Infinite Faith Infinite Series, Book 4)

By L.E. Waters

The darkest hour is just before dawn, and in Maya’s last hour, the test of faith proves darkest with two more incarnations: a young woman caught up fighting in the American Civil War, and a German woman institutionalized at the deadly rise of Hitler’s power as he plans to purge Germany of its mentally ill. Maya is tested to a breaking point as she learns the most ethereal of spiritual lessons: faith. Faith in herself, in others, in the future, to the path, and to a higher purpose, even when things don’t go as planned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.E. Waters
• Release date: Apr 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9780983911166

L.E. Waters

L.E. is the author of four novels of the Infinite Series, a reincarnation fantasy saga. She received her degree in Animal Behavior, which to her father's prediction, she only uses to raise her two children and menagerie of animals. She loves so many things and now writing is the passion keeping her up at night and her excuse for not cleaning the house.

Book preview

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Foreword

I researched the time periods portrayed in my books and pulled many of my ideas from historic events. When I involve historical people in my books, I try to portray them accurately but take fictional liberty with conversations, timelines, and mysteries—filling in the details absent from written record. The reader must remember that this is, first and foremost, historical fantasy fiction. I maintained a sense of magical realism throughout and hope the reader will take such leaps of imagination with me, assured that there is fundamental support underneath this novel but keeping an open mind to enjoy the story envisioned.

If there are any doubts as to the accuracy or plausibility of story lines, please visit my website www.infiniteseries.net, where I dedicated a whole section to a bibliography and more detailed research behind this fictional piece just for those who might enjoy reading further about these cultures, events, and people.

In regards to the spiritual/religious aspect of this book, it is not meant to come across as non-fiction. This is how I perceived heaven to be in an artistic sense and hope there are readers out there who will consider it enough for the simple enjoyment of storytelling.

If at any time you should find yourself confused with so many intricate character histories, I have provided a helpful chart that tracks each character’s traits and progression at the end of each life. It is there to use at any point during each life to enhance the reader’s experience.

I would love to take this moment to thank you for reading this novel and if you could take a moment to review my book where you purchased it, I would be extremely appreciative. Reviews are essential to independent authors like me and even one or two comments can do wonders for my series’ exposure.

Eleventh Life

Civil Unrest

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Chapter 1

Elijah, wait up! I yell, my lunch bucket slapping against my thigh through my skirts as I run my fastest to catch up with him.

He leaps over our neighbor’s fence in order to cut across the field to save time. I hesitate at the wooden railing, searching the field for the bull that roams this pasture.

Once more I call to Elijah, who’s already a quarter way across the field. Ma’s told us not to take the short cut!

He doesn’t even glance back as he swishes through the long grass. I bite my lip as I calculate the much longer distance on the road to our front door. I swing one leg over the top railing and drop to the other side of the fence. With one more search across the field for horns, I dart through the path Elijah’s taken. I keep my eyes set on Elijah, who’s much farther away than I’d like, but something large emerges in my peripheral vision on the crest of the pasture’s hill.

Elijah! I scream, just as he’s about to hop to freedom over the far fence.

He immediately looks to the hill and throws his books and lunch pail down in order to fly to me. I run as fast as my legs will carry me and almost trip when I check to see where the beast is. The bull stomps at the top of the hill in dangerous warning.

He’s charging. Josie, run! He grabs my free hand and pulls me even faster along with him. I can tell by his worried glances that the bull must be close. I know I can’t look back, since my feet are barely completing each uneven step. My lungs burn with the lack of oxygen. The bull’s nearing hoof beats fall in rhythm with the throbbing of my heart. My eyes stay fixed on the top railing of the fence I hope to reach before I feel his horns.

He’s right behind us! Jump through the fence!

I stare at the opening and wonder if I can clear the space. Elijah dashes in front and leaps through the opening, rolling after he lands. I try to copy him but catch one of my legs on the lower rail and land hard on my chest. My pail and books go flying. Elijah pulls my leg free as I struggle to get the wind back into my lungs. The bull hits the fence post with such force I’m sure the whole barricade will come crumbling down but it holds, to our relief. The bull snorts and stomps in circles as Elijah gathers up his pail and books and heaves me up off the ground.

Are you hurt? Elijah’s green eyes darken with concern.

I scan my body, looking for injuries. I sure wasn’t going to feel them, being numb from shock. I think I’m fine. I pick up my pail and books.

