A heartbroken man rested alone in ochre weeds and patches of diluted green grass on a small hill that overlooked a New York beach. The tide waned as the day was getting warmer. The sun tucked itself in every wave, just to crash against a mussel covered shore. The sand twisted in itself, dancing in the wind and being taken out to sea. There was a turmoil about the wind slicing through the sand’s peace that seemed familiar. Dipping into the endless sea, the sky blushed into rose hues, casting the wispy clouds with evanescent pinks. There, he picked petals off a hydrangea with fond nostalgia. “I don’t see an end to it, it’s been four years since the war started,” Levi said to himself aloud. He had only ed the war just over a year ago.
Pennsylvania. August 8, 1777
Jovial shouts and laughs filled the small room. The bartender didn’t get a break, topping off flagon after flagon. His customers didn’t understand the meaning of quiet. A skilled fiddler was trying his hardest to compete with exaggerated, loud stories of who was going to beat up whom, and drunk insults about one’s sister. Levi could have done without all the noise, but Furlan was living for it, tapping his foot and throwing his head back as he downed a cup of ale. “Aye, why don't you enjoy yourself a little, Levi?” he asked. “You’ve hardly touched your ale.” His accent rolled off his tongue smoothly. Levi held his flagon in both hands, needing a little coaxing to actually drink it. Furlan raised it for him, moving the mug up to his lips. Levi rewarded him with a frown that was trying to tug itself into a smile.
Pushing him away, Levi scoffed. “I know how to drink, you daft sod,” he said with a strained frown. Furlan gave him a hurt look drenched in sarcasm, making him smile. “You’re so annoying,” He said. “I am enjoying myself.”
“No,” Furlan’s voice softened. “You’re thinking about her aren't you?” Ever since they came to Pennsylvania, Levi’s thoughts kept swirling around how they ended up stop seeing one another. Him and Furlan both fancied her, back when they were both just boys and didn’t know a thing about the other. When Furlan met his younger sister, that was Levi's chance to try to win her over. Just this once, that’s not what his thoughts focused on. It was the letter in his jacket pocket. A british draft his father had him sign up for.
“Well no,” he started. “I didn’t tell you but our ship sunk in the harbor, Furlan.”
“You serious, lad?” He asked, sympathy dripping in his words. “What happened?” She’d found out about the one thing he couldn’t manage to tell Furlan and cut ties with him.
“She, uhm,” he started. How am I supposed to tell him? Levi’s gaze flicked down at the table. “She wasn’t my type... to put it simply.” His gaze went back up, falling on Furlan and lingering there for a few extra seconds. By the empathetic smile cast on Furlan’s face, he knew Furlan wasn’t good at processing subtlety.
“Reminds me, I got a letter from your sister,” Furlan paused with a fond smile, taking a long drink of his ale. “You know, maybe after this war's over, I’ll give her a real expensive ring.” His gentle tone had eased Levi’s stress to a manageable level.
It brought a smile to Levi’s face hearing that. He had wondered if he should be worried, but in the back of his mind he knew she’d be just fine. “Isabel Church.” Her name fell off his lips with Furlan's last name on the end of it. “Your last name might make her sound poor!” He said before erupting into a laugh.
“Oi! Just ‘cause I’m not bathing in my dad’s money doesn’t mean I can’t get by.”
“Right, I forgot Jocks tend to blow their earnings on pubs, and new skirts,” Levi said. He had completely forgotten about the letter in his pocket.
“First, they’re not skirts, they’re kilts, and I don’t own a thousand of them. Second, the correct word is ‘Scotsman’.” Furlan was getting sloppier with his words. Which could only mean one thing. “You’re sister obviously fancies Scots anyway.”
Stealing the mug from him, Levi took it to the bartender. He set it down next to his own along with a couple shillings. Shooting a look that said, ‘He’s had enough, don’t give him anymore’, he slung Furlan’s arm around his shoulder. Furlan’s feet were just as uncoordinated as his speech, making it more difficult for Levi to lug him towards the door.
