I Shall Be Near to You(12)

I milked every last cow, trying to forget everything but the hair smoothing my cheek, the rubbery teats in my hand, the cat twining my legs.

But I ain’t ever forgotten. All I can think is the hard work I’ve done and how it’s never enough. Not ever.


I SPEND THE last few days with Jeremiah organizing and packing things for him while he works the farm with his brothers. The last night we practice one more time in the big bed. Feeling Jeremiah’s seed spilling from me, I think maybe Betsy was right, maybe I should have thought more about getting a baby on me, on having something of Jeremiah’s to keep while he’s gone, but it’s too late for that now, the moon only a sliver in the sky.

In the morning, I wake to Jeremiah getting out of bed to stoke the fire. Watching his back as he leaves our room, I swallow back the tears.

When he comes back, he holds out a thin parcel, folded in his Mama’s parchment paper and tied with a blue grosgrain ribbon.

‘What’s this?’ I ask, sitting up, gathering the quilt to my chest.

‘Open it,’ he says.

I undo the ribbon and as Jeremiah looks on, I tie my hair back with it, all the time watching him, memorizing the lines of his face.

‘You are the slowest,’ he says, shaking his head at me.

I carefully unfold the parchment. The packet inside reads The United States and Territories. I wonder how Jeremiah can smile like that.

‘It’s a map. So you can follow where I am.’ He taps the word Territories with his finger. ‘And remember where we’re going.’

It is nice, but I can’t get any words out and that is what does it then. I reach to put that map on the bedside table, so Jeremiah won’t see the tears get to welling, but I don’t hide it good enough.

‘Let’s forget all about everything. Make our last morning nice.’ And then he leans across the bed to kiss me.

‘You can’t leave yet,’ I say, and pull him to me, kissing him until his breath comes fast.

‘I’ve got to chop some more wood,’ he says, breaking away.

‘You ain’t got to do that.’

‘I want you to be provisioned,’ he says.

‘There’s other things I can’t do by myself …’

‘I won’t be easy if that woodbox ain’t full,’ he says, sliding away from me.

‘Then I’ll come help—’

‘No, you stay here,’ he says. ‘Get a nice supper on … and then maybe …’ He opens his mouth like there is more he wants to say, but he turns around quick and heads for the door.


WHEN I STOP hearing the ax, I start supper like a good wife does, setting the table with our two plates and the gingham napkins from my hope chest, laying out the big spoons, buttering thick slices of bread. I’ve just got the pea soup boiling when the door bangs.

I say, ‘Oh, but it’s not ready yet!’

Only when I turn around, it ain’t Jeremiah standing there, it’s Timmy O’Malley, the littlest one, holding another folded paper out at me.

‘From Jeremiah,’ he says, and then he runs out the door before I can even ask a thing.

My hands shake, unfolding that paper. It is crisp and white as laundry from the line. Inside is Jeremiah’s bad penmanship that schooling ain’t never made nice. That writing makes me want to take my pea soup and scald him with it, throw the whole pot at his head.

February 19, 1862

Dear Mrs. Wakefield,

I am writing this letter as your Husband, and that is something Good. It don’t mean a thing is different about my Feelings that I am setting off without you knowing, or seeing you one more time and telling you all my Thoughts. You will cry to Hear them said so that is why I am Going this way, so I can Make myself Leave without causing you any more Pain.

I always knew you were someone Brave, the way you didn’t take Nothing from no one. And every time we talked about Farming, and Nebraska, I saw you weren’t scared about going. There ain’t another Girl who would Do for me. That is how I know that you will hold up while I am gone, because you are Strong, Mrs. Stone.

It’s no easy thing, Parting, but it helps thinking of you in our house with all our People close, taken care of and Safe. We will have Our Farm when I am back. It is only because of what I want for us Together that I do this. It will be but a short while I am Gone and I’ll send you letters all that time.

Already I am missing you.

Your Faithful Servant and Loving Husband,

Jeremiah Wakefield



He thought real hard, wrote nice things in that letter, but I can only think about how he has gone and I ain’t said good-bye, not really. I run to the lean-to and see what I ain’t seen before, how he must’ve moved his pack when he went out to the privy this morning. Seeing that empty space, I sink down to the floor. Days ago, I snuck up behind Jeremiah and wrapped my arms around him the moment the ax came down on the stump. But now, when I heft logs from the stack Jeremiah left me, I’ll think of how the wood split in two.


NEAR TWILIGHT I get up and go to the washbasin in our room. Next to the pitcher, tucked under my brush, there is a folded-up piece of paper. Inside it says I love you, Stone Lady. I throw that paper down on the ground, but there’s a sweetness in what he’s done. I will be like that name he gave me. I won’t stay mad, but I will be strong, I can make this place my home, even without him. I can wait here for him.