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.
THERE’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.’