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  Most evenings, back during the war, if there was a break between the fighting, and after the day’s tasks were completed, the men would sit around the campfire and sing along as Captain Marriott played the old banjo he’d brought with him from home and Sharps played the harmonica one of Pa’s German customers had given him in payment for repairs to a gun the man had brought Pa.

  Sharps enjoyed accompanying the captain. Old favorites like “The Water is Wide” and “Green Grow the Lilacs.” New songs written for the war—“Tenting on the Old Camp Ground” and “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.” Songs about wives and sweethearts, such as “Lorena” and “Aura Lee.” Sometimes, the Rebs camped across creeks or fields would join in, and they all could forget for a while they were enemies. And just before “Taps” signaled lights out, Captain Marriott would set aside his banjo and let Sharps take over. He’d play “Home, Sweet Home,” bringing many a battle-hardened soldier to tears.

  War was hell, as the soldiers knew, even if some of the commanding officers didn’t, but in spite of that, those were some of Sharps’s happiest memories of those years.

  * * * *.

  Sharps was sitting before a little fire outside his tent, blowing softly into his harmonica, when Captain Marriott came by.

  “No taste for cards?” the cap asked. He made a point of seeing to the welfare of all his men after a battle, so no one took notice of him stopping by Sharp’s campfire.

  Sharps grinned up at him. “I like playing cards, Captain. It’s the men who don’t like playing with me.” He tapped the harmonica against his palm to clear it of moisture. “Last time, after we played, I had a good stash of greenbacks to send home to Pa.”

  Cap grinned back at him. “You’re a regular card shark?”

  “Pa taught me.” Although these years had honed his skills.

  “Seems your pa taught you a lot of things.”

  “He did. I’m all he has, y’see.”

  “Hmm. We should play sometime.”

  “I don’t want to take your money, Captain.” But Sharps did like the idea of spending time with the man.

  “Don’t be so sure about that. My daddy taught me, too.” Cap smiled at Sharps.

  It was a warm, almost tender expression, and Sharps found himself smiling back.

  “Mind if I join you for a spell?” Cap asked.

  “I’d like that.” Sharps moved over so there was room for his captain before the fire. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

  “Sounds good.” Cap settled himself down beside him,

  Sharps sighed. Even sitting down, the captain was taller than him.

  Cap accepted the cup Sharps offered him and took a sip. “Mmm. Who made this?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you.” Sharps wanted to wriggle like a puppy, but he was a man, even if his age belied the fact. He’d been through more than most boys his age. “Pa taught me that, too.”

  “Family are special, aren’t they?”

  “They are.” He gazed into the fire. Usually he wouldn’t do that; if they were attacked, it would take too long for his eyes to adjust to the dark of night. Tonight, though…He knew it was safe with Cap—with all the men nearby. “I…I wish I had a bigger family. Oh, don’t get me wrong, Pa’s been the best father a feller could have. It’s just there’s the two of us. I wish there were more.”

  “Didn’t your pa have brothers or sisters?”

  “Yes, but they’re pretty much scattered all over God’s creation.”

  “I could tell he was Southern. Which state was he from?”

  “Oh, he’s from Texas.”

  “So you’re Texan?”

  “No, sir.” He didn’t mention he’d been born in the Indian Territory. “I’m American.”

  The cap reached out and ruffled his hair. “Good answer.” He took another sip of his coffee, then asked, “What about your ma’s family?”

  “I don’t remember much about them.” Sharps had learned not to talk about them. Folks got…strange…when they learned he was half Cherokee. He’d got his black hair, warm copper skin tones, and facial features from his ma, but his blue eyes were all Pa’s. “Pa said they would have kept me after Ma passed on, but he wouldn’t hear of it. When I was old enough, we left. We drifted through the country for a few years before we settled in Brooklyn.”

  “I used to see you tending the neighborhood kids.”

  Sharps shrugged. “It gave me something to do and kept them out of the way when their mamas were busy.”

  Cap reached over and ran his fingers through Sharps’s hair. He did seem to do that a lot, not that Sharps minded. It felt…good.

  “I imagine one day you’ll have a family of your own.”

  Sharps looked up, startled. “Yes.” One day, if this damned war ever ended. “I’d like a big family, with lots of boys and girls.”

  “And a wife.”

  Sharps felt a flush climb his cheeks. He cleared his throat but didn’t answer.

  “Your pa did tell you how babies were made, after all.”

  “Yeah.” Although truth to tell, Sharps hadn’t given much thought to how he’d get all those sons and daughters.

  The cap took a last sip of his coffee. “It’s getting late. I reckon I’d better let you get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  “Yes, sir.” They’d be on the march for the next few days. “Good night, Captain.”

  “Good night, Corporal.” Cap smiled and set his cup down, then hauled himself to his feet and strode off to see to the rest of the men.

  Sharps stared after him, then picked up the cup and held it against his chest for a minute. When he realized what he was doing, he shook himself and dunked it in a bucket of water. Once he’d dried it and set it aside, he put out his campfire, went into his tent, and removed his boots. Henry, the young man with whom he’d shared the tent, hadn’t survived the last battle, so Sharps had it to himself, although that would probably change as soon as the replacements arrived. He stripped down to his drawers, crawled into his bedroll, and made himself as comfortable as possible.

