Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [125]
“Children, the Battle of Gettysburg lasted for three days,” I said, dressed in my Yankee blues. “When it was over, fifty-one thousand men would be dead. The Confederates’ line of wounded stretched fourteen miles. Ten thousand injured. One in three men killed. The bloodiest battle in American history. The beginning of the end for the South.”
I looked into the eleven dubious faces before me. “Look, kids,” I said wearily. “I know you think this is lame. I know we’re in Connecticut, not Pennsylvania. I know that having a couple hundred oddball history geeks like me running around, firing blanks, isn’t the real thing.”
“So why’d you make us come?” Hunter asked, earning an admiring “Like, exactly!” from Kerry.
I paused. “I want you to try…just try, just for the next couple hours, to put yourselves as best you can in the minds of those soldiers. Imagine believing in something so passionately that you’d risk your life for it. For an idea. For a way of life. For the future of your country, a future you knew you might never see. You’re here, you lucky, nice, well-fed rich kids, because you stand on the shoulders of this country’s history. I just want you to feel that, just a little bit.”
Kaelen and Peyton rolled their eyes in unison. Hunter discreetly checked his cell phone. Kerry Blake examined her manicure.
But Tommy Michener stared at me, his mouth slightly open, and Emma Kirk’s eyes were solemn and wide.
“Let’s go, kids,” I said. “Remember, you’re part of First Cavalry now. General Buford is over there. Do what he says, and just…well. Whatever.”
With a few groans and giggles, the kids straggled after me. I got them in line with the other Brother Against Brother members. General Buford (better known as Glen Farkas, an accountant from Litchfield), rode his horse up and down the line. The kids sobered at the sight of the snorting bay mare, the sword flapping at the general’s side. Glen was really good at this.
“When does it start?” Tommy whispered.
“As soon as General Heth attacks,” I whispered back.
“My heart’s kind of pounding,” Tommy said, grinning at me. I patted his arm, smiling back.
And here they came. The Rebel yells pierced the air, and over the hill streamed dozens of Confederates.
“Onward, men!” called General Buford, wheeling his horse. And with a mighty yell, First Cavalry followed, Tommy Michener at the front of the pack, his empty musket held high, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Five hours later, I was driving the Manning minibus back to school, grinning like an idiot.
“That was so cool, Ms. Em!”
“Did you see me nail that guy with my bayonet?”
“I was actually, like, scared!”
“I thought that horse was gonna trample me!”
“Tommy and I took over that cannon! Did you see that?”
“And when those other dudes came up behind us, when we were, like, losing it?”
Kerry Blake kept up her ennui, but the rest of them were chattering like wild monkeys. And I was soaring. Finally. Finally, the subject we’d been studying all semester had had a tiny impact on their polished, protected worlds.
Once at Manning, they piled out of the car. “I’ll e-mail you a copy of that picture, Ms. Em,” called Mallory. Even though modern inventions were frowned upon at reenactments, we’d bent the rules and taken a picture in front of a cannon. My kids and me. I’d have it blown up, frame it and put it in my office, and if I was head of the department, I’d…
Well. Chances were, I wasn’t going to be head of the department. The announcement still hadn’t been made, but telling Dr. Stanton about Callahan O’Shea had pretty much killed my chances. I wondered if I should tell him I wasn’t seeing my ex-con anymore. But no. If I wasn’t going to get the promotion because of some