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A RIGHT HONORABLE Soldier

By Mrs. Jane Hadley.

IN WHICH our intrepid heroes are so rudely interrupted. Oh, and a big pile of feelings are uncovered and not so easily reburied.

XV

Lebanon, Kentucky
Sunday, December 15, 1861

CHARLEY felt like her limbs might just melt right off the edge of the bed. She had anticipated a singularly enjoyable time with Henry, of course. Her only previous experience having been with Richard, she’d expected at least an elevated level of enjoyment by virtue of the fact that Henry was a man she was actually very much attracted to. She’d thought Pittsburgh had been an anomaly, a desperate, forbidden encounter, intense with its taboo. But it wasn’t. It was him. It was Henry who turned her inside out. 

She was tucked into Henry’s shoulder, still catching her breath and playing idly with the sweep of hair on his chest. 

“Well, how was it?” she asked, her tone more nonchalant than she strictly felt. “In a bed, I mean?”

Henry turned his face toward her. He was so earnest when he said, “It was … incredible is insufficient. I always assumed it would be awkward and painful. At least, painful for you. Which would then ruin it for me. I can’t understand how a fellow would be so swept away with it all to not care for his partner in discomfort.”

Charley snorted. “You may be more singular than you know. It has never been more than passing uncomfortable for me. It can pinch a bit if you go deep too fast. I don’t understand why everyone whispers about how much it has to hurt. Honestly, I think the parents are trying to put all the young people off.”

“And rightly so. If everyone knew it could be like that, everyone would run off to get married immediately.”

“You know,” she said, putting herself up on an elbow to drink in his naked form more efficiently, “if more people knew about—and I suppose had access to—French letters, perhaps they would be running to the altar. There’s a strong appeal to fucking when one removes the threat of children.” 

Henry smiled, looking at her with those warm, open eyes. He reached out and touched her cheek, his smile turning wistful. “I wish…”

Charley flinched. “Don’t.” 

His hand fell to her shoulder, his eyes skimming over her breasts before meeting her eyes again. “You’re so beautiful.” 

Charley rolled her eyes. “Don’t start that again.”

He gave a long suffering sigh. “Oh, so I can’t wish and I can’t admire you. What would you have me do, then, sir?”

“Your mouth has many other talents.”

He shook his head but grinned, then hauled her up on top of his lap. He leaned up and kissed her clavicle, winding a trail down her pale skin. She smiled. “That’s better.”

“Du bist wunderschön,” he murmured, “und erstaunlich.”

“What the hell are you saying?” she complained distractedly. “You had better not be admiring me in German.” 

He cupped her breast in his palm. “Deine Brüste sind perfekt.” He kissed the soft curve of flesh in emphasis. 

Charley shivered in spite of herself. “Perfect in any language is not a term I identify with.”

“Ich liebe es, wie stark du bist.” His hands skimmed over her shoulders, and he looked at her earnestly. She had no idea what he was saying, but it sounded so good. “Und eigensinnig.”

“You’re going to need to stop that,” she warned ineffectually. Worse than her body responding, her heart skittered in her chest, and she felt quite nauseous with affection. 

Henry ignored her and propped himself up on his elbows thoughtfully. “How did you get so strong anyway?”

“Strong?” Was that what he’d been saying? It was certainly not a sentiment she’d ever thought a man would whisper to a woman over the pillows. Maybe it was a German thing. “I took in laundry for years. Scrubbing and wringing all day is hard work, I suppose.” 

He ran a hand up and down her arms. “That’s right.”

“I thought I might earn enough to support myself, but then my father got sick. We needed the extra funds while he was out of work so then I ended up … stuck. And he wanted me out of his house so…” she shrugged. “Richard took me on.”

“You make it sound like he gave you a job.”

Charley cringed. “I guess he did, in a way, as his housekeeper and mother of his children.”

Henry choked.

“No no no, I don’t have any children, don’t panic!” 

He breathed again. 

“The wedding was in the spring. It hasn’t even been a year, and I’ve spent most of that time enlisted.”

“Still. Any amount of time spent like that sounds awful.”

“Well, he didn’t hurt me or anything, so it could have been worse.”

“That’s a pretty low bar.” He watched her with some concern. “I didn’t realize people still ended up in arranged marriages like that. At least not folks of our class. It seems rather transactional to me.”

Charley nodded and shrugged. She hadn’t felt terribly self-conscious in her nakedness since they’d come to bed, but she suddenly realized she had crossed her arms over her chest protectively. 

“Dare I ask what your father got out of the arrangement?” Henry sat up so both his hands could caress her arms with care. 

“Got rid of me,” she said. “Which was what he wanted all along.” 

He was watching her with something that felt like pity. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

She rolled her eyes dismissively. “It didn’t happen to me. No one forced me to the altar at gunpoint or anything.”

“They didn’t need to. It’s not like you had the means to do anything else. Just because you technically could walk away doesn’t mean it’s a real alternative.”

“I did walk away eventually,” she shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Although if I could do it again, I would have walked away earlier. Preferably before it became legally binding.” 

Henry’s hands pulled her gently down, holding her tight to his chest for a moment. There was a tightness in her own chest, a vague nausea, and a horrifying urge to cry riding up in her throat. If she didn’t do anything, she felt like she might crawl out of her skin. Her hand snaked between them and she grasped his chin, turning his face toward her so she could apply a pitifully desperate kiss. 

