I Shall Be Near to You (19 page)

‘You lovelies ain’t afraid of a big trouser serpent, are you?’ Hiram calls, and starts moving through the water toward them.

‘You’d be better off with me,’ Edward joins in. ‘His trouser serpent bit a girl back home and he had to join up or take himself a wife!’

I ain’t ever heard such bald talk before, even when my Papa got to talking about bulls and cows with the men at church. The two of them, Hiram and Edward both, make me feel like I’ve just cracked open a rotten egg. There ain’t a bone in my body that don’t think they’d do something worse to me than Eli if they ever came to know the truth.

Hiram punches Edward in the shoulder like maybe they’ll go to scrapping again, but that auburn-haired girl says, ‘We ain’t looking for husbands,’ and lifts her skirt a little, showing her calf. That is when I know they are ladies of low virtue, and it ain’t right but I am glad for them getting the boys’ attention.

Sully and Henry trail after Hiram and Edward, leaving Jimmy and Will watching from where they stand, but Jeremiah wades back to me.

‘You all right?’ he asks.

‘I’ve got to get dry,’ I say.

‘We should go somewhere else, upriver a bit, you and me. I don’t like all them being here anyway.’

‘Won’t look right, just the two of us going.’

‘If there’s more trouble …’ Jeremiah says, looking at Hiram coming up out of the water toward those ladies.

‘Why do you think I’m sitting out here?’ I say. ‘You think it was an accident Sully brought those boys?’

‘Sully didn’t—’ Jeremiah takes a sharp breath like when he’s bluffing at poker, and I wonder what he’s playing at. ‘I mean, he wouldn’t—’

‘You go on. It looks like those boys have found other entertainments.’

‘You could still cool off a bit more,’ he says. ‘Get your feet wet at least. I’ll stay. I’ve already had enough swimming.’

‘I can’t get wet, Jeremiah. But don’t ruin your fun on my account.’

He reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder but I am too peevish.

‘You just go on,’ I tell him, only when he swims out to Will and Jimmy, closer to where the rest of the boys are still courting those girls, I wish I’d asked him to stay.

M
OST OF
J
UNE
is gone and it’s looking like the Army don’t care a thing about fighting season, when drums sound the long roll, just after supper one evening. The whole Regiment gathers on the parade ground, and there is Captain out front of his tent holding papers and Jennie Chalmers behind him, her hands twisting in her apron, looking worse than I feel.

‘General Ricketts has given us our marching orders,’ he finally says when we’re all hushed, and my whole self goes even more still to hear it.

Sully lets out a whoop like an idiot. Jimmy, hovering at Sully’s side, cheers. But there are plenty who are smart enough and don’t open their mouths, Will being one, and Jennie Chalmers, who walks away as soon as the cheering starts. Thomas stands quiet too, most likely picturing on his wife and children left at home. Jeremiah lays a firm hand on my arm, and I know right then what he is thinking.

When Captain can make himself heard again he says, ‘We’ll be leaving first thing Monday, heavy marching orders. Start getting your things in order and rest up.’ He surveys the lot of us. ‘You’re dismissed.’

The words no sooner leave his mouth than conversation hums and
clumps of men start back across the parade ground. We are walking back too when Sully turns round.

‘We’ve got our adventure now!’ he says. ‘Lord knows I am sick to death of waiting!’

‘Waiting is a damn sight better than getting killed,’ I spit at him.

‘Aw, I knew Ross was going to get cowhearted on us,’ Sully says.

‘I ain’t getting cowhearted. I ain’t the cowardly one, getting other folks to do the dirty work I ain’t got the balls for.’ Sully takes a step back, shrugging like he don’t know what I’m about but I just keep on, madder than even I thought after all this time. ‘Don’t you for one second think I’ve forgotten what you were playing at down at the creek, setting Hiram and Edward on me. Trying to get me clapped in jail.’

‘You think it was just me? You don’t think I was put up to it—’ Sully starts.

‘Jeremiah,’ Henry says real loud, ‘I told you we can’t keep Ross safe! If you can’t go through with sending—’

‘You keep your traps shut,’ Jeremiah says, an edge to his voice, giving a sharp look at Henry and a sharper one to Sully. ‘Both of you. Not one word. We’ve got packing to do and there ain’t no use in wasting time with more bickering. Save it for the Rebs.’

