“I am being the woman. You went the wrong way. Is it because you are left-handed?” I argued.
“You are not doing the woman’s part. You are doing the same thing as I am. I’m going to tread on you.”
Footsteps moved down the hallway, and we froze, fearing we’d been too loud. A door opened and closed, and the footsteps receded.
“Let’s try that again,” he demanded.
We clasped hands and stepped left-two-three and right-two-three, left-two-three and right-two-three, all while whisper singing “Praise to the Lord” and chortling, trying to keep from honking too loudly.
“You are still doing the man’s part,” he hissed, laughing.
“I was afraid I might have to give one of the officer’s wives a turn around the room, and practiced a little. Now I’m confused and can’t remember which is which.”
“We should really choose a different number. How about ‘Yankee Doodle’? It’s catchy,” he suggested.
We immediately launched into a much more vigorous version of the same steps, up-tempo and energetic, singing softly, and I managed to perform the correct steps, right up to the end, where I forgot to curtsy and we bowed at the same time and knocked heads.
“Ouch! Dammit.” The general laughed, clutching his brow. He rubbed my head with one palm as he massaged his own.
“Sorry, Samson. That must have hurt.”
I had only meant to tease him, to pull a prank as friends do, but when I moaned and staggered, planning to fall on my bedroll like the collision had truly done me damage, his arms shot out, and he eased me down to the floor, searching my head with his fingers and patting my cheeks while supporting me against his chest.
“Deborah. Curse it all. My mother said I had the biggest, hardest head of any child she’d ever seen. She said it was a wonder that she survived my birth. If I’d have been the eldest, my sisters would never have been born. It’s a great stone club, is what it is,” he worried, holding me in his arms and staring down at me as though he expected my eyes to flutter into a dead faint at any moment.
I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue. “I’m fine, John. I was just teasing you.”
He sat back on his heels, but he didn’t release me. “You were just . . . teasing me,” he restated flatly.
“Yes. But now I’m quite cozy. Do you think you could rock me to sleep . . . perhaps a lullaby too? You have a beautiful voice.” I grinned up at him, needing desperately to laugh a little longer, but his eyes had narrowed. And for a moment I thought something had shifted, or perhaps I only mirrored what I felt.
“You called me John,” he muttered.
I had. Was he angry? “Yes. I’m sorry, sir. I forgot myself for a moment.”
Neither of us were smiling anymore. But he didn’t let me go.
“It is late,” he said.
“It is.”
He released me abruptly and stood. He retreated to the pitcher and poured himself a glass of water before refilling the cup and bringing it to me.
I took a few sips and handed it back. I knew better than to fill my bladder when it meant traipsing outside in the dark when the entire garrison—the entire hillside—bristled with visitors.
He set the cup down, blew out the candles, and dropped onto his pallet. I did the same, too warm to burrow into the blankets and too aware of the man beside me to contemplate sleep.
I considered telling him that I’d seen Phineas and immediately dismissed the thought. The general would stew and fret and talk of sending me home again. And I did not want to talk about Phineas. Not yet. I didn’t want to even think about him. But Phineas had asked a question I didn’t have an answer for.
“Sir?” I whispered.
“Yes?”
“Why did you ask me to be your aide? Aren’t aides usually chosen from the officers?”
He was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if I would get the truth or any answer at all.
“You impressed me. And intrigued me.”
It was my turn to lie in silence, hoping he would continue.
“I realize now . . . you have always intrigued me. Even as a voice on a page, you were like no one else I had ever encountered. Elizabeth thought you were a marvel. She would read bits of your letters out loud and shake her head. ‘How am I to respond to that, John?’ she would say.”
“I never wrote of girlish things,” I said.
“No. You didn’t.” There was laughter in his voice.
“I was supposed to be practicing the art of letter writing and proper conversation. But I wanted knowledge more, and when I discovered Elizabeth was willing to speak of serious things and deep thoughts, I was overjoyed.”