I Shall Be Near to You(72)

‘It ain’t nothing,’ I shrug. ‘Anybody would’ve done the same.’

‘That isn’t so,’ he says, and then he leaves me to wonder if I were a noble wife like Jeremiah said, if I ought to talk to him before we get to marching again.




I WAIT ’TIL night, ’til we are lying under our tent, Jeremiah’s body curled around mine, his arm over my shoulder, his hand in mine.

‘I’ve got to talk to you.’ It comes out quiet.

Jeremiah’s body goes still as a deer listening to the wind.

‘Okay,’ he says, and turns so he’s flat on his back. I can just make out his face. It looks blank so I know I ain’t kept my voice calm.

Under my hand his heart beats faster as he waits for me to talk. Everybody is sleeping in their tents and someone’s snoring mixes in with the frogs and the lonely screech of an owl hunting. I reach across and pull him close, sliding my hand down his side, bumping along his ribs. He’s dropped weight from marching with no rations.

‘What’s this about?’ he asks, his fingers closing on my hand. ‘You’ve got a seriousness to you I ain’t—’

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My Mama has announced a thing like this more than once, but there ain’t a way for me to say it all warm with love. There ain’t nothing but fear gripping my belly.

‘It ain’t nothing,’ I say. ‘It’s just I’ve been thinking if there’ll be more fighting for us to do.’

‘Seems likely.’

‘You think we can stand it?’

‘Ain’t got a choice, unless you’re wanting to go on home.’

‘Not without you,’ I say, tears pricking my eyes.

I turn my back on him, my heart pounding.

He don’t say anything for a good long minute. I let those hot tears run. He slides back down next to me and puts his arm around me.

‘Rosetta,’ he whispers. ‘I’m sorry. I thought this war would be over quick. I thought we’d have our farm and be wintering over somewhere while we waited to get our house built and put in our own crops. Lord knows I’m glad you came—but if you’re scared, you ain’t got to stay on my account—I can find a way to stand you being gone home if I know you’re safe.’

I let those words sink through me. Neither of us says a thing. I want to be here with Jeremiah, and I want to be living that life we dreamed. Instead I kiss his hand, where the bullet graze is fresh healed. I tell him something for both ways.

‘I’m safest where you are,’ I say, and hope it is true.


IT IS LATE in the day when Jennie comes to our fire, her chin up even as she’s casting about like a spooky horse.

‘I came to talk to Private Stone,’ she says from where she stands at the aisle’s edge. ‘Alone.’

From across the way Edward lets out a low whistle, and she wraps her arms tighter across her chest.

I jump up from where I am sitting, following her down the row, her swirling skirt drawing the attention of every boy we pass, even when they all saw so much more the night before.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask when we get clear to the parade ground.

She stops and looks around before meeting my eye.

‘I found someone for you,’ she says, and leans close. ‘A woman. It isn’t cheap, but she—she knows the herbs to—she says she can purge your womb.’

My mouth drops right open. ‘Oh.’

Jennie presses a slip of paper into my hand. ‘The address is there. If you want to go—I can ask Captain for an escort to the hospital again.’

‘I don’t know—I’ve got to think—’

‘Of course,’ she nods. ‘You let me know if—’ And she turns on her heel, her calico skirt billowing like sheets on the line as she moves away through the gathering twilight.

I walk slow back to our tent.

‘Oooh, boy!’ Hiram stands and claps as I go by. ‘You got balls to be diddling with the Captain’s wife!’

The boys have all got questions on their faces when I move into their circle around the fire.

‘News from the hospital,’ I say. ‘One of the soldiers I saw there—he’s gone.’

No one bothers with me after that. The smoke twists into the night just like when Papa’s burning sheets, my Mama sobbing behind her closed door. I look across at Jeremiah, picturing Papa’s hands cradling Betsy, and then I open my hand, letting that slip of paper flutter down into the flames.





CHAPTER

25


MARYLAND: SEPTEMBER 9–16, 1862

It turns out McClellan ain’t so slow as Hiram says, and it is only a few days before orders come for us to march into Maryland. I push my worries out of my mind, and the first town we march through makes it easier to think I am doing the right thing. It is a sight to see. Stretched along the road, the whole town, all their women and children, is out to meet us. The young girls wave white kerchiefs and some of the children have brought flags too. At a brick storefront, a girl looking to be Betsy’s age stands, a glass jug of lemonade resting on the railing beside her. Sully stops right there in front of her, and she lowers a dipperful down to him. He tips his kepi all gentleman-like when he is done, and a smile lights that girl’s face. At the upper end of the street, two young ladies run out to meet us. They come alongside Will and the older one, a plain girl with a long straight nose, asks, ‘Would you care to join us for a hot supper?’