A smile cracks across his face. He almost got you this time.

I swing my empty pail at his head and he ducks. I knew we shouldn’t have cut across the field.

He laughs. I would have made it just fine. You’re the one that’s too slow.

I notice a tear in my stockings. Ma’s going to be furious.

You’re just lucky I rescued you or you’d have much worse things to worry about than a ruined stocking.

Rescued me? I noticed how you dove through the fence before me, leaving me to the bull.

He giggles and starts back toward our barn-red saltbox house. Next time I’ll just cheer you on from the fence.

There isn’t going to be a next time! I yell, but he doesn’t hear me since he’s already far ahead of me again.

By the time I reach our house, Elijah’s cranking the rusty well pump and throwing water on his face, being careful not to touch his skin with his hands but splashing water everywhere else. Elijah hates having his face touched.

I run up to push his hands against his face and try to make a quick getaway, but he slaps a stream of water at me that hits my backside and soaks my skirts. I make it to the door just as he dumps his partially full pail over my head.

Ahhh! I cry, as the cold water trickles everywhere.

I shake my head off as best I can before walking into the house after him to search for one of Ma’s dishcloths.

Elijah and I sense something’s wrong when we walk through the door. Ma is not sewing in her usual place by the fireside. I was hoping to smell chicken and dumplings, since that’s always how Ma celebrated receiving another of Pa’s war checks, but the kettle is empty and the house lacks any savory promise. My stomach growls at the letdown and I pull up my skirt to dry my face.

Pa had gone off to fight the rebels at the start of the war but our checks are few and far between lately. They don’t come in on a regular basis, as promised, so Ma has to do whatever she can to bring in extra money in order for us to eat. The stack of sewing she takes in grows in the basket in the corner. It’s always a happy day when the check does indeed arrive and Ma would talk all through dinner about how anxious she was to go into town the next day to pay down our debts. We’re desperately awaiting the next paycheck, but this is definitely not a happy day.

Ma? Elijah calls, and we can tell she’s in her room by the sound of her weeping.

We open the door to see her lying across the bed, sobbing uncontrollably, with a crumpled letter in hand. My heart jumps in my throat as I guess at what would upset her so. Elijah pries the letter loose gently and, after reading a few lines, he looks up at me somberly and nods. I fall across Ma and hug her tightly, as if trying to keep her held together. She doesn’t even notice how damp I am and I know she will now care little about the tear in my stockings.

That night I fix supper, although corn hash and stale bread can hardly be called supper. Ma never leaves her room. I bring a plate to her, to see if she would eat, and she doesn’t even raise her head. Elijah and I eat in silence in the glow of the firelight.

Finally I venture, after cracking off a hunk of hard crust with my teeth, What did the letter say?

He clears his throat. Pa was killed on the battlefield during the Second Battle of Bull Run on August 28th.

That was a month ago. Pa’s been dead this whole time and we didn’t even know it.

He said Pa’s regiment should be given great honors, since the 76th fought valiantly with not a single coward among them. Tears well in both our eyes and he clears his throat again to finish. They had their colors stolen once but got them back immediately. His regiment, though beaten and blood stained, still had their colors after the smoke cleared.

We have little more to say to each other and scrape our bowls in silence. I head to bed early that night, since I can’t bear to think about what all will change now. I pray hard for Pa’s soul and for his check to arrive tomorrow.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It takes Ma sixteen days until she functions like herself again. She loses so much weight from not eating that Elijah doesn’t even allow her to go fetch water from the well. He tries to lift everything for her. She lacks her usual high spirits and her easy smile is a rare sight now. We try our best not to bicker and keep our spirits high in hopes that we can lift her back up.

That night at supper she says, We are going to have to move to the city, children.

I drop my fork.

Why are we leaving? Elijah asks.

I haven’t received your father’s pension yet and I spoke to Widow Baker today in town and she said it was months before hers reached her. She takes a deep breath. I’ve borrowed against the farm all year and I haven’t taken any sewing in to help lately. We have to sell everything just to be able to have enough to get us started.

Elijah and I stare down at our nearly empty plates.

She raises her voice to a pretended happy pitch. I heard, with all the men gone, there’s good work in the factories in the city. You will both have to leave school and work with me but, once we get the checks again, we can save up some and come back to Cortland. You will see, it won’t be too terrible. She pats both our hands.

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Chapter 2

The dark hall glows as a candle draws nearer and, from the shadows, someone enters our little room to wake us.

