I Shall Be Near to You by Erin Lindsay McCabe

Author:Erin Lindsay McCabe [McCabe, Erin Lindsay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8041-3773-7
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2014-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

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.

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