“You’re well away from all that now,” Henry assured absently as he kissed her back. He smoothed his thumb over her temple and kissed her so tenderly that she thought it might rend her in two. “And you will stay that way, if I have anything to say about it.”

Charley flinched away from him. As she guardedly studied his face, the doorknob clattered in its mortise lock.

“Hello? Lucy? Who’s in there?” 

Charley’s heart ricocheted in her chest. She scrambled off the far side of the bed, snatching clothes off the floor with no regard for whether they were hers or Henry’s. 

Henry sat bolt upright and stared at the door like a mule deer. Charley ducked behind the bed and shoved her legs into trousers. 

Inarticulate muttering could be heard on the other side of the door. Then, the scrape of metal and a clatter as a key was inserted from the other side of the door, pushing the key that had rested in the hole to the floor of the room. The bolt turned just as Charley managed to yank a shirt over her head. She could scarcely breathe. 

“Lucy?” The brunette Miss Sterling ducked her head into the room. “Oh!”

What a scene they must have made. Henry curled up naked on the bed, Charley ducking fearfully in the corner, trying to get her clumsy fingers to fasten the buttons of a shirt that was most definitely not hers. 

Miss Sterling blinked at them and licked her perfect bow lips before she spoke. “Well, gentlemen. We’re closed up now and your friends have gone.”

Charley wasn’t sure her face could be any redder. There was a distant sense of relief that the woman had addressed them both as gentlemen, but that was hardly a consolation. In fact, this might be even worse in terms of court-martial. Henry curled his knees up to his chest, but made no move to get up.

Charley snatched the rest of their clothes up off the floor and looked Miss Sterling defiantly in the eye. “Apologies, Madam. How much for the room?”

Miss Sterling raised a brow, her eyes darting between them. “This room is not available for the night.”

“No, uh, we are headed back to camp,” Charley said awkwardly, trying to keep her voice low and even. “I mean for the time that we occupied it. We didn’t mean to put you out.”

“Five dollars.” Miss Sterling looked unamused and unsympathetic that she’d just asked for the equivalent of two weeks pay.¹

Henry balked, but Charley just reached into the pocket of her trousers and found the fold of greenbacks she’d placed there in anticipation for the evening’s events. 

“I’m sorry Madam, but I only have three,” she said, wincing in spite of herself. 

Miss Sterling looked more disciplined school marm than madam of a brothel.

Henry cleared his throat. “I have some too.” He shuffled awkwardly off the bed, trying futilely to keep his prick shielded from view with his hands. He seized his clothes from Charley and stuffed himself into his trousers before digging in his pocket. He came up with a dollar in coins. 

“Leave it on the dresser, and I’ll put the rest on your tab,” the madam directed. Charley and Henry exchanged glances and did as they were bid. “I will list you in the books as Johnny Soldier.” 

Miss Sterling looked entirely nonplussed, her face fixed in neutral, business-like efficiency. Charley pulled her boots on with as much dignity as she could muster. Henry pulled on the rest of his clothes too. Her shirt stretched endearingly over his chest. 

“Next time,” Miss Sterling said smoothly, “let us know in advance, and we’ll make arrangements for you. You’ll find the fee more reasonable if you plan ahead.”

Charley looked sharply up at her, but said nothing. That sounded too good to be true. Running a brothel was one thing, but a molly house was quite another. Did she see through Charley’s disguise? Had she noticed? It was certainly possible she did and was pretending not to know. Charley shrugged into her sack coat as the madam led the two of them out the door. 

Miss Sterling stood in the doorway and watched them as they went, Charley’s shoulders hunching under her gaze. 

Charley and Henry tramped quietly down the steps and past the doorman into the night. The two of them turned down Water Street and made their way toward camp in a tense silence.

After a few moments, Henry did something completely unexpected. He laughed. 

“It’s really not funny, Schaefer,” she groaned.

“Oh, come on,” he chortled, “it was a little funny.”

“We either have to deal with that madam assuming we’re both men and knowing we’re together, or that she knows I’m a woman. Either way, we’re one morally-bereft woman away from a court-martial.”

“We’re together, hm?” Henry grinned. Charley shot him an impatient glare and shook her head. “Come on, Charley. We’ll be gone from here in a week or two. If we return and pay her for the room, or even pay for use of a room again, I expect she’ll be happy to keep our secret.”

“You are insatiable.”

“No, that would be you.” 

“You also have a naive assessment of the kindness of strangers.”

“You have an overly cynical assessment of strangers.”

“Honed through years of having my more generous assumptions thrown in my face.”

Henry didn’t say anything but he bumped his shoulder into hers. He grabbed her hand and for a few minutes, under the twinkling stars and the setting moon, they were able to simply walk hand in hand. 

⸻

XVI

Lebanon, Kentucky
Monday, December 16, 1861

CHARLEY stared up at the gray canvas of the tent. She could hear Henry’s deep, sleepy breath in her ear, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She shifted slightly, the memory of their activities the night before imprinted on her skin. Henry had convinced her. He’d made her believe that she was the kind of person he could want. Perhaps she was being foolish. Maybe she was wrong. But hell—she’d rather be a fool and believe in something good than be disappointed and right. 