Josephine and Elijah, hurry now. Your mother’s fading.

I’ve been expecting those words all night. The anticipation has interfered with any sleep and by how my brother jumps up I guess he hasn’t been sleeping either. We both instinctively hang nearer to each other as we walk into the adjoining room where the doctor sits in a corner, nodding to us. We walk to our mother’s side and hear her shallow breaths. She opens her eyes slightly and gives our hands a weak squeeze. She swallows slowly, as if about to speak, but perhaps it’s too hard to and she closes her eyes again. We both lay our heads on her body, trying to get one last childhood hug, until our neighbor escorts us back out of the room.

Elijah and I look at each other, realizing that was our last moment with her. We grab onto each other and cry until our eyes are swollen and throats dry. We fall asleep clinging to each other. In the morning a few neighbors have gathered around my mother’s sheet-covered body and are discussing far too loudly the things that have been circling in my head.

Who’s going to bury the poor dear? a whiny-voiced woman asks.

Michael’s getting ready to see the priest about it. What worries me more is who is going to take in two nearly grown children?

Their tsks can be heard from our room.

Was her death sudden? Is that why family isn’t here to see to everything?

All I know is that she started getting sick a few months ago, when she began working at the factory.

That’s why I stay out of those factories, no matter how much better they pay than washing. It’s a death sentence in one way or another.

Well, it got her alright. The girl came knocking on my door three days ago saying she’d collapsed and we sent Michael for the doctor.

With no one else to turn to, how could you turn her away?

Before that we didn’t even know their names. They always kept to themselves.

I couldn’t help but feel the burden we suddenly were on these people. Strangers.

A door opens and shuts and a stern man’s voice cuts through the air. We have to use what she left to pay the good doctor and anything after that’s got to go to burying her.

But what will the children do? There won’t be a red cent to start ‘em off.

Maggie, they’ll get their next month’s check in three weeks’ time, ‘til then they’ll have to stay with family is all, he says.

They have no family to speak of. The girl informed me that they had no ties in the city.

No ties? What was she thinkin’ comin’ to the city alone with no husband, no family?

How could he say this with Ma’s body lying right there?

I don’t even think we have the money to send them to family. As it is, I think we’ll be only affordin’ a pine box and civil burial, Maggie says.

The other woman chimes in. They’ll end up on the streets for sure.

None of us has the room for two grown children. At fourteen the girl is close to marrying age. Maybe we could find a nice man for her? he says, his voice rising to a hopeful pitch.

Maggie quickly snaps back, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Michael, you can’t just pick a man out of crowd for the poor girl! Besides, the only men left around here now are boys or old men.

Well, ‘tis better than the streets, Maggie. I’ll go talk to Father Francis about this. Maybe he’ll know what to do.

The door opens and the other woman says, I best be getting back to my washing.

He asks, Ye staying here then?

Somebody’s got to help the poor souls and wake the body, God bless her.

You’re a good woman, Maggie.

After a shuffling of feet, the door closes. Elijah and I just sit there on the bed. We’re frozen, unable to move on past last night. Unwilling to totally absorb what happened, is happening.

Elijah breaks the silence after a long quiet and we speak in whispers so Maggie won’t ask us to come out and sit with Ma. Our wages won’t be enough to even pay rent.

The factory gives meager children’s wages to those under eighteen. I doubt we even still held positions there, now that we hadn’t shown up for a couple of days. Just as well, since it was full of every kind of misery.

What are our options?

It’s some time before he whispers again. Well, I know they’re rounding up volunteers daily. I could join.

You can’t pass for eighteen yet. You’re only just getting a mustache. I point to the fuzz that looks more like a smudge of dirt.

His hands fly up self-consciously to his upper lip. I’ve heard they don’t much care about that anymore. A guy I know says all you have to do is tell them you’re eighteen and they’ll take you if you’re able. After speaking, he lifts his chin high.

Eighteen! They’ll laugh you all the way back home.

But panic shoots through me as I realize he does look older than the boys he runs around with. He’s surely the tallest in his group.

If you went, then what will happen to me?

He looks into my eyes and then back to his hands. Maybe you could stay at the church for a month, until you get Pa’s earnings, and I’ll send back money as soon as I can.

First we lost Pa, then we left the farm, now Ma’s gone and then I’m supposed to say goodbye to you too? I shake the whole idea away.

