I Shall Be Near to You(50)

BATTLE



AUGUST 21–SEPTEMBER 19, 1862

‘Your resolution once fixed, never lose

sight of it until it is carried out.’

—The 1862 Army Officer’s Pocket Companion





CHAPTER

18


RAPPAHANNOCK STATION: AUGUST 21–26, 1862

Me and Jeremiah are marching across green pastures, taking our money to get that farm. There’s rolling hills and apples in Fall and fat cows and a raven-haired child gathering eggs. We work a hayfield together, the golden hay swirling in the air, going home to a cabin at night, making plans for rooms we could add if we need. But when I wake up I am curled on the hard ground, not under Mama’s double wedding ring quilt, but wrapped in my wool blanket, and the only thing that is the same is Jeremiah beside me. I stare up at the lightening sky and pray we don’t ever have to see one Confederate soldier, but that can’t be. After more than a month of moving about the countryside all up and down the Rappahannock River, we ain’t ever been closer to the enemy. I find Jeremiah’s hand under the blankets, but he don’t wake and it is a marvel he can sleep so solid. I lie there like that ’til most of the camp gets to stirring, ’til Jeremiah opens his eyes and smiles at me.

Breakfast is barely even a thought when news comes tripping down through the soldiers that there’s Rebel pickets and artillery setting up along the river.

After that, the morning and breakfast don’t ever get to being like usual. There’s no jeering, no horsing around, no laughing, no storytelling. Even Sully sits quiet, chewing his lip. I force myself to swallow bits of salt pork, but when it gets to my belly it don’t settle right.

It ain’t clear where the notion starts but when breakfast’s eaten, Jeremiah draws out his pen and papers, unfolds the sheets down onto his thighs, ironing them over and over with his hands. Soon as everyone starts seeing what’s afoot, the hush gets even deeper. There ain’t a human sound except the moving of the rest of the boys as they fan out, getting space for private thoughts, taking up every boulder or log that’s good for sitting.

Jeremiah’s pen hovers over the blank page. It goes to quivering and then he writes My Dear Wife, Rosetta.

I can’t take none of that. I grab my things and shove off for the trees, heaving my guts, heaving every last bit of that breakfast, heaving long past everything is clean out of my body. When I stand straight, trying to look for all the world like ain’t nothing wrong, heads are still bowed, hands are still crawling across paper. I find a low flat boulder and sink down into the wet leaves and grass, digging in my pack to find the map. It is folded back to show the Capital and Virginia. From there it’s easy to trace the twisting snake of the Rappahannock River, just a thin ribbon keeping us from Richmond, less than a hundred miles away, not even a five-day march.

I smooth my own letter paper over that rock ’til McClellan’s grave picture stares flat out from top of the page. All the things I want to tell Jeremiah feel too big, too much to put to a piece of paper, and whatever I say won’t be enough to do him a lick of good. Instead I write:

August 21, 1862

Near Rappahannock Station

Dear Mama, Papa, and Betsy,

If you are Reading these Lines, then You will already know what came of Me. I want You should know I ain’t sorry doing this thing and staying with my Husband. Sin or no, I am Proud I have been of Some Help and have done as Well as any Soldier and Better than some. I have Friends here from that neighborhood, and more besides and my Life has been Happy for having Done this Service.

I don’t fear the Rebel bullets and those Cannons don’t scare me None. I have Made my Peace and Forgive all who ever done a thing to me. I want You should Forgive me for all the Wrongs I done. I know I haven’t always been a Right and Good daughter, or a good sister neither but I never did none of it to hurt you. I Hope you still Remember me as Your Daughter and Sister but are Proud of Your Soldier.

I am Thinking on Home and if Ever I will Come there again. I want that you lay out for the Family and the Farm what the Army sends for my part here. I will See that it is done from where I rest. I don’t Aim to Die, but it gives me Comfort to know We will meet again in Heaven where there is no more Parting.

I am Always,

Your Rosetta



I seal that letter in a Liberty and Union cover with a three-cent stamp, writing Mr. and Mrs. Charles L. Edwards and Miss Elisabeth V. Edwards. Flat Creek Crossing, Montgomery Co., New York. I slide it in my breast pocket and hope that when I look on it again, it’s because this war is over and Jeremiah and I are packing for one last visit home.

Across camp, away from the boys writing letters, the Chalmerses hug like they ain’t ever going to see each other again. Captain hands Jennie into a wagon, kissing that same hand. When he lets go, her shoulders hunch like she is crying, and she keeps herself turned around, her eyes on her husband as that wagon drives her back the way we’ve come. Watching her fade into the trees pulls at something inside me, seeing her for maybe the last time. I could be just like her, saying good-bye to my man, going away alone.

I hurry to Jeremiah. All around, men who ain’t writing letters sit, housewife kits on their knees, coats in their laps, needles in their hands, stitching their names across the collars, like it is nothing to think on being so torn up a person wouldn’t know a body, or being shot down with the whole Company.