That night at Furlan’s, after Levi had put his drunk sleeping beauty to bed, he found a nice semi-comfortable spot on the wood floors. There was an eggshell and olive falsa rug under him, providing a bit of cushion. Tucking his arm underneath his head, he draped his jacket over his slim body to shield himself from the cruel mistress of winter. It didn’t do much for the draft that slithered in through the window that needed a new glass pane either. Nipping at any exposed skin, the ice-ridden air did not help him sleep.
Massachusetts. December 29, 1776
A headache swelled within Levi’s head. He hadn’t been home for awhile, since he always felt better staying at Furlan’s, despite having to sleep on the floor. The headache only got worse as he journeyed down the stairs to his father praising one of his older brothers. A grimace swept across Levi’s face for a second. Had it remained there longer, he was afraid his father might notice his distaste. His father reared on him, letting out a disgruntled sigh.
“You look horrible,” he said, with the usual toxic tone he had for Levi. “You weren’t out with that bastard foreigner, were you? He’s not some love interest I hope.”
Levi’s knuckles went white, wanting to argue that he wasn’t a bastard, but he’d be lying. Instead, he stayed silent. He didn’t want to feel the blunt pain from his father’s hand this early in the morning. His father never failed to chastise him about his choice of preference, and it was usually through beatings in hopes to ‘purify’ him. “What were you talking to him about?” Levi asked, trying to change the subject.
“Your brother?” His father paused. “He wanted to the army. I told him he didn’t have to because he had a family to look after. Speaking of the army, I have something for you,” he said, walking over to the table and picking up an envelope. Levi took the envelope, cutting it open with a letter opener that sat right beside it. Skimming through it, his breath caught in his throat. “I was too harsh on you before.” his father feigned remorse. “You can have your sixth share of the inheritance if you , and come back.”
The draft letter trembled in Levi’s hand. How am I going to explain this to Furlan? He thought. He had thought of ing the Continental Army just to spite his father. He knew he’d inevitably get disowned if he did that. With the money he needed to get by on his own hanging over his head, it was hard to say no. He shoved the thought of Furlan’s reaction in the back of his mind.
Pennsylvania. March 27, 1778.
A gentle petrichor of spring had wafted through the recently fixed window. Levi had propped it open to ventilate the house from the smoke of Furlan’s cooking. “It’s incredible how a porridge wog can’t even make a decent bowl of porridge.”
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Ackerman. Did you learn that word from your father?” Furlan asked. He always called Levi by his last name when he was crossing boundaries. “I don’t see you being able to cook either. Last time you tried your scones turned into rocks deviant children throw through church windows.” He came over to the table, draping his continental uniform over the chair. It seemed that he gave up trying to cook anything.
“I’m not in the best mood today,” he said. “Also, I learned the word myself, mind you.”
“What’s eating at you then?”
“I didn’t want to say anything, but I go to training in a few weeks.”
Furlan beamed. “That’s great news! You’re finally ing us in shaming those royal dogs aren’t you? What camp are you going to?”
Levi shook his head. “It’s in Newport, Rhode Island. That’s what the draft says but-”
“But that’s occupied by the British. I thought you were going to become a freedom fighter like the rest of us.” Furlan could only look at him with a frown. He already suspected the reason why. “You wanted your father's inheritance didn’t you?”
“If he hadn’t have signed me up for the draft I wouldn’t get his inheritance.”
“Does money really matter that much to you?” Furlan’s toned bordered on fuming. He hoped Levi would get out of from under the lash of the whip that was his family, and just rely on him for once. “You don’t need it, Levi, but the revolution needs you!” He chided. Resting his hands on Levi’s shoulders, he brought his face closer than usual, looking Levi directly in the eye. Before he could continue, Levi broiled anger escaped, connecting a harsh jab with his face, sending his staggering a bit backwards. Furlan touched a hand to his now bleeding lip. He doesn’t ever lash out like that, he thought. Especially when he feels cornered. “You know our home is more important that your father’s money.” His voice has shifted to an calm whisper that would echo in the crevices of Levi’s mind until the war had ended.
“You know how this war is going so far. There is no way the rebels are going to beat the King’s army. They’re hardly trained to fight,” Levi squeaked, guilt decorating his tone. “I’m sorry, Furlan. There’s more to it than just the money. I need my dad’s respect.” He brushed Furlan’s hands off his shoulders.