We have no other option, Josie. We don’t have a penny to our name. No one here will help us. No one back home will care. We don’t have any other choice. After we bury Ma, I’ll get you settled somewhere and then I’m going to sign up.

I chew on my lower lip and stare out the small window. The only view is a wall of bricks of a building too close to ours. The stale city air hangs in the room between us, bringing no hope of anything better.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Josie! Elijah playfully calls. Elijah appears in the center of a field with a fast fog whispering around him. Between the wisps he smiles at me and says again, Josie! The fog rolls in, as grey clouds gather above him. I call out to him in warning, Elijah! but a bolt of lightning splits out of the sky and strikes him. I jump with a deafening shriek and run to him, but the field just keeps getting farther and farther away.

I wake up screaming. Elijah grabs me and tries to shush me back to sleep in his arms.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

In the morning, we shake out our best clothes—the ones without patches—and follow the men Michael volunteered to carry Ma’s pine box down to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. There is something beautiful about the procession walking behind Ma that way. We never got the chance to bury Pa. I can’t even let my mind delve into any of the reality of what we’re doing. I just put one foot in front of the other. I can’t bear thinking about how utterly alone I will be at the end of the day. Right now, I’m with Ma and Elijah is still beside me. I don’t want to let this moment end. The inside of the Cathedral is more beautiful than I could have imagined and nothing like our small parish church back in Cortland. The rather plain exterior gave no indication of the glory hidden inside. We gather around her coffin before the enormous marble altar. We’re all bathed in the glow reflecting off the glistening religious statues overlooking her service from niches in the ornately gold-leafed wall behind the altar. The bells ring as we leave the church. The sound that no one wants to hear. A haunting, unwelcomed sound. A victory celebration of claiming another soul.

We stand in the cramped northeast corner of the walled cemetery, where the Father says a few more prayers and makes a gesture for the dirt to be shoveled in. Another wave of panic comes over me as the dirt starts to cover her and I have to turn away to pretend it’s not happening. Elijah takes me by the arm and brings me over to the priest to thank him.

The priest nods. I am sorry for your troubles, children. How can we help you at this time?

Elijah replies, I’m going to join up tomorrow, but I need to make sure my sister is taken care of while I’m gone.

Of course, my children. Michael O’Sullivan already spoke to me and I know Josephine only needs assistance for a month or two. We have found a devout parishioner who is kind enough to take her in.

He gestures to an older man waiting in the shadows of the cemetery gates.

The priest motions him to come forward and continues. Children, this is Freddie McCarthy and he has been so generous as to take dear Josephine in. We were going to have to place you in separate homes anyway so it’s good news you are signing up. Mr. McCarthy here is a widower with no children of his own and would welcome some feminine help.

While the priest talks, Elijah watches as the man clearly researches my shape and looks pleased with himself after his scan is complete.

Elijah’s eyes narrow and he turns to the priest to say, Well, thank you very much, Father. We are going to have one more night in our apartment and then we’ll tell you what we have decided tomorrow.

Freddie’s hunched shoulders quickly droop. He removes his hat to smooth down his greasy hair. Father, I thought the girl was coming home with me tonight. I got a cot all set up for her and everythin’.

I smile in relief now, because I know Elijah is not going to leave me with a man like this.

Elijah pulls me away. We’ll speak to you tomorrow. Thanks for everything.

When we get back into our apartment, Elijah starts pacing the floors with his thumb pushed between the slight space in his teeth—a habit he has whenever he is deep in thought. I stare at my reflection in the window, trying to come up with something. I start to pull my hair up high on my head and turn my face from side to side.

I jump up quickly and scream, I’ve got it! Then I dash into the other room, which used to be Elijah’s until Ma got sick and we had to share a bed. I push the quilts stacked up on Pa’s trunk off and throw the trunk open.

He comes to see what I’m up to. Stay there. I’m changing.

What has gotten into you? He retreats.

I put my hair up under Pa’s old cap, throw on Elijah’s pants, button up one of his shirts and run back to him. He bursts out laughing.

Don’t laugh! I look just like a boy.

He calms down and tries to be serious, but he can’t hold it and starts to roll with laughter again. I throw something at him and jump on him. It’s always a pretty fair fight, since he’s only eleven months older; Irish twins. He’s starting to get stronger than me, but I can still get out of any hold he tries to pin me in.

After I give him a few punches on the arm, I roll off and look him in the eyes.

