Songs of the Shenandoah (26 page)

“Is it broke?” Davin winced as she pulled off his boot and then removed his sock.

She gripped his heel with one hand and slid her fingers across the swollen ankle with the other. Although the pain was present, Davin's pulse rose at the feel of her gentle touch. Just before she gave it a firm twist.

“What's that, dear woman!”

“That's it, give it a good bend, let's hear him squeal.” Barry gave Davin a pound on the shoulder.

“It appears to be sound. Just a sprain, but a bad one at that.” Muriel slipped the sock back on and then went to the boot. “We're better to keep this tight. That will keep the swelling from getting too big on you.”

“Well, seeing as he's going to live, I'd like to give her another try on the pole there.” Barry swiped off grease from his shirt and flung it to the ground. “I got to get me own leave from this place.”

Davin thought of asking his friend to get a towel for him, but he was actually relieved that he would be left alone with Muriel. Was that Barry's intention? Maybe he was a better pal than he imagined. His friend made his way back to the cheering throng and then got swallowed into the mass of bodies.

“If I knew this would be what it took to get alone with you, I would have broken it a long time ago.” Davin worried if this was being too forward. Something he used to not concern himself with.

She gave the boot lace a firm tie. “It's not broken. And we are not alone. In fact, we are with 40,569 other men.”

“So precise.”

Muriel gave his foot a gentle twist, but it was enough to get his attention.

“What was that for?”

She patted him on the nose with her finger. “That, was for being stupid enough to climb a greased pole in order to fetch a mere twenty dollars.”

“It was fifty dollars. And a fifteen-day leave.”

Muriel pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe the grease from his face. As she did, he could tell she was doing it with a tenderness and affection beyond her duties.

“You are a kind nurse, dear Muriel.”

“I am Dr. Muriel to you,” she said smugly. “You of all these brutes should know this, Private Hanley.”

“All right, Doc.” He propped himself up by his elbow. “I won't slight you again.”

“Why did you sign up for the 69th Battalion?”

“I'm Irish, I suppose.”

“You suppose you are Irish?”

“What's with the interrogation?” Davin sat up and spun his legs around, careful not to cause pain in his ankle.

Muriel glanced around, and apparently convinced they were out of the line of sight, she sat beside him. She narrowed her eyes, watching him for a moment and then slightly curled her lips in a smile. “This isn't the only Irish regiment. Are you stalking me, Private Hanley?”

Davin was startled by her question. But then again he found himself surprised by most of what she said. “No. I am not stalking you.” Something in her expression demanded honesty. “Well, perhaps my knowing you were here helped me decide between the 69th and the 88th. You know, on account of Clare and all.”

She raised her brows, which were light and hard to see now that the dusk was descending upon them. “On account of Clare? I see.”

Why was she making him nervous? “All right. On account of myself . . . as well. I suppose I find you interesting.”

“Is that so?” She nodded. “What if I was to say I do not find you all that interesting?”

The words jabbed at Davin, but he refused to step back. “I would not believe that.”

Muriel slapped him on the forearm. “So certain of yourself. And there are women who see this as charming?”

“I would say most ladies are charmed by someone who is young, handsome, and of considerable means. Isn't that attractive to you?”

“Certainly. There is value in finding a man who can pay for all of your whims and fancy.” She winced and then looked toward the gathering of soldiers off in the distance. “It's just that there are 40,569 others here in camp for me to choose from. Some younger than you. Some handsomer. And many who are wealthier. So if that is all you have to offer a lady, it wouldn't seem to be enough.”

He laughed. “Is that so? And what else would you be looking for in a man?”

Muriel crossed her legs and leaned back on her palms, looking up to the sky, which was beginning to reveal stars. “Well . . . let's see. So far you've described a man who only believes in himself. That would get tedious after a while, don't you think? But a man with a cause. A belief in God. A care for others around him. Now tell me, Private Hanley, does that describe you?”

It most certainly did not. Davin felt as if he had been skinned like a fish and left bare on a hot rock. “It sounds . . . as if you should have met me when I was a boy.”

“You keep talking about that boy. Where did he go?”

“I don't know, but if you find him, let me know, will you?”

She tilted her head and her smile grew. “Do you think you'll find him out here on the battlefields? Is this your plan? What did he believe in? The boy.”

Was she taunting him? With Muriel it was difficult to know. “That's a hard question. I suppose God as you say. And my brother, Seamus.”

“And now?”

He chuckled. “The boy needs to make peace with both.”

In the background, the soldiers were on the move again, some dispersing back to their tents, while others began to gather around the many large bonfires being started. Davin grieved that their time was short. He could see she was beginning to look around, probably worrying that she would get spotted by one of the older nurses.

“What about you, Muriel? What do you believe in?”

“What?” She stood and straightened her dress. “What do I believe? I believe you should buy your friend a new pair of boots.”

“Boots? You can't just leave me here, wounded as I am. Don't you want to escort me back to the camp?”

“You'll be fine, soldier. It's only a sprain.”

Davin stepped down gingerly. She was right. It was painful, but he would be able to walk fine. “Wait. When can I spend time with you again?”

“I am afraid that is not permitted,” she said coyly. “Besides. If I was going to risk everything, the chance of getting sent home, I would do so with a man. Not a boy.”

“Right.” Davin stared blankly as she made her way toward the medical tents, and soon Muriel was gone, leaving him alone in the growing darkness. Davin suddenly felt chilled by the night air, especially with his clothes moist with grease.

