I Shall Be Near to You(5)

Papa sighs and thumbs to the right place. ‘Now it came to pass in the days when the judges ruled, that there was a famine in the land. And a certain man of Bethlehem went to sojourn in the country …’

Hearing Papa’s molasses voice fill the room, I almost start missing home already, until Betsy reaches across me for more thread and ain’t careful about her elbow in my side.





CHAPTER

2


FEBRUARY 3, 1862

Bundled up in the wagon, Betsy chatters on about how she wouldn’t want a Winter wedding, how she would want wildflowers for her bouquet and a picnic on the church grass. I never cared to think on such things, not before now. I am about to tell her how Winter is best for a farm wedding when she says, ‘After seeing how pretty you look, ain’t nobody can ever get married in blue in Flat Creek again!’ and Mama turns to smile at the both of us, the same smile as when she saw my reflection in her looking glass, tears brimming to see me looking how she’s always said I ought, almost handsome with my hair still fresh-washed, the freckles from Summer almost faded.

It is too cold in the churchyard to be milling with folks waiting for the start of Sunday services, and anyway we ain’t got time for socializing. Papa keeps hold of my arm and Mama and Betsy lead the way, walking up the steps to the church door. I don’t like feeling as if people are seeing good in me for the first time now I’ve got my fancy dress the color of bluebells and my hair done up in twists at the back and curls hanging down at the sides.

Inside it is quiet and white, the Winter sun beaming in long shafts through the windows, lighting the walnut pews. We walk right to the front and Mama slides into the first one. I don’t dare look for Jeremiah, not with the whole congregation watching. Preacher Bowers takes the pulpit and I ain’t ever been keen on his sermons before, but with all those eyes on me for once I am glad for anything to keep my mind busy.

‘At this time of great discord in our nation,’ he says, his voice grave and slow, ‘when so many of our men are battling so far away from their earthly homes, we can draw wisdom and comfort from remembering Eden and Heaven, our first and last homes, the purest examples of harmony and perfection …’

Seems to me a wedding ain’t the time to trot out war talk, like there ain’t a new casualty list posted outside the church door and enlistment posters up at the Mercantile calling for fresh volunteers, but I keep my mouth shut and focus on the stained-glass window behind Preacher’s head.

‘What then, are the principles of unity, of marriage, set out by our God? God tells us in Genesis that it is not good for man to be alone. He also tells us in First Corinthians that a wife must not separate from her husband …’

‘Why ain’t God said a thing about husbands going off to war?’ I say under my breath, making Betsy giggle and Mama give me a look.

‘… for although Eve led Adam astray, he did not forsake her, but was cast out in sorrow and in pain with her, to create a new home out of adversity. This same sorrow and pain and adversity strikes within our nation now, taking so many away from their communities, their homes, their wives, breaking apart our unity. I say to you that as a wife must submit to her husband and remain loyal to her husband, so must a state with its nation.’

Once Preacher says that, there is a stirring in the pews. I twist and crane my neck to look across the aisle and behind me and there is Jeremiah, jiggling his knee, sitting so straight and looking so handsome, like a man I don’t hardly know in a fresh brown suit and his hair all neat. I am willing him to look at me when Mama clamps my thigh.

‘Without Love,’ Preacher says, ‘there is nothing, and that is why I charge you to take the love you bear for each other and build a new Union …’

I don’t hear a word else that Preacher Bowers says. Instead I tug at the tips of my fancy lace gloves over and over, until Mama clasps my hand tight in hers. She only lets go when Papa reaches out to help me stand.

Preacher asks my Papa, ‘Who gives this woman to be wedded to this man?’ and there is Jeremiah standing right across the aisle.

And then Papa leads me forward and with the whole church at my back he puts my hand on Jeremiah’s elbow. Jeremiah looks at me and before he walks us to the altar he whispers in my ear, ‘You look so pretty,’ and it is different than when Mama says, ‘You look prettiest when …’

Preacher is still talking but not one bit of it stays in my mind. There is just Jeremiah taking a deep breath. His hands shaking. His eyes meeting mine: my something blue.

When it is my turn to say the vows sealing me to him for the rest of my days, I barely hear my own words until Jeremiah gets that soft, hungry look of his as I promise to be his faithful and loving wife. Then Preacher says we can kiss and Jeremiah’s mouth is hard on mine. I hold him fast even with the whole church of people watching because at least for now he is mine.


AN ICY SNOW covers the churchyard, but Jeremiah steadies me through the gate and across the schoolyard, every step crunching until we climb the schoolhouse steps and there is the hollow sound of wood beneath our feet. That schoolhouse don’t hold good memories, nothing but Miss Riggs’ ruler or Eli Snyder telling everyone I had hair full of nits, or Carrie Jewett singing songs about my cow-stink. I haven’t stepped foot in here since Papa got Mama to let me quit schooling and Jeremiah keeps his hand at the small of my back, pushing me forward, like he knows it’s no place I’d choose to be.