I’m not a prissy girl. You know that. I’m as tall as any boy my age and I could probably arm wrestle them all and win. I can ride bareback faster than you in a saddle and I can shoot just as many cans from the fence as you too.

Yeah, but there’s no girls in the army. They don’t let them in, not even to care for the wounded.

I heard someone talking in the factory the other day about a woman who was in disguise fighting alongside men. No one knew until she was shot in the arm and the doctors found out. They said she fought just as good as the men and no one was the wiser.

He crosses his arms. Even if that is true, how do you think you’ll get past the examination they do? Don’t you think they will figure it out then?

Easy. Someone said they barely check anything anymore. They said they take every Mick that gets off the boat standing.

And you really think you can keep everyone fooled with sharing latrines and tents? he asks with one eyebrow arched.

Well…maybe we can share a tent and I’ll just be real careful. I only have to hold out until I collect the next check and then I can afford a small place with my wages from another factory.

He looks as if he might be considering it. Get up and walk around.

I get up as masculine as I can, with my shoulders dropped and hunched, and my stride longer, hips straight, just like I’ve seen Elijah walk a million times. I don’t smile and let my mouth drop down more to make my face appear longer.

Elijah smiles. I didn’t realize how manly you were before. You might look more boy than me.

I throw another pillow at his head. Laughing, eyes sparkling, he pulls it off, then comes at me with the crazy look he gives, as if he’s going to beat the sin out of me. He takes the pillow and starts whipping me back and forth with it until I fall, hunched over, laughing. We then slide to the floor beside each other, catching our breath.

I think about the reality of this. I don’t have much of a bosom yet, so I don’t even have to worry about that. I’m very strong. My legs are thick, my muscles tight. My hair is long and beautiful, but I can cut it all off. My face looks equally as feminine as masculine, which used to bother me but now seems like a gift from God.

If they don’t do an extensive examination and we pick a recruitment that’s just going through a load of whatever-is-fresh-off-the-boat, we could have a chance of you passing as a boy. I’m trying to lie enough as it is to pass for an eighteen-year-old, but you’re going to have to sign on as a fife or drummer boy. They can be younger.

My Pa had taught me how to play a fife. The Union was always in need of boys to lead them into battle. Yes, I could be a fifer. I wouldn’t even have to fight.

Alright, alright, but promise me, as soon as fighting begins—if you’re not found out by then—you’ll tell them and get out. Fifers still get shot you know. Why do you think the Union’s always looking for them? He scoffs. The last thing I need is a little sister to look out for when I’m getting my head shot at by Rebs. He suddenly acts like he’s years older than me.

I promise. And I honestly think I can keep that promise.

He brings his hand up and joins it with my thumb and finger to make two joined circles. Nothing can separate us.

Forever.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

That night I cut my hair short. I model it after Elijah’s cut and, when I’m done, I look like his smaller twin. I put on an undershirt, buttoned shirt, oversized pants with suspenders and an old pair of Elijah’s boots.

Elijah takes one look at me. You better hope this works out because no one’s going to marry you now.

I give him a punch in the arm but realize what he says is true.

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Chapter 3

I take the only things I care about from the apartment, since most of our things were sold when we moved from Cortland.

We can’t take these with us.

Why not?

What will keep someone from stealing it from us? Then it will be gone forever. He pulls out a handkerchief and holds it out to me. Put Ma’s things in here and anything else you care about.

I lay Ma’s engagement ring in the center and place the small folding frame with her wedding portrait with it. Elijah takes Pa’s fob watch from his pocket and nestles it on Ma’s beautiful face.

Wait. I go to move my hair out of the way but realize it’s gone. It’s much easier to remove my necklace now there is no hair to get in the way. I dangle it in front of my eyes as I fumble with the clasp. The silver heart turns in the air. I’d never taken it off since Pa gave it to me before going to war, not even to take baths. I place it hesitantly on top.

His eyes dart to the nightstand behind me and he grabs up the braid I lopped off with one chop of the shears.

What are you going to do with that?

Elijah coils it gently on the top of the pile. You can’t just throw it away.

Why not?

Because… He sighs. You might want it later.

My hair will grow back, one day.

Maybe I’ll want it…if something happens to you.

I can’t control the smirk that breaks through.

Or maybe I’ll use it for a hex later if you bother me too much. He laughs. Let’s go. He folds the cotton up over our treasures and we leave everything else behind, closing the door together.

As soon as we’re out on the sidewalk he grabs my hand, but I pull him in the other direction. The wharf is that way.