Furlan didn’t want to press Levi any further, especially since he could already feel a bruise forming on his face. He knew he got his ability to hit like that from his father. He had seen them argue once before. Getting up, he rip a little segment off of the coattails of his uniform. Borrowing his sisters needle and thread, he fashioned it into a cuff. “It’s just fine, lad, but promise me you’ll sew this to your coat. That way, if I see you, I’ll know to aim away from you.”
Levi managed to fashion a small smile. “I’ll get you one too, before I leave.” He pointed to the uniform. “What about your uniform?”
Furlan snickered a bit. “Don’t worry, I’ll just tell Washington I got in a bar fight and snagged it on a loose nail.”
Pennsylvania. April 7th, 1778.
Furlan was fidgeting with the cuff on his arm that Levi had given him. Being away from Levi, without being able to even him was rough. Worry had sprouted in his mind, but the cuff made the anxiety dissipate little by little. ing that Levi had mentioned him going to British-occupied Newport, made him hope that he could at least be able to check up on him. His general had mentioned that they were splitting up regiments to go fight different battles, his infantry included. He needed a way to go to Rhode Island, even if by the chance he could check if Levi was alright.
He stood up, releasing the cuff as he searched for his commander. “Sir!” He called out, once he was in line of sight. “Can you do me a favor?”
The general turned to him, a small smile crossing his face. “Of course, Church. What do you need?’ He asked.
“Could you put me on an regiment to Aquidneck?” He asked. He knew that regiments didn’t change on a whim like this, but he had to try. One less person won’t hurt the others that much, right? He thought.
Washington’s face twisted a bit in confusion as he stared Furlan down for a second more. It soon turned to a frown. “I already have more than enough for Aquidneck to kick the British out of Newport, what about your own regiment?”
Furlan’s gaze shifted downward. “I know, sir… but I have family there and I want to make sure they’re okay. I won’t ask for another favor like this again.” He wasn’t totally lying when he said Levi was family. Since he had been in the colonies alone, while his parents tried to find the money to make the trip there from Scotland, Levi had been a big reason America felt like home to him.
It felt like an hour had ed before the general made up his mind. “Very well, I’ll get you to Newport. You’ll go with the 2nd Rhode Island regiment, report to General Sullivan when you get there.”
Rhode Island. Aug 29, 1778
Levo and the rest of the 43rd Infantry had just been through a hurricane that had wiped out astonishing numbers on both sides of the battle. He’d been in Rhode Island since spring. After Furlan had given him the cuff, he had given Furlan a white one so it’d be easy to see against the dark blue continental uniform.
So far, all he had to do was look over the wounded, and send messages across the colonies. He hadn’t asked for the high taxes that caused this, or the ridiculous acts, but he wouldn’t have been the one to start the revolts. Levi would have rolled over and taken the beating silently. He wouldn’t complain. Furlan seems to okay with it… shooting at people. Why can’t I? he thought. Maybe it’s just that he’s on the right side of this war. He exhaled, his own confidence hitching a ride on his hot breath. General Pigot yanked him from his thoughts with a harsh, and rather irritated call of his name. “Yes, sir?’ He asked, straightening himself up as he turned to meet him.
“Meet me in my tent as soon as you can. I have a job for you,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” Wasting no time, Levi hurried into the tent after taking a minute to brace himself for whatever Pigot had to say. Once he pushed the canvas tent open, he was greeted by the his order.
“You’re ing Erwin and Clarke on the front lines,” Pigot said.
Levi’s fear made his voice come off as shaky and frail. “Front lines, sir?” He asked.
“That’s what I said.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded, not wanting to anger the General anymore that he was with futile complaints. He tipped his hat down on his way out, then readied his weapon like the rest of them. After the gentler remains of the storm cleared, it wasn’t long until the first shot was fired.