She spared a glance over at Henry. His mouth was slack with sleep, hair tousled over his brow, the intensity of passion wiped clear to peaceful neutral. Looking at him like that, in the dim pre-dawn light, Charley understood that as much as she resisted naming it, she was in much deeper with this sweet man than she had ever intended to be. She found that she trusted him. She believed it when he said he missed her, that he wanted her, that he loved every inch of her. She knew what she looked like. She knew how difficult she was. And yet … he was still here. Still trying. Still wanting her. 

It was enough to rend her heart in two. 

The bugle sounded Reveille. The squad stirred and groaned groggily. Henry opened his eyes and met hers. He smiled. The way it made her feel, the way it clenched around her chest and exposed her heart, couldn’t be mistaken. She wouldn’t name it. But she knew. And unlike him, she knew how much it would hurt. So she flinched. 

“Do you all know where Elias has gone?” Robinson asked, frowning down at the place where Hower usually slept. “His blankets are still folded. Did he come back last night?” 

Charley seized on the opportunity to sit up and inspect Hower’s effects from across the tent. Anything to preoccupy her mind from the most inconvenient feelings. “Perhaps he just rose early and put everything away again before we woke?” she suggested. 

Robinson shook his head and peered at the pile. “That seems unlike him. Henry, didn’t you all go to Sterling House last night?” 

Henry opened his eyes too wide and frowned. He was the picture of guilt. “No…” 

“Oh, come on, no one’s going to snitch on you,” Robinson said with a roll of his eyes. Webster and Krüger exchanged glances as if to suggest Robinson should speak for himself. “If Elias was there with you, I guarantee he would not have gotten up early to go … I don’t even know what. I don’t think he slept here last night.” 

It wasn’t until they all lined up at the kitchen tent that they learned what happened. 

“There was a group of fellows arrested for drunkenness,” someone from Company H confided from in front of them in line.² “They snuck out to town and came back a belligerent heap. Captain Bishop came upon them and brought them up on charges.” 

Charley exchanged a glance with Henry. Robinson regarded them sidelong. He let Webster continue to interrogate the Company H fellow as he pulled the two of them aside.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Robinson muttered under his breath. “How come you two didn’t manage to get caught?” 

Henry looked like a gasping fish out of water, so Charley did her best to seize control. “They left before we did. We, uh…” She glanced at Henry and blurted out the first lie that came to her mind. “We ended up visiting Miss Sterling’s chamber…” 

Not a lie. But also leaving space for Robinson to make assumptions. Which he did, if his gaping mouth was anything to go by. Henry looked horrified. 

“Together?!” Robinson might have an apoplexy. 

Charley rolled her eyes. “Christ, Robinson, not simultaneously. We …” She frowned, the words going sour in her mouth. She gestured uselessly. 

Henry and Robinson seemed in competition for who might hyperventilate first. Charley shrank, disgusted with herself at the implication of two men taking turns on a public woman like they were splitting the cost of dinner or something. But the camp was so full of bawdy talk. It wasn’t so outrageous? Was it? Oh hell and damnation. She hadn’t really thought the excuse through before she implied it and now suggesting such a thing to her comrade made her feel rather ashamed. She could feel her cheeks heat, and she tried her best to keep her expression firm. 

“It’s really none of your business,” she snapped. “Suffice to say, we returned after Hower and the others did.” 

Robinson looked at the two of them, his eyes darting back and forth. He blinked. “I think you two need to stop spending so much time together.” 

Then he turned and rejoined the line, which had significantly advanced without them. 

“Charley…” Henry began.

She scrunched her nose up and scrubbed her face with her hands. “I know, I know, that was too close.” 

“That was horrible. I think you took ten years off his life for the shock. Maybe mine too. I was going to say we were playing billiards and the rest got so drunk, they forgot about us and left.” 

“That would have been a much better excuse,” she groaned into her hands. 

“It’s too late now, I guess.” 

Charley glanced up at him through her fingers. Henry was looking after Robinson with a wistful twist of his mouth. A jumble of feelings bubbled up for her, affection and desire and a heaping helping of fear. His connection to her was tenable at best. She needed to reign herself in before she said something so stupid, she was no longer worth the effort. 

“That wouldn’t have worked anyway,” she said, grasping to cover her own stupid mistake. “As soon as Hower got out of lockup, he’d tell them he looked for us in the billiards or something and we’d be caught out.” 

“Providing he remembers leaving at all. Then only if he did remember would we trot out this yarn about … Miss Sterling …” He grimaced then glanced over at her. His head tilted as he frowned. “Don’t look so upset. Smith wouldn’t care. He’d be nonchalant about the whole thing. Your reputation is only going to be even more notorious, that’s all. Come on, let’s get some food.” 

Charley nodded slowly and followed Henry back to the line. 

“You know,” Henry said conversationally, but keeping his voice low so that others in the line would not overhear. “My uncle said that lots of men find comfort in all sorts of ways in the army.” 

“I’m sure they do,” Charley replied glibly, glowering at the camp writ large as they waited their turn. 

“He, uh, he said some fellows find comfort with each other and that it’s more common than one would think.” 

Charley whipped her head around to glare at him. “What did you tell him?” 

Henry startled. “Nothing, I didn’t say anything. I swear.” 

Charley continued to glare, compelling him to come clean through sheer force of will. 

