And then he turns the horse off the main lane, ’til we come to a small clearing and the Little House, a box of a cabin with a window on either side of the door where me and Jeremiah used to sneak to play marbles. Jeremiah only barely has the horse pulled to a stop next to the porch before I am peeling off the quilts, to see what he has made of this place.
‘Don’t move,’ Jeremiah says, and he jumps out and runs in front of the horse, wrapping the check rein around the porch railing before coming to my side of the cart. When he holds out his hand like I am something special, I laugh. But he don’t hand me from that cart like a fine lady. As soon as I gather my skirt to step down, he gets one arm behind my back and the other at my knees and swoops me off my feet.
‘Hold on!’ I shriek, and it ain’t what I mean, but Jeremiah grabs tighter and carries me up the two steps onto the porch before kicking open the door.
‘Our house,’ he says when he sets my feet down on the freshly whitewashed floor. ‘What do you think?’
He leads me into the kitchen. There is a faded blue braided rug, and below the front window at the table is the bench my Papa made as a gift, a folded-up quilt on the seat. Jeremiah has tried to make it nice.
He takes my hand, his mouth starting to go straight. ‘You ain’t saying anything.’
‘It’s just right.’ It is so easy to make him smile.
‘The horse,’ he says. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
And he walks out of the house, leaving me there to dig through the hope chest for the sheets Betsy and I hemmed and the double wedding ring quilt, to take out the few dishes Mama could spare. Seeing those things don’t make the place feel like home, don’t make me feel like a wife. Without Jeremiah beside me, all I feel is like a guest in someone else’s house. But that is just because we ain’t had a chance to make this Little House ours yet.
‘WE’VE GOT TWO days,’ Jeremiah says when he comes back, banging the door shut, his boots clomping on the floor.
I am keeping my hands busy, working to get a fire going using wood from the full box next to the hearth. I spin to see him, dropping the flint, my heart sinking to think he is leaving so soon.
‘Two days for what?’ I ask, the words out of my mouth before I see Jeremiah is smiling.
‘For our honeymoon. For learning to be together, like man and wife, without worrying over chores. For practicing,’ he says.
I blush to hear him say it.
The first time we practiced together was almost four years ago, for a different thing altogether, back when I asked Jeremiah to teach me about fighting.
It took me days to finally get Jeremiah alone because the O’Malleys never did take a hint and there’s no good excuse to walk all the way to the Wakefield farm.
I finally caught him as he turned the corner past the Mercantile, calling his name so loud it scared even me.
‘Jeremiah! I’ve got something to ask you,’ I said when I got up next to him.
‘Okay.’ He stepped back like I was a wild animal, might bite him any minute.
‘Can you teach me to fight?’
His breath came out so loud I wondered how he could keep so much air inside him. Then he grinned.
‘What do you want to learn that for?’ he asked. ‘Is Eli still bothering you? I swear that boy ain’t fit for the slaughterhouse.’
‘It ain’t Eli,’ I lied, because I didn’t want no more trouble. ‘Do I need a reason?’
Jeremiah squinted at me. Then he shrugged. ‘There ain’t a thing to it. You’ve just got to punch and not get punched.’
‘There’s got to be more than that!’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s about that plain. And you go for weak spots.’
‘You talking about male parts?’
His mouth dropped. ‘It ain’t only that. There’s other weak places.’
‘Like what?’ I tugged on his arm. ‘You’ve got to show me.’
Jeremiah looked up and down the dirt road, like he was checking for spies. He took my elbow, dragging me to the side of the road, under the shade of an oak. Then he put his hands on my lower back. I almost jumped away, but for his stare.
‘Here, where the kidneys are,’ he said. ‘You punch there. And then here—’ His hands brushed across my stomach and I sucked in, quivering but standing firm.
‘And here.’ He touched the very tip of my nose. It was the first time he touched me since Carrie made me so mad I broke Miss Riggs’ inkwell and Jeremiah walked me all the way to Doc Cuck’s. I can still feel his arm around my shoulder like he thought I might faint from the blood my hand was dripping.
I tried to think about anything but Jeremiah touching me. About where I’d like to punch Eli the next time he said something mean. About the trees behind Jeremiah’s shoulder, their leaves going orange and red.
‘Now let me see your fist,’ he said.
I balled up my hands, making him shake his head.
‘Not like that. You’ll break a thumb that way. See, it’s sticking out?’
He curled his fingers into a fist and showed me his thumb, going across the front of his first three fingers.
‘That’s better,’ he said. Then his hands burned into my shoulders, shoving me.
‘What’re you doing?’