Clockwork Souls by Phyllis Irene Radford, Brenda W. Clough Page A

with a goatee, wearing a lieutenant-colonel’s
straps—shaking hands with Colonel Malcomb a few yards away. Anthony joined
them, and drew Dominic into the conversation. They all stood talking for a few
minutes, then the stranger went away.
    Dominic came to the fire and sat beside Marie. “Did you see?
That was Colonel Pleasants.”
    “The one who has a plan for . . . this?”
Marie gestured toward the earthworks hidden by darkness.
    “Yes. We are to start tomorrow.”
    “Can you tell me?”
    Dominic glanced around, then leaned close to Marie. “We are
to dig a mine.”
    “Mining? Here? What resources can be found in this swamp?”
    “That I think I should not tell you, save that we are not
seeking valuable substances.”
    Marie frowned, but no more was to be got from him. He
returned to his camp among the enlisted, and the officers retired early, weary
from the long day’s travel.
    Marie lay upon her cot, gazing at the canvas roof of the
tent that Anthony had provided for her and Philomène. She felt deep misgivings,
particularly about her daughter’s safety, but that was the price of being here.
She would not trade it for all the comforts of home. And Philomène had friends
enough to watch over her.
    The next day the regiment marched off toward the earthworks.
Marie and Philomène occupied the day in setting up their kitchen and preparing
dinner for Anthony and his subordinates. At four o’clock, in a small gesture of
defiance, Marie made café au lait with the set of pots she had found in
Boston, one of the few treasures she had brought along.
    She and Philomène dressed plainly here, in clothing suitable
for working and camping. They both wore headcloths of plain white, and Marie
tied hers simply, desiring to attract no attention. They might have been taken
for slaves, and the thought that beyond the trenches the opposing army was
served by many slaves made her skin tingle with dread.
    The regiment marched back into camp as the sun set. Watching
from the Headquarters kitchen, Marie thought that not all the companies were
present. Anthony confirmed this over dinner.
    “We are to work in shifts until our assignment is done. Our
soldiers do not need sleep, so they can work around the clock. Three companies
are on duty at a time, with one on guard duty and the rest in camp, from now
until we finish.”
    “And you cannot tell us what this assignment is?” Marie
asked.
    “Alas, no. But I promise you will be alerted when we are
nearing completion.”
    There was an undertone of tense excitement in his voice.
Marie glanced at Dominic, wondering if she could wheedle the details from him.
He looked weary, so she decided to leave him be.
    The days dragged on. Summer heat oppressed the humans, though
it did not affect the spirits of the automata. The damp, however, took its toll
in rusted joints and mechanisms. The mechanical ward, which had its own large
tent, was the busiest place in the regiment’s camp.
    The companies that were off duty amused themselves in
various ways, including playing at cards and an obsession for building things;
anything that could be made with the materials at hand. Marie and Philomène
began to receive presents—a clock, a collapsible kitchen sink, a Sibley stove
that had been converted into an oven—and soon had so many such things in their
kitchen that Marie feared the day when they would have to move it all.

    One night after dinner Marie heard distant drumming, not a
military rhythm but a beat that moved her soul and made her want to dance. She
could not resist investigating, and stopped Dominic as he was about to return
to his camp.
    “What is the drumming?”
    “Soldiers entertaining themselves,” he replied.
    “Take me to see.”
    “Madame! It is not fitting for you to walk the camps at
night!”
    “That is why I ask for your escort.”
    She would not be dissuaded, and at last Dominic agreed to
take her to the drumming. For the first time since their arrival, she walked
far