Roy rose. He was all right, seeing just one of whatever there was supposed to be one of, even though everything trembled at the edges. Roy had never been a leader, hadn’t really known what it was a leader did. Now he put his hand on Dibrell’s biceps. “You can go,” he said. “But your uniform stays here.”
Dibrell shook himself free, or tried to. “You’re out of line, Private.”
Roy gave Dibrell’s muscle a little squeeze, just to show him what was what. “One or the other,” Roy said.
Dibrell looked to Jesse. Jesse said nothing. “That uniform cost me three hundred bucks,” Dibrell said.
Roy released Dibrell. “Doesn’t make it yours,” he said.
Dibrell was a big man, almost Sonny’s size. He deflated under Roy’s gaze, turned and walked out of the barn, leaving the uniform behind.
“Cops,” Sonny Junior said.
“We’ll talk about it, that’s all,” said Jesse.
“No harm in talking,” Gordo said. “Don’t guess there’d be such a thing as an ice pack around here?”
“What do you mean, no harm in talking?” said Sonny.
Gordo licked his lips a couple times. “How are we supposed to find him by ourselves?”
Sonny frowned, didn’t answer.
“Good question,” said Jesse.
“Is it?” Roy said.
“I don’t get you,” said Jesse.
“I think you do, Lieutenant,” Roy said.
Lee came over, stood behind him, put her hands on his shoulders. They all saw, but only Gordo raised his eyebrows, meaning Sonny and Jesse knew.
“Go on,” Jesse said.
“The Yankees are on a campaign, said so themselves,” Roy said. “Only one campaign it can be.”
“What’s that?” said Jesse.
“The Chickamauga campaign,” Roy said. “All we need to know is what happens next.”
“After the battle of Chickamauga?” Jesse said.
Roy nodded. That brought a bit of pain, a bit of dizziness, but he was learning big things, and very fast. Learning to lead, that was one. Learning that the battle of Chickamauga was the turning point of his life, 1863 the most important year, those were others. Been no year like it, before or since. Who had told him that? Earl? Earl. He glanced at Jesse. Was it possible they’d have been better off under Earl’s command?
“Bragg failed to pursue, as you know,” said Jesse. “And quite possibly the right decision considering his losses. The Yankees retreated to Chattanooga, ended up taking Lookout Mountain in the Battle Above the Clouds. Sherman used Chattanooga as his base for the march to the sea.”
“So Bragg was wrong,” Roy said.
“It’s more complicated than that,” said Jesse.
“Don’t know what all this bullshit’s about,” said Sonny, “ ’cept it seems like they got Rhett up on Lookout Mountain. That it, cuz?”
“Yeah,” Roy said. “I’m just wondering if the lieutenant was going to tell us, if we hadn’t figured it out for ourselves.”
“Isn’t there a big event going on up there?” Gordo said.
“Just one more reason to bring in the authorities,” Jesse said.
“What did you say?” Roy said.
“Because of the reenactment, Lookout Mountain now being a suburb of Chattanooga, for God’s sake, we should bring in the police.”
“No,” Roy said. “That word.”
Lee’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“Authorities?” said Jesse.
“Don’t like that word,” Roy said.
“Fuckin’ right,” said Sonny.
“So are you in or out?” Roy said.
“That’s not a question you can ask the ranking officer,” Jesse said.
“Irregulars do things a little different,” Roy said. “I’ll ask one last time.”
Jesse’s gaze went from Roy to Sonny, past Gordo, settled on Lee. “What do you think, Corporal?” he said.
Lee looked him in the eye. “Are we men or not?” she said.
Silence. Then Sonny laughed. “The little guy, girl, whatever the hell she is, got more balls than the rest of us put together.”
They all started laughing after that. It made them hurt, but they laughed anyway.
“So it’s settled then,” Roy said.
No one said it wasn’t.
The windows went from the orange to black, the scythe, rake, ball and chain high up on the wall lost their ember-colored highlights, vanished from sight, the candles guttered and went out. The Irregulars bedded down for the night: Sonny Junior on the seat of the demolition derby car, Jesse and Gordo on straw behind the drum kit, Roy and Lee on the bare mattress back in the cantilevered section.
They heard Jesse groan, later a higher-pitched sound, almost like a child whimpering in the night, must have been Gordo, after that Sonny’s snoring, and finally silence. Roy whispered in Lee’s ear.
“You all right?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
They weren’t touching. Then they were, Lee making the first move. They held each other. Roy didn’t want more than that. Lee did. That didn’t make him feel any different, not at first. She was starting to do something about that, and Roy could see it all going very shabby, when one of her fingers snagged in the little hole on the left side of his jacket. Everything changed. What if he died in the Battle Above the Clouds, what if he lost Rhett up there too? Those apple trees, blossoming year after year for generations, the water flowing from the spring, almost holy: Roy went deep inside her, as deep as he could, maybe even a bit brutally.
“That was the best,” she said after, in a low voice, but not whispering. For some reason he liked that not- whispering part most of all.
They breathed together, softer and softer. Roy listened for the beating of heavy wings, didn’t hear them. She could name him, the baby, anything she liked.
Roy opened his eyes. Still night, the night before the battle. Bragg’s failure to pursue: they wouldn’t make that mistake again. Roy had arrived at his destination on the journey through time, had found the exact moment when he could make things right at last, undo the mistake of Chickamauga. Forces were on the loose, as Ezekiel had said. And not only Ezekiel: Roy suddenly remembered Curtis using that very phrase, after they fired Gordo. Did black people sense those forces first? If so, why?
Roy couldn’t get back to sleep. He thought of all the rebels who had lain awake the night before the battle, thought: Help me, father. That didn’t mean his biological father, or any sort of supernatural one, but his real father, the hero with many greats before his name, Roy Singleton Hill. Lying on the bare mattress in the cantilevered part of Sonny’s barn, Lee’s hand limp on his side, Roy remembered the diary page. He felt in his pocket: still there.
Roy got up. He slipped out of the cantilevered section, a shadow as quiet as all the others in the barn. The big doors hung slightly open, framing a narrow column of stars. Roy went outside.
It was cool, almost cold. The sudden temperature drop surprised him; so did the flickering yellow light he took at first for a firefly from the far side of the well. Roy walked around it, found Jesse sitting with his back to the rough stone wellhead, a candle stub burning in the ground. Roy sat be-side him.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Jesse said.
“Shoulder?”
“I’m fine.”
“Won’t affect your shooting none?” Roy said.
“Not for firing blanks.”
Roy smiled. “Was it you took away my bullets?” he said. “I had one in the chamber, a few more in my