“He thinks I’m, uh, doing that with you—” Henry whispered awkwardly under his breath. Charley snarled. “—but he doesn’t suspect anything amiss with you. He just thinks I, um, like other fellows.” 

Charley frowned. Fellows were nigh on insatiable if this was the kind of nonsense they got up to when ladies were scarce. Not that she had any legs to stand on in the matter, given what she’d risked last night for a little “comfort.” 

“It’s not so unusual. The Greeks did it, after all.” 

“The Greeks?” 

“Had, you know, love, between men.” 

Charley blinked. Love? This had … not occurred to her. 

“Love?” Charley was grasping. “Like, two men, in love?” How could that possibly work? She supposed the romantic tragedy was that it couldn’t. 

“Yes. Some of them thought it was a love more pure than between a woman and a man—well, mostly because they had some pretty awful notions about women’s intelligence and personhood, but they did nonetheless.”

“And your uncle thinks that you’re … in love … with me?” 

“Well, yes.” Henry blinked. “I am.” 

Oh fuck. Charley wanted to crawl into the ground, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Henry. He looked at her with such nonchalance. Such naive confidence, while meanwhile, her fear threatened to consume her. Her chest felt so tight that her breath came shallow. 

Henry studied her face, and his brows started to gather together. “Aren’t you?” 

Charley’s eyes were pricking. She had to look away. She couldn’t bear to see him look at her like that, and yet she couldn’t find a way to say the thing she knew he wanted her to say. If she told the truth, what then? What would she owe him? What would he owe her? What would that mean for her secret, for her position in the ranks, for her entire life in the regiment? He couldn’t marry her—for a multitude of reasons—but he had a great deal of power over her just as it was, by virtue of knowing her secret. If she admitted she loved him, if they were two people in love together, what would that entitle him to? And if she didn’t return the sentiment, if she denied it or said nothing, would she break his heart? Would he put an end to things? And what if they made a go of it and he found he could no longer bear what an insufferable ass she was? Would he expose her in revenge? Goddamnit, Henry! Why? Why did he have to say that? 

Charley gritted her teeth and glanced significantly at the people surrounding them. “We’ll talk about this later,” she ground out, but looked into his eyes for assent. He nodded curtly, and she turned away, fumbling in her haversack for her tin plate. Her fingers trembled as she held out her cup for coffee. 

⸻

XVII

Lebanon, Kentucky
Thursday, December 19, 1861

IT was warm and pleasant. While Kentucky left much to be desired in a whole host of categories, the weather was most welcome. Henry was delighted to see Hower and the others back in ranks during forenoon drills. They had served several days in isolation as a penalty for sneaking out. Captain Bishop seemed to have decided to make an example of them. They were now saddled with extra guard duty until Christmas, which they bore in addition to drills. 

What was worse was that Lieutenant Thomas had ordered Hower demoted from corporal to private, and had quietly promoted Webster to the position instead. The Hastings squad had suffered similarly, with Corporal Harris demoted to private, and some poor moralizing fool from First Sergeant Nelson’s squad assigned to be their new NCO. Meanwhile, the rumor about Henry and Charley’s misadventure with one of the Miss Sterlings spread like wildfire, although in the retelling, Henry rather faded from the story, while Charley became the swaggering libertine who single handedly seduced the girl out from under Hower. Henry was not sure how to feel about this, but had to admit he wasn’t surprised. He tried to clarify that it was not the Miss Sterling that Hower had had his eye on (and technically, the Miss Sterling who had caught them out was indeed not the red-haired sister but the brown-haired one). But as the story circulated, the fact that there were multiple Miss Sterlings got lost in the mill and it became the tale of how Webster cuckolded Hower out of his rank while Charley cuckolded him out of his girl. Hower was miserable. Henry felt awful about all of it. 

What’s more, Charley was being strange again, no doubt because anything resembling feelings made her snappish and mean. Henry knew why. He hadn’t rightly meant to tell her he loved her so casually, but it was too late to take it back, and he didn’t want to anyway. It was true. He felt confident that her feelings were similarly attached, so he didn’t understand why she was so tied up in knots about it. It was one thing to have feelings that ran unreturned. But why hesitate when they clearly both liked each other, depended on one another, and enjoyed being together? It seemed a whole lot of pain for nothing, in Henry’s estimation. 

Henry tried to find Karl Thursday morning in an effort to quell the increasingly persistent tightness in his chest as he tried and increasingly failed to take Charley’s stand-offishness with good humor. It wasn’t as bad as the last time she’d pushed him away, but it felt like the beginning of that, and Henry really didn’t think he could bear for her to do that to him again. It was one thing if it had been a courtship that wasn’t working out. But they were in the same squad. They had to go to battle with one another, have each other’s back. So Henry really wanted to figure out how to come to a mutually-agreeable arrangement. Which he’d probably royally messed up anyway by being overly eager—or perhaps he’d been too flippant? He had no idea what he was doing. 

Karl was nowhere to be found, and the time ran away before Henry could ask around as to his whereabouts, so he ended up having to double back for drills empty-handed. They were practicing regimental maneuvers. While Henry was sure it was very helpful for companies of nearly one hundred men to be able to turn and charge and pivot as one, his attention was focused elsewhere. Namely, a foot in front of him, where her soft nape peeked out from between her collar and hair. Torture. If he was ever captured by the Rebs, all they’d have to do was dangle Charley Smith as bait to get him to talk. 

