ever been able to grow a beard worth a hoot. Our pa, neither. Ma says it’s the Injun blood in us.”
“Indian blood? With all that yellow hair?”
“The yellow’s on Ma’s side. Pa’s family—”
“Where’re you from?”
“Kentucky, sir. Across the river from Cincinnati.” She hadn’t dared say Virginia for fear she’d be taken for a Rebel spy. What little geography Phoebe knew had come from her few years of schooling in Bone Hollow and from listening to her brothers plan their own trip. She’d deliberately traveled in the opposite direction from them for the last week and ended up in Pennsylvania.
“Why’d you come all the way over here to enlist?”
“Well, sir. There’s four of us brothers in the family, and Ma made us all sign up in different states so’s we wouldn’t end up all getting kilt in the same battle. I picked Pennsylvania ’cause Jack and Willard already picked Ohio and Indiana. Junior joined up back home in Kentucky.”
“Are you sure it’s not because you’re underage?”
“Oh no, sir. You bring me a Bible and I’ll swear on it that I just turned nineteen on the eleventh of June.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s see your teeth. You got all your front ones?”
“Yes, sir.” Phoebe grinned widely, displaying them. “And I can shoot like nobody’s business. Better than any of my brothers. Go on and set an empty bottle on that barrel out front, and I’ll bet I can knock it clear off from across the street in a single shot.”
“Empty bottles don’t shoot back,” the officer said sternly. “And they don’t come running at you screaming like banshees, either, like the Confederates do. You ready for that?”
“Yes, sir, I’m ready to do my part.”
“All right, then. These are your enlistment papers. Once you sign them you’re obligated to serve in the United States Army for a period of three years. Your pay will be thirteen dollars a month. Can you read and write, son?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Read this carefully, then, and sign right here.”
She quickly scanned the words, too excited to make sense of them. Her sweaty hand made the ink run as she signed her name, Ike Bigelow, in neat letters.
“Good. Who’s next?” the officer asked. Phoebe didn’t move.
“Wait a minute. Ain’t you forgetting to give me a rifle?”
“You’ll get one when you get to Washington. Next?”
“Washington! Ain’t no Rebels in Washington. I signed on to fight—not visit Abe Lincoln.”
“First you have to learn to march. After that you’ll get your rifle—and your fair share of fighting, believe me.”
“But any old fool knows how to put one foot in front of the other. Pa says I been marching all around the farm since I was a year old. And I know how to shoot, too. Give me a rifle and I’ll prove it to you.”
“There will be plenty of time to show what you can do, son. Go on in the back now, and get yourself a uniform from the quartermaster.” He pointed with his thumb to a doorway behind him.
“Thought sure they’d at least give me a gun,” Phoebe muttered as she ducked through the door. She found herself in a large, crowded storeroom that was even hotter than the storefront had been. It smelled of leather and warm bodies and kerosene from the lanterns that lit the windowless room. A soldier stood near the door doling out Yankee uniform jackets, shirts, and pants from the large piles beside him. About a dozen other men milled around inside the room, laughing and joking as they stripped off their overalls and work shirts and put on their new blue uniforms.
Phoebe hesitated, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Then she remembered that her only other choice was to wear a dress and work for the Haggertys, and her doubts faded. Seeing men in their underwear was nothing new. Neither was a lack of privacy. After all, she’d grown up in a one-room cabin with three brothers. She took the heap of scratchy wool clothing the
“Indian blood? With all that yellow hair?”
“The yellow’s on Ma’s side. Pa’s family—”
“Where’re you from?”
“Kentucky, sir. Across the river from Cincinnati.” She hadn’t dared say Virginia for fear she’d be taken for a Rebel spy. What little geography Phoebe knew had come from her few years of schooling in Bone Hollow and from listening to her brothers plan their own trip. She’d deliberately traveled in the opposite direction from them for the last week and ended up in Pennsylvania.
“Why’d you come all the way over here to enlist?”
“Well, sir. There’s four of us brothers in the family, and Ma made us all sign up in different states so’s we wouldn’t end up all getting kilt in the same battle. I picked Pennsylvania ’cause Jack and Willard already picked Ohio and Indiana. Junior joined up back home in Kentucky.”
“Are you sure it’s not because you’re underage?”
“Oh no, sir. You bring me a Bible and I’ll swear on it that I just turned nineteen on the eleventh of June.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s see your teeth. You got all your front ones?”
“Yes, sir.” Phoebe grinned widely, displaying them. “And I can shoot like nobody’s business. Better than any of my brothers. Go on and set an empty bottle on that barrel out front, and I’ll bet I can knock it clear off from across the street in a single shot.”
“Empty bottles don’t shoot back,” the officer said sternly. “And they don’t come running at you screaming like banshees, either, like the Confederates do. You ready for that?”
“Yes, sir, I’m ready to do my part.”
“All right, then. These are your enlistment papers. Once you sign them you’re obligated to serve in the United States Army for a period of three years. Your pay will be thirteen dollars a month. Can you read and write, son?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Read this carefully, then, and sign right here.”
She quickly scanned the words, too excited to make sense of them. Her sweaty hand made the ink run as she signed her name, Ike Bigelow, in neat letters.
“Good. Who’s next?” the officer asked. Phoebe didn’t move.
“Wait a minute. Ain’t you forgetting to give me a rifle?”
“You’ll get one when you get to Washington. Next?”
“Washington! Ain’t no Rebels in Washington. I signed on to fight—not visit Abe Lincoln.”
“First you have to learn to march. After that you’ll get your rifle—and your fair share of fighting, believe me.”
“But any old fool knows how to put one foot in front of the other. Pa says I been marching all around the farm since I was a year old. And I know how to shoot, too. Give me a rifle and I’ll prove it to you.”
“There will be plenty of time to show what you can do, son. Go on in the back now, and get yourself a uniform from the quartermaster.” He pointed with his thumb to a doorway behind him.
“Thought sure they’d at least give me a gun,” Phoebe muttered as she ducked through the door. She found herself in a large, crowded storeroom that was even hotter than the storefront had been. It smelled of leather and warm bodies and kerosene from the lanterns that lit the windowless room. A soldier stood near the door doling out Yankee uniform jackets, shirts, and pants from the large piles beside him. About a dozen other men milled around inside the room, laughing and joking as they stripped off their overalls and work shirts and put on their new blue uniforms.
Phoebe hesitated, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Then she remembered that her only other choice was to wear a dress and work for the Haggertys, and her doubts faded. Seeing men in their underwear was nothing new. Neither was a lack of privacy. After all, she’d grown up in a one-room cabin with three brothers. She took the heap of scratchy wool clothing the
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