‘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.
BATTLE