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

“And how do you find him? Has he treated you well?”

She shrugged, looking back at her feet. She barely reached my shoulder. “Could be worse. Could have been sent to the factory.”

I smelled the butcher’s stall long before we reached it. The acrid stench of flesh floated on the hot wind, making my stomach roll.

“You go for the fruit and vegetables,” I offered, pressing the list into Amy’s hand. “I’ll fetch the meat.”

And I stopped walking abruptly, caught off guard by the figure of Blackwell striding out of the government stores. Since I’d begun working for the Leavers, I’d barely seen more than glimpses of him; sometimes at Marsden’s services, sometimes here at the market, or on his way to the courthouse. I’d been careful to hide myself. What point was there in speaking? We both knew what had passed between us on the twelfth night had been a mistake. I had crossed a line that should never have been crossed.

But today, he had seen me. I knew I could not turn away without appearing petty and childish. Amy glanced at me expectantly, but I said nothing, just watched frozen as Blackwell strode towards us. He offered something vaguely resembling a smile.

“Good morning, Eleanor.”

I hated the formality in his voice. Hated that the wall around him I had spent eight months chipping away at had so quickly been rebuilt. I gave a short nod. “Lieutenant.”

Amy’s eyes were fixed to the ground. She chewed her lip, knotting her fingers together in front of her chest. Blackwell towered over her.

A strained silence hovered between us, punctuated by the clatter of leg irons coming from the chain gang across the street. A wagon full of vegetables rattled past.

Blackwell’s stiltedness left me in no doubt he had been the one behind my going to the Leavers’. Was it a punishment, I wondered? My penance for luring him to break his marriage vows? For daring to bring shame to his door? Perhaps I deserved what came to me.

I value your company, he had told me that night, as I’d reached up to unbutton my dress. And I had been foolish enough to believe his words. Had been foolish enough to believe I mattered.

“How are you getting on with Leaver?” he asked finally.

My hand tensed around the handle of the basket. “Fine, thank you.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard him a decent man.”

I looked up at him then. “Have you?” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Blackwell made a noise in his throat and I regretted my outburst. Because standing there by the market, caught between a chain gang and the shadow of the courthouse, I saw the two of us as what we really were. Government lag and military officer. I saw I had no place to question him, to speak back to him, to stand in the lamplight and slide my dress from my shoulders. If he wanted me gone from his hut, who was I to fight it? I swallowed.

“And you?” I asked stiffly. “Are you well?” My skin felt damp beneath my shift.

“I’m well, yes. Thank you.”

I wanted to ask him more; whether he’d had any trouble with Owen and Brady. What book he was reading now. If he had any shirts that needed mending. But I knew it was no longer my place to do so. Perhaps it never had been.

He glanced down at my empty basket, then back at me. “I’ll let you get on with your business.” And then he was gone.

Amy dared to look up, staring after Blackwell as he disappeared around the corner. Threads of blonde hair blew across her eyes. “Do you know him?” she asked in an awed half-voice.

My jaw tightened. “Barely.” I felt longing, felt anger. Felt like a worthless lag who’d been slapped down to where she belonged.

I put a hand to Amy’s shoulder, ushering her towards the fruit stall. “Come on. Let’s get the food. It’s far too hot to be out here.”

*

At the end of February, Leaver put in a good word with the magistrate and one of his farmhands was given his ticket of leave.

When we had finished serving dinner to the family, I joined the other workers out by the barn for a farewell drink to the lucky man. The night was hot and still, cicadas shrieking in the paddocks and the musky smell of animals thick in the air.

Amy sighed heavily as we sat beside each other on the brown grass. “Wish it were me leaving this place.” She stretched her legs out in front of her and began rubbing at a stain on her skirt.

I nodded. I knew we were all thinking the same. All wished we were the one with the ticket of leave being pressed into our hand. I picked up a twig and dug it listlessly into the earth.

Was I being foolish to imagine I might get such a chance? I knew with my life sentence and a stay in solitary confinement, there was not much to pin my hopes on. I had little to do with Leaver beyond his gruff orders for more food, but his young wife had taken a liking to me. Perhaps with a few well-placed words in her husband’s ear, such a thing would become possible.

I had to believe it so. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life scraping out another woman’s hearths. I knew I would never see England again, but I didn’t want to die in chains.

But even with a ticket of leave, what prospects would I have? I knew if I were to have any chance at a decent life, I would have to put myself forward at the marriage market. I would have to speak of my past; of my first husband’s death,