’s already hardly any left and Krüger ain’t even got any yet.” 

“Hey,” Krüger boomed. “Who is taking my share?” 

Hower laughed weakly and poured a little from his cup into Krüger’s. 

“A toast,” Sergeant Webster said, “to some right honorable soldiers.” 

“Here here!” 

“Cheers!” 

⸻

XXVII

Eight miles outside of Somerset, Kentucky
Sunday, January 19, 1862

Robinson lost the bet. Saturday it rained again, all day, and the state treasury officer came with the allotment rolls for all to sign. Troops arrived, company upon company, all along the Mill Springs Road, Generals Thomas and Schoepf along with them. In all, they had seven regiments, two battalions, and two batteries. Company A was sent out on picket that night. By morning, Charley woke to the relentless long roll of the drummers and men shouting.¹⁰

“They’re making a feint!” Hower called as the squad scrambled to secure their kit and fall in. “They’re feinting on that road while they come in force on ours.”¹¹

“Which road is ours?” Williamson gasped as he buckled his knapsack on his back. 

“The Mill Springs Road.” Hower was whipped up like a preacher on Sunday as he confirmed his bayonet was secured in its scabbard. “That’s our road. They’ve gone and attacked the Tenth Indiana. There, yonder.” He pointed. 

There was nothing to see. Dawn was caught in the mist made by the rain and the undulating hills were mostly woods and dense brush, obscuring any view at a distance. Charley’s heart slammed in her chest. Her hands were moving on their own, buckling her gear with deceptive efficiency. She was Corporal now. She didn’t even have her stripes yet, that was how new she was, and now they were going into battle. She had to be responsible for her squad, keep them together. Keep them calm and united under orders. Dear God, how was she going to do that? 

A pair of hands gripped her shoulders. She spun around and looked up into Henry’s eyes. 

“This is it,” he said. His blue eyes were intent, his lips curled in a way where it wasn’t clear whether he was happy or determined. Maybe both. Dear God, please give her a chance to look into those beloved blue eyes again when the day was through. To hell with it. She grabbed his cheeks and kissed his mouth. It was just a quick kiss, perfunctory even, like a child might kiss his mother. Even so, Hower immediately hollered. 

“Hoo boy, you can’t do that, you’re corporal now!”

“No favorites!” Robinson added, laughing, though to Charley’s ear it was a little tight.

“—If you’re gonna kiss one of us, you gotta kiss us all!” Hower laughed. 

“A kiss with a fist is all you’re getting, Hower,” Charley growled. Her cheeks were hot. The squad erupted. Henry was laughing hardest of all. Every ounce of joy felt like a conviction. 

“Come on, you dogs,” Charley said. 

“Fall in!” Webster called. 

There was no time for dramatic speeches to fire up the troops. In truth, they didn’t need it. The Second Minnesota was surging down the Mill Springs Road, marching in formation tighter than when they’d paraded the streets of Saint Paul for their families and friends as they departed for the front. Charley was swept along with the fervor, her rifle tucked to her side solidly, the comfortable presence of Henry at her back. It would be alright. Surely, it would be alright. 

None of us leave this earth alive.

The terrain worsened as they neared the boom of the cannons. Sounds of gunfire and shouts ricocheted off the tree trunks until they reached a clearing. Charley’s boots were soaked through with mud. They sucked and squelched as they marched. Sleet cut through the misty air, raising the hair on the back of her neck and freezing her fingers around the trigger guard of her musket rifle. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her nerves and vessels all sang with prickling energy, every tiny hair on her skin alerted to the action. Her thoughts became strangely distant and lucid. They marched to battle. It was too late to stop it, now. Too late to go back. They’d been waiting for this, preparing for going on six months. The chance to make a difference. And now, as her feet carried her rote forward, shoulders jostling her squad members on either side, she couldn’t fathom what kind of difference she would make. She would set her musket rifle to her shoulder, fire bullets into the thick mist. If she was lucky, kill a faceless Rebel or two. Gain some ground for the Union. 

Charley swallowed against any fear or doubt. It would matter. It was the part of a hundred thousand men. They each did their bit and together, it turned the tide. There was no divine justice. It was people, pushing together in the same direction as one. If she thought she were so important to turn the world to justice all on her own, she was dreaming. She was part of it. Something bigger than herself. She had a role to play, though miniscule, as corporal, and if Webster fell or failed in his leadership, she’d fill his role too. For as she put one mud-slick boot in front of the other, she felt her teeth set determinedly. She would do this. Didn’t matter if she was ready or not—there was only one path forward. 

