Different Sin (21 page)

“What do you mean?”

“A good-looking man like you. You must’ve had to fight off the ladies.”

“I—” David paused, startled by the teasing lilt in Al’s voice. Hell, he thought, if he was a girl, I’d swear he was flirting with me. What in hell’s wrong with me? What in God’s name am I imagining? “I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a lady killer,” he said at last.

THE DOOR TO DAVID’S BEDCHAMBER CREAKED OPEN. He turned over sleepily, smiling at the shuffle of Zach’s footsteps as he picked his way softly across the floor. An anticipatory ripple of pleasure ran through him. “You’re not still mad, Zach? God, I’ve missed you.” He slid to the edge of the bed to make room. A thought surfaced: “Did you turn the lock? We don’t want anyone surprising us.”

“Beg pardon? I didn’t mean to wake you.”

David woke. He stared groggily at the blanket-wrapped figure across the dark attic room. “Al? I— I must’ve been dreaming.” He shivered and pulled the covers tighter around his shoulders, marveling sleepily at the modesty that drove Al down two flights of stairs to an icy outhouse rather than use the chamberpot in the room.

Of course he’d been dreaming, confusing Al’s footfalls with Zach’s. God, what in hell had he said? “I guess I was talking in my sleep,” he muttered.

“Reckon.” Al’s voice was muffled by the blanket he’d pulled over his head after sinking back onto his cot. He couldn’t have made sense of what he’d heard, David assured himself. He sighed, wishing he could return to the dream. Forget it, he told himself. Anyhow, if Zach were in anyone’s bed, it was likely to be Byron’s.

He tried to thrust the thought from his mind. The room was too cold to return to sleep. His feet stuck out of the skimpy blanket; the chill crept through his long underwear. David drew up his knees, flexing his toes in an effort to warm them. He stared at the gray, predawn dimness, wishing it was time to get up. Sketching might keep his mind off—

“I’ll be glad to see warmer weather,” David said aloud. “My fingers are so damn stiff I can scarcely hold my pencil.”

“You said it,” Al replied. “I’ll be darn glad to have done with this waiting for the war to start up again.”

David shuddered. “I’m not eager for that. I’d sooner draw the men in camp than fighting.” He gazed curiously in the direction of Al’s cot. “Have you ever seen anyone die in battle?”

“Sort of. We’ve had skirmishes in Missouri since the war started; Independence isn’t far from the Kansas border. One of our neighbors was hung by some of Quantrill’s band last summer—after they raided Lawrence and burned the town. He’d called them a pack of murderers, not soldiers at all. I sent an account of it to the
Republican
and the editor printed it. It was pretty sad. His wife and kids found him in the morning. They were sobbing and carrying on. We had to cut him down, get him buried. I don’t reckon on fainting or anything.”

“It’s not the— Well, I guess there’s no sense dwelling on it now,” David said. He sighed and shifted position, trying to keep the covers around him.

“Reckon what I’d do if I was in your shoes,” Al said suddenly, “is go on home and visit a spell. Bound to be more comfortable than what this is.”

“I suppose I could, though I already spent a week there, after New Year’s. Dad wanted me to stay through the winter, but Alexandria’s pretty grim since it’s been occupied. I’d just as soon put up with the cold here in camp.

“Anyhow, there’s not really room. My father’s putting up two officers in my old bedroom. I had to share a bed with Dad when I was up there.”

Al yawned. “Well, bunking down together’s one way to keep warm, at any rate. Colin Kelley told me the soldiers do it all the time. Spread their rubber blankets underneath and lie together with double blankets on top, snug as a bug in a rug. I don’t suppose—” He broke off abruptly, gave another mighty yawn. “I’m too tired to go on chatting like this. Reckon I’ll go back to sleep.”

David closed his eyes. God, it would be good to sleep that way. He opened them before Zach’s image could tease him again and lay staring toward the ceiling. Al’s breathing sounded with soft rhythm across the room. Maybe they should pull their cots together, David thought sleepily, huddle under the covers and share their warmth. He imagined Al’s curly head resting against his shoulder, his breath warm against his neck. It wasn’t a bad notion. It would be a lot less lonely way to pass the night, at any rate. Not like lying with Zach, but still—

Christ, had he taken leave of his senses? He lay still, willing himself to think of something else, smiling finally at the notion of Colin and Pete bunking together—and as like as not sparring away in their sleep.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

January, February and the better part of March of 1864 had gone by, and the army was still in winter quarters. On March 9
^th
, Ulysses S. Grant was appointed by Lincoln to the newly created rank of lieutenant general, and placed in command of the Union armies. A day later, General Grant reviewed the Army of the Potomac and promised to establish his headquarters in the field, near Culpeper Court House, rather than at the War Department in Washington City.

