I Shall Be Near to You (25 page)

‘What’s this?’ I ask.

He twists away, says, ‘It ain’t but a graze.’

‘You ought to wash it out,’ I say.

‘It’s nothing,’ is all Jeremiah says.

‘Let me bandage it,’ I say, but Jeremiah don’t want nursing and shakes his head.

I get my mind in order. Edward and Thomas stand off to Jeremiah’s side. Sully is working a path into the ground with his pacing. Levi Blalock, the brand still red on his face, drags Andrew Bile who I only know from work duty through the line of skirmishers. There is old John Morgan and Thomas Stakely with Frank’s arms draped over their shoulders, his head lolling and feet dragging, the hoarse rasping of John Morgan weeping making my hands bunch up the wool of my trousers. The O’Malleys ain’t back yet.

Will kneels at my side, muttering over and over. ‘I couldn’t do it,’ he says, gripping his rifle. ‘I just couldn’t do it.’

I’ve got to do something, to pull myself back to this place, to keep from thinking on where the O’Malleys might be. I say to Will, ‘What are you talking about?’

He starts like I jumped out from behind a doorway at him, but he says, ‘I couldn’t shoot. Not with God watching. How could I shoot those men? I couldn’t. Not to cover you, not even to save my own self.’

I know something of what he is feeling, but he looks like he don’t understand it himself. I don’t know what to say to him and he turns back to his rifle and cleans it out. Three Minie balls come from out of that muzzle. He oughtn’t be doing such a thing in plain view, he oughtn’t let anyone see he ain’t shot according to regulation, but then maybe it don’t matter so much for him to act right as it does for me.

‘You ain’t got to aim at no one. You just shoot and it don’t matter what you don’t hit,’ I tell him low so no one hears, not even Jeremiah.

Jeremiah stands rigid, his eyes gone somewhere else, same as when he was leaning over that boy last night, his throat already shot through, that rifle echoing again. He takes off at a run, darting in and out of the trees as he goes to the clearing, heading back to where the fighting was, like he has lost his head entirely, his legs scissoring so fast past the skirmish line, Sully charging after.

And then I see why he is running. Stumbling across the clearing is a humpbacked man and it is Henry and I know what he’s got on his back. Henry gently lays that body down so the tall grass swallows it up. Then he and Jeremiah swoop low like gathering chaff to carry the load between them and the tears running down my face burn.

Sully jogs ahead and where Jeremiah and Henry walk, the skirmishers step aside, parting to let them pass, a few of them looking to see if it is anyone they know before turning right back to the trees where those Rebels might be coming. Jeremiah and Henry and Sully bring that body to us and lay it down on the damp leaf-covered ground.

Seeing death last night and seeing death when it’s a boy I’ve known my whole life ain’t the same thing, and I want to think Jimmy ain’t dead but it is plain from the condition of his head, part of it gone, that he can’t be living and then there is the smell of him, burnt flesh and blood and shit
mixing with the wet, warm moldering smell of the leaves that our feet are mussing up. Will mutters what sounds like the Lord’s Prayer and then I say, ‘We’ve got to have him buried.’

Those words don’t but leave my mouth before Henry sinks to the ground next to his brother and I don’t know why I said it so soon.

‘You can sit with him as long as you like,’ Will says, and it is the right thing. ‘Long as you like.’

We make a little knot. All up and down the length of cord that is our Brigade weaving through the woods there is a smattering of knots and no one even cares that there is still fighting going on behind that embankment.

H
ENRY SITS A
long time, just looking. Sully kneels beside him, his hand on Jimmy’s knee, like he’s got to touch him to know for sure. The rest of us stand silent until Henry takes a long breath.

He sighs it out and says, ‘He’s gone,’ like he’s been waiting for some kind of feeling, like Jimmy’s spirit has up and flown. He opens Jimmy’s jacket and inside is Jimmy’s name written in his own hand. So careful Henry unpins that name tag and then takes a letter from inside Jimmy’s jacket. When he is holding that letter, he goes to gasping, big wracking sobs, and it is the first time I’ve ever seen one of these boys cry.