  Tomorrow they’d break camp and head for a little town called Gettysburg.

  Chapter 4

  The letter from Pa arrived five months after Gettysburg. Folded inside was a strip of newssheet with the speech President Lincoln had given on 19 November. Sharps sat by his campfire reading the words the Great Emancipator had spoken that day, unaware of the tears that streamed down his cheeks until the captain paused in his patrol of the camp.

  “Sharps? What’s wrong?”

  Sharps handed him the paper.

  Those three days at Gettysburg…Three hundred fifty-six men that he’d known and fought beside marched into battle. One hundred thirty-nine were killed, wounded, or missing.

  General Reynolds sent the 2nd Brigade, of which the 14th Brooklyn was a part, onto the battlefield. The 14th dropped their packs and raced across the field, Sharps in their midst. He figured Pa couldn’t object. He wasn’t using a rifle, since the fighting had been reduced to hand-to-hand combat.

  The Rebs eventually realized how untenable their position was and surrendered their flags to the 14th.

  General Reynolds had fallen, though, and the 14th were given the honor of bearing his body off the field and into the town of Gettysburg.

  The next two days were hard and bloody, but in the end…

  They’d won the battle, and months later, President Lincoln arrived there and spoke the words that had brought Sharps to tears.

  Captain Marriott sucked in a breath and with a hitch in his voice, he began to read the last sentence. “—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

  The cap held out the newssheet, and Sharps took it and stared numbly as his captain reached for a handkerchief. He
didn’t mop at his face, as Sharps had expected, since he’d shed tears as well, but instead tipped up Sharps’s chin and dried his cheeks.

  “Get some rest, Corporal. We’ll be on the march again tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sharps folded the newssheet back into a neat square, tucked it and the letter that had accompanied it into his haversack, and watched as the captain strode off into the evening’s dim light.

  * * * *

  Life continued on, in spite of the battles and the marches.

  Sharps’s first—what proved to be his only—experience with a woman came in May of 1864, after another inconclusive battle, this time at the Spotsylvania Court House in Virginia. In order to recover their spirits, some of the men slipped away from camp, and they took him with them.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  Ned, a fellow corporal who’d become his tent mate after Henry had fallen, grinned at Sharps. He was a few years older, although he often came across as the younger of the two. “To a whore house.”

  Sharps was so dumbfounded he couldn’t think of a single objection. The next thing he knew, he was in the brothel.

  He looked around at the gaudy wallpaper, the overstuffed settees, and the upright piano in a corner, where a handsome young man played soft music. Sharps tried not to be obvious in his staring, but the young man’s dark looks stole his breath away.

  “Evening, gents.” A plump lady wearing a wrapper covered in colorful flowers smiled at them. “What’s your pleasure?” She gestured toward a girl who stood by a table that held glasses and bottles. “We have beer, wine, and whiskey.”

  “This is a classy cat house,” Ned said, awe in his voice. “Wine!”

  “Just let Essie know what you’d like.”

  “We can drink later. Bring out the women!” one of the privates chortled.

  “Just have a seat. The girls will be right in.”

  Sharps swallowed and perched on the edge of a settee. He could feel sweat pooling under his arms, and he was glad he’d taken the time to have a bath after they’d made camp.

  The women entered one at a time, each one picking out a soldier, running her fingertips up his arm, and fluttering her lashes. Sharps stared at them, wide-eyed. Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “She’s so young,” he whispered, panic-stricken as a girl entered the parlor. Abruptly he thought back years ago to the poor girl who’d been beaten and raped by the Wilson brothers. “I…I can’t sleep with that lady.”

  “You ain’t gonna be sleeping, not if you do it right,” Ned whispered.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And besides, she ain’t no lady.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. She could be my sister.” She was tiny, with warm, golden skin, and didn’t look more than a year or so older than him.

  “Well, I ain’t got a sister. Come on, girl.”

  “Sure thing, General.” And suddenly she didn’t appear so young anymore.

  “I’ll take care of this soldier.” Another of the women sashayed up to Sharps. She wasn’t pretty, but she had a kind face and a warm, throaty voice. She was a few inches taller, stocky-looking, with a square jaw and pronounced cheekbones. She wore a fancy scarf around her throat, and Sharps couldn’t resist catching an end and rubbing it between his fingers.

  “Is this silk?”

  “You know silk?” The ends draped down over her chest. Sharps didn’t want to stare, but he couldn’t help noticing she didn’t have much in the way of bosoms, not that it much mattered.

  “I’ve seen it before.” One of Pa’s customer’s had come to the shop, accompanied by a lady who’d worn a dress made of the expensive material. Pa had shooed Sharps out when he’d realized his son was lingering in the doorway. Afterward Pa had told him the woman was actually a lady of the evening. Then Pa’d had to explain what that meant.

  “Hey, boy,” one of the soldiers goaded now. “You want to fuck her, not talk fashion.”