With the exception of an abortive raid aimed at freeing Union prisoners held in Richmond the last week of February, there’d been no military action since the army had gone into winter quarters. Drill took up the better part of the morning, but the rest of the day there was little for the men to do. The sutler’s tent, with its stock-in-trade of tobacco, high-priced canned goods and sweets, became a daily meeting spot. Baseball games, wrestling, foot races and sharpshooting were organized to pass the time.

Pete and Colin had scratched out a rough boxing ring in the dirt clearing in front of their cabin, conducting daily sparring practice as preparation for an anticipated regiment-wide boxing match. A dozen or so soldiers lounged around the ring as David and Al strolled up. The two boxing enthusiasts had stripped to the waist, and stood jabbing at each other with quick, bare-handed blows.

“It’s time you were giving someone else a chance.” Patrick McFarland, the bearded man who bunked in the adjacent cabin stepped into the ring. Colin grinned and obligingly climbed over the clothes line serving as the boundary. He picked up a grimy towel from the stump at the corner and sank down next to David, wiping sweat from his neck and chest.

Patrick grunted as he and Pete traded blows. David watched with fascination, his eyes dropping to his pad just often enough to check his sketch. The rhythmic thud of flesh on flesh, the low cries of the watching men, even the sharp odor of fresh sweat, were oddly exhilarating.

“Hey Pat, don’t drop your left arm that way!” Colin’s call came a second too late. Pete’s fist thudded into Patrick’s jaw, knocking him heavily to the dirt. Pat stayed on the ground a few seconds, then shoved himself to his feet. He moved woozily as he walked from the ring, cursing his stupidity in a colorful monotone.

Bert Scanlon, Ezra Hollings and Jack Maroney followed him into the ring as Pete and Colin took turns sparring and yelling pointers. An hour or so went by. The onlookers began to drift away. “Hey, how ‘bout you givin’ it a try, David?” Colin offered.

David started. “Me? I’ve never done any boxing.”

“It’s no reason for not trying,” Pete put in. “You and Colin’re nearly matched for size.” He grinned slyly. “Sure and you could impress your chicken here.”

Christ. David flushed and fixed his eyes on his pad. Did Pete actually suppose— He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers pausing at the site of his old injury. “I— I’d better not take a chance. I had a bad skull fracture a few years back. I don’t want to—”

“Hey, I wasn’t gonna hurt you,” Colin said. “I know you ain’t no boxer. I’ll pull my punches. I was just thinkin’ you might want to try it, maybe pick up a couple pointers for your pictures.”

“Well...” David cast a sidelong glance at Pete’s amused expression. “I guess in that case.” He laid his jacket and vest on the log, slowly unfastened his shirt. The air chilled his back and shoulders as he stepped into the dirt square.

Colin looked him over. “You ain’t badly muscled for a feller who just draws pictures,” he said. David smiled, glad of the hours he’d spent in the gymnasium. “Now you hold your hands like this, see,” Colin told him. “No, get the left one a little higher. You’re right-handed, ain’t you? Now get your chin down against your chest. Yeah, that’s it.”

David shadowboxed a few moments. Colin watched closely, correcting or praising each swing. The unaccustomed movements began to feel a trifle less awkward. “It’s time you were tryin’ a little sparring now,” Colin said after a few more minutes.

Sparring with Colin was a hell of a lot harder than shadowboxing. Colin’s fists slid easily past his guard, while his own blows landed uselessly on the redhead’s blocking arms. If Colin hadn’t kept his word to pull his punches he’d have knocked him out long ago, David thought ruefully. He threw a quick jab at Colin’s chest. Colin blocked it effortlessly.

David’s knuckles began to sting. He hadn’t yet landed a single blow. Hell, surely he’d tried it long enough to call it quits.

Al rose, moved closer to the ring. “You’re gettin’ the hang of it, David!” he yelled. “Reckon all you need to do now is hit him before he can hit you.”

Pete guffawed. “Like I said. Sure and you ain’t gotta do much to impress your chicken here.” David winced. He turned to confront Pete. Colin’s fist sailed by his ear. Christ, he’d better keep his mind on what he was doing. He whirled back to face Colin, his left leg straightening to take his weight. His right arm shot out and smashed into Colin’s face.

