We finally halt where a creek trickles through the trees. Captain don’t have orders for us, not even dressing right and stacking arms. ‘All right, boys. Fill your canteens and get what rest you can. We won’t stop here long.’
I sink to the ground with the others, tiredness going through me like a taproot, sinking deeper and deeper. We ain’t even settled when Sergeant comes round and takes a few boys out for picket duty. Sully gets to squirming that he ain’t one chosen.
Jeremiah turns to me, saying, ‘Give me your canteen. I’ll go fill it and you rest.’
Before, I might’ve made a fuss, but this is a thing Jeremiah can do, a way he can be husband to me, even here, and so I take my canteen over my head and give it to him. Sully gets himself up off the ground and takes Will’s and the O’Malleys’ canteens off them. Jeremiah goes to ask Thomas and Ambrose. Ambrose holds up his flask, says, ‘I’ve got fluid enough.’ Then Jeremiah and Sully go together, taking all our canteens along.
Will sits, digging through his pack, tossing out his rubber blanket, extra rounds of ammunition, his half of a shelter tent. Finally he pulls out his Bible, a daguerreotype tucked inside for safekeeping.
‘I never thought I’d come to this,’ he says, looking close at the brown leather binding, and then setting it down on the grass, like a mama putting a baby down to nap.
‘Come to what?’ I ask.
‘I can’t carry it all anymore,’ he says. ‘My pack. It weighs too dang much.’
It’s the closest Will’s ever come to swearing, and I’m surprised he even says what he does with his Bible there to witness. I think of the mucket he gave me, but I ain’t so tired yet to leave it by the roadside. Will slips the daguerreotype out and carefully slides it into his chest pocket, but not before I see it’s of a man and woman.
‘That your Mama and Pa?’ I ask.
‘It is,’ he says.
‘Close to your heart, that’s a better place for them anyway. And you got lots of verses by heart, don’t you?’
Will nods but his face crumples, so I say, ‘Then you’re already carrying what you need. You could bury it under a tree or something and when we come on back you can find it. I’ve got some flannel you can wrap it up nice in. Keep it clean.’
I hand him one of the rags I pinched from Jennie, thinking how lucky it is I ain’t needed it before now. He takes the flannel from me, his hand brushing mine. ‘Thank you. That’ll do real nice.’
We both know it ain’t no use coming back for that Bible but it makes him feel better, wrapping that book like a gift.
‘You want help digging a hole for it?’ I ask, even though sitting feels good.
‘That’d be nice,’ Will says as he gets up. I follow him away from the resting boys, down toward the creek. I think we might run into Jeremiah and Sully coming back with our canteens, but Will veers off once we are in the trees. Before long he drops to his knees under a dogwood.
‘This is a good spot,’ he says.
Using our bayonets, we scratch out a shallow grave, Will all the time checking over his shoulder like he is nervous Rebels might find us. Finally he lays the Bible inside the hole, placing it just so before standing up.
‘I’d like to get some stones for a marker,’ he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘If you don’t mind.’
I shrug out from under his hand. ‘I’m happy to.’
We make our way to the creek, and while Will is picking out a few round rocks, I look up and downstream for Jeremiah. There is no one.
Back at the hole, Will scatters handfuls of dirt over the Bible before placing the first rock. Right as I am squatting down to add my rock to the mound, Will stops my hand.
‘Thank you for this,’ he says, still holding on to me. ‘And for your friendship.’
‘It ain’t nothing,’ I say, drawing back.
He don’t let go.
‘Ross—I don’t know how—’ he says. ‘I’ve been fighting with my—There’s something I want, something I’ve been wanting to ask—’ He leans closer, his hand still on mine, and that is when I see what he is about.
I yank my hand away and scramble to my feet. He jumps up too.
‘What are you doing?’ I yell, but I ain’t the same kind of scared like when Eli came at me.
‘I didn’t mean—You’ve been so kind—I thought—’
‘Don’t you tell a soul!’ I say. ‘I ain’t leaving this Army on account of nobody.’
‘Ross—I wasn’t—’
‘You say one word to Captain and you’ll have Jeremiah to answer to. He ain’t my cousin,’ I say.
‘Jeremiah? Your cousin? I saw the two of you, at the river—’
‘He’s my husband, so you just get those thoughts out of your head,’ I say. ‘And if you think he’s just going to let you—’
‘Your husband? What are you—’ Will gapes at me. ‘I thought—’
And then I don’t know what Will is about. ‘What did you think?’ I ask.
Will stands there, his mouth open, studying me like he ain’t ever really seen me before.
Real slow he says, ‘All this time, I thought you were—You aren’t a man? You’ve been lying.’