‘You want us to find him a place—’ Jeremiah asks.

‘No!’ Henry shouts. ‘I’ve got to bury him! I’ve got to see it with my own eyes so I know where to find him after.’

And then Henry finds me. ‘You!’ he yells. ‘It’s your fault! If you ain’t come with us, this never would’ve happened!’

He comes at me, shoving me square in the chest hard enough I fall. There is scuffling and grunting and when I get my feet under myself, Jeremiah is holding Henry back, Sully is looking like he don’t know where to stand, and Will is gaping.

‘Simmer down!’ Jeremiah yells. ‘I ain’t having this!’

‘This ain’t about me,’ I say. ‘Jimmy lying there ain’t got a thing to do with me.’

‘It’s got everything to do with you!’ Henry pushes past Jeremiah. ‘If
you weren’t here, we could’ve been looking out for him! Instead of always keeping watch on you!’

Jeremiah shoves Henry and he crashes into Sully, who puts his hands out and pushes him upright. Henry knocks into Jeremiah, sending Jeremiah reeling, and then Henry barrels at me but my fists are up and I aim straight for his nose.

My fist smashes into it, shock blooming across his face as he falls backward.

‘I can take care of myself! I don’t need no one keeping watch over me and I never asked for it neither!’ I bellow, and clench both my fists, ready. ‘If you’ve got a problem with me, then we settle this right now ’cause I ain’t going anywhere! You want to blame someone for Jimmy dying, you blame those Rebels! There ain’t one of us here who could have done a thing different to save Jimmy and there ain’t one of us who wants to leave him here in this ground!’

My breath comes fast and blood pours from Henry’s nose, down his face. Jeremiah gives Henry a shove and Will grabs me, his hand tightening on my arm and my knuckles aching, but I just keep talking so I don’t get to crying and I don’t care who might hear what I’ve got to say.

‘You know why I came here, and I ain’t asked for one thing different or special, and I ain’t going back, so if you’ve got something to say, you say it right now and be done with this thing.’

Not one of them says a single word. Will’s hands loosen on my arms and he steps to the side of me. His mouth works but he don’t make a sound.

‘You got anything else needs saying?’ Jeremiah yells at Henry.

Henry sinks down on the dirt. ‘I just want—I can’t—’

And as soon as that fight started, it is over and I don’t know what is different, but we all settle back to the ground like leaves falling. Jeremiah looks at me like I am a ghost or some frightening thing he doesn’t understand, like he is seeing me from some other place. I look away from him, scared this war has changed everything.

T
HERE
’
S ONLY ONE
thing for the aching after Jimmy’s buried and that’s to keep busy, even if the orders are to wait.

‘Let me have your canteen,’ I say to Jeremiah.

He holds his out to me. ‘There ain’t much water left,’ he says.

‘Give me that hand of yours, too. I won’t take no for an answer.’

He sighs then, saying, ‘It’s barely more than a scratch,’ but he sits down next to me.

I dig for the flannel cloths in my knapsack. At this rate I won’t have enough if I ever need them for myself.

And then it hits me. All my sick feeling days. The tiredness sinking into my bones. I count back to when I last had my woman’s time. It ain’t come as regular since we up and joined, but it ain’t come even once since being at Fort Corcoran, since before marching to Bull Run. I can’t be certain, but it can’t be, not like this, not when it ain’t what I planned, when we ain’t settled on our farm yet.

‘Ross?’ Jeremiah says.

‘I’ve just got to get this wet,’ I say, keeping my head down while I make my face go blank. There’s no reason to go telling Jeremiah something that’ll make him think different on me being here, especially when it mightn’t be true, especially when I just took Henry on. There’s no way to tell him, not now, when it’s not a welcome thing.

Then I take up his hand, laying it across my lap, and put my mind to the gash across the back, almost as wide as my fattest finger. The edges are black and maybe it is gunpowder or burnt but it don’t come away when I dab it gentle, Jeremiah hissing at the first touch.