Colin’s lip split. A bright trickle of blood started down his chin. David stared at him, stunned. “Oh my God! I—Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Colin managed a grin. He stepped over the rope and held the towel to the cut. “Hey, you did real good for the first time. If you was to keep at it, you might turn into a pretty fine prizefighter.”

“You do catch on pretty quick,” Al echoed him.

“Well, thanks.” David smiled, suddenly feeling ridiculously pleased with himself.

Pete turned on Al. “Well, now. It’s your turn, sonny.”

Al laughed and shook his head. “‘Fraid not. One of you fellers would make two of me.”

“You can take a turn with Sean here. He ain’t got his growth yet, it’s just goin’ on sixteen he is. Sure and the two of you’d be a pretty even match.”

Sean got to his feet eagerly, with a shy smile. Al shook his head again. “Reckon not. I don’t much feel like it.”

I wonder why not, David thought. He’s usually so damn eager for a little excitement. Hell, he’s been bitching all month about Meade’s refusing to let him go along on that raid Kilpatrick tried on Richmond. He’d probably be pretty good at it, too. He can move fast. Look at the way he swings onto a horse. He looked at Al’s stubbornly set face, his body swallowed up in his oversized coat.

What would he look like without all those clothes? David wondered. He imagined Al stripping down, exposing his lithe, strong, boy’s body—

“What the hell you scared of, sonny boy?” Pete demanded.

“I ain’t scared. I told you, I just don’t want to.” Al looked down, scuffled his feet in the dirt, his face reddening.

Hell, no reason he should be forced into it. David tapped Pete’s shoulder, waited till he had his attention. “Forget Al. When are you all going to have the boxing match?” he asked him.

“Day after tomorrow if the weather holds. I’d sooner wait a couple weeks, have a bit more time for practice. Don’t want our boys lookin’ bad in front of the whole regiment. But we’re after leaving for home on Monday.”

David halted with one arm half in his shirt sleeve. “How come? I thought your enlistment wasn’t up till May.”

“It ain’t,” Pete said. “We’re gettin’ a month’s furlough, account of it’s another three-year hitch we’ve gone and signed up for.”

“You have? But I thought— How come?”

“Cause we’re a bunch of damn fools,” Pete said shortly. He searched in his pocket for his pipe, busied himself lighting it.

“Hey, it makes sense!” Colin exclaimed. He pressed a new part of the towel to his lip, examined it to see if the bleeding had stopped, then wadded the dirty cloth in his hand. “It makes sense,” he repeated. “First off, we get to go home right now, ‘stead of waitin’ for May. And have the whole month free of cares, so to speak. And then we get four hundred dollars in bounty money, plus what the state adds to that.

“Way I’m thinkin’, it would take a hell of a long time to save up that much from wages. It’s likely Rosie and me would be living with her family for years till we could afford a place of our own. But with this bounty we can get hitched while I’m home and buy a little cottage right off. And then she can save up a lot of my army pay, she’s right fine at saving. Time the war’s over, we’ll be sittin’ pretty.”

“But still. To go into battle again. Even for hundreds of dollars—”

“Well Christ’s sake, David, it’s not just for the money. You seen the kinda recruits we’ve been gettin’ lately: bunch of cowards and bounty jumpers. So we’ve been talkin’ it over and made up our minds to see this thing through.” Colin grinned, a faint flush of embarrassment spreading across his freckles, “It’s thinkin’ we are that Uncle Sam’s gonna need some good men stayin’ in if we’re ever to win this war.”

THE BOXCAR JOLTED ALONG TRACKS THAT HAD BEEN LAID AND TORN UP in successive advances and retreats; the rough road buffeted the riders. David sat crowded on the floor with the other passengers, soldiers on furlough for the most part. He shoved a hand into his pocket, fingered the telegraphed message from Mike that his father was suffering from chest pains, asking for him.

Mike had sent the telegram the previous afternoon, but the grinning young fugitive the telegraph operator had entrusted the message to hadn’t found David till nearly noon. He’d caught the next train leaving Brandy Station. The sixty mile trip had taken the better part of the day. David listened uneasily as the soldiers debated whether the delays were due to operations of Confederate guerrillas. It was nighttime when the cars pulled up to the military railroad station at Duke and Fayette streets.