We have to find a safe place for this. He dangles the package in front of me.

The church is only a few blocks away and he heads back into the cemetery, to Ma’s grave in the northeast corner. The mound is complete over her but everything is more peaceful than I could have imagined. I wish I’d brought her flowers. Her grave looked so plain without a tombstone. Elijah hunches down above where her head lies and digs.

Elijah! What are you doing? I try to stop his hands and he shakes me off.

No one will look here and we’ll always be able to come back and retrieve it. He places the pouch about a foot down.

Get some rocks from over there. He points to the wall and I carry six small rocks to him. He places them on top of the treasure and then covers it over with dirt. With three pats he says, Take care of this for us, Ma.

The church clock chimes.

We better hurry, I say.

We avoid anyone we know on the way down to the wharf. Elijah turns to me every few blocks and says things like, Boys don’t walk this slow. You have to walk faster, longer strides. and Stop looking at everything! Boys just look straight ahead. The shops and streets are festooned with red, white, and blue. Flags, buntings, and banners are draped from every possible place. Posters beckon boys to give themselves to the cause. Strange how I never noticed them before.

Men in meticulous uniforms set up a table at the end of the dock and take out a stack of papers. American flags wave in eager abundance around the table. We wait at the docks until a ferry comes in from Ellis Island. Many of the men and boys get off the ship and go straight over to see what they’re offering at the table.

The officer and two of his subordinates sell their hearts out. God and your Country call! Thirteen dollars a month! Five dollars more for married recruits! Pay and rations begin immediately upon enlistment! Three squares and a chance to earn your place in this great nation if you sign up to shoot some Grey backs! Weapons and uniform provided!

I think about how Pa fell for such a pitch. Some of the immigrants sign up and we pay close attention to the process. They’re asked their name, age, and country. One of the uniformed men must be a doctor and he looks each new recruit up and down, asks him if he’s coughing, has any ailments or a fever. Sometimes the doctor asks a man to turn or walk to check for limps, but that seems to be the extent of the exam. They then are signed on and asked to wait to one side.

I check with Elijah, who nods and starts walking toward the line. We don’t look like the only ones who are young. There are even a few who are shorter than me. Many of the younger ones don’t have any facial hair. It’s Elijah’s turn and he gives them his information.

The officer calls out to him. We’re looking to sign volunteer replacements, are you lookin’ to enlist?

Yes, sir, Elijah replies.

Name?

Elijah John Slatery, Jr.

Age?

Eighteen.

Where is your parental consent?

Parental consent? Elijah hasn’t prepared for this.

Under the age of twenty-one, all men need to have parental consent to enlist.

Both my folks are dead, sir.

What about a guardian then?

None, sir, Elijah says solemnly, as he realizes this isn’t going to work.

The officer says, with a smug grin, Then there ain’t nobody to contest this then, is there?

Elijah straightens up happily at this. The officer continues asking him questions and tells him where to sign. Elijah looks so much older and a wave of pride washes over me. I have to act just like him. When he gets examined by the doctor, the man in uniform speaks to me without even looking up. We are looking for signing volunteer replacements. Are you lookin’ to enlist? He smells of cheap tobacco and gunpowder.

Yes, sir, I mumble like a boy would.

Name?

Joseph Slatery. I don’t think of fake middle name fast enough so I just leave it out.

Age?

Fourteen.

That makes him look up and study me. A flash of heat crawls up my neck and engulfs my face.

‘Don’t you know, young man, that the army only enlists eighteen-year-old men? he says, almost hoping I’ll lie so he can get his signing bonus on me.

I can play the fife, sir, I say, wondering if I can still play it now that my mouth has gone dry.

Play me something then. He waits.

I take my fife out and nervously play Pa’s favorite marching song, Battle Hymn of the Republic.

"Yes, you can play, boy! Well, we have been in need of a fife player since they sent our last fifer to play for the brigade."

Yes, sir. I turn to catch Elijah’s smile.

Where is your parental consent then?

I point to Elijah. We’re brothers—

And we need to serve together, sir. Elijah avoids eye contact while the officer studies him and strokes his well-groomed beard point for a long, uncomfortable moment.

He looks back down at his paper, which makes me feel a little more at ease. Country?

United States, New York, I add, not sure if he wants that information.

You literate?

Yes, sir.

Okay. Sign here and you’ll get to see the doc.