It gets me wondering, though, what Jeremiah has said to those boys. If he has told them he aims to send me home. If there is more to what Sully tried at the creek.

Henry and Jimmy slink off in their own direction down Company B’s street. Sully peels off after a few more paces, Will tagging along behind, and then it’s me and Jeremiah on the main aisle, only a few groups of men ahead and behind us, too busy being excited to pay us mind.

‘I’ve got to talk to you, Rosetta,’ Jeremiah says low.

‘Ain’t nothing to talk about.’ I make my spine a ramrod and walk fast for our tent.

‘We agreed,’ Jeremiah says, making his steps match mine. ‘You said you’d take what pay you’ve a right to and go home safe—’

‘I ain’t entertaining no more talk about this. I’ve got to pack, remember?’
I turn away to go down the row toward our tent, but he grabs my arm and drags me after him. I fight against him until Ambrose Clark stands up from where he was sitting outside his tent, that flask in his hand.

‘Stop it, Jeremiah. People will see.’

‘You come with me then,’ he says, and I do.

We’re silent for a good long while, so long we walk past the latrines and toward the river.

‘You promised,’ he says the instant we are under the trees.

‘I don’t want to go back there! You think they’ll be proud to have me there, after what I’ve done?’

‘It ain’t so bad as all that. My Ma says she’s forgiven you for leaving like you did,’ Jeremiah says.

We stare at each other, neither one of us budging.

‘You heard Henry. The boys—I can’t keep you safe,’ Jeremiah says.

‘Captain Chalmers ain’t worried about keeping his wife safe! He ain’t sent her back home.’

Jeremiah don’t say a thing. Maybe he knows how to tell I’m bluffing.

‘I ain’t sitting in church with all those people judging me. And Eli—’ It is like bird wings flapping inside me, thinking on Eli, just saying his name, knowing Hiram might be worse. Jeremiah must see something in my face because he takes my hand in both of his. I lean into him.

‘Ain’t you nervous?’ Jeremiah asks, his voice going low again.

‘All the time,’ I say. ‘But going home ain’t going to stop that. There ain’t a thing for it, except do what we’ve got to.’

‘But you don’t have to do this thing!’ Jeremiah says.

I think of marching to the South, to the Rebels, and of the wounded lying in hospital beds and Joseph Brown dying. I think of that last letter I wrote for him and if it were my letter instead, if it were Papa bringing it to my Mama, and what it might be for her to hear it read. But then there’s Jeremiah lying alone on the battlefield. I shake my head.

‘Yes,’ I say, and grab for his hand. ‘I do have to. My place is with you.’

J
EREMIAH
’
S VOICE IN
my ear wakes me.

‘Rosetta,’ he whispers.

It is late. I don’t say anything, so he’ll leave me sleeping. There is a rustling as he moves under his blanket and his arm comes around me.

‘Rosetta, wake up.’

‘What?’

‘We’ve got to get up,’ he says.

‘Why?’

‘Just get up.’ He moves, getting to his feet and taking my hands to help me.

‘That ain’t nice,’ I say, and there is the glimmer of his smile in the dark.

‘You’ll like it.’ He drags me after him through the opening. ‘Look at that moon.’

It is almost straight over our heads, shining on the tent peaks like they are snow-covered roofs, almost as light as the moment before dawn breaks, but it is still deepest night.

The fort around us is quiet, only the sound of men snoring and grinding teeth and coughing as we pad down the tent row. I don’t know what Jeremiah is about, but he keeps hold of my hand.

‘Where we going?’ I ask.

‘I ain’t telling if you don’t know.’

We are almost to the trees when there is a scuffling noise behind us, coming from the latrines. There ain’t time to pull away from Jeremiah.

‘Act sick,’ he whispers. ‘Like I’m helping you.’

I lean against him, dragging my feet, coughing and groaning as we scurry into the woods.

‘Who was that?’ I ask.

‘Ain’t sure. Thought I saw that white hair of Will’s,’ Jeremiah whispers. ‘I don’t think he saw us.’

