I Shall Be Near to You (8 page)

‘Companies G and H,’ Captain says, pointing. ‘The rest of the Regiment will join us before we leave for the Capital.’

‘How soon is that?’ I ask.

‘I expect within a month,’ Captain says.

The Companies drill until they march themselves back around, standing at attention right in front of Captain Chalmers, whose hand has slid inside his frock coat.

‘Sergeant Ames!’ Captain Chalmers calls.

A kind-looking man, not much younger than my Papa, steps from somewhere in the middle of the ranks and comes forward. He is a mite taller than me, and his brown eyes crinkle at the corners, a smile hiding behind his beard.

‘Yes, Sir?’ Sergeant Ames says.

‘I have a new recruit for Company H,’ Captain Chalmers says. ‘This is Private Ross Stone. You’ll see him settled?’

It is something odd to hear myself called
him
, but I keep staring past Sergeant’s shoulder, to the men lined up behind him.

‘Yes, Sir!’ Sergeant Ames says to Captain Chalmers. ‘Follow me.’

Some of the men I pass are young, just boys, and others are older than my Papa. When we have passed more than half the rows, a swarthy, thickset man with a black eye starting to go from purple to green gives a low whistle and calls, ‘Hey, Fresh Fish!’

Sergeant says something but I don’t hear a word of it because there not five yards away is Jeremiah.

H
IS HAT IS
pushed back, the sun bright on his straight nose and across his high cheekbones. He don’t even notice me. He is too busy watching Black Eye clap the wiry man beside him on the shoulder, the two of them laughing. To see Jeremiah all mixed in with these coarse men puts me in mind of Doc Cuck’s Thoroughbred saddle horse next to Papa’s plow horse.

I find my place in my row, doing the best I can, pulling my feet up out of the mud, following the orders of ‘Company, Forward March!’ and ‘Left, Right, Left!’ and ‘Company, Halt!’

I look straight ahead, but sometimes I can’t help myself and stray to
watch Jeremiah marching just two rows ahead. I ain’t ready for him to see me. It is good just knowing he is near and safe. I don’t want to be thinking about a thing else, about what he will say as soon as he knows I am here.

‘Private Stone!’ a voice barks, and my mind flies away from Jeremiah. ‘Do you aim to stick out like a sore thumb?’ Sergeant Ames asks, and I look around to find myself marched clear out of my column.

‘No, Sir,’ I say, and move over two steps. The boys in the rows ahead are all craning their necks to see what I have done, and Jeremiah is one of them. I drop my chin, holding my breath.

When I glance up again, Jeremiah has turned away. If he even saw me, he must not have looked close enough to know it, and I let out a long sigh. Maybe he wouldn’t know me even if he did look hard.

‘Company, Forward March!’ Sergeant yells, and this time I keep my mind where it should be.

It don’t take much before I march better than most these boys. Course, that ain’t saying much when the ranks are filled with the likes of Jimmy O’Malley who can barely tell his two feet apart.

I let myself get lost in the music of it—Sergeant calling, our feet tramping, the men breathing around me. That is the only way I can keep from wondering what it is that makes Jeremiah elbow Sully or shake his head at Jimmy. Finally we are done and Sergeant dismisses Company G to their tents. But then instead of excusing us, he shouts, ‘Private Stone, come forward!’

I don’t know what could make Sergeant call me out except he has seen me for what I am. I walk to Sergeant slowly, looking away past where Jeremiah stands, feeling the men watching, hoping Sergeant will send the rest of the Company off before he drums me out of the Regiment.

I stop next to the first row of men, but Sergeant waves me to him, has me face the Company. My throat closes right up and if Sergeant asks me to say a thing for myself, I won’t have the breath to do it. I look to Jeremiah. He is staring right back at me and the moment our eyes meet, he knows me.

B
UT THEN SERGEANT
’
S
voice booms, ‘Which of you has space in your tent for our new recruit, Private Stone?’

Jeremiah’s face is blank as ice, colder than the wind blowing off the river, but his hand shoots up fast. A few other hands come up besides, but I keep looking on Jeremiah, willing him to help me. And then Jeremiah calls, ‘Sir, permission to speak?’

I have never seen Jeremiah so serious or heard him sound so proper, not even asking Papa for my hand.

‘Granted,’ Sergeant says.

‘The new recruit is my kin,’ Jeremiah says, ‘and there’s room in my tent.’