They reached the edge of an open field just northeast of the road, shrouded in morning mist mixed with acrid gunsmoke. Union soldiers were just visible dug in behind a split rail fence. Sparks of gunfire flashed in the mist from a ravine directly before them, obscured almost completely in the underbrush. Captain Woodbury’s order to halt richocheted down the regiment from sergeant to sergeant. Charley’s senses jangled with the wild screams of men and guns and horses, the clatter of guns and bayonets a harsh reminder of how insignificant and fragile she was. They all were.

The battery was behind them somewhere and as they waited for orders, shells soared over them and exploded in the dirt not thirty feet off, tearing the winter field in great gashes and sending shrapnel into the ravine. Men across the regiment shouted and ducked, but Charley’s eyes just followed the shells. Though her breath caught, she did not flinch.¹² She glanced to her left. Jacob Robinson’s mouth was a thin line, his eyes wide and his knuckles white. She was grateful Henry was behind her. She remembered that morning at Fort Snelling, when he’d stood in her place for the demonstration for the St. Anthony mayor, hiding her from view as best he could. She’d been terrified that morning, petrified that Richard would recognize her and drag her off in shame. Strangely, walking into battle felt less frightening than that had been. 

Orders to advance to the front line rang across the companies. The Second Minnesota Regiment flowed to fill the gaps along the fence as sections of the other regiments fell back. Charley had no idea which they were. The only other regiment whose position she knew was the Ninth Ohio, who marched on the heels of the 2nd, driving them on with their German battle cries. Their blood-lust was chilling and awe-inspiring. She didn’t hear them now. They must have been directed to a different position. 

Charley approached the fence rail. Her ears rang with the cracks of gunfire as the lieutenants shouted for them to load in nine. 

“They’re dug into that ditch,” Hower cried, pointing to the ravine. 

Charley’s fingers were strangely nimble for being so numb with cold. She loaded her weapon smoothly, the months of practice driving her muscles through the familiar movements. She found great satisfaction in the ungodly crack as their squad fired as one into the misty ravine, toward the shifting shadows and explosive flashes that betrayed their enemy’s position. Her blood surged in her ears and she grinned as she ripped through the paper on her next charge. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could sense Robinson’s movements synchronizing with her own. It was like a dance, more graceful than any she could remember. Entrancing. Her arms and hands kept the rhythm tapped out by the drummer boys, graceful and lithe, loading charge after charge, firing with conviction into the smoke as cannons produced staccato crashes like symbols, their explosive fire perceptible now on the far left of the field. 

She could perceive movement in the misty ravine where they aimed their fire. The thought that she had finally turned her weapon on another human being stuck in her chest, but only for a moment before a bullet splintered the fence rail not two feet from where she stood. It was kill or be killed. There was nothing more. 

Charley’s mind replayed the first time she’d visited that pharmacy as she loaded in again, fingers knocking between her dwindling ammunition. 

“If you see any Secesh by the name of Merrill —”

“Ma’am, if I see any Secesh, I don’t expect I’ll have time to take his name before I shoot.” 

“Good.”

Charley squeezed the trigger of her rifle and hoped the bastard was across the field now as the gun kicked back hard into her shoulder. 

It wasn’t long before Charley’s ammunition ran out. She fell back, and Henry assumed her place. His hands were shaking as he began to load in nine himself. Her heart caught in her throat. Don’t be afraid. He knows these dance steps. He’s the strongest person you know. He fired his rifle into the mist, then reloaded, faster than she’d ever seen him. She was frozen, watching his profile as he fired again. Any moment now, it would happen. Any moment now he’d be snatched away, his bloody end smeared on her memory like a triptych to her hubris. 

Behind her, Sergeant Webster knocked her shoulder. 

“Here, more ammunition,” he shouted at her. She shook herself from watching Henry and looked at him. “Make sure everyone’s reloaded.” 

Charley accepted the armful of cartridge boxes. The bullets. The things that would stop the enemy. God, what was she doing? She shook her head for focus and swept into action. 

