that from God.
When they called us up to get on line again, this time for keeps, I was ready. Men dusted themselves off, tightened their belts, and obsessively checked their cartridges and ammunition, just in case. I stood there, staring forward, silent, looking out over the rolling land, hearing the
pop pop pop
of pickets firing their first shots, and thinking I could almost see around the bend of the earth if I looked hard enough. It was so pretty. The hills were glowing and soft-looking, and I saw a couple of deer scatter out of the woods and leap across the fields as we moved out. I could have seen myself living in that little town in front of me, in a proper house, under a different set of circumstances and in a different lifetime. Before we stepped off, I thought,
I wonder why they chose this place for me to die.
And that, finally, was my real strength: I knew I was going to die. I wasn’t happy about it, but I felt relieved to know it.
4
C ARRIE M CGAVOCK
I heard the muffled voices downstairs in the central passage and then the sound of hard boots on the creaky stairs. I could smell tobacco and sweat, a scent I imagined drifting off him and insinuating itself into the warp and weave of my house, disturbing my peace, throwing everything off kilter. What could possibly be so important? I turned back to Martha’s dress and scrubbed until the threading began to fray.
We must endeavor to keep her cool, and her room darkened. Close the blinds, please.
The room felt suddenly hot and stale
.
There seemed to be no air; whatever air that remained seemed thin and fragile and musty. I stood up from the bed and crossed to the window that looked out over the front walk. The condensation had evaporated in the sun, which now loomed high over an unusually warm day. I could see out to the driveway and observed the men waiting with their horses. I began to drum the windowsill with my fingers, yawning. I yawned uncontrollably when I was nervous, one little yawn after another. It was an odd habit that had possessed me since childhood. It caused my hand to flutter mouthward whenever I felt myself growing agitated. I stared down at the horsemen and tried to project my thoughts toward them.
Go away
. I thought they might hear me, but they didn’t. They looked scared, but I didn’t trust my reckoning of things anymore. I would not credit them with fear.
I turned my back to the window and hurried toward the door, which I locked. I pressed my ear to it and felt the cool chalky paint against my cheek. What were they saying? I could barely hear.
Doctor, she won’t move
.
No. Something else. They were saying something about the war. The war, which had pulsed and droned all around me for so long and which had already leveled much of our ancient grove, cut down by slaves I hadn’t recognized for reasons I couldn’t fathom. There wasn’t much about the mechanics of war I cared to understand. Even so, I couldn’t help thinking that I was besieged, and I couldn’t help hoping that the Southern army would come raise the occupation and drive the invaders out. My desire to be rescued was tempered by the paradox of its source, which was my abiding urge to be left alone. I wanted the Confederates to fight, just not
here
.
It hurts, Mama.
I heard the man shuffle through the bedroom next to Martha’s, I heard the squeal and rattling of the big jib window being wrenched open, and then I heard the man step out onto the second floor of the porch. Mariah’s soft, irregular steps followed behind him. I turned slowly from the door and stood staring at Martha’s silk day dress, green and red plaid, so neatly laid out on the bed.
Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.
A new hole had appeared in the dress’s hem. Time kept ticking on and on, pounding and pounding at my temples. The moths would not leave my little girl’s things alone, always chewing and chewing and chewing. I could feel my pulse beating in my throat and my