Sully’s head jerks toward Jeremiah’s, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I don’t know if I should be glad Jeremiah has seen me right away and if it means he will let me stay or if I should still be scared of what he’ll do.

‘In that case,’ Sergeant says, ‘Private Stone will join with you. Company, dismissed!’

I stand there while the lines scatter and boys and men walk away, heading across the field toward their tents. After a moment there is only the boys from Flat Creek left, and me along with them. I stay where I am, planted in that field, and finally Jeremiah comes toward me, his face stern, his mouth straight like his Ma’s. I’m afraid to look at the others.

When they get close Jeremiah says, ‘You all go on ahead.’ His voice is so flat that the others stay quiet. Not even Sully has a joke before they walk off.

For the first time I feel the aching in my knees and the emptiness of my stomach and the sleep I ain’t had and then it is like the grit just washes out of me. All I want now is to put my arms around him. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. We stand there staring at each other in the empty field, far-off laughter coming from the tents, the wind ruffling Jeremiah’s hair.

‘Rosetta—’ Jeremiah starts.

‘Ross,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to call me Ross.’

‘What are you doing here? I told you, you weren’t to come!’

‘I’m a soldier. Like you.’

‘A soldier? But, you didn’t really—You’re not serious.’

I stand up straight and say loud, ‘I ain’t funning. I did it. I enlisted.’

‘I can’t believe Captain Chalmers—’

‘It’s already done. I signed the ledger and everything. I’m getting paid, same as you.’

‘Rosetta—’

‘Ross!’

‘You can’t—What are you thinking?’

‘When you left, I couldn’t … I tried … You left me!’

‘That was the plan! I was going to get the money for our farm!’ he yells, his fists clenched at his sides, his face red. I have never seen him look so mad. ‘That was always the plan!’

‘I can’t live that way! And I can’t go back now, not after—’ I stop before I say too much.

‘Why can’t you?’ he asks.

‘You think I can go home looking like this? After I already enlisted? You think your folks will have me when I just up and left and didn’t say a thing about where I was going?’

Jeremiah shakes his head. ‘This is too much. You’ve got to go home. You can’t run about doing whatever you please.’

‘Is that it, then? You tell me what to do now? You ain’t listened to me one word when I said I didn’t want you doing this thing, so I don’t see why I’ve got to do what you say neither.’

‘But you can’t stay here! You’re a—you’re not—’ He lowers his voice to a hiss. ‘You’re a married woman, for Christ’s sake!’

‘I don’t see what being married has got to do with it, save for me wanting to be with my husband.’

He kicks a frozen clod of mud, making it go to pieces in the air. ‘I want you safe!’

I think on Eli shoving me down, his hand wrenching, stitches ripping, fingers digging into my skin. I don’t know how to say those things to Jeremiah.
I don’t want to see how it changes the way he looks at me. I don’t want to see him take on the weight of knowing the whole of it.

So I say something else.

‘It’s too hard with you gone. What friends have I got with you all leaving me?’

‘Did you ever even think about the boys? You think they’ll want you here? You think they’ll be happy you’ve come?’ He has got himself worked up so he can’t hear a thing I say.

‘Are you saying they ain’t real friends to me? Is that it?’

‘This don’t have a thing to do with friendship! Your Papa—I don’t know what he was thinking, letting you get ideas—’

‘You keep my Papa out of this. I’m not even his farmhand any more. He’s got himself Isaac Lewis for that now. And I ain’t keeping house for just myself on your Pa’s farm, your Ma coming and making me feel like something less.’

‘That ain’t what she’s—She’s never called you something less! It’s the way you—’

‘Don’t! Don’t you defend her! You don’t know what it is, being there all lonesome and getting told I’ve got to do mending and stay inside and—You’ve never seen the way she looks at me! You never hear!’

‘Rosetta, it ain’t like that.’

‘It is! I can’t do it! I can’t be your wife if you ain’t there!’ My voice is too loud but I can’t stop it. I look around us quick, but no one’s close enough to hear me call myself
wife
.

‘You’re not safe here!’ Jeremiah says.

‘This don’t seem so dangerous,’ I say, throwing my arm out to the empty field. ‘You see any Rebels here?’

‘You don’t belong here! Can’t you see that? And I can’t be worrying about you all the time,’ Jeremiah says.

‘Is that what I am to you? A worry? You think you’re the only one that worries?’

