quartermaster handed her at the door and found a space for herself in a dim back corner.
The trousers stopped two inches above her ankles—but then, Phoebe was taller than most of the other soldiers by four or five inches. The shirt was too short to tuck into the pants, but she could have fit two heads through the neck hole. “Guess they figure I might grow another head,” she said to herself. The material was coarse and itchy, and if she didn’t get out of this stifling room pretty soon she would die of the heat. She slid her arms into the dark blue uniform jacket and tried to button the long row of shiny brass buttons, but it fit so snugly across her shoulders and chest that she felt like a snake about to burst out of its skin. The only thing that fit halfway decent was the forage cap.
“Hey, there,” a voice beside her said. “Want to trade jackets?”
Phoebe looked down, then smiled. The little fellow standing alongside her wore a coat that was so huge he looked like a tiny little pea in a big blue pod.
“Sure,” she said. “Guess it can’t hurt to try.” Phoebe unfastened the long row of buttons and traded jackets. The other fellow’s coat fit her a little better, but not by much. “Must have been a sale on all these brass buttons,” she said as she fastened them again. “Can’t see why else we’d need so many.”
“We have to keep them all shiny-looking, too,” the little fellow said. “My uncle joined up a few months back, and he says we have to polish the brass with emery paper every night or we’ll get into trouble.”
“Seems like a waste of time, don’t it?” Phoebe said. “I joined up to fight a war, not polish buttons.”
“Hey, you aren’t from around here, are you?” the little stranger asked. He had an eager, friendly voice that dipped from highpitched to low and back again when he talked, like a wagon wheel sliding in and out of a rut.
“No, I crossed over from Kentucky to enlist,” Phoebe replied.
“What’s your name?”
“Ike …Ike Bigelow.”
“Nice to meet you, Ike,” he said, extending his hand. It was soft, with no calluses, a city boy’s hand. “I’m Theodore Wilson. Folks call me Ted.”
The top of Ted’s curly brown head barely reached Phoebe’s chin. He had a wiry build that made him look as though he’d be quick as a deer if he decided to run. His smooth, tanned skin and wide brown eyes gave him the innocent, trusting look of a child. Then he smiled, revealing a pair of oversized front teeth, and he reminded Phoebe for all the world of a squirrel.
“I don’t mean to insult you,” she said, “but you hardly look old enough to enlist.”
“I’m nineteen,” Ted told her. “I live around here, so folks know I’m old enough. Hey, did you get all your other gear yet?”
Phoebe shook her head. “They only give me this uniform. The man said I wouldn’t get me a gun until I get to Washington. If I’d a known that, I’d have brought a gun from home.”
“You have your own gun? You know how to shoot already?” Ted was practically dancing.
“Sure. I been shooting since I could walk and talk. I hardly ever miss, either.”
“Will you teach me how?” His voice squeaked with excitement.
“I reckon so,” she said, hiding a smile.
“Great. Thanks. Hey, we get our knapsacks and stuff in that line over there. Come on.”
Phoebe followed her new friend to the supply line, enjoying the fact that Ted already looked up to her in more ways than one. As the youngest and smallest sibling back home, Phoebe had always been picked on by her brothers and had to fight for the right to do all the things they did. Her brother Jack, especially, took great delight in reminding her that she was a girl.
“You got a girl, Ike?” Ted flung out the word girl so suddenly that it threw Phoebe off balance. It took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t accusing her of being one but was asking her if she had one.
“Huh? No …no, I never had a gal or
The trousers stopped two inches above her ankles—but then, Phoebe was taller than most of the other soldiers by four or five inches. The shirt was too short to tuck into the pants, but she could have fit two heads through the neck hole. “Guess they figure I might grow another head,” she said to herself. The material was coarse and itchy, and if she didn’t get out of this stifling room pretty soon she would die of the heat. She slid her arms into the dark blue uniform jacket and tried to button the long row of shiny brass buttons, but it fit so snugly across her shoulders and chest that she felt like a snake about to burst out of its skin. The only thing that fit halfway decent was the forage cap.
“Hey, there,” a voice beside her said. “Want to trade jackets?”
Phoebe looked down, then smiled. The little fellow standing alongside her wore a coat that was so huge he looked like a tiny little pea in a big blue pod.
“Sure,” she said. “Guess it can’t hurt to try.” Phoebe unfastened the long row of buttons and traded jackets. The other fellow’s coat fit her a little better, but not by much. “Must have been a sale on all these brass buttons,” she said as she fastened them again. “Can’t see why else we’d need so many.”
“We have to keep them all shiny-looking, too,” the little fellow said. “My uncle joined up a few months back, and he says we have to polish the brass with emery paper every night or we’ll get into trouble.”
“Seems like a waste of time, don’t it?” Phoebe said. “I joined up to fight a war, not polish buttons.”
“Hey, you aren’t from around here, are you?” the little stranger asked. He had an eager, friendly voice that dipped from highpitched to low and back again when he talked, like a wagon wheel sliding in and out of a rut.
“No, I crossed over from Kentucky to enlist,” Phoebe replied.
“What’s your name?”
“Ike …Ike Bigelow.”
“Nice to meet you, Ike,” he said, extending his hand. It was soft, with no calluses, a city boy’s hand. “I’m Theodore Wilson. Folks call me Ted.”
The top of Ted’s curly brown head barely reached Phoebe’s chin. He had a wiry build that made him look as though he’d be quick as a deer if he decided to run. His smooth, tanned skin and wide brown eyes gave him the innocent, trusting look of a child. Then he smiled, revealing a pair of oversized front teeth, and he reminded Phoebe for all the world of a squirrel.
“I don’t mean to insult you,” she said, “but you hardly look old enough to enlist.”
“I’m nineteen,” Ted told her. “I live around here, so folks know I’m old enough. Hey, did you get all your other gear yet?”
Phoebe shook her head. “They only give me this uniform. The man said I wouldn’t get me a gun until I get to Washington. If I’d a known that, I’d have brought a gun from home.”
“You have your own gun? You know how to shoot already?” Ted was practically dancing.
“Sure. I been shooting since I could walk and talk. I hardly ever miss, either.”
“Will you teach me how?” His voice squeaked with excitement.
“I reckon so,” she said, hiding a smile.
“Great. Thanks. Hey, we get our knapsacks and stuff in that line over there. Come on.”
Phoebe followed her new friend to the supply line, enjoying the fact that Ted already looked up to her in more ways than one. As the youngest and smallest sibling back home, Phoebe had always been picked on by her brothers and had to fight for the right to do all the things they did. Her brother Jack, especially, took great delight in reminding her that she was a girl.
“You got a girl, Ike?” Ted flung out the word girl so suddenly that it threw Phoebe off balance. It took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t accusing her of being one but was asking her if she had one.
“Huh? No …no, I never had a gal or
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