It’s pitch-black and I can only keep my way by holding on to Jeremiah’s shirt, him with his arms stretched out to keep from walking into something or to keep hold of the boy marching in front of him, I can’t be sure which.
I only know we’re crossing a bridge because there’s the sound of water running under us. The rounded edges of stones press against the thin soles of my shoes and there ain’t a blade of grass to brush across my trousers anymore. Jeremiah bumps into an overturned wagon left on the road, already picked clean by the soldiers gone before us. Those parts of me that have got to move, keep on, but all the rest of me is frozen still, like I am lying next to an ice block in the hot Summer.
Sometime in the night we get to a town, or leastways I think it is a town from the dogs barking and the sharp tang of cows closed in. Ahead we hear men shouting and once I get over fearing they might be Rebels, I think it must be townspeople, waking late to cheer us as we come back. But then I hear their words.
‘We hoped you’d lose!’ a voice calls loudly out of the murk.
‘You only hoped? Hell, I knew Pope couldn’t win, that arrogant bastard!’ another voice answers, and then others laugh along with him.
Of course Sully is stung and from off to Jeremiah’s right he yells, ‘Who are you sons of bitches, to be laughing at us?’
‘We’re Franklin’s Corps, Army of the Potomac. And we’re damn pleased to be fighting for a General that knows something, instead of that fool Pope.’
Hiram yells back at them, ‘I don’t care if you’re fucking Jesus’ Army! Here I thought we was all fighting for the Union, but you must be some kind of special jackasses to be cheering for the goddamned Seceshes.’
It don’t do a lick of good. Even after we pass they keep jeering, making us feel low, and I hope Henry ain’t hearing the things they are saying. If I ever had any thought of us all fighting for the same thing, it is gone now, left on the road just like Jimmy on that battlefield, just like Will’s Bible wrapped up in that flannel.
OUR LINE STOPS. All around me boys drop to the ground with groans and sighs. I stare into the night, trying to make out shapes, when someone moves in close to me. He don’t have to say a word. I know it is Jeremiah from the warm-earth smell coming from him, coming even when there’s other smells mixed in: blood, sweat, fear.
His arms pull me tight against his chest and I bury my face in his shoulder. He shakes and it is dark enough I can still say I ain’t ever seen him cry. My heart goes to cracking wide open, but at least I am alive to feel it. I am a different kind of woman now, a wife who knows what this war really is. At least I am part of this war, part of the things Jeremiah’s done here, things that will always be hiding somewhere in his heart.
Jeremiah holds me a long time and my breathing comes as ragged as his, but the two of us made it. Our dream is still shining off there in the distance, and that is enough of a star to pull me through this black night, as long as I don’t count the cost of it.
CHAPTER
23
CENTREVILLE, VIRGINIA: AUGUST 31, 1862
‘We might’ve guessed at it, is all. Henry never was cut out to wade through any kind of grieving,’ I say to Jeremiah and Sully. ‘He ain’t got the determination.’
It’s the honest truth but I don’t say the whole of it, how Jimmy shouldn’t have been here neither, how he was too nice for a soldier. It ain’t the thing they want to hear. They want all cream-and-sugar words.
But we’ve been waiting for near to an hour, long after the fresh ration of sowbelly went cold, for Henry to come trudging out of the trees or from between the brick and clapboard houses, all sheepish and gruff at how we got ourselves riled up. Only it don’t happen like that because he never comes. At roll call Sully tells Sergeant that Henry must be lagging and even after Jeremiah opens his knapsack and finds Henry’s letter home stuffed in it and Will has already gone down the road looking, the boys can’t find their way to seeing that Henry ain’t coming back any more than Jimmy is.
‘Henry should’ve told me so I didn’t waste my time this morning,’ I say when Will goes to report him missing. ‘I could’ve given his ration to someone who’d maybe appreciate eating something warm. It sure ain’t my idea of fun cooking in the rain for people without the decency to show up for breakfast.’ I don’t say how seeing that bit of salt pork burning in the pan was almost more than my stomach could stand.