Jeremiah looks down. There is hurt and something harsh about his air that I ain’t ever seen in him before.

‘This ain’t good.’ He is done arguing.

‘How? How ain’t it good? Me being with you?’

His voice is level. ‘You don’t make a lick of sense.’

‘You already knew that, and you married me anyway,’ I say.

‘You come with me,’ he says, and grabs my elbow. ‘We’ve got to fix things.’

J
EREMIAH TAKES OFF
across the field, but instead of going toward the tents, or for Captain Chalmers, we skirt the trees at the edge of camp until we are far enough that the sounds of men talking and laughing and the smell of campfires fade. Then Jeremiah veers into the woods. I have hardly stepped from the parade ground to the gritty snow in the shade when he turns, grabs my shoulders, and kisses me, his lips rough and chapped. It ain’t a nice kiss. It is something else, but I forget everything, just for a moment. Then I remember and shove him off.

‘That don’t fix anything,’ I tell him, looking all around. ‘It’s a good thing there ain’t a soul to see us.’

‘There ain’t a good fix for what you’ve done,’ Jeremiah says, and takes my hand, marching farther into the trees until he finds a log sheltered by a thicket of sticks and branches. He hauls me down next to him, but he don’t talk. Just sits there, staring off into space, his jaw tight, his thigh warm against mine.

Finally he takes my hat from my head and looks me over.

‘What did you do to your hair?’ he says, like that is the most important thing, and reaches to touch where it stops above my ears. I should pull back but I can’t. I’m too glad for this little touch.

‘You look—’

‘Don’t you be mean,’ I say, and cross my arms over my chest. ‘It can’t be helped now.’

‘I ain’t being mean,’ he says. ‘You look … it looks different, is all.’

‘I ain’t any different,’ I say. ‘And it’ll grow back.’

And then his fingers are in what’s left of my hair and he kisses me
again, gently. ‘You ain’t got it right,’ he says. ‘Only ladies wear a part down the middle.’

His hands, all shaking, go from my hair to the strap holding my canteen across my chest. ‘And you can’t sling your canteen like that,’ he says.

‘You are plumb full of advice,’ I say, tugging at the leather while he stares at where it cuts across my chest. ‘Does this mean you’re letting me stay?’

‘Rosetta,’ he says, looking and swallowing hard.

‘Ross,’ I say.

‘Always Rosetta to me. I can’t not touch you.’

‘We’ll be secret,’ I tell him. ‘You call me Ross, and when we’re secret you can say Rosetta. But now we’ve got to practice.’

And then his eyes go hungry and he says, ‘Practice what?’ And then his hands, they shake still, but he takes the canteen over my head and then he kisses me while his fingers work at the buttons of my coat and then my shirt and I do the same to his. When he has got to the binding around my chest, he stops.

‘What—’

‘It’s to hide—’ I start, but then he unwinds it, unwrapping like he’s turning a wheel and I am the hub.

He sits back to look at me, catching my left hand, pressing it to his mouth and I know what at least one part of him is thinking.

I shiver in the cold and try to draw my hand away before Jeremiah can see the bruises and scratches marking my wrist. He holds tight and a fluttering feeling rises in my chest and all I want is for him to drop my hand.

‘Let go,’ I say. ‘That hurts.’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, his blue eyes darkening as they go to my wrist. ‘What’s this?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘It ain’t nothing,’ he says, looking me full in the face.

‘I got lonesome. And I thought I’d go see my Mama and Papa and Betsy.’

Jeremiah’s eyebrows knit together, making two creases above his nose. ‘And?’ he says.

‘And I didn’t get there.’

‘You didn’t get there?’ he repeats, and stares at me.

‘Eli stopped me.’ The words come fast. ‘But I punched him and he was done with me.’

‘Eli did this?’ Jeremiah’s voice climbs.

I look down, the shame of it coming over me as I nod.

‘That white-livered son of a bitch! He touched you?’ Jeremiah jumps up, standing over me.

‘He just grabbed me and shoved me. It wasn’t nothing I couldn’t handle,’ I say.

‘I promised to protect you,’ he says, sinking back down on the log.

‘You weren’t there!’ I turn away, dragging my shirt up from the ground where Jeremiah dropped it.

‘Is that why you came all this way?’ Jeremiah asks, his voice pulled like harness traces.

‘I ain’t going back there, not without you,’ I say.