Last Ghost at Gettysburg (33 page)

“It’s perfect!” trilled LouAnne as she paid
the photographer, who secured the 8x10 inch photo in a large
cardboard envelope. “This is going on the living room mantel!”

Back at camp, Mike was somewhat surprised to
see his daughter strolling in with the regimental drummers. “Well,
well, well,” he said, arms crossed over his chest, “what have we
here? The belle of Charney House has seen fit to join us lowly
soldiers in our humble camp?”

“But of course, Father,” she replied with a
dramatic curtsy. “Now, where can a girl get a decent meal around
here?”

“Yeah,” agreed Bortnicker, “we’re starving
after a long day of fighting!”

Mike just rolled his eyes. “Well, if you two
heroes want to grab your mess kits, the stew they’re cooking should
be done in a few minutes.”

The teens made their way over to the dog
tent, which Mike had thoughtfully converted into a shebang to air
it out. Nevertheless, LouAnne wrinkled her nose at the
accommodations. “No, thank you!” she said daintily.

“Well, it’s only for this one more night,”
said T.J. with some relief. “We can get through it.”

“I’ll be thinking of you guys when the AC’s
humming in my room tonight.”

“Kill us some more, why don’tcha?” joked
Bortnicker.

They gathered with the regiment for heaping
plates of beef stew and biscuits, which were washed down with tin
cups of sun tea. LouAnne ate carefully so as not to spill any gravy
onto the lacy front of her robin’s-egg blue dress. “You have no
idea how expensive it is to get this dry cleaned!” she moaned.

“What’s dry cleaning?” countered T.J.,
reverting to his 1860s character.

“Very funny.”

As the sun set many of the soldiers, and a
few of the female reenactors, pulled up camp chairs or wooden kegs
to use as seating in a large circle around the crackling regimental
campfire. Some of the men were passing silver flasks around, which
T.J. suspected were filled with a liquid much stronger than sun
tea. No matter, they were entitled after a long afternoon in the
field. Then, one of the ladies produced a fiddle and began a
beautiful rendition of “Ashokan Farewell,” the mournful tune made
famous in the Ken Burns Civil War documentary.

“I love this song!” said Bortnicker.

“Incredible,” said LouAnne. “And it’s not
even Steely Dan!”

Another reenactor, an infantryman from nearby
Cashtown, produced a banjo and the duo launched into an impromptu
performance of the Civil War’s greatest hits. When they began
“Cumberland Gap,” a real toe-tapper, some of the troopers began to
polka with the women. Mike Darcy presented himself before his
daughter. “May I have this dance, young miss?” he said
gallantly.

“If you promise not to break my toes,” she
giggled. Soon he was whirling her around to the music, the
assembled participants clapping in time. LouAnne couldn’t have been
more radiant. Her long hair, tied back with a simple blue ribbon,
shone in the firelight as she threw her head back and laughed in
delight with her father, who was most definitely a very proud
man.

As the song ended the dancing couples bowed
to each other as the banjo player said, “And now, one of your
all-time favorites, I’m sure!” and stuck up “Garry Owen.” T.J.
looked up to see the wondrous LouAnne standing in front of him, her
hand extended. “I believe this dance is ours, Cuz,” she said, her
face flushed with color.

“C’mon!” said Bortnicker, pushing him off his
stool. “It’s time for
T.J’s Got
Talent
!”

He rose uncertainly and took her hand as
other couples joined in. “Just keep up with me,” she advised, and
they were off, her skirts swirling, her hair flying, he struggling
mightily to keep up. The soldiers clapped in time and the song
seemed to go on forever. But T.J. didn’t care. It was the happiest
moment of his life.

* * * *

When it was over he bowed and she curtsied
again, obviously pleased with their performance. “Daddy,” she said
to Mike, who had obviously had quite a few pulls on the flask, “I’m
going to call Mom on my cell phone to come pick me up. Is it okay
if T.J. walks me to the entrance?”

“Sure, honey,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“I’ll have Bortnicker escort me to my tent.”

“Watch it, Ranger Mike,” joked Matty, “we
need you to be in full fighting trim for tomorrow!” This drew loud
guffaws from everyone.

“I need to talk to you,” said LouAnne as they
crunched along the gravel path that led to the farm entrance.

“About what?” said T.J. warily.

“Tomorrow. You have a bad feeling about it,
don’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Every time I looked up tonight, you were
deep in thought,” she said. “Is it that you think the Major’s going
to appear?”