When Henry fell back to refill his cartridge box, Charley moved to take his position and fired once again. His hand lingered on her shoulder as she loaded in, his touch feeding a heady sense of power that pumped through every vessel, angry and audacious and bottomless. It felt like sex, in that way. Through the din, she thought she heard his voice. 

Her neck swiveled as she packed gunpowder into the barrel of her rifle. “What?” she shouted. 

“They have terrible aim, I said.” 

He was right. They did. Charley laughed, big and full. Then she turned, cocked her weapon, and squeezed her trigger. The crack of the rifle sang in her ears. She almost felt drunk. Their aim was terrible. Or the Rebs were firing on the regiment to her company’s left, that had taken heavy fire before they arrived. But the flashes in the mist were not nearly as frequent as their own regiment’s blasts. Charley sucked in a breath like a prowling wildcat. Fucking fools. 

Down the line, she saw someone climb up on the fence. Wondering if they were to advance over the rail, her movements slowed as she tracked his movement. It was an officer, but not one she recognized from the Second Minnesota. The man waved his saber wildly in the air and bellowed into the mist.¹³

“Stand and fight like men, you bastards!” 

A roar of voices exploded from the officer’s men. Charley and the rest of the Second took up the cry as well. A bellow of hundreds of voices answered them from the ravine and lines of grayback soldiers began charging out of the smoke with muskets brandished, some with bayonets, others without. Charley straightened and scrambled for her own bayonet in its scabbard as the captains hollered the order to fix bayonets. The blade locked on the end of her rifle, and she finished cocking and capping her loaded weapon as the Secesh barreled upon them. 

⸻

Footnotes

1. Thomas Fitch Diary. Minnesota Historical Society, Manuscripts, P961. “Laid over for teams to overtake us. I went back with several others to get the Co. wagon along then we pitched tents for night.” ↩︎
2. Griffin, David Brainerd.  Letters Home to Minnesota: Second Minnesota Volunteers. Minnesota Historical Society, Stacks E515.5 2nd.G75 1992. “We cannot tell what the intention of the regiment is as well as you do in Minnesota, for everything is kept from us and we do not get any papers now. We shall not get any mail regular for some time again and we shall have to watch our chance to send our letters off.” ↩︎
3. The pension is modest at this time, but in July of 1862, Congress would pass a comprehensive pension for Union soldiers heralded as “the most liberal pension law ever enacted by this government”. Both versions of the pension provided for widows.  ↩︎
4. Bircher, William. A Drummer-boy’s Diary: Comprising Four Years of Service with the Second Regiment Minnesota Veteran Volunteers, 1861 to 1865. United States, St. Paul Book and Stationery Company, 1889. After that we heard the order “Fall in!” from our colonel. We filled our haversacks with hard bread and commenced our march with our clothes still wet from the rain. Marched eleven miles, to within eight miles of Somerset. ↩︎
5. Bircher. “We encamped in an orchard with a beautiful stream running through it, and it made the best camping-ground we had had in Kentucky. We were in camp at this place two days, Friday and Saturday, and now was the time to stand our guard and picket duty.” ↩︎
6. Griffin. “We are afraid that the enemy will not stand a battle at all. We hear that they are pretty well entrenched. If we cannot shell them out we shall have to take them by storm. I think that we can whip them for we are determined to fight until the last, for our country and for ourselves.” ↩︎
7. Sarah Emma Edmonds allegedly did this at one point.  ↩︎
8. Greubner, Constantin. We Were the Ninth: A History of the Ninth Regiment, Ohio Volunteer Infantry April 17, 1861, to June 7, 1864. Translated and edited by Frederic Trautmann. Kent State University Press, Ohio, 2009, 69. ↩︎
9. Ibid. ↩︎
10. Griffin. “So we had present and available for the battle seven regiments, two battalions, and two batteries. Only four regiments and the battalion of cavalry were, however, engaged seriously enough to have any casualties…” ↩︎
11. Bishop, Judson Wade. The Story of a Regiment: Being a Narrative of the Service of the Second Regiment, Minnesota Veteran Volunteer Infantry, in the Civil War of 1861-1865. United States, Published for the Surviving Members of the Regiment, 1890. ↩︎
12. Griffin. ↩︎
13. Colonel Speed S. Fry from the Fourth Kentucky. This happened before the Second got there but creative license my friends. Creative license. ↩︎

⸻

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