The Girls of Gettysburg by Bobbi Miller

over. Before he could gather himself, she puffed herself round and big.
    And then she sat right full on top of him, pinning him down with her knees.
    â€œ
Dylan, enough with you!
” she boomed, loud as never before, drawing more of a crowd. “I’ll whip you easy. Then you’ll whip me. Then I’ll whip you easy again. Make no mistake, you can’t keep me down. I’llalways come back and whip you square! You’ll not have a moment’s rest, for fear of seeing me about to whip you
again
.”
    â€œI ain’t no coward,” Dylan hissed, holding his chest. “I don’t give up!”
    â€œNo, you ain’t a coward,” Annie growled back, shaking his shoulder, trying to knock the sense into him. “You sticking up for that family in town proves that. But I ain’t no coward either. Seems to me, we’re more alike than different. Let’s leave it at that.”
    She raised herself slowly off Dylan, who lay as still as death more from the force of her voice than from her weight. She picked up her brother’s book, brushing the dirt and mud from its cover.
    Gideon’s voice was deep and low like a preacher’s, scolding. “You two at it again? Didn’t you get enough of that in town? Maybe some extra chores might help calm your spirits.”
    Annie tied her handkerchief tight about her mouth and nose, and shoved her hands into her leather gloves. She grabbed a shovel and moved toward the company “sink.” The latrine.
    â€œPop?” Dylan shouted out in a final plea. Gideon raised his arm, dismissing the young soldier as he walked back to the tents. Dylan grunted, turning toward the job at hand.
    Annie chuckled. But her smile quickly vanished as her boots sank ankle deep into the muck, making a gurgly sound as she lifted them.
    Dylan wheezed, turning as green as the waters pooling about them. Then he sputtered, spitting as he tasted the air, driving his shovel into the muck not far from her, glaring at her. But neither opened his mouth to talk, especially as the sun rose higher, heating the day.
    It was a hopeless cause to clean out the long, open ditches. The more they worked to bury the muck, or at least move it away from their tents, the more it oozed. The slick of slime crept across the ground. The smell was powerful and raw, the air thick with flies. Black gnats swarmed the back of her neck and ears, and itched as fierce as the heat, under her arms, behind her knees, even in her ears. She’d risk another cigar, if need be, to be rid of these nippers.
    â€œBlasted gallinippers,” she yelped.
    â€œBloody damn hell,” Dylan wheezed, swatting at the flying cloud, leaning against the shovel. “Them’s not just any nippers. Them’s gray-backs for sure. Only one way to get rid of them; you’ll have to shake your duds over the fire. They jump like regular popping corn.”
    Annie scowled, shaking her head.
    â€œYou think you got something nobody else does?” Dylan swung his shovel. “Can’t be shy in the army, strawfoot!”
    Evening couldn’t come fast enough. Finally Jasper came to fetch them, with orders to wash before coming to camp. Before Jasper could finish his sentence releasing them from duty, Annie dropped her shovel and raced off. She had been careful since the first day to stay private about her routines. She recognized early on that taking no baths encouraged others to keep their distance. But now she’d risk the chance. There wasn’t a place on her that didn’t itch fierce as fire.
    And she didn’t slow any as she reached the pond. She jumped—boots, clothes, and all. The itching burned right through her, a thousand needling buggers all feeding on every inch of her body. She peeled off her britches, throwing them ashore, and scrubbed with pond sand until she was near raw. Taking off her shirt, she scrubbed with the same fierceness. Again and again she