I Shall Be Near to You(33)

‘I miss this,’ he says.

‘It’ll grow back. When we’re done soldiering.’

‘Mrs. Wakefield,’ Jeremiah whispers.

‘Yes,’ I say, thinking how he ain’t had occasion to call me that since we were back home.

‘It is nice being with you,’ he says. ‘Just you.’

I kiss him then, and I don’t care about the O’Malleys or Sully and Will in the tents next to ours or what they might hear. In the dark, I tear at Jeremiah’s shirt and his hands work at mine. His skin is smooth under that shirt, not like the roughness of his hands that are working to unwrap my binding and I will never get myself bound up in time if the bugles or drums call us, but then he has got the binding free and he lowers me onto our scratchy woolen blankets. I wish for our soft bed and covers to lie in, until our chests press together, so warm. Then we are pulling and kicking our way out of our trousers, our breath coming fast, and trying to keep quiet as we lie like man and wife, but I can’t help myself and I call Jeremiah to me, whispering his name, whispering ‘Mr. Wakefield’ so I can hear him call me my rightful name again.


AFTER WHAT SEEMS like hours at morning inspection, Sergeant Ames finally dismisses our work teams. We march through the palisade gate, and I shift my knapsack again, trying to ease my back. Only now there is a tightness rippling across my belly too. Relief washes over me that the aching ain’t got a thing to do with the pack I’m carrying, but then a wave of worry comes. I’ve got to get myself a moment alone in the stand of trees we’ve been cutting down so the Army can keep this fort up. Much longer and there won’t be a way to keep the secret of what I am.

I scurry down the rough dirt road next to Jeremiah. We ain’t but a few steps when Edward pulls something out of his pocket.

‘My brother sent me a carte de visite I bet you’d all pay money to see,’ he says, and holds the card out on the palm of his hand. Hiram is closest and as soon as he bends over to take a look, he gets to hooting. That makes the other boys, Henry and Jimmy and young Frank Morgan, crowd around. Ambrose is the only one who keeps walking.

Frank is saying, ‘I wouldn’t mind poking a girl like that!’ as I try to elbow my way through the clump of bodies, Jeremiah slowing in front of me.

There, in the palm of Edward’s meaty hand, is a picture of a lady with no clothes on, lying on a couch for anyone to see. I’ve never seen such a thing.

‘Oh,’ I say, just before Jeremiah pushes me back out of the way. I catch Will’s eyes and he drops them right to the ground.

Thomas says, ‘I don’t want to look at a woman of low virtue. And none of you ought to either.’

It makes the boys break up their circle and get back to walking, even though Hiram tells Thomas, ‘Your wife ain’t anywhere near but you are still the stodgiest man I ever f*cking met!’

‘Some people call it fidelity,’ Thomas snaps.

I touch Jeremiah’s elbow. He slows down until all our party is gone up ahead.

‘Rosetta, I didn’t even really look at what was on that—And anyway, while you’re here you’re going to have to get used to—’

‘I don’t care about the picture. We ain’t having a baby and I’ve got to get myself some time away,’ I whisper. Jeremiah cocks his head, confused, and I ain’t ever thought I’d have to explain it to someone else. ‘It’s my woman’s time … my monthlies?’

‘I see,’ Jeremiah nods, and his smile should make me happy but it don’t.

When we reach the woodlot, he and I go far enough so the sound of the boys talking and Henry swearing every time his and Jimmy’s saw snags don’t hardly reach us. I push my way into the low darkness of a thicket, crouching to dig through my knapsack and find the flannel strips shoved to the bottom, where anyone would have to go searching for them. I fashion a thick wad, hoping it can last, wondering about once I don’t need it no more, once it is soiled.

Through the trees Jeremiah stands guard, his back to me, his weight resting on one leg.

‘My Papa was always so pleased when he got a baby on my Mama, like he forgot all my brothers on the hill,’ I say as I push through the brush. It is safe enough I put my arms around him.

‘I can’t see how he’d forget a burden like that,’ Jeremiah says, ‘with all the bad luck your Mama had.’

‘I don’t know what he was so pleased about. I ain’t ever found one special thing about a baby, not even Betsy, unless more laundry and mending and coddling when there’s work to be done has got something to it that I don’t understand.’

‘Well, there ain’t no farm that don’t have babies a part of it,’ Jeremiah says. ‘And seeing my brothers with their babies—seems the trouble might be worth it.’

We ain’t ever talked about children before. For the first time I see a picture of that farm that ain’t only me and Jeremiah, and hired hands come harvest. There is Jeremiah in a red barn with a dark-haired child on his shoulders, telling what makes a good cow, and the two of them poking their fingers in the dirt, sowing seeds.

‘It ain’t our time yet.’ Jeremiah squeezes me real quick. ‘But your Mama’s troubles ain’t got to be yours.’





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