I sign my new name on the company roll. He stamps a paper and gives it to me to give to the doctor. I’m so nervous I can’t even look at the man. The thought of Elijah now leaving without me makes me almost get sick and that would be the worst thing to do right in front of the doctor. He looks at my face and eyes.

He asks, Open your mouth. I comply and he reaches his rough hands in to check all my teeth and throat. Do you have any ailments?

I say, No, sir. I hope he doesn’t have to feel my hands since they’re sweating profusely.

He looks at my body and I have to do everything to keep from shaking. He then lifts up my hand to examine them. I’m wondering why he does this. Then he lets them drop at my side and he wipes my sweat off on his coat.

Pass. Wait over there with the other recruits until we’re done.

I walk faster than I should’ve away, but I’m so anxious to be by Elijah’s side. As we wait, I stare at my hands and realize what he’s looking for: I forgot to cut my nails. Scanning my hands now I see the mole I was born with on my left hand, see my long fingers and narrow fingernails, all feminine looking. What probably saved me was how square and thick with padding my palms are. Thank God for that. I never was so happy to have manly hands in my life. I can’t believe the adventure we’re embarking on. I can feel every cup of blood pulsing through my veins.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

After about two weeks the nervousness, which plagued me day and night, has died down. I feel as if I’m actually getting comfortable with my new routine. I do get to be tent mates with Elijah, so that makes any required changes easy, since he would go outside the tent and make sure no one happened in. Most soldiers live in their clothes twenty-four hours a day anyway, and the only bathing available is a rare sponge bath here and there. Once a week, when the kettles are scraped out after an early supper, we’re allowed to fill them with water from a nearby creek. Once we get them to a boil, men peel off their underclothes and socks and, while wearing the scratchy uniform, they take turns scalding the filth out. Some men strip down to nothing to boil all their clothes at once, but I’m satisfied with beating the dust out of my coat and pants while in my clean underclothes within the safety of the shelter tent.

Unfortunately there are too many that fail to make the effort to clean their clothes. Victor, one of our company who regrettably befriends Elijah right away, is of the lazy philosophy and he’d chuckle as his underclothes actually begin to disintegrate upon him from dampness and grime. There is something about his fish-face and dull eyes that turns my stomach, and the more I tell Elijah he’s a bad apple the closer they get.

There is a private latrine at the military training camp that gives me my needed privacy. It’s actually easier than we thought it would be. I do very well on all my marching drills and learning the different calls to play—twenty-five general calls and twenty-four skirmishers. I also find I’m a much better shot than many of the city boys who had never fired a gun in their lives. Elijah stands out as one of the quickest learners amongst us. Elijah makes friends fast, while I hang back more. Not wanting to get too close, since with just one wrestle or misplaced jab, my secret could be suspected. Since I’m responsible, along with Timmie our drummer, for all the calls for camp duties (reveille, guard mounting, sick call, retreat, tattoo and taps) and drills, I don’t have to perform fatigue duty or guard duty like the other boys do.

All in for your rations! the cook calls out to us, and he doesn’t need to shout it twice.

The food is not what I hoped it to be, and even though we were promised ‘three square meals a day’, I never thought it would literally be that the majority of the meal would indeed be square. Hardtack, essentially a flavorless cracker made from flour, water and salt, is the staple of each meal. It’s cheap to make and easy to carry, which is why we seldom enjoy soft bread from the bakers or corn bread. Each soldier should’ve had pork or bacon or fresh beef, but we’re handed out far too much stale beef and flabby, stringy sow-belly.

Beans or peas, rice or hominy, and potatoes are unfortunately substituted far too often with desiccated potatoes and desiccated compressed vegetables—which we aptly call desecrated vegetables due to the state they’re in when handed out to us. Most of it’s pulverized cabbage leaves, turnip tops, sliced carrots, parsnips, with barely a hint of onions, and also some mystery ingredients that none of us could ever decipher. Of course there are items we all cherish when they’re doled out: coffee or tea, sugar, salt, vinegar, pepper, molasses. Dried fruits, pickles, and pickled cabbage are given out to prevent scurvy, but not as often as they should be.

Soldiers quickly learn ways of improving the palatability of the food and usually prefer the days when we’re allowed to make our own meals and coffee instead of being at the mercy of the company ‘cook’. Men learn to save bacon fat and fry all sorts of things to improve their digestion. Hardtack can be crumbled into a meal to act as a thickening agent.