“Well, tomorrow’s Pickett’s Charge, Cuz. If
he’s ever gonna do it, that’s the time.”

“And what do you plan to do if he tries to do
something...dramatic?”

T.J. stopped walking and looked her in the
eye. “I’m gonna stop him.”

“Why do you feel it’s your responsibility?”
she said, exasperated.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “It’s just like,
I feel that this whole deal, me coming down to Pennsylvania and
all, was for a reason. And when he appeared to me that kind of
sealed the deal.”

She squeezed his hand. “You
can’t
get
hurt,” she said, the emotion rising in her voice. “I won’t let
you!”

T.J. held her gaze for a moment, then started
walking again, never releasing her hand. “I’ll be fine,” he
assured her, “and if it gets weird, Bortnicker and your dad will be
nearby. Will you be there?”

“I’ll be around, don’t worry,” she said
enigmatically as Terri’s Accord pulled into the entrance. They
waved to her and she drove over, putting the driver’s side window
down.

“You two okay?” she said, sensing their
tension.

“Yeah, sure, Aunt Terri,” said T.J. “It’s
just been a long day.”

“Well, only one more to go,” she said
brightly. “I might even spectate. Did you have fun tonight, hon?”
she asked her daughter.

“No doubt, Mom,” LouAnne said, sweetly. “And
you should see T.J. polka! Very impressive!” She released his hand
and walked around the car to the passenger door. But before she got
in, she gave him a hard look over the roof and mouthed
be
careful
.

He nodded gently. Then the car pulled away
and T.J. was alone in his gloom.

* * * *

When T.J.’s eyes opened around 2 A.M. he
found himself looking into the very wide-open eyes of his
friend.

“You smell it?” said Bortnicker.

“Yeah, at least I think I do.”

“Wanna check outside?”

“Might as well.”

After pulling on his brogans T.J. gingerly
ducked out of the dog tent, Bortnicker at his side. It was very
dark, but they could make out a figure not far away, standing
beside the opening of another tent. It was Bobby, one of Uncle
Mike’s shooting buddies. He turned toward the boys and
half-whispered, “What in the Sam Hill is that smell?”

“Don’t know,” said T.J., trying to stay
calm.

“It’s coming from over yonder,” Bobby said,
pointing to the trees that separated the two camps, “like
somethin’ up and died in those woods.”

“Think we should check it out?” said
Bortnicker uncertainly.

“Heck, no,” said Bobby. “I ain’t going in
there in the dark. Well, g’night, boys. Try to get some shuteye.
It’ll be daylight before you know it.”

The boys crawled back to their blankets and
lay down, silent until Bortnicker said, “Think it’s him?”

“He does have a distinctive odor,” answered
T.J., weakly attempting levity.

“So, what’s the plan?”

In the darkness of the tent, T.J. told
him.

Chapter Thirty-Two

July 4, 2010 dawned, hazy, hot and humid. The
boys awoke at first light, never falling into a deep sleep after
the previous night’s event.

“Let’s find some sinks and try to wash up a
bit,” said T.J. “I feel disgusting.”

“Me too,” said Bortnicker. “It doesn’t help
that it’s like a thousand degrees already.”

By the time they returned from cleaning up
and visiting the porta-san, the campsite was alive with activity.
The troops of the 72
^nd
Pennsylvania were already
checking their rifles, cap boxes and other equipment. Pots of
coffee and biscuits with ham and gravy were cooking on the
campfire, which brought Mike and Matty out of their tent, trying to
stretch the soreness out of their bodies.

“Too many hits on the whisky flask last
night, Ranger Mike?” said Eddie, as Matty chuckled.

“Something like that,” said Mike, shaking the
cobwebs.

“Well, at least you slept,” said Bobby, tying
his bootlaces. “I got woken up by the most god-awful stink around
2:00 A.M.”

“What kind of stink?” said Mike, suddenly
interested.

“Hard to describe. Kinda sweet and putrid,
you know?”

“Well, don’t look at me,” said Matty, making
light of the situation, “I made sure to bring a change of
socks.”

Everyone laughed at Matty’s joke. Except
Mike.

None of this was mentioned as the boys joined
his little clique around the breakfast campfire.

“Bortnicker, son, I’ve never seen someone
take to camp food like you,” said Matty as he watched the boy pop a
gravy-sodden biscuit into his mouth.

“A soldier’s gotta eat,” was his reply.