About halfway through the maneuver, Henry made up his mind. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but he did know he couldn’t continue lurking and wondering what Charley felt. He was pretty confident that she shared his tender feelings. Whether she would admit to it, however, that was the tough part. He resolved to find a place where they could speak privately and just ask her point-blank how she felt. He was also resolved to accept whatever her feelings were (or were not) with dignity and not descend into a self-loathing mass. The way her mouth went soft and vulnerable when he paid her compliments—he was sure she felt the same. 

Yes. He would talk to her. He would expound upon the long list of things he liked about her, catch her unawares, and then confess his love again, in a more sincere way. If he could manage a little privacy, he was sure she would reply in kind. 

Henry didn’t manage to catch up with Charley until after dinner, when he found her sidled up outside the mule pen of all places. Several of the teamsters were practicing driving the mules, and a crowd of soldiers had gathered to watch. Certainly not the private environment he’d been hoping for. As he joined, Williamson leaned over, eagerly informing him, “They say that no man ever broke a team of six green army mules without breaking his Christian character, so the chaplain has offered a reward of one hundred dollars for any man who can drive a team for thirty days without using profanity.”³

Henry snorted and sidled up to the fence to join the fun. The teamster presently at practice was attempting to get his team of mules to do a relatively simple command—drive the wagon out of the opening at the south end of the pen. It was proving enormously difficult. 

Charley was laughing full-bellied, and the sight of her smile made the fine weather feel even finer. “Look at this blowhard, he can’t even get them out the pen! Hey, bear left, man! LEFT!” 

The teamster glowered at the row of soldiers mocking him, but pressed his lips together determinedly. Henry supposed the ranks of men shouting were probably not helping the poor fellow. 

“As hilarious as I’m sure this is,” came a voice that Henry, turning his head, found belonged to Osborn, “it is high time we get to the parade ground for battalion drills.” 

The fellows grumbled and begrudgingly followed Osborn, at least the fellows from their squad did. Others still remained heckling the poor teamster, whose reddening face suggested he was becoming increasingly frustrated. 

“Damn! I was sure he was going to cuss,” Charley said, glancing over her shoulder to look at the man again. “He seemed so close, but he just wants that hundred dollars!” 

“He’s got a long way to go,” Williamson said. “He can’t have been driving that team for more than ten days. He’s still got twenty more to go.” 

“Seems like they stacked the deck, with all those fellows heckling him,” Henry put in. Charley glanced up at him, her expression somewhat abashed. It did nothing for his anxiety to see her look at him that way.

“Well, my father is a teamster, and I can tell you, that fellow didn’t know what he was about,” she grumbled with a nod, as if convincing herself. 

Henry thought about pointing out that they scarcely knew what they were about either, but he held himself back. No need to rain on everyone’s parade just because Charley was driving him to madness avoiding him. We’ll talk about this later, indeed…

When they were gathered on the wide field with the rest of the companies, the captains gathered them together into ranks on horseback. When Captain Noah had Company K together, he called out an announcement from the head of the ranks. 

“Men, we are anticipating forward movement soon. We have received assignments for our brigade, and are officially members of the Third Brigade of the First Division of the Army of the Ohio, along with the Ninth Ohio and the Eighteenth U.S. Regulars. Our brigade is under the command of Colonel McCook, formerly of the Ninth Ohio. The Thirty-Fifth Ohio will also join up with us, but they are now at Somerset.”⁴

The men stirred and looked among each other with excited anticipation. A hum of speculation arose, and Captain Noah raised his hand, commanding their attention upon him once more. 

“We understand Zollicoffer has advanced his rebels on General Schoepf, who is also fortified at Somerset. At present, they are simply watching his movements. Prepare yourselves, for we march as soon as the orders arrive from General Thomas. The paymaster is anticipated before departure.”⁵

In hindsight, perhaps it may have been wiser for the captains to provide this information at the end of the drills, as the entire battalion was distracted for the rest of the afternoon, speculating about the prospect of battle drawing near. Osborn shushed them almost every five minutes as they (Hower and Robinson mainly) whispered eagerly about how this maneuver might be used in battle, or what it might take to get orders in the morning. Webster started fretting about writing to his wife and wondering where she should address her correspondence once they were on the move. Krüger looked like a half-crazed fiend when the captains ordered them to fix bayonets and charge, as if he could see in his mind’s eye the enemy, and he was eager to slice him from navel to nose. 

Henry’s fists gripped his rifle with frustration. If they were to march on, they’d be in tents or sleeping under the stars or on guard duty. He’d have no chance to catch Charley alone. Not to confess his finer feelings, not to touch her or embrace her or otherwise enjoy the fact that they belonged to one another. It would be like Lebanon Junction all over again. Complete and utter lack of privacy. Dammit. Karl Joseph said that it was not uncommon for men to find comfort among one another in an army camp. But how? They certainly weren’t making it known, which meant they must have found a way to get some goddamned privacy. And once they were on the march, any semblance of that would be gone. 

Henry approached Charley as soon as they were dismissed for supper and jogged to catch up with her. 

“Can we speak?” he asked and realized too late that he sounded about as snappish as he felt. 

Charley turned to regard him. “About what?” 

