We line up in front of a rough-hewn shed with chinks left between the timbers. Captain Chalmers is standing there, the Union flag flapping behind him, a strange officer next to him, a big man with sloped shoulders and a down-turned mouth to match. The only bright thing about him is his gold tasseled sash.
‘I heard that’s Colonel Wheelock in front of the blockhouse,’ Sully whispers.
‘Men,’ Colonel Wheelock booms, ‘this is our home until we’re ordered on campaign. I apologize there’s no proper barracks, but as you’ve already endured tents this past month, I expect it will be no great hardship.’ He points to a wagon standing off to his side, stacked with big wooden crates. ‘Those are your tents there, to be pitched as soon as we have laid out the rows.’
While we wait, Sergeant Ames tells us our tents are big enough to fit four, but because we are the only Regiment at the fort, for now we only have to be two to a tent. Jeremiah winks at me. I’m thinking on the niceness of a tent to ourselves when Sully punches Jeremiah on the shoulder and says, ‘I need a partner. Think Sergeant’ll let me share with you?’
Will spins, a hurt look on his face, and Jeremiah don’t say anything at first. There’s buzzing all around us, boys saying, ‘You got anybody yet?’ and ‘I’m bunking with you!’ or ‘You need a friend?’
Sully says, ‘I’ll help you keep Ross safe, like you said.’
There is a long moment before Sully laughs and gives me a shove.
‘I got you good! Don’t worry, I’m staying with Will,’ he says, and Will’s shoulders relax.
When we finally get to work setting up camp, white canvas tents go flapping in the wind and there’s the sound of pounding and swearing up and down our Company’s row. Jeremiah is all concentration, and the only words passing his lips are orders like, ‘Turn it this way,’ or, ‘Give that here.’ He is everywhere at once, hardly letting me do a thing.
Captain walks down our row, giving commands: ‘Make this line straighter! Tamp that stake in more firmly!’
It can’t be this way, not with Captain patrolling. I’ve got to do my share, but Jeremiah pounds the steel stakes to hold the edges of our tent down and won’t let go of our only mallet. He aims for me to move our knapsacks inside that tent and lay out our blankets and string up our lantern so come night we’ve got an easy time of it. Things fit for a woman, things a wife might do.
Soon, there ain’t a single boy who ain’t working. Sully and Will have practically got their whole tent up, while Henry is still spreading out the canvas pieces just so, looking over each one, and Jimmy pounding in the stakes laid out neat around the edges. Henry looks at our tent barely up and me doing nothing and shakes his head. Once even Will looks at me, standing there like he can’t figure me out somehow.
I SIT ON the wooden crate our tent came out of, feeling easier. Jeremiah sits on the ground beside me, poking at the fire with a stick. I want to curl up next to him and trace the new beard that’s clinging to his jaw and flatten myself against him. I want to feel like we are home, just the two of us in our Little House with the woods around it and the smell of earth plowed up for growing things. But instead there is the golden light of the fire bright on Jeremiah’s cheeks and no nice supper coming and no big bed. Instead there is the yelling and laughing and singing of the men all around us.
Jeremiah stands up and says, ‘I’m going to check on Sully and the O’Malleys, maybe see if we can find some more wood for cooking supper.’
‘That’s fine,’ I nod. ‘I’ve got a letter to write.’
‘To your folks?’
‘That’s right. Figure I ought to tell them where I’ve gone.’
‘Might be good they hear it from you.’
I watch him go down our aisle and then I sit down to tell my folks all the nice parts.
March 14, 1862
Dear Mama, Papa and Betsy,
I am writing to tell you I am Gone with Jeremiah, and Safe. I am sorry for not writing you sooner, or telling you my plans, but I could not see him go to fight this War and stay Home. I am cleaving to my husband, as the Bible says I ought. I aim to help as Best I can and Earn what money I may, even if it means soldiering. I will send what I can Home for you and for the Farm and will write to tell you where we have got to.
Don’t you worry none about me, I am Happy here with Friends all around, as you can see in the likeness I am sending. That Boy you don’t know is named Will. We are doing nothing but Drilling and learning to Shoot and building up the fort, and I am Pleased to say I can do All of it as Well as any man here.
For Betsy I am sending this Ribbon. Don’t you think it is a pretty Blue? You would be Amazed to see the Ribbons and Fine Things the ladies in Washington or even over in Utica wear.
When you write, you can direct letters to Pvt. Ross Stone, 97th Regiment, NYSV, Company H in care of Captain Chalmers via Washington D.C. The word all around camp is that we will be moving Soon now we shoot and march straight—maybe off into Virginia.
I am still,
Your Rosetta