“They think I am Robert Shurtliff.”
“Yes. And I am in a position of authority over you. That is a responsibility, not an opportunity. I have never sought positions of power or glory, and I can happily live out the remainder of my life, however long that is, without either. But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud. Or that I don’t care what men think about me . . . or say about you.”
He paused, and when he began again, his voice was riddled with remorse. “But mostly . . . if someone were to see me with you, like this, with a young man who is my aide, what would that say about my relationship with my wife?”
It was not where I had expected him to go, and my breath caught and my guilt welled.
“It would suggest—” His voice broke. “It would suggest,” he began again, more strident, “that I stayed away from Elizabeth for all those years and that she died without me because I preferred a different kind of company. It would diminish her sacrifice. And mine. I did not join this fight to escape Elizabeth. And I will not dishonor her, or this cause, by doing anything to make people think that I did.”
His words, even as softly delivered as they were, resonated like cannon fire, and for a moment I could only sit in silence, recovering, wondering if I would ever hear again. I was afraid if I spoke, I would shout or cry, unable to gauge my volume, and the whole camp would hear my voice.
“So you would marry me,” I whispered. “That is your solution.”
“Yes.”
“But . . . we will be apart.”
“Yes. For a while.”
I sank back down on my pallet and stared up at the shadowy folds that blocked out the stars. For a moment, I wished that I could simply float up, the way I did in my dreams, and leave it all behind. See what I wanted to see. Go where I wanted to go. And feel nothing but the vast quiet, no beginning and no end.
“I do not want it to be over,” I mourned aloud, for that was the truth at the heart of it all.
“If you marry me, it won’t have to be over. Ever.”
“I do not want the war to end,” I whispered, and made myself meet his eyes.
He stared at me, dumbfounded. Wounded. But he did not understand. The woman he thought he loved did not exist anywhere else but here.
“Forgive me,” I begged. “I know it is selfish. There has been far too much suffering. Your children need you. And you need them. But . . . but I won’t ever get this time back. This freedom. This life. And I will be Deborah Samson again.”
“I am in love with a woman who has no desire to be a woman,” he marveled, almost to himself. “Dear God, what a disaster.”
“That is not true. I desire to be a woman.” My voice was small, and he scoffed, unconvinced.
“I do,” I said, this time stronger. “I want to be a woman. I want to unbind my breasts and put on a fine dress. I adore pretty things and beautiful fabrics. I want to walk on your arm and dance with you and . . . and . . . kiss your mouth and lie beside you. I would like to have your children.”
My cheeks were flaming, but my voice grew stronger with each word. “I want those things. I do not hate being a woman. I simply hate that a woman can’t go to Yale or be a statesman or help draft a constitution. I hate that I can’t travel to Paris without a husband or even walk down the street alone. I hate the limitations that nature has placed on me, the limitations that life has placed on me. But I do not hate being a woman, and I would not hate being your woman.”
He was suddenly there, looming over me, his hands cupping my face, his vow abandoned again.
“Then you will marry me. And we will end this charade.”
“But . . . it is not a charade,” I lamented. “Not to me.”
He wilted, his back bowing as though I’d lashed him, and he laid his brow against my breast, defeated. I wrapped my arms around his head and for several long minutes we lay in silence, my heart pounding against his lips. My yearning for what he offered was as fierce as my impending loss.
“And Robert Shurtliff will just . . . disappear?” I whispered, weakening. He lifted his head and stared down at me.
“Yes. My sister will help us. Robert Shurtliff will go into her home. And he won’t come out again.”
“Hidden away.”
His hands tightened on my jaw and his thumbs moved across my lips, as if he wanted to erase my reservations.
“I am not hiding you because I am ashamed of you. I am hiding you because I want a life with you. I cannot have a life with Robert Shurtliff.”