It gets to bleeding, and I look up at Jeremiah. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, remembering his smile all those weeks ago when I told him we weren’t having a baby. If this thing is true, I am sorry for so much more than his hand. All I can think is the worry a baby will bring and the fight I will have to keep Jeremiah from sending me home and I don’t want none of it.

‘It don’t hurt much,’ he says, but I can already see the bruise darkening his palm.

I get that hand as clean as I can and wrap a fresh cloth around it, thinking it needs some of Mama’s comfrey salve. When I’m finished, Jeremiah takes my hand, looks at the blush across my knuckles.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t see that coming,’ he says.

‘Ain’t no way to see a thing like that,’ I shrug. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing you got a fighting wife.’

I
AM TYING
the knot on Jeremiah’s wrap when a man with light hair and eyes, maybe the age of Jeremiah’s oldest brother, comes to me.

‘You think you could help me with this?’ he says, and shows me where his trousers are torn almost from knee to ankle.

I ain’t ever spoke to him before, but I squat down and fold back the flaps of wool. There is a deep tear running down the back of his calf.

‘I’ve got to touch it a bit,’ I say, looking up at him.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, squaring his shoulders. ‘I can stand it. Name’s Milo Keller, by the by.’

The way the skin pulls apart makes me think on Doc Cuck’s curved needle.

‘It needs stitches,’ I tell Milo, and when he grits his teeth I keep going. ‘I ain’t got the skill or the tools for it, but I can wrap it. You got any clean rags?’

He shakes his head and then I am digging through my pack again.

‘Jeremiah,’ I say. ‘You go get Ambrose’s flask, unless you got any pop skull, Milo?’

Henry says, ‘Goddamn it!’ and moves off away and I don’t know what I’ve done ’til Jeremiah growls, ‘Watch what you call things, Ross,’ and goes after Henry, leaving me with Milo and the picture of Jimmy’s busted head coming up in my mind.

‘I’ll go see about Ambrose,’ Will says, and when he comes back he says, ‘Got this from Edward,’ and then he starts talking to Milo and holding my rags the whole time I fix up that leg.

Captain is taking another pass through the troops when I am tying off Milo’s wrap. He stops near me but I keep about my work.

‘Private Stone,’ Captain says.

‘Yes, Sir?’ I say, and stand up.

‘There’s others with wounds throughout this Regiment. May I send them to you? The Brigade surgeon has his hands full with more serious cases.’

I stand there with my mouth hanging open. It is Will who talks.

‘Sir, we’d be happy to help any way we can. But we don’t have any supplies.’

‘I’ll see what I can muster,’ Captain says. ‘You’re doing good work.’

After that, other boys bring us their hurts, and Sergeant Ames brings us a few flasks of liquor and some cloth that Will tears into strips.

I watch Jeremiah pacing with Henry, wondering if keeping busy will drown out the artillery banging and rifle volleys and horses screaming and lives being taken. Nothing stops my thoughts. The blood and rags just keep me counting the weeks, nine of them back to June, and I will my courses to come and the sick feeling to go.

I
T IS AFTERNOON
when Captain comes back again.

‘Men, we’ve orders to advance forward in pursuit of the enemy,’ he says, and there is something in the way his voice is dropped that lets me know it ain’t an order he likes.

‘It is madness, trying what we already tried this morning,’ Thomas Stakely shouts from where he stands next to old John Morgan with tear tracks through the soot on his face. ‘Those Rebels that fired on us ain’t gone anywhere. We’ve got enough dead!’

‘Now we can get those bastards who got Jimmy,’ Sully yells back. ‘And Frank too!’

‘Ain’t letting them take you, Jimmy,’ Henry says like he is somewhere else, like those black feelings are the only thing keeping him from losing his head.

There ain’t no more grumbling about the orders after that, even though me and Thomas can’t be the only ones who ain’t keen on going back at that embankment again, but baby or no, I have got a duty to do.

We all start checking our weapons and moving into line of battle as best we can between the trees. Jeremiah is to my left and Will to my right, Sully and Henry behind, plugging the gap where Jimmy should be.

‘The time comes,’ I say to Jeremiah, ‘you don’t give me a thought. You just do what you’ve got to. You don’t have to watch over me.’