One of Us Buried by Johanna Craven (year 2 reading books TXT) 📕

forced intimacy of the thing had felt too much. I’d thought to leave, to give him back the space he had so generously carved out for me. But each time, I arrived at the same conclusion. Without that scrap of space, I had not a single place to go.

I pressed the wooden spatula into the meat, watching as the juices ran clear. I carried the pan to the table and slid its contents onto Blackwell’s plate. He looked down at the single slab of meat.

“You’re not eating?”

I set the pan on the floor beside the door to cool. My bruised fingers throbbed in time with my heart.

“I’m not hungry.” I took the bread from the shelf and sat it on the table for Blackwell. He stared up at me, a faint frown creasing the bridge of his nose. And that look, what was that? Something so close to concern that a part of me wanted to speak, to tell him of the foolish accident that had left me so rattled. But when I heard the words in my head, they sounded so petty, so inconsequential. Certainly nothing that would matter to a marine lieutenant. Just a thing that would reveal the delicacy I was trying so hard to outgrow. I nudged the bread towards him. “Here. It’s still quite fresh.”

Blackwell held my gaze for a long second, then slid around on his stool and reached for the rum bottle on the shelf. He filled a tin cup and placed it on the edge of the table.

“Drink it. It’s quite dreadful, but it does settle the nerves somewhat.”

I took the liquor and tossed it back, gasping as it seared my throat. I closed my eyes, feeling the drink slide through me, warming my insides and yes, somehow, faintly easing the nerves that were rattling through my body. A dangerous thing, I knew well, to find a little peace at liquor stills of the Rum Corps.

When Blackwell was asleep, I pulled on my boots and slipped out of the hut. My mind and body were exhausted, but my thoughts were racing. I knew sleep was still hours away.

The air was cold and clean; a silver cloud of breath appearing in front of me as I strode away from the hut. Laughter from the main street hung in the air, and I turned towards the church to avoid the throng of men and women outside the tavern. I followed the curve of the river as it snaked through the trees, needing the stillness, the calming sigh of the water.

In the pale moonlight, I recognised Maggie’s figure leaning against the railings of the bridge. She looked up as I approached.

“Don’t often see you out at night,” she said. She brought a clay pipe to her lips and blew a line of smoke upwards.

I stepped onto the bridge and stood beside her at the railing. In the darkness the water was hidden, but I could hear it churning beneath us.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I told her.

Maggie held the pipe out to me. I shook my head.

She nodded in the direction I had come. “That Blackwell’s hut?”

I wrapped my arms around myself. Said nothing.

Maggie gave me a short smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Lottie old Bert’s pillow is snuggled up next to her favourite officer.”

I let out my breath. “I feel dreadful. I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“It’s just a pillow.”

“It’s not just a pillow. It’s the principle of the thing. I’ve not told her the truth.”

Maggie lifted the pipe. “You think too much. That’s why you got yourself in trouble today.”

I lowered my eyes. I knew she was right. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about… my sleeping arrangements,” I managed.

She chuckled. “If I were curled up beside an officer in the night, I’d be letting everyone know.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not curled up beside him.”

Maggie shrugged. “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”

“How can you say that?” Necessity or not, sleeping beside a man in the night made me feel as though I’d abandoned every scrap of my morality.

“It’s smart,” said Maggie. “Getting in with an officer. You do him a few favours and maybe he’ll do the same for you. Make your time here a little easier.”

“He’s not asked for any favours. He says taking me in was an act of charity.”

Maggie gave a short laugh. “It’s coming. You just watch. This ain’t a place of charity. There’s no room for that here. Even men like Blackwell, they’re just trying to find a way to survive in this wilderness.”

I shook my head. “That’s not true. This place might be about survival for us, but it’s not for the men who carry the rifles.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you’d be surprised.” An echo of breaking glass sounded from the street, followed by wild laughter.  Maggie looked back towards the tavern. “Fucking animals.”

“Is Owen in the tavern?” I asked.

She nodded. “The man’s a right bastard when he’s in his cups. I managed to get out of there when he was looking the other way. I’ll pay for it later though, I’m sure.”

I thought of the mottled bruising on Maggie’s arms. Felt rather certain Patrick Owen was a bastard whether he was in his cups or not.

“Would you marry him?” I asked. “For a ticket of leave, like Sally Quinn got?”

“What other hope do I have? They ain’t letting me out of this place til I’m dead.”

My lips parted. “You’re here for life?”

Maggie blew out a line of smoke. “Made one or two bad decisions in my time.”

I gave her a small smile. “I know the feeling.”

“Headed up a thieving ring back in London,” she said. “Thought Lottie would have told you. The other girls ain’t shy to remind me I’m the only lifer in the factory.”

My fingers