Confederates Don't Wear Couture Read Online Free PDF Page B

boy, Tammy!” Dev appraised the photo, clearly approving of what he saw, which must have meant that Beau was cute, because Dev was nothing if not picky. He showed it to me, but I was too far back to get anything but a glimpse of a cute auburn-haired blur in a football uniform.
    â€œWell, I sure think so, but I’m biased. And he just got promoted!” Tammy said proudly. “That’s why he wasn’t here. Youngest officer in the Fifteenth—in Fifteenth history, as a matter of fact! Well, except for during the actual . . . unpleasantness,” she said, swallowing. “But the youngest in the history of the Fifteenth Volunteer Infantry. Course, he’d shrug it off and say he’s the lowest-rankin’ officer there, and nothin’ but an NCO.”
    â€œâ€˜NCO’?” I asked.
    â€œA non-commissioned officer,” she explained.
    â€œI don’t even know what a regular commissioned officer is,” Dev piped up.
    â€œWell, in the real army, commissioned officers, like generals and things, were trained at West Point, or other military schools, and given authority from the government,” Tammy explained. “They get their command straight from the top. It’s a little bit different in a reenactment. You work your way up from the ranks, and when the present captain retires, the first lieutenant is promoted. And the first lieutenant’s appointed by the captain, so he picks his successor. And so on and so on, down the line.”
    â€œAnd NCO?” I asked again.
    â€œAn NCO is an enlisted member of the armed forces who’s given command by a commissioned officer, not by the government itself. In military reenactments, they’re elected by the other soldiers in the company. That’s how corporals and sergeants get chosen in the Fifteenth Alabama. Ain’t as prestigious maybe, but I think it’s wonderful to know that the men you’re fightin’ with have faith in you. Trust you. Respect you. To be chosen by your peers, you know?” She smiled. “I’m awful proud.”
    â€œSo kind of like a People’s Choice Award instead of an Oscar?” Dev mused as he gently placed the photograph back in her cavernous purse.
    â€œSure, darlin’, whatever floats your boat,” Tammy replied evenly. She took a particularly sharp turn, and the silver angel charm hanging from the rearview mirror swung wide and hit Dev smack in the forehead.
    â€œOooh, sorry, darlin’!” she called.
    â€œNo worries.” Dev picked it up and read off the charm above the angel, “‘Never Drive Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly.’”
    â€œCute, huh?” Tammy grinned. “I keep trying to get Beau to put one up—the way that boy drives, he needs it.” She chuckled fondly. “’Specially in that rusty old heap of his. ‘Beau,’ I said to him, I said, ‘Beau, I don’t care what your name is, you ain’t on the
Dukes of Hazzard,
and that old truck ain’t no General Lee,’ and he said, ‘Mama, I have no idea what you’re on about—I don’t watch movies with Jessica Simpson in them.’ Jessica Simpson!” She laughed. “Don’t that boy just beat all?”
    â€œI’d let him beat my—”
    â€œSo where are we going?” I interjected. “Up to the battlefield? To the park?”
    â€œPark’s up in Marbury,” Tammy answered, “and we’re headed that way. Not too far off now. But first, we’re stoppin’ off at my place. It’s in Pine Level, right on the way. Because we sure can’t have y’all showin’ up lookin’ like that!” she said, laughing.
    Ouch. I looked down. Okay, maybe I was a little bedraggled after all our flight time, but my baby blue lounge pants weren’t exactly schlubby sweats—they had a pin-tucked front and ballet pink ribbon drawstring, and the color