“About Sterling House and the—” 

Charley’s chin dipped and the corners of her mouth twitched in a knowing smile. “Ah, yes. It would be fine to have a return visit.” 

“I…uh, yes it would,” Henry said, flustered by the appeal of the prospect, then quickly added before she turned away, “But I want to talk to you just very quickly about the other matter.” 

Charley raised one brow and her mouth went flat. “Can’t we talk about that later? I’m half-starved and there’s turkey for supper.” 

Henry bit the inside of his cheek. 

“Of course. Yeah. Let’s eat.” 

⸻

XVIII

Lebanon, Kentucky
Sunday, December 29, 1861

IT was strange how fast time went, and yet how slowly it seemed to go, when awaiting marching orders. Truly, the worst part about being in the army was the waiting. Every day that orders didn’t come felt like torture and the hours of drill and meals and more drill and guard duties rolled out before Charley in a tedious rote of endless anticipation. 

Every day they’d wake to the sound of Reveille wondering if they were going to strike their tents and be gone before the day was out, but each day ended with them back in their tents, exhausted yet unable to sleep for anticipation of what might come the next day. The paymaster came and settled their wages, and the Christmas dinner was full of revels, but Christmas cheer swiftly gave way to more earnest preparations to march. With every day that passed, the impending marching orders became an increasingly foregone conclusion, until the day after Christmas, when news of the orders spread like wildfire across the camp. Prepare to march upon the order to intercept rebel troops. Stand in readiness. Zollicoffer was lurking across the river and the top brass had finally decided to put a stop to it. Charley experienced a rush of anxious excitement, pushing herself hard to every task they were set and dogging after Osborn with questions and ideas for ways they could increase their efficiency. Every idea seemed imperative. Lives were at stake, she kept insisting to her direct officer. 

Between her courses and the preparations for Christmas and marching out, Charley was scarcely able to snatch a moment or two with Henry before new duties were foisted upon them both. Extra cooking, extra guard duty, loading wagons with provisions. Suffice to say, by the time they got back to the tent each night, she and Henry were so exhausted they scarcely brushed their fingers together before they fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. It was torture to have known him so intimately that night at Sterling House then be denied again, but it was also a kind of relief, because it allowed Charley to avoid the conversation he clearly wanted to have about his feelings. Their feelings. The thought of it all made her itch with discomfort. Made her want to load up ten more wagons instead of lingering on what she might say to him. 

That is, until Sunday, when Henry nudged her shoulder at breakfast and whispered that he’d borrowed some extra money from Williamson and was planning a visit to Sterling House after the Sunday service. The utter disregard for the holy day of rest in the manner he delivered this information struck Charley right between her thighs, and she could only glance up at him from beneath her eyelashes like a schoolgirl and murmur yes. After all, if they could receive marching orders any time, she was veritably obligated to seize the day. 

They made a point to go to town separately after the service was done, staggering their departure for maximum discretion. Given that, it was somewhat of a surprise when Charley entered the second-floor room Henry had engaged at the Sterling House and was greeted with a curt: “What took you so long?” 

He sat on the edge of the bed with his coat and boots discarded, his shoulders tense and his eyes intent upon her from under his heavy brow. 

“I’m not late,” she replied indignantly, a little flustered by his intensity. 

“Fine, I’m not about to argue. There’s no time to lose,” he declared and yanked her toward the bed. 

Charley rode Henry again, sweat soaking through her shirt as she drove herself increasingly harder and more raggedly on his rubber-sheathed cock. She had her eyes squeezed shut because whenever she opened them, she saw Henry looking up at her with a curling smile and pleasure-spent eyes. It was easy to believe he loved her when he looked at her like that, but the reminder made her feel all sorts of things she was terrified to name, so eyes shut it was. She could feel tension building between her legs, squeezing in opposition to the cock that stretched her, filled her, drove every thought from her mind until it was just her and him and the insatiable need they shared. 

Henry’s arm swooped round her waist and it took her by surprise because she didn’t see it coming. Her eyes flew open as he sat up and held her tightly, his cock pressing so deep it nudged the end of her. Her fingers curled around his shoulders as he flipped her onto her back. He pulled out a bit, not all the way, as he sat back on his haunches. He gave her a crooked grin before he gripped one of her thighs and drove into her, his rhythm steadier and his angle deeper. His other hand shoved her shirt up to her neck, baring her, then settled between her legs and stroked her in time with his thrusts. Charley tipped her head back and keened, her hands grappling above her head for purchase as she felt her edge draw near. She couldn’t get enough of him, even though she was getting all of him. She didn’t think there could ever be enough of this, with him. She wrapped her thighs around his waist like a vice and gripped the bed sheets tight in her hands. Her climax barreled toward her and all her muscles seized tight to brace for impact. 

Henry’s mouth was tight again, almost mean, his nostrils flaring as he watched her hungrily. “God, I love you like this,” he grunted. “Please, Charley, come on. Come for me.” 

How could she refuse? It was rather a forgone conclusion. Her voice caught as bliss crashed through her, cracking her open like dry earth and rending her bare. He rode her out but didn’t slow, kept pushing her as she became entirely too sensitive. She was reduced to a gasping, whimpering mess as he leaned down over her, elbows on either side of her head. 

“Yes, Charley,” he growled into her ear, pumping ceaselessly. “More. God, I love you. I love you so damn much.” 