* * * *

Sergeant McAllister was making the rounds,
dropping in on the clusters of men. “We’ll have a regimental
meeting at 1:00 P.M. Fellows, do an equipment check, and the
Colonel will address the unit.”

“Let me guess, Mac,” said Matty, “Pelham’s
gonna tell us the story of Pickett’s Charge for the hundredth
time?”

“It must be a great responsibility being the
regimental malcontent,” was McAllister’s sarcastic reply. “Let’s
just be good boys and humor the Colonel, okay, Matty?”

“Sure, Mac.”

“There’s a good lad.” He winked and moved on
to the next group.

“He’s not a bad guy, Matty,” said Mike.

“I’m just having fun with the good sergeant,”
Matty replied. “I’m quite content being a lowly infantryman, thank
you.”

Mike used his morning free time to stroll
over to the command post building where he found Rudy Herzog and
some EMTs huddled around a coffee maker. Banks of walkie-talkies
were being recharged on long tables, and the day’s timetable, with
the names of those assigned to what areas, was posted on a
whiteboard in the center of the room.

“Hey, Coach,” said Rudy, waving Mike
over.

“Hi, Rudy,” said Mike, shaking his hand.
“How’s everything going at the Nerve Center?”

“I’ll tell ya, Coach,” said Herzog, “It’s
been a relatively quiet weekend.” He quickly leaned over and
knocked on a nearby wooden table. “A few turned ankles and one
broken wrist from the obligatory fall off a horse. The EMT’s have
been hopping with heat exhaustion cases, however. Military and
civilian. We should have a shuttle bus to the hospital just for
that.”

“Well,” said Mike, “No matter how much you
tell people to hydrate, it can still sneak up on you.”

“Yeah. Now I can appreciate how you coaches
gave us regular water breaks during summer practice. None of that
‘water makes you weak’ baloney.”

“Well,” explained Mike, “I had enough
sadistic coaches in the ‘70s to know better. So, you guys ready for
the grand finale today?”

“I think so. The Chief and I will be on hand
to observe. I think I heard your boss will be showing up, too,
though the park rangers have nothing to do with these events.”

“Yeah, but Bruce can’t stay away from this
stuff. Deep down we’re all history junkies.”

Rudy laughed. “Is the missus attending?”

“Well, you know she’s not thrilled about all
this,” said Mike, sweeping his hand across the room. “Thinks it’s
too big a production. Maybe she’s right. But I’ll bet that when the
cannons open up this afternoon she’ll be in the stands with
LouAnne, like always.”

“Well, have a good battle, Coach,” said Rudy
as his radio began crackling.

“You too,” said Mike, backing away with a
wave so Herzog could attend to business. As he left the building
Mike could hear Rudy call out, “We’ve got a guy in the Confederate
camp, 16
^th
Mississippi Volunteers, who just dumped
scalding coffee all over his leg!”

“We’re on it!” said two fuzzy-cheeked EMTs as
they hustled out a side door.

* * * *

T.J. had waited until Mike was far in the
distance to attend to his battle preparation. With Bortnicker
standing guard at the front of the tent, he got on his knees and
gently lifted Mike’s towel-wrapped .44 Colt from his knapsack.
Carefully he loaded the weapon, drawing upon his memory of those
times at the shooting range. He had tremendous misgivings about
what he was doing, and was sure his uncle would kill him when he
found out, but in his mind he had no choice.

Enough of taking the easy way out. Gotta
roll the dice on this one. I just hope this old ammo doesn’t make
the gun blow up in my hand.

“You done in there?” said Bortnicker
nervously. “I think I see your uncle coming. Hurry up!”

His fingers shaking, T.J. hurriedly
re-wrapped the pistol, cursing himself for only chambering one
round. He heard Bortnicker say, a bit loudly, “He’s right inside,
Mr. Darcy,” and covered the leather knapsack just as Mike stuck his
head in the tent.

“I want to check out a couple of the exhibit
tents. Why don’t you guys keep me company?”

“Sure thing,” said T.J., realizing he
couldn’t say no.

The three soldiers made the rounds of the
village, checking out a Civil War worship service and a “medical
demonstration” that left many of the spectators cringing. After
munching on some peanuts and other Civil War snacks, it was time to
get back to camp to dress for the regimental meeting and
inspection. T.J. hoped he’d have time to load another couple
bullets, but there was too much activity now. He had a sinking
feeling that he was doomed to fail.