We don’t talk after that. He takes us down to the river. Any pickets are out guarding far off to the South.

When we come out of the trees, there is a swath of chalky moonlight
cutting across that dark slate current. Jeremiah sinks down to the ground, pulling me with him.

‘What are we doing here?’ I ask.

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Sitting.’

‘You woke me up for sitting?’

‘Maybe,’ he says, that smile back on his face. ‘Maybe not. I thought you might want a chance at swimming.’

I stare at him, and then I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his arm coming around me and the night air chill everywhere we ain’t touching.

‘It’s cold,’ I say.

‘Not if you keep moving.’

‘What if someone comes? What if Will saw—’

‘I’ll keep watch,’ he says. ‘Besides, it’s the middle of the night, no one’s going to see a thing.’

‘Okay,’ I say, kicking off my brogans while Jeremiah’s fingers draw loops across my back and raise gooseflesh on my arms. I slide out from under his hand and stand up to undo the fly of my trousers, stepping out of them and walking for the river in my drawers, my binding still tight under my shirt, thinking only of washing the sweat and dust and stink out of my underthings.

The dark water is cold on my toes. Whatever is under the surface is hidden, even my own feet in the shallows. The river rocks are slippery beneath my toes, the spaces between soft with silt. When the water is lapping at my shins, I turn back to where Jeremiah sits.

‘Go on,’ he says. ‘I’m watching.’

I take a deep breath and push forward toward the middle of the river, letting my knees buckle until I am underwater. When I shove out into the night air I am gasping, the water cold enough to make my breath come in fits. My shirt clings to my arms and shoulders, the wet seeping through my binding, making my teeth chatter. I’ve got to get out or start swimming. Jeremiah is a boulder on the shore.

I swim out farther, until I ain’t chilled anymore, until my feet almost
don’t touch bottom, swimming right into the moon’s shimmering image, rippling in the lazy current. Then I float on my back, the river sound flowing in my ears, the same stars shining at home and over the land that someday is to be our farm.

A noise comes through the water. My heart goes to fluttering as I turn over. Jeremiah ain’t sitting on the shore no more. I comb that bank, seeing nothing but shadows, hearing nothing.

And then there is a splash and a round shape pushing up from under the water, coming toward me. I can’t help myself, I let out a yelp even as Jeremiah pops out of the water, more than halfway to me. As he comes up for air, his teeth flash, smiling as he stands in front of me.

‘You scared me!’ I say louder than I meant, because I am angry at him, angry at feeling scared. And then I don’t care and I shove both hands forward into the river, sending a wave at Jeremiah. He is still too far away, it don’t even touch him, but he lunges at me and for a moment, before his arms are around me, pulling me to him, I think maybe it isn’t him. But then he is there and his cold mouth is wet against mine.

He ain’t barely kissing me before I dig my toes around the rock beneath my feet and push him away.

‘You scared me,’ I say.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, his breath coming fast. ‘That ain’t what I meant. Just wanted to surprise you.’

‘That ain’t nice,’ I say, and my teeth get to chattering.

‘You cold?’

I don’t say anything. I don’t know if I am cold or scared.

‘Come here,’ he says, and pushes himself through the water. His arms come around me again and he draws me forward until my feet ain’t touching that rock no more.

‘Don’t you scare me like that again,’ I say. ‘I thought you were gone.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, and this time my arms reach behind him, my fingers clinging to his bare shoulders. ‘It didn’t seem right, you swimming by yourself.’

And then he bends to kiss me, water dripping from his hair onto my
face, his fingers tracing the front of my shirt until they find a button. I wrap my legs around his waist. He don’t have a stitch of clothes on and my breath comes fast again.

‘It ain’t safe,’ I say, thinking of Betsy’s last question to me.

‘It’s okay, there ain’t no one here,’ he says, and then he kisses my neck, his fingers fumbling at those buttons and then he is peeling my wet shirt away from my shoulders and maybe it don’t matter, not when he is pulling at the binding still so tight around my chest, not when he unwraps it, not when he pushes my underdrawers down from my hips and the heat of him moves through the whole of my body.