Charley very much wished that those words would take her out of it. But they didn’t. Much the opposite, in fact. They wrapped around her heart and squeezed it like a vice as he drove relentlessly into her, pressed his weight over her. It was entirely unfair that the combination of these things pushed her overly-sensitive body to shake again with pleasure, wringing sobs from her throat so feral and desperate she entertained a distant worry that it might cause the proprietors some concern. Heaven knew she was being loud enough for them to hear her. Mortifying. She could scarcely bring herself to care, though, as she shook with the tremors of her second climax. 

Henry’s thrusts grew heedless and harried as he shook and came inside her. How she wished she could feel that heat fill her up, but the India rubber shielded her from that particular guilty pleasure. Which was good. She understood that distantly. Safety and rationality didn’t often feel very important when one was ragged and stupid with lust. God, Henry looked so good when he came. Deliciously desperate, shaking with effort, his nipples tight and his chest flushed and slick with sweat. Shoulders straining. Damn. It made Charley want to lick him. 

He nigh collapsed on top of her, breath rushing past her ear and his heart thrumming against her chest. Charley blinked and felt her blood pulse through her cunt with such heat it made her go cross-eyed. Henry shifted on his elbows and pressed his lips to hers. Charley’s hands held him there by the back of his head, fingers threaded in his wheat gold hair. He tipped his chin down and held her eyes. “I love you, Charley.” 

It was lucid and sincere and it made her stomach curdle with panic. Why did he keep saying it? Was he trying to get her to say it back? Of course he was. She pressed her lips hard against his, kissing him fiercely so that he might know her feelings too, even though she couldn’t bring herself to say them. As much as they’d become friends in the past months, she didn’t know what he might expect from someone he loved. She was already too far in his thrall. He might expect all the fool things she had once thought she wanted—a marriage, a home, a family, with their endless cycle of mindless drudgery and isolation. And she was so stupid for him, she might compromise herself to give them to him. Thank heavens marriage was securely off the table. 

Henry kissed her back eagerly, pressing their bodies together, letting her revel in the bliss of his weight crushing her into the mattress. But then he broke the kiss again and looked at her with doleful blue eyes. 

“Charley…” His lips twitched, like he was uncertain. Charley’s heart slammed in her chest. His brows slanted like a hurt dog, and Charley braced herself when the knock came to the door. 

“Come on, Privates,” the muffled voice on the opposite side of the door called. “You’re not the only ones looking for clandestine meeting locations on the Sabbath and I need to turn over the room.” 

Henry looked at the door, then back down at Charley. She let a lazy smile creep over her lips. 

“Time sure flies when you’re having fun,” she quipped. The smile she’d been hoping for her reward didn’t come. Rather, Henry tucked his chin sheepishly and grunted in agreement as he pushed himself up and off her, rolling to sit on the edge of the bed. His bare thigh was right next to her head, so she curled to one side and pressed her lips to his skin, flaxen hair coarse on her lips. He had to know how she adored him, right? She couldn’t give the promise she knew he wanted, but she could show him, with her touch and her kisses and her constancy. Couldn’t she? 

“We’ll be just a moment,” Henry called to Miss Sterling on the opposite side of the door as he bent to retrieve his blue wool trousers. Charley rolled to her knees and perched beside him on the edge of the bed as he gingerly removed the French letter. 

“Here, let me,” Charley said, taking it from him and kicking the chamber pot from under the bed. She was wholly disturbed by her own thoughts as she disposed of the French letter’s contents in the pot, wondering how it might feel dripping down her leg or how it might taste on her tongue. She was utterly addled. Lust had gone and rendered her a feral galoot. 

She padded across the room to the pitcher and basin on the dresser that faced the foot of the bed, rinsing the rubber in the water as thoroughly as she could manage before she tucked the wholly too-expensive item in her breast pocket. As far as she could tell from the packaging and the very limited advice the pharmacist would offer, French letters were not expressly meant to be reused. But after disposing of the first, she’d determined to take a more economical tack. Especially considering how damn much the Sterlings were charging for the use of this room. 

Henry was fully uniformed when she turned back, albeit rumpled. He tossed her trousers to her and then pushed his hair back as he screwed on his forage cap. His eyes danced away from hers, which caused her some dismay as she pulled her suspenders over her shoulders and yanked her arms into her sack coat. 

They ambled out of the room together, tight-lipped and guilty-faced. Miss Sterling stood by with her arms crossed over her austere gown, watching as Henry started down the stairs. Charley was about to descend when Miss Sterling’s hand shot out and pulled her back. 

“I assume you’re being careful,” she murmured under her breath, “but if you run into any trouble, you will find friends here.” 

Charley froze. She stared at Miss Sterling. Miss Sterling met her gaze squarely, her chin arch with a quiet confidence, and Charley realized she knew. She knew. 

Miss Sterling’s large brown eyes blinked twice with a shrewdness that seemed strange on such a placid face. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

Charley couldn’t make her legs carry her away after hearing that. “Um…” she stammered. 

“Think nothing of it,” Miss Sterling said, a little louder. “I hope we see you two again before you march on.” 

