Free Confederates Don't Wear Couture by Stephanie Kate Strohm Page A

life are free,’” he sang, “‘but you can keep them for the birds and bees. Now give me money.’”
    Willie whined.
    â€œMy voice isn’t
that
bad,” Dev broke off, offended. “Everyone’s a critic.”
    â€œNow, Willie,” Beau reprimanded him, jokingly. “Be nice to our guests.”
    â€œStuck with the Simon Cowell of dogs,” Dev complained. “And he’s the size of Randy.”
    Beau and I chatted as we sped north to Tuscaloosa. Dev had fallen asleep almost immediately, as he was wont to do when in a moving vehicle. His head lolled against the window, a faint trickle of drool working its way down his chin as he snored softly.
    â€œHow’d you get into this?” I asked. “Reenacting, I mean.”
    â€œIt was my mama’s idea,” Beau said with a grin. “My dad passed away when I was real young—”
    â€œOh, I’m—I’m so sorry,” I interrupted, the words burbling up before I could stop them.
    â€œNo, it’s, uh, it’s fine.” He smiled tensely, something shuttered flitting across his eyes. “But my mama thought I could use some positive male role models. So she signed me up as a drummer boy. Jeff—uh, Captain Cauldwell—had been a poker buddy of my dad’s. So he sorta looked after me, taught me the ropes, well . . . They all sorta did. It’s a real close group. They all look out for their own. Sorta gruff, not the friendliest, always suspicious about newbies . . . They haven’t been too rough on ya, have they?” he asked anxiously.
    â€œNo, no, they’re fine,” I assured him. “Just not super out­going.”
    â€œYeah, they probably won’t pay you much notice, but I wouldn’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “It’s just their way. Prefer to keep to themselves. And, anyway . . . well . . . more’n ten years later . . . here I am.”
    â€œThat’s cool that you stuck with it for so long.”
    â€œWell, I love history,” he said, and colored a bit, embarrassed. “I mean, to do this, you have to. And if you’re a big ol’ history nerd, like me, it doesn’t get better than this.” He grinned. “But I’m guessin’ you already know that. Or you wouldn’t be sittin’ in this truck in 150-year-old underwear.”
    â€œSo true.” I grinned back. “It’s hard to explain to other people, isn’t it? How much you love it.”
    â€œI s’pose,” he said. “Although I s’pose I’m lucky, spendin’ my summers here with people who are even nuttier about the war than I am, and then at UA . . . Y’all have Phi Alpha Theta at your school?”
    â€œWhat?” I asked skeptically. “What is that, a frat? I, um, haven’t started college yet.”
    â€œYou’re still in high school?” Beau asked, surprised. “’Cause you don’t look—”
    â€œJust graduated,” I interrupted him. “I’m starting college in the fall.” Beau nodded. “But I have to say I find it really hard to believe that you sit around with your frat brothers discussing the effects of the Union naval blockade on the Confederate home front or whatever.”
    â€œNo, not a frat,” Beau said, roaring with laughter. “Phi Alpha Theta is a history honors society.”
    â€œOh.” I blushed.
    â€œCheck and see if they have it at your school when you start, then. It’s nice, to have that group. Whole buncha nerds together.” He smiled. “And the department at UA’s pretty good too—I can concentrate in exactly what I want to study.”
    â€œWhich is . . . ?” I prompted, even though I had a pretty good idea what he was going to say.
    â€œAmerican Civilization to 1865, History of Alabama to 1865, American South to 1865, U.S. Constitution to 1865, the Coming of the Civil War, the