  “Never you mind, you sweet thing.” Something about her made him feel less nervous than the other women. He ignored the hoots of laughter from his friends and let her take his hand and lead him to her crib.

  “You’re a virgin, ain’t you, sweet pea?” Her voice suddenly seemed deeper.

  “Ye-yes, ma’am.” He was afraid she’d make fun of him, but all she did was kiss his cheek. Her own cheek felt a little bristly, but he remembered Mrs. Sabatino from back home, who had a dark line of hair above her lip. Pa had told him that like in The Three Little Pigs, some women had hair on their chinny-chin-chins and he was to be polite and never mention it.

  “Mama’ll treat you good.” She stripped off his gaiters, boots, and trousers, pushed him gently down on the bed, and made a pleased sound when she realized he’d bathed before setting out for the evening. “Billy Yank or Johnny Reb—it don’t matter none. Not many soldier boys bother cleaning up before they come to visit us.”

  “That’s just good manners, ma’am.”

  She beamed at him. “Mama’s gonna treat you real good, honey lamb.”

  And she did. She made love to him in the French way, and he almost fainted from the pleasure of her lips around his prick.

  She took her mouth off him. “You like that, sugar?”

  All he could do was groan and nod and try to tug her head back down. He’d overheard the men talking at night. A lot of them didn’t like having their pricks sucked, considered it too foreign, but how could they not enjoy it? The warm, wet suction felt so wonderful he didn’t even think to ask if she wanted him to pleasure her in return.

  After he climaxed, he murmured, “I love you.”

  “Thank you, darlin’.” Her eyes gleamed with tears, and he reached for her.

  “Will you let me try to make you feel as good?”

  “Having a sweet thing like you has made me feel better than I have in months.” She kissed his cheek and started to leave.

  “Wait.” He reached for his trousers and dug into a pocket.

  “I’ve already been paid,” she said gruffly, her voice sounding even deeper than it had before.

  “Buy yourself some flowers or something pretty. I’d buy them for you myself, but we’re pulling out tomorrow.”

  “You’re a sweet boy. I hope one day you find someone who’ll love you as you should be loved.” She tipped his head up, and this time she kissed his mouth. He was startled to taste himself on her lips but it didn’t bother him as maybe it should have. “Now, why don’t you get some sleep?”

  She slipped out of her crib before he could object—he really didn’t like the idea of her going to another man, but then he realized that was how she made her living, and he couldn’t afford to take her away from this life, even if he’d been older and had enough money to set her up in a nice house. Or even if she’d consider going with him if she ever learned he was half Cherokee.

  He sighed and found himself dozing off.

  The other men roused him when it was time to leave, and although he looked for the woman, he couldn’t find her.

  “Did Molly give you a good time?” the madam asked.

  “Is that her name? She was wonderful!” They all laughed at his enthusiastic reply.

  “Good. Our Moll always knows which boys will appreciate her most.”

  His friends hustled him out. They needed to get a few hours’ sleep before they broke camp in the morning. On the ride back to camp, they traded stories of their experiences, bragging of how they’d made their whore howl and swear she’d never been fucked so good. By the time they got to him, they’d arrived at camp.

  “C’mon, Sharps. Tell us what it was like having your first woman.”

  He could feel heat creep up his cheeks. It hadn’t mattered that all the men knew he’d never had a woman before this night—his lack of height and youthful face made it obvious he’d had no previous adventures—but talking now about what Molly had done, how kindly she’d treated him, somehow felt disrespectful.

  “I
’ll tell you in the morning,” he said, and he picketed his horse and made sure she was unsaddled, rubbed down, and watered before he went to his tent.

  The next morning they learned the 14th was being mustered out, and there wasn’t time to talk about his experience the night before.

  * * * *

  “You were out late last night, Sharps.” Captain Marriott came by as Sharps was putting out the final campfire.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “I did.” He found himself telling the captain about Moll. “She was nice to me, Captain.”

  “I’m sure she was paid to be.” Captain Marriott sounded annoyed.

  “Sir?”

  He shook his head. “Forgive me. It’s not my business.”

  “You’re my friend.”

  “If I am, I should be pleased you’re now a man about town.”

  Did he know some of the men teased him about his lack of experience? “She…she made love to me in the French way.”

  “Did she now? And you liked it?”

  Sharps couldn’t help grinning. “I did.”

  “Well, I…I’m glad to hear that.” Abruptly he changed the subject. “I’m being moved over to the 5th New York Veteran Volunteer Infantry Regiment. A number of our boys are coming over as well, and I’m thinking of forming our own company.”

  “You are? I reckon I’ll be going with you.”

  “You don’t want to go home?”

  Sharps shrugged. “The war isn’t over yet.”

  Captain Marriott frowned. “I should tell you to leave if you have the opportunity.”

  “I’d rather go with you.” He grinned.

  “All right, then. Pack your haversack, get your drum, and meet me here.”

  Sharps felt like kicking up his heels. He didn’t, of course, just stood for a moment, watching the captain as he strode away.

  “Corporal Browne?”