Charley’s legs were unsteady as Miss Sterling herded her down the stairs. She tried to press hard against the urge to panic. This had to be the easiest money the Sterling sisters ever made. All they had to do was keep quiet, and they could charge literally any sum they wanted. And Charley would pay it. Because they had her up a creek, but also because she was completely besotted. What was the point in resisting saying it aloud? She was already too tied up in knots over Henry to think clearly about her future. Who was she kidding? She really hadn’t allowed herself to think of what might come when the war ended. Who she might become then. Because there was no good answer, so why bother worrying? 

When they were alone together in the muddy courtyard behind the hotel, Charley found herself reaching out and snatching Henry’s sleeve. He turned and regarded her with a tired expression. 

“I’m sorry,” Charley blurted before she could think better of it. “I know what you want me to say and I want to—please understand that I want to—but I just … I have never known a man who didn’t think he knew better than his wife or mother or daughter—” 

“—I’m not laying claim to you,” Henry hissed, moving closer so their conversation could not be overheard by an errant passerby. “I don’t want to control you. I want to love you.” 

“I know, I understand that. It’s just never been my experience.” 

“Why do you assume I’m going to be like everyone else you’ve ever met?” His hurt dog expression was back. “We’ve spent months and months together, but as soon as I confess I have tender feelings for you, I’m a threat? Am I no different than Richard, or your father? What have I done to make you think that I mean to possess you?” His voice caught and his lips pressed firmly together. Charley felt a flood of guilt rise up in her gut and before she could even realize what was happening, she felt a tear fall down her cheek. 

“Henry, I—” 

“If you want to say it, then just say it. But I’m beginning to wonder if you really do.”

“I’m telling you I do!” 

“Why spend all these words talking around it, then?” He sighed. “You either love me or you don’t. Maybe that could change, I don’t know. But just tell me the goddamned truth.” 

There were several more tears gathering. Charley tried desperately not to blink so they wouldn’t fall as well. Her throat closed, but she swallowed through it. “How I feel. I feel … I feel like I … can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve your affection. I am truly … just … thrown for a loop.”

“That’s how you feel about how I feel, Charley. What do you feel about me?” 

Charley looked up at him desperately and hoped to God no one could see her face right now, because it was surely unmistakably broken. “Dammit, Henry, I don’t just love you. I adore you. I have wanted you since the moment I saw your stupid perfect teeth and you tried to give me the big-brother treatment before the enlistment inspection.” 

Henry blinked. “My teeth?” 

“Do you understand how many men with nice faces have terrible breath and missing teeth?” 

“Since the inspections? The day we met?” 

“Yes? I used to, uh, loiter in my bunk at the Fort to watch you get dressed.” His brows flew up. “I’m not proud. When you mentioned reading Frederick Douglass, and I realized you weren’t just an empty-headed pretty boy, I was—I was done for. I’ve probably loved you since you put that stupid piece of sweetgrass in my mouth.” She scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve cuff before any further emotional evidence could spill out over her face. While she was temporarily blinded, Henry reached out and grasped her by her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. It was so horrifically unfair. How dare he treat her with tenderness when she was already battling her extremely untoward response to having emotions? 

“There, was that so hard?” he murmured into her hair. 

“Yes,” she grumbled into his shoulder, even as she clutched the wool of his sack coat in her fists. “Get off me, what will people say?” 

“Fellows can embrace. We’ll just tell them you got news of a beloved uncle’s passing,” Henry replied, giving her a squeeze. “I’m comforting you.” 

Charley screwed her eyes shut and scrunched up her nose, inhaling deeply. She looked up at Henry and stepped back, away from his arms. “I know you know this, but it must be said. These feelings don’t entitle you to make decisions for me.” 

“I know.” 

“Seriously. I mean it. You have me over a barrel with the things you know about me. And I feel like I’m slipping. I’m fairly certain Miss Sterling knows. The pharmacist too.”

“The pharmacist?” 

“And now Jacob thinks we’re flagrant libertines together. I need to stop gaining any further notoriety.” 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Henry’s lips turned up and his eyes sparkled. 

“It’s not funny. And while I own that I certainly haven’t been disputing any of these rumors, it’s not all my own fault. I just … I would rather die than be sent home.” 

“I know,” He reached out affectionately and brushed his fingers down her arm. “If you need to walk the straight and narrow, now’s a good time to do it. We won’t have much if any chance to be together once we’re on the march anyway.”

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Footnotes

1. A Union private was paid $13 a month. ↩︎
2. Thomas Fitch Diary. Minnesota Historical Society, Manuscripts, P961. “15 Sunday, Pleasant. I am on guard. Divine service in woods nearby. Several of regt boys arrested for drunkenness.” ↩︎
3. Bishop, Judson Wade. The Story of a Regiment: Being a Narrative of the Service of the Second Regiment, Minnesota Veteran Volunteer Infantry, in the Civil War of 1861-1865. United States, Published for the Surviving Members of the Regiment, 1890. “It has been stated that no man ever broke a team of six green army mules without breaking his Christian character, if he had any, and the army chaplain who offered the long standing reward of one hundred dollars to the man who should drive such a team for thirty days without the use of profane language, did not have to part with his money.” ↩︎
4. Fitch. ↩︎
5. Bircher, William. A Drummer-boy’s Diary: Comprising Four Years of Service with the Second Regiment Minnesota Veteran Volunteers, 1861 to 1865. United States, St. Paul Book and Stationery Company, 1889. Page 15. ↩︎

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