A Girl Called Samson (116)

“Stay away from me, John Paterson. I am in no mood for coupling.”

“Then you should not have donned those breeches.”

He shoved the door closed, lowered the latch, and tossed the pitchfork aside. The tumble that ensued, hands grappling to find flesh, mouths seeking, proved me a liar. I was in the mood for coupling. I was always in the mood for coupling, and unlike our earliest encounter, my breasts were unbound beneath my shirt and waistcoat. John stared at them as if he hadn’t seen them a thousand times—ten thousand times—before.

“You are so beautiful. They are so beautiful. They should never be bound.”

“Never again. I will ride naked through the town,” I challenged, sardonic even as I surrendered.

He groaned, grappling with my breeches and his own, and our heated conversation became a frantic conjoining that left us panting and loose-limbed in the straw.

“What has gotten into you, my wife?” he murmured, pulling me across his chest and tangling his hands in my long braid. I knew he did not speak of the tussle that had just occurred. That was not new. But my breeches were.

I pulled away and wiggled back into my clothes. “I want to make myself another uniform.”

“Why? None of us have need of our uniforms any longer.”

“I have need of mine,” I said, and sudden, fierce emotion welled in my chest. “But my old breeches are too tight in the hips and no matter how firmly I bind my breasts, I can still tell I am a woman beneath my shirt. I can’t even button the coat. You have made me fat, General Paterson.”

“Fat?” He laughed. “Not hardly. You simply aren’t bones and bandages anymore.”

“I cannot run, or even walk for long distances. And I’m not as strong. I could barely pull myself up to the beam when I tried. I have always been able to pull myself up to the beam.”

“What are you talking about?”

I climbed the ladder to the loft, but instead of climbing up, I swung out, clinging to the lower beam, just like I’d done in the Thomas barn with the brothers. John watched me from the straw where he still lounged, his head propped on his hand, his clothes rumpled and his expression sated.

I bellowed and strained, and managed to perform the maneuver once before I had to link my left leg around the ladder and swing back to safety.

“You’re a monkey.”

“I used to do ten of those without a thought.”

“Come down from there.”

“I am disappointed in myself,” I said, still clinging to the ladder. I could not look at him. I was too close to tears.

“Deborah. Come here,” he insisted.

I descended with swimming eyes and moved to sit beside him in the straw.

“Tell me what is wrong, soldier.”

“Don’t call me that!” I snapped.

“You were one,” he said, unbothered. He picked a piece of straw from my hair and ran his hand down the length of my braid. “You always will be.”

I shook my head, adamant. “I never will be.”

“Deborah,” he murmured, still stroking my hair. I wanted to push him away, and I wanted to draw him closer.

“The Thomases sent ten sons,” I blurted. “Middleborough sent many of her sons, but no one gave more than the deacon and Mrs. Thomas.”

“No one did,” he agreed softly.

“It was my one regret, when I enlisted, that I might cause them more sorrow or shame. I thought I did not care what my mother believed of me. I told myself I did not care aught what anyone in Middleborough thought, though I scurried away like I did.”

His hand tightened in my hair, like he knew to hold on.

“Reverend Conant was gone, and I was glad I couldn’t disappoint him, though I’m not certain he would have been ashamed. He was not that kind of man. He was always so proud of me, in all of my peculiar stages.”

“He saw the wonder of you, just as Elizabeth did. Just as I do.”

I bore down, trying to hold back the water that kept rising, rising.

“I never went back. You know this. I never went back to Middleborough. I allowed the Thomases and my mother to endure the stories and speculation that must have ensued. I never explained. Never thanked them. I just left with my tail tucked between my legs. And after Phineas . . . I never felt like I could.”

“I will take you to Middleborough,” the general offered without hesitation. “If that is what you wish, that is what we will do. We will go to Sproat’s Tavern and the First Congregational Church. And we will tell them who you are and what you’ve done. I will be your witness. I will attest to every word.”

“You will make me respectable.”

“You are respectable.”

I challenged him with a stony glare and trembling lips. “If people knew the whole truth, I would not be. If you were not by my side, I would not be. Not to them. Not to most people.”

“You did something no other woman—to my knowledge—has ever done. You should be proud.”

“I am proud. But I am also deeply . . . ashamed.”

He recoiled like I’d slapped him, but I continued on. There were things that needed to be said. So many things, and if I didn’t say them now, I might as well throw myself into the harbor and let my skirts drag me under.

“You know my ancestry.”