Two for Home

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

April 12 was supposed to be a good day. After all, it was Zach’s birthday—his eleventh, and while he’d been shooting Pa’s guns since he was knee high to nothing, Pa had promised to make him a rifle of his very own.

But that April 12 in 1861 had been different. The newsboys started shouting from the street corners.

“Extry, extry! Read all about it! Shots fired on Fort Sumter!”

Pa had bought a newssheet, something he never did, and read it. Zach had never seen his pa lose color like that before, and he tugged Pa’s sleeve.

“What happened?”

“Confederate shore batteries fired on the Union forces holding Fort Sumter in Charleston Bay.”

Zach might have been just a boy, but he knew what that meant. The war many had been hopeful would never happen had started.

“I’ve got to go, Pa.” He knew Pa would have enlisted, but he’d lost a leg in the fight for Texas independence, and the army wasn’t likely to take him.

Pa looked at him sadly. “You’re just a boy.”

“The Union needs all her sons.” He’d heard the alderman say so.

“Zach—”

“They’re going to need drummer boys, too.” Zach beat the drum when the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, which Pa belonged to, marched in parades on Adams Street. “If I’m drumming, that’ll leave one extra man free to shoot the Rebs.”

“It doesn’t matter that your uncle is fighting on the other side?”

It did, but Uncle Ethan would do what he felt he had to do, just like Zach would. Although the Brownes called Texas home—aunts and uncles and cousins still lived there—Pa had been the one with wanderlust. He had travelled up and down the coast plying his trade, making a name for himself as a reputable gunsmith, and he’d come to value the whole country rather than just his home state. After he’d lost his leg and had to muster out of the army, he’d made his way east, going through the Indian Territory, where he’d met and married Inola, a Cherokee maiden whose parents had survived the Trail of Tears. They’d lived with her people until she became ill, some years after Zach was born. Zach might have been young, but he remembered much about that time. When Ma died, Pa had become heartbroken. He’d only stayed until he felt Zach was old enough to travel, and then he went to Unaduti, the chief of Ma’s tribe, and told him they were leaving. Unaduti had offered to keep Zach, but Pa wouldn’t agree to it—Zach was all he had left of Ma.

Pa sighed. “You’re stubborn, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make sure all you do is beat that dang drum. If I learn you even picked up a gun, I’ll come after you and tan your hide. And if you get yourself shot, I’ll find you and shoot you again myself.” Pa put his hands on Zach’s shoulders. “Come back to me alive, son. Promise me this.”

Zach gave a little bounce. He was never gonna die. “I promise, Pa.”

“All right, then. Let’s get you packed. It looks like I’m going to sign you up.”

Before the day was out, Zach was a part of the 14th Regiment New York State Militia, also known as the 14th Brooklyn Chasseurs.

“We’ll look after him, Mr. Browne,” Lieutenant Marriott promised. The lieutenant had been a West Pointer, and those days he wasn’t on duty, he lived in a rooming house a few doors down from them. He was a tall man, about six foot, with hair almost as dark as Zach’s but with amber eyes—wolf’s eyes—that had intrigued Zach from the very first. He looked handsome in his uniform, and Zach would watch whenever he rode past, thrilled when the lieutenant would smile and toss him a salute.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Pa shook his hand. “Don’t let my boy get killed. He’s all I have left of his ma.” He caught up Zach in a hug, then set him down, turned, and limped away, leaning heavily on his crutch.

“All right, Private Shorty. Let’s get you outfitted and see about finding you a drum kit.”

* * * *

Shorty. That was what the men called him, because he was short for a boy of eleven, not even reaching four foot. But although he never thought of himself by that nickname, he didn’t really mind it because the lieutenant had given it to him. Besides, he’d always been small. His Cherokee name meant squirrel.

And while he was called Shorty, the regiment became known as Lincoln’s Pups because they were favorites of the president, with the 14th Brooklyn even acting as his personal guard on occasion.

And Zach—Shorty—proudly beat his drum.