Read Online I Shall Be Near to You by Erin Lindsay McCabe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Erin Lindsay McCabe
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these coarse men puts me in mind of Doc Cuck’s Thoroughbred saddle horse next to Papa’s plow horse.
I find my place in my row, doing the best I can, pulling my feet up out of the mud, following the orders of ‘Company, Forward March!’ and ‘Left, Right, Left!’ and ‘Company, Halt!’
I look straight ahead, but sometimes I can’t help myself and stray towatch Jeremiah marching just two rows ahead. I ain’t ready for him to see me. It is good just knowing he is near and safe. I don’t want to be thinking about a thing else, about what he will say as soon as he knows I am here.
‘Private Stone!’ a voice barks, and my mind flies away from Jeremiah. ‘Do you aim to stick out like a sore thumb?’ Sergeant Ames asks, and I look around to find myself marched clear out of my column.
‘No, Sir,’ I say, and move over two steps. The boys in the rows ahead are all craning their necks to see what I have done, and Jeremiah is one of them. I drop my chin, holding my breath.
When I glance up again, Jeremiah has turned away. If he even saw me, he must not have looked close enough to know it, and I let out a long sigh. Maybe he wouldn’t know me even if he did look hard.
‘Company, Forward March!’ Sergeant yells, and this time I keep my mind where it should be.
It don’t take much before I march better than most these boys. Course, that ain’t saying much when the ranks are filled with the likes of Jimmy O’Malley who can barely tell his two feet apart.
I let myself get lost in the music of it—Sergeant calling, our feet tramping, the men breathing around me. That is the only way I can keep from wondering what it is that makes Jeremiah elbow Sully or shake his head at Jimmy. Finally we are done and Sergeant dismisses Company G to their tents. But then instead of excusing us, he shouts, ‘Private Stone, come forward!’
I don’t know what could make Sergeant call me out except he has seen me for what I am. I walk to Sergeant slowly, looking away past where Jeremiah stands, feeling the men watching, hoping Sergeant will send the rest of the Company off before he drums me out of the Regiment.
I stop next to the first row of men, but Sergeant waves me to him, has me face the Company. My throat closes right up and if Sergeant asks me to say a thing for myself, I won’t have the breath to do it. I look to Jeremiah. He is staring right back at me and the moment our eyes meet, he knows me.
B UT THEN SERGEANT ’ S voice booms, ‘Which of you has space in your tent for our new recruit, Private Stone?’
Jeremiah’s face is blank as ice, colder than the wind blowing off the river, but his hand shoots up fast. A few other hands come up besides, but I keep looking on Jeremiah, willing him to help me. And then Jeremiah calls, ‘Sir, permission to speak?’
I have never seen Jeremiah so serious or heard him sound so proper, not even asking Papa for my hand.
‘Granted,’ Sergeant says.
‘The new recruit is my kin,’ Jeremiah says, ‘and there’s room in my tent.’
Sully’s head jerks toward Jeremiah’s, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I don’t know if I should be glad Jeremiah has seen me right away and if it means he will let me stay or if I should still be scared of what he’ll do.
‘In that case,’ Sergeant says, ‘Private Stone will join with you. Company, dismissed!’
I stand there while the lines scatter and boys and men walk away, heading across the field toward their tents. After a moment there is only the boys from Flat Creek left, and me along with them. I stay where I am, planted in that field, and finally Jeremiah comes toward me, his face stern, his mouth straight like his Ma’s. I’m afraid to look at the others.
When they get close Jeremiah says, ‘You all go on ahead.’ His voice is so flat that the others stay quiet. Not even Sully has a joke before they walk off.
For the first time I feel the aching in my knees and the emptiness of my stomach
I find my place in my row, doing the best I can, pulling my feet up out of the mud, following the orders of ‘Company, Forward March!’ and ‘Left, Right, Left!’ and ‘Company, Halt!’
I look straight ahead, but sometimes I can’t help myself and stray towatch Jeremiah marching just two rows ahead. I ain’t ready for him to see me. It is good just knowing he is near and safe. I don’t want to be thinking about a thing else, about what he will say as soon as he knows I am here.
‘Private Stone!’ a voice barks, and my mind flies away from Jeremiah. ‘Do you aim to stick out like a sore thumb?’ Sergeant Ames asks, and I look around to find myself marched clear out of my column.
‘No, Sir,’ I say, and move over two steps. The boys in the rows ahead are all craning their necks to see what I have done, and Jeremiah is one of them. I drop my chin, holding my breath.
When I glance up again, Jeremiah has turned away. If he even saw me, he must not have looked close enough to know it, and I let out a long sigh. Maybe he wouldn’t know me even if he did look hard.
‘Company, Forward March!’ Sergeant yells, and this time I keep my mind where it should be.
It don’t take much before I march better than most these boys. Course, that ain’t saying much when the ranks are filled with the likes of Jimmy O’Malley who can barely tell his two feet apart.
I let myself get lost in the music of it—Sergeant calling, our feet tramping, the men breathing around me. That is the only way I can keep from wondering what it is that makes Jeremiah elbow Sully or shake his head at Jimmy. Finally we are done and Sergeant dismisses Company G to their tents. But then instead of excusing us, he shouts, ‘Private Stone, come forward!’
I don’t know what could make Sergeant call me out except he has seen me for what I am. I walk to Sergeant slowly, looking away past where Jeremiah stands, feeling the men watching, hoping Sergeant will send the rest of the Company off before he drums me out of the Regiment.
I stop next to the first row of men, but Sergeant waves me to him, has me face the Company. My throat closes right up and if Sergeant asks me to say a thing for myself, I won’t have the breath to do it. I look to Jeremiah. He is staring right back at me and the moment our eyes meet, he knows me.
B UT THEN SERGEANT ’ S voice booms, ‘Which of you has space in your tent for our new recruit, Private Stone?’
Jeremiah’s face is blank as ice, colder than the wind blowing off the river, but his hand shoots up fast. A few other hands come up besides, but I keep looking on Jeremiah, willing him to help me. And then Jeremiah calls, ‘Sir, permission to speak?’
I have never seen Jeremiah so serious or heard him sound so proper, not even asking Papa for my hand.
‘Granted,’ Sergeant says.
‘The new recruit is my kin,’ Jeremiah says, ‘and there’s room in my tent.’
Sully’s head jerks toward Jeremiah’s, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I don’t know if I should be glad Jeremiah has seen me right away and if it means he will let me stay or if I should still be scared of what he’ll do.
‘In that case,’ Sergeant says, ‘Private Stone will join with you. Company, dismissed!’
I stand there while the lines scatter and boys and men walk away, heading across the field toward their tents. After a moment there is only the boys from Flat Creek left, and me along with them. I stay where I am, planted in that field, and finally Jeremiah comes toward me, his face stern, his mouth straight like his Ma’s. I’m afraid to look at the others.
When they get close Jeremiah says, ‘You all go on ahead.’ His voice is so flat that the others stay quiet. Not even Sully has a joke before they walk off.
For the first time I feel the aching in my knees and the emptiness of my stomach
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