I try to stay wary of all the things my mother taught me to do. I notice most of these boys never boiled water or darned a pair of socks before, so I have to follow their progression in learning those skills too. I’m careful about how I do everything; how I put on my boots, push my hair out of my eyes, even spit. I have to do everything like Elijah. Victor quickly corrupts Elijah with card playing. Elijah sits with the older soldiers around the campfire, gambling and cursing along with the worst of them.

I luckily have the excuse that I have to practice ceremonial sheet music during the slow periods between drills. Most men scramble to use their breaks to write home when they get a free moment. After stuffing in a quick lunch, they scrounge around for a lid from the hardtack crates and pull out whatever stationary their Ma stuffed in their satchels before leaving or paper they bought or stole along the way. Elijah and I always fidget at these moments, with little to do but watch them all with heads bent in concentration. I try to chew my hardtack extra-long to make it last.

Sitting beside him on a log, Timmie nudges Elijah. Do you need some paper? You’re free to have a sheet. The Christian Commission gave us stacks for free.

He waves the paper in Elijah’s face. Elijah shakes his head. I don’t have any stamps.

Timmie points to the words Soldier’s Letter printed in the corner where a stamp should be. That’s just the thing. Don’t need any stamps no more.

No, thanks, is all Elijah can say, and I get uncomfortable for him.

Timmie persists. If it’s that you can’t write, there’s plenty of soldiers that will write one for you. No need to be ashamed of that.

Elijah’s whole body becomes rigid and he says, under his breath, We don’t have anyone to write to.

Even though it’s said so quietly, the words draw long looks across the circle, making Elijah and I feel even more alone than we already were.

Victor grabs the paper from Timmie’s hand and brings it over to Elijah, scooting me over to let him in between us. Then write one for me. My father took me out of school as soon as I lost my front teeth. Never learned nothing but my name.

What do you want me to say? Elijah holds his pencil, actually looking eager to write to someone.

"Dear Mother,

Things are as fine here as they can be. Can’t tell you particulars, but I’m eating enough and keeping out of trouble like you told me. Make sure Kiril pulls his weight now that I’m not able to. I’ll send what’s left of my wages when I can. Please send some socks and anything from the pantry.

Fondly,

Victor

But don’t write my name for me. I can sign my own letters."

Victor waits for Elijah to finish then grabs the pencil and, with his tongue half out, manages to scrawl out a half-legible signature. He acts like he just signed the Declaration of Independence when he’s finished and wraps it up in the envelope he snatches from Timmie’s pack.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Finally, after days of false starts, we get orders to march to join a regiment who are stationed by the Potomac on the border of Maryland. We have to dress with bayonets raised for the march and, of course, I’m called to play the fife with three other young boys drumming. Thankfully I get to stow my pack in the army wagon and I quickly find out why, since it’s hard enough to march all that way with very few breaks, all the while playing the fife. Our company marches out in fine form, bright flags marking each regiment along the light and dark blue column, with bayoneted steel shining in the sun over each man’s soldier as the band plays Yankee Doodle.

In no time my mouth dries out so terribly I can’t make a sound anymore. I have to step out of march to go and find water to refill my canteen. Timmie keeps up the songs in exchange for my refilling his canteen as well. I notice Elijah breaks march to make sure I make it back, which makes me feel better even though he can’t be near me. Just when I think marching through the hottest part of the day is difficult, grey clouds roll over us and release their heavy burden. I keep expecting a halt to be called so we can seek some shelter, but we’re expected to trudge through the mud and deluge.

This is the moment I wish I carried my pack, since men reach behind in their packs to don their ponchos or drape their rubber blankets over their shoulders. I have only the short rim of my cap to keep the rain out my eyes. The notes that come from my slippery fife are garbled from the drenching. The wagons that go before us leave giant, muddy ruts in our pathway where they became stuck and labored out. We cannot break march to step around them and are forced to plow through them, sometimes stepping up to our knees in stubborn mud, which sucks the shoes off unlucky men’s feet.

We come to an unexpected halt and wait in the unrelenting rain as a mule balks under its heavy cargo. The colored man who drives him tries to whip the beast back into line, but the silly animal digs its hooves into the mud and doesn’t budge. The poor man is heckled by the men for stopping up the whole column and he makes the mistake of going behind the animal to give it a great shove. Some of the kinder men try to yell out a warning about attempting such a thing with a mule, and the playful soldiers whistle him on, enjoying the entertainment. The colored man pushes away at the mule’s rear,