The 43rd ran forward to get in shooting range, the soaked ground gave a soft squelch under the infantry’s footstep. The first line readied their sights.He held his rifle down, ready to aim when the line in front of him knelt. His hand shook, feeling that anxiety creep up into his arms. He looked forward to the standoff just in range on the other side. “Ready!” He heard the troops in his line call. Levi prayed for even an ounce of confidence, and that his bullet would stay true to his aim. He was frozen by the fear of having the slimy feel of blood drenched on his hands. It was no time to hesitate. Levi realigned his gun as best as he could. His finger started to gently cinch down on the trigger. The world slowed down for a minute as he began to focus. “Take cover!” His general ordered. Clarke immediately pulled him down, taking him by surprise. The patriots retaliated, firing their own volley.
Bullets screamed past him, ripping through Levi’s sleeve, and burying itself deep into the man to the side of him. He faltered his chest blossoming with blood. The shot had painted the side of Levi’s uniform three shades darker. At the second volley, just before he attempted to shoot a second time, the soldier had knocked into him as he fell, throwing off Levi’s balance. The smoke from the musket blinded his view as he strained to see his shot had landed. The smoke guarding his view had been torn apart by the near gales of wind, just enough to see who fell from the volley. One out of the many who collapsed sent a nail through his heart. Catching sight of the cuff, his lungs were robbed of the ability to breath, panic choking him out.
“F-” he stopped, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. “Furlan…” He broke down. Their line walked forward, slowly gaining ground. Levi was numb to the feeling of Clarke looping his arm underneath Levi’s armpit and across his chest from behind. All he felt was the pull that came after. He resisted, his meager, broken strength trying to overpower Clarke. “I can save him!” He wailed. “Get off of me!” The harder he fought, the tighter the grip had become. He broke away from Clarke after an explosion of adrenaline drew him to his shaky feet. Clark tackled him into the mud, decorating the two of them in a glossy cover of fetid paste. At the same time, Clark was shielding him from another round of lead.
“Erwin! Help me get him out of here!” Clarke shouted, getting a firm hold on him. Cautiously making his way over, Ewrin grabbed him by the opposite arm, helping moved a mud-sodden Levi away from the battle, unaware of why he was panicked. The firing line closed back together, curtaining his view of Furlan trying to cling to life. There, Erwin and Clarke spent a good half hour trying to coax him into a placid state of mind.
After the cannonade had silenced, Levi hurried out the mortar ridden battlefield to go help find those still alive. He found a few of his own redcoats, but they weren’t who he really wanted to find. Scouring for his beloved friend, his eyes hung heavy with regret as rain started to make its descent towards the mud covered ground. His gaze drifted down to the mud puddle Clarke had tackled him in. With his fists clenching, he knew he had to be close. It felt like it had been his fault. Even worse, he knew he had to live with it, but he couldn’t if he didn’t get to say goodbye. To his shock, he spotted the white cuff as it was glowing in the heavy rain. He broke into a jog, meeting Furlan at his side. “Hey, Furlan,” He said gently. Furlan turned his head weakly to him. To Levi’s horror, he already knew Furlan was too far gone to save.
If I had just found him a little sooner...
As Furlan started to close his eyes, Levi gently slapped his pale cheek. His other hand was pressed down on his torso to try to stop the bleeding. “I’m so sorry,” He breathed, stifling the need to cry. Furlan weakly patted the shirt pocket on his uniform. Pulling out the object from the pocket, Levi let a small gasp escape his parted lips.
“It’s… a little dirty,” Furlan started, being silenced by a small cough and a trail of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. “But, try to use it on somebody.” Levi put a hand over his mouth, the urge to cry overwhelming him as he took the simple gold ring from him. It shimmered softly as the drops of rain padded against it.
“You’ll use it,” Levi said. He knew a wound like that wouldn’t heal, but he wanted to believe that somehow it would. He was trying to convince himself Furlan would survive this. Propping him up into his arms, he cradled his cold, wet friend as he looked around at the broken houses, hoping to find some shelter from the rain. Weakly, Furlan shook his head. Not once, had Furlan’s fading gaze lifted off of Levi as his grip on Levi’s arm relaxed, going limp.
The rain pours down against the old, broken and cracked windows. The sky’s crying for the fallen soldiers over the far sea. Forgotten and lost, the world weeps in pain.
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