All around him, the events of the day were winding down. Many of the soldiers were making their way back to their tents, some having to be propped up by their friends. Davin thought about going to one of the fires to warm up, but most of all he wanted to get some sleep.

He straightened out the money and the letter and tucked them neatly into his pocket, then limped on his way while trying to recall every word of their conversation.

A cause? Doesn't she realize what my cause is by now?

Chapter 29

The Others

Davin woke slowly from his deep slumbers and realized a commotion was brewing outside. The seam of his tent was breached and the reddened face and black straight-haired head of his friend Barry poked inside. “Move your lazy carcass. You better get yours quick, before they are all gone.”

“What is it?” Davin rubbed his eyes.

“And I won't be waiting for you none. Not with the condition of mine being as they are.” Barry shut the tent, taking the morning light with him, and his steps could be heard fading away amid the shouts and cheers of men.

Davin tossed aside his green wool blanket. Barry was right in that he didn't want to miss any of the excitement. After grabbing his trousers and holding them up, he stepped into them slowly, careful not to reinjure his left foot. Only three weeks had passed since he fell from the greased pole, yet his ankle was healing nicely. This would be a terrible time to injure it again. With rumors of a battle approaching, his life depended on being healthy and strong.

In just a few moments, he was dressed and out of the tent, squinting in the sun and feeling the cool air over his body.

Men ran to and fro, many of them half dressed, and hundreds of them gathered together, encircling something that captivated their attention.

Davin made his way over to the crowd and nudged in between others until he could see what was the cause of all of this ruckus. As it became clear what it was, he started to laugh.

There as a large prey surrounded by hundreds of ravenous lions were two wagons filled and overflowing with boots, each tied together by their laces.

Standing on the end of one of the wagons was a sergeant, who had an early morning cigar in one hand and a long wooden pole in the other. He was shouting out commands and he, along with a few other soldiers assisting him with the task, seemed to be the only reason they hadn't turned into an unrestrained mob. “No fighting, boys. No elbows. There is enough for everyone and we'll be keeping this all civil, taking turns.”

A young private stepped forward and then felt the brunt of the stick in his side, which caused him to clasp it with both hands.

“Not you,” barked the sergeant.

The boy's face turned red. “You just said it was for everyone.”

“Only if you're in the 69th.” The crowd responded with loud affirmations.

“Who says I'm not Irish?” The boy raised his arm to fend off the hands jabbing at him.

“Both your mother and your father!” a voice shouted, and it was echoed with more poignant derision.

Davin felt a tug at his arm and turned to see Barry beside him, grinning to the point it seemed painful. “Can you believe all of this?” He pointed to his ragged shoes. “We've been marching in these, with a thin thread holding our shoes to our toes, and suddenly the army decides to fancy us up. I might just have to reenlist.”

“And those just aren't any boots, my friend,” Davin said. “Those are Angell Finches.” He straightened Barry's hat for him and then turned and headed out of the crowd.

“Aren't you going to get a pair of your own, Davey boy?”

Davin lifted his foot. “I already have my own pair.” After working his way through the soldiers, pressing in tighter against the sergeant's orders, he was relieved to make it out to a clearing.

Something drew his gaze over to a group of tents to his right, and then he looked a second time, now locking gazes with a startled face.

“Well . . . I'll be,” he muttered to himself. How could this be? Was this some apparition? He stomped over in the direction of the young private he spotted, but the boy took off into a village of tents.

“Hold up!” Davin shouted, but to no avail. He started to run over in that direction, desperate not to lose track of his target.

There. The boy had made a turn and the chase ensued.

Davin pushed past angry men just emerging from their tents, still in long underwear and stretching their arms.

Then he nearly collided with a clothing line, with shirts flapping in the wind.

Where did he go? There! The redheaded boy glanced back with fear and was running again. And then into the mess area, where oatmeal was being served from large black cauldrons raised over wood fires.

Not wanting to lose him at this point, Davin ran as fast as he could, paying no concern for his ankle.

He bumped into a man, perhaps an officer, and coffee splattered on them both.

“Hey!” he heard echoing behind him.

Then past a row of men waiting in line. Where did he go?

There up ahead. He was heading toward the horses. And Davin could now tell, the boy had a limp, which was probably the only reason he was able to keep up with him. But that didn't stop the boy from jumping over the corral and into the herd of cavalry steed.

At this point Davin was determined. He hurdled the split-rail fence but regretted it the moment he landed when his foot buckled under him. Now he was limping heavily as well. He pressed through the horses and slapped them on their hindquarters, nearly getting kicked.

Finally he was past the last of the horses, and he climbed over the other end of the fence. Now before him was a small patch of trees. Could he be in there?

Davin took a bearing of where he was. In the scramble of the chase, he had managed to take himself to the outreaches of camp and they were alone. Had he strayed too far? Would he risk getting shot by one of his own sentries? Or those of the enemy?

Just when he was considering heading back, he decided to step into the grove of trees. He needed answers. There was a cracking of twigs. He stopped and listened.

Nothing. Silence.

It wasn't wise to press farther, and he turned around, only to see the boy who had light red hair and an off-colored birthmark on his face, glaring at him, breathing heavy with a bayonet in his hand.

“Why are you following me?”

Davin looked down at the blade and gently guided it away. “You know why.”