I Shall Be Near to You(34)

FORT CORCORAN, VIRGINIA: APRIL 1862

We’re at mail call, and Mrs. Chalmers is there. She stands at the front of our lines, smiling at men, her skirt clean. She uses that smile of hers, gets those men’s attention. I watch Jeremiah close to see if her soft skin and pretty mouth draw him too, but if they do he don’t let himself get caught looking.

Instead, he leans over and says, ‘Now that Captain’s wife sure is a pretty thing. A nice proper wife any man would like to have. Looks nice in that dress of hers too.’

‘Well, she ain’t your wife and you ain’t any man, seeing how you picked a different sort.’ I glare back at him.

He grabs me round the neck, pulls my head toward his belly button, the sort of thing I’ve seen the boys do a hundred times. The sort of touching won’t attract no notice.

‘I got a fighting wife, that’s a fact,’ he says, rubbing his knuckles across my scalp, knocking my kepi off.

I push him, but he just laughs.

‘Don’t you think if Ross here put on a calico dress, he’d look almost as pretty as Mrs. Chalmers?’ Henry says loud enough for everyone around us to hear. Jeremiah stiffens. His hand on my elbow is the only thing that keeps me from turning on Henry.

It stings when Edward laughs, saying, ‘I think it’d be a damn sight harder for Ross to look as sweet as that honey,’ and it is a good thing Mrs. Chalmers calls his name right then to come collect a letter. He throws a wink over his shoulder at us as he goes to her, his face bright, looking like he might bend over at the waist and bow down like trampled wheat.

Edward is handsome in the way of a good workhorse, but Mrs. Chalmers don’t seem to take special notice of him. I wonder what that’s like, for a woman to do that to a man who ain’t hers, if a plain girl like me could do that as easy as Mrs. Chalmers does if I tried. There ain’t much strength in a woman who is only good at smiling, but I wonder if that is the kind of wife most men see for themselves. Still, if she knew about the dirty pictures Edward gets in his mail, I bet she wouldn’t be so keen on giving him smiles or anything else neither.

When Edward has turned back, I almost jump out of my skin to hear Mrs. Chalmers read my name. I thread through the other men waiting, trying not to look at her. Still, I can’t help staring as I take the square of paper from her hand, her skin silk like she’s never done a bit of real work. My skin ain’t never been that tender, not since I was a baby.

Mrs. Chalmers catches me staring and smiles before ducking her head. I turn away fast, snatching the thin packet out of her hand, blushing at how she must think I’m looking on her like the other men do.


PAPA’S THICK WRITING is on the face of that envelope, so firm it’s gone and pressed the letters into the paper and I am so hungry to read it, I almost can’t wait ’til I am safe from prying eyes.

The letter is short and all in Papa’s hand.

March 29, 1862

Dear Rosetta,

The Farm misses you. There is work aplenty with Planting coming on but you know Isaac Lewis is hired to help do the work and he is a good worker and strong. The North field will be in wheat this year, and I think to plant potatoes in the rest. There’s 3 new calfs just this week, one spotted.

We first thought it a Relief to get word, but the news of Your letter goes Hard with Mama and Betsy and adds to our Worries. I see how you try to do Right, but they are feeling the Stain of it on their heads, Seeing how Most Everyone here has been talking of you being gone. We wish you had Spoken to us of those plans on your last visit.

Mama says for me to tell you to Keep the Money you earn for whatever kind of Future you Hope to have.

It is a hard thing, you being Gone this way.

We Pray for you,

Your Father, Charles Edwards



My hands are shaking before I get to the end. Papa don’t say it, but from the words he put on that page and the way Mama and Betsy ain’t added a thing to it in their own hand, I have shamed them. I shouldn’t have put what I’ve done before them; I shouldn’t have sent that tintype. Mama don’t want nothing to do with me, and Betsy ain’t said even a word of thanks about the ribbon I sent. It is a long time before I stand up and push my way out of our tent. Only the campfire is still there, dying down to embers, the boys all gone. I take big strides and thrust that letter in the coals and there is no one to stop me.

The letter curls its edges in the flames and goes black and fluttery. The breeze picks up some of the flakes, blowing them down the line to where a circle of boys play cards outside Edward Stiles’ tent. That must be where Jeremiah has got to.

No one notices when I walk up. Jeremiah stares at his cards, a pile of matchsticks in front of him. When he glances up at me, he wears a sly smile that tells me he is winning. It ain’t the time to try talking to him. I shrug and turn away, telling myself it is better he thinks I’ve got things of my own to do, that I don’t need attention all the time the way some girls do.

When Will sees me walking away, he calls out, ‘Ross! You’ve got to play! I’ve been wanting to win something off you!’ and the boys laugh.

I don’t turn back, making my way through camp instead, up our Company street, past the rows of shelter tents, where clusters of men gather, finding ways to pass the time ’til dinner. I ain’t ever thought I’d get to feeling lonely, but there’s all these men doing men things and no proper company for a woman. When women gather, they are always doing something of use, quilting to make the work go faster for each other, keeping company while they sew for kin, making long days nursing babies easier, passing gossip and family news. Here the men sing bawdy songs and play at cards and lose money their families need.