June 30th, 1863
Pat
I woke up a little after the sun rose to the sound of the bugle in my one-person tent on the gently rolling field about a mile away from the edge of Gettysburg. I sit up, run my fingers through my short, auburn hair, slip into my navy blue uniform, and quietly walk out of my tent. "Pat!" I hear someone shout
I turn to the voice almost immediately and see Curt and his brother, Tommy, sitting by a small pile of sticks. Walking over, I say, "Aren't you supposed to be a courier, Tom? Why are you not delivering anything or collecting mail?"
I crouched next to them in the damp grass. Tommy adjusted the mail sack off his neck and onto his shoulder "I'm procrastinating. Major Spaar is hanging around this company to oversee some drilling or a supply exchange or something, and the other couriers have not delivered any messages to him for the past few days because they believe he already knows-"
"What do I already know?"
Tom jumped and turned to see Major Spaar right behind him. Spaar is exceptionally tall with an athletic build. Although he is skinny, he is very obviously strong. Just his looks would make him a well-respected soldier if he wasn't betrayed by the twang in his voice. Tommy quickly stood up, his hat coming askew"Uh, the other couriers think you know that The Army of Northern Virginia is closing on on Gettysburg and General Buford's cavalry is set to arrive here later today to try to prevent any actions against the town."
"Only that?" Major Spaar said, exasperated, "Your name is Thomas Blackburn, right?"
"Yes sir."
"Thank you. It is nice to know a reliable messenger."
Spaar scurried into the forest directly adjacent to camp, mumbling to himself. "Wow, Tommy, someone with some importance knows your name. Anyway, can you try to strike up a fire with my lucifers*. The wood got damp but that never stopped you from making fires," Curt said, patting the ground next to him.
"Do we really need a fire? The sun has been for barely an hour up and it is already hot. Not to mention we ran out of meat a few weeks ago," Tommy complained as he sat, shuddering and itching at his collar.
"Not true anymore," Curt gently shoved his little brother, "I heard the supply wagons are coming in later today because of the troops being stationed here. We might as well have a fire going hot enough to cook the meat when it comes."
Tommy winced and unbuttoned the top button of his navy blue wool coat, revealing the edge of a scar. He itched at it and looked at me. Curt saw the old wound, looked concerned, and said, "I'll bet Spaar is going to put in a good word about you to Colonel Hayes, he may make you his personal Aide-De-Camp or sneak you the best cuts of the new meat."
"I'll start the fire only if you let me use it to cook first. I am so tired of hard tack and fire cakes being my main source of nutrition," He unbuttoned his jacket a bit more and undid the top button of the shirt underneath the coat.
"Deal," I said.
Tommy rummaged around his canvas messenger bag and pulled out a small box of matches and a letter whose back read, 'Curtis Blackburn'. He struck the match on his shoe and held it to one of the sticks in front of him. It promptly caught fire, and he fanned it with the letter. The small fire quickly caught in the rest of the sticks. "Tada," Tommy said unenthusiastically, rubbing a long half-healed wound on the side of his neck, "Here is your cover up letter,"
He tossed the letter to Curt and scampered off, picking letters out of his bag and handing them to people as he passed them. "It's hard to believe he's already fifteen."
"You're just in denial about the fact you are getting older. And that your parents managed to squeeze a fourteenth kid into your household after you turned 21."
"I guess," he said, scratching his face, "Did something seem off about Tom to you?"
"Other than the fact he was irritable and not excitedly telling us the story of how he single-handedly fought off an entire battalion of rebel officers to get that cut on his neck?"
"He did that?"
"No, it just sounds like something he would say followed by, 'I was just teasing, I tripped over a dead bird and ran into a tree!'"
"That makes more sense..." Curt responded, his eyebrows furrowed, "What if the cut is infected?"
"It isn't, it looked like it was healing well from what I saw." I responded, patting his leg after I made sure no one was looking.
Curt's parents died shortly after Tommy was born, and raising his 5 youngest siblings and his youngest sister dying of Smallpox greatly increased how much he worried about menial things. I married Curt fifteen years ago so I know him well enough to understand his worries about Tommy's cut would be all-consuming until he distracts himself and would go away completely in an hour or two.
"Read your letter so no one gets suspicious."
"Why? We both know that is just an empty piece of paper with my name on it."
"You don't want me to be found out, do you? Our families would be disgraced and our children would have no future."
"Fine," Curt sighed, opening the letter, "It looks like Carrie learned how to make a corn husk doll."
"Wow. That's the fifth time this week."
"Yes." He began to poke at the fire a bit, then grabbed the pocket watch out of his pocket, "It's seven. What time do you suppose Buford's getting here?"
"Maybe later this morning. Maybe later. He's cavalry, so they probably need to hydrate the horses as often as possible considering how hot it's been this summer."
Curt got completely distracted and looked over my shoulder. I turned and saw Major Spaar pacing by the edge of the woods, around thirty feet away from the nearest tent. He stops and we make eye contact. His eyes are big and intense, an ocean blue you get lost in. He looked me up and down, and I saw his face change, as if he realized something. "He knows," Curt said, grabbing my shoulder. "Did you see that? He just looked at you once and his face just went-"
"Shut up and don't worry. He probably wasn't even looking at us. You know how you get when you are worried about Tommy," I hissed, patting his hand comfortingly than shoving it off my shoulder.
Spaar walked slowly over to us and crouched next to me and Curt. He calmly said, "Many people don't know that I have rather sharp ears. Don't worry Curtis, I like your brother. I always have, so I wouldn't let him do anything dangerous. He reminds me of my son sometimes," Spaar stood up and began to walk away.
Curt looked at me, relieved. Spaar turned back toward us and leaned over so his head was right next to ours. "You don't have to worry either, Patrica. We need all the people we can get."
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*matches
ns 15.158.61.20da2
