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I saw the union soldiers when they first crested the rolling hills at the edge of Papa's farm. There were so many, the ground shook with them and the wild things startled. I wished earnestly to be one of the rabbits, to hide in a burrow and let the destruction happen over my head.

Already, I had buried the jewelry--what little there was left. I had harvested all of the kitchen garden that I could, hiding the vegetables in the empty shed back away in the overgrown north field. I chased the pig into the woods, hoping it would have the good sense to stay away. There hadn't been chickens in months and I thanked the Lord for one less thing to worry about.

Mama was resting, though not easily.

So, I had no other occupation to distract me from watching the soldiers cover the land like grasshoppers. I stood on the porch in the already stifling heat, wishing I had the pistol in my hands but knowing it was better to hide it under Mama's mattress. It was useless against so many; they would only take it from me anyway.

Most of the men stayed outside of the fence that surrounded the house. It was a smaller group--only five--who walked up the poplar-lined road to the porch.

The tallest man stood in front of the rest. He was an unshaven, unwashed northerner in a better uniform than my father had left home in.

"Afternoon, Ma'am," he said, like he was calling.

"Afternoon."

"I'm Captain Waters. May I speak to the head of the house?"

"My father's dead these two years," I said. He was lost at Manassas in the first months of the war. "My mother is ill." I offered a hand and he took it with unexpected manors. "I am Mrs. Elliot. You may speak to me."

He gave me a sharp look. A twenty-year-old widow in mourning black. The broach with my husband's hair pinned to my bodice. The Captain seemed to take in all this information with one, efficient glance.

"Hell of a war," he muttered. But he straightened up and returned to business. "The Union Army is taking possession of this property. I recommend that you vacate north."

I looked at each of the five men in turn, hoping to see a sympathetic face among them. But I returned to the Captain as my best prospect.

"My mother is very ill. She cannot travel."

"I don't mind it she stays, Cap'n." one of the officers muttered. "Her and her ma." The others laughed.

"What's her illness?" Captain Waters asked, ignoring them.

"I believe it's pneumonia."

The captain peered up at our farmhouse. It used to be crisp white before the war but now it looked like everything else: tired.

"She's on the second floor?" he asked me.

"Yes."

"You and your mother may use the upstairs." He turned back to the men behind him, who snapped out of their lazy slouch. "Set up the hospital in the barn. Headquarters will be here. Station a guard at the steps for Mrs. Elliot and her mother's privacy."

"Thank you," I said.

"I will loan you our company doctor if you would consent to cook for my officers."

"I would be grateful for the doctor," I said.

"I'll send him up."

I hurried back inside so I needn't watch blue uniformed soldiers in my mother's pretty sitting room. Then I made my way up the steps feeling the heat climb with each one.

#

The doctor was an older man with a long gray beard and wire-rimmed spectacles. He was very kind, praising the care I had taken with my mother. Nonetheless, her skin was clammy and her lips tinged blue. She gasped for every breath and no amount of steam or heat would loosen her chest.

The doctor opened all of the windows.

"I've come to find that heat treatments for fever are harmful," he said.

He soaked rags in water steeped with herbs and arranged them under her nightshirt, making the whole room bitter-smelling. She opened her eyes, saw his blue uniform, and looked to me in alarm.

"Sleep, Mama," I said. "There are soldiers about, but they won't come upstairs."

She trusted me, as she had through her long illness, to manage things. Her eyes closed in spite of her labored breathing.

"It's good that you didn't try to move her," the doctor said. "I can't offer much hope, though. What she really needs is a hot onion poultice, but I haven't seen an onion in weeks. It may be too late for that anyways."

I looked at him and pinched my lips together, thinking of the shed in the overgrown north field. I had ropes of onion there, braided together. But, if any of the soldiers spied me going that way, they might follow. They might commandeer our last stores of food, as they had our house.

I hoped the herbs would do their job.

The doctor tipped a fluid out of a vial and past her lips. I saw her swallow. "To help her sleep," he told me. "It's the best thing for her now."

"I have to start supper," I said, looking at the sun in the window. "Can I leave her?"

"Go. I'll see to her."

I went down the steps with my eyes down, trying not to see the dozens of soldiers. But the one standing guard at the base of the stairs stepped directly in my way. He was lean and young-faced, but still a head taller than me. His eyes were glittering black, his cheekbones were high, and his hair as black as a crow. He wore a green kepi over it.

I stepped to one side to get past him but he blocked my way again.

"Excuse me, please," I said.

"You have such a pretty mouth."

"Why, thank you," I said haughtily. "You have an unusually handsome nose. May I pass?"

He smirked and stepped aside. I avoided touching him.

The next three hours were spent aproned and working, stoking the fire in the already blazing kitchen, and drinking tepid water by the tin cupful. I set the loaves to rise and turned to the chopping. Potatoes. Carrots. Someone's winter stores, no doubt.

I thought of my mother and her illness. It distracted me from the heat. For weeks she had been in decline. First the loss of Papa, then my Charles, and now, Mama dangerously balanced between worlds. Could I accept more grief if the Lord sent it?

I looked up, sensing someone in the kitchen doorway. It was the soldier who had been guarding the stairs. He smirked at me.

"Do you need assistance?" I asked.

"I need something," he said insinuatingly. His eyes were bold and even though I was stiflingly covered, I felt naked. He stepped all the way into the kitchen. I faced him, intuitively not wanting to show him my back. The knife was still in my hand; I hid it behind me.

He stepped closer and touched my mourning broach. It was pinned over my heart; a tintype of my Charles framed with a braid of his hair. The soldier's fingers brushed my breast. Even with the heat, I shivered.

"This is who you wear black for?" he asked. "This old, dried man?"

"You won't speak so of my husband," I snapped. He had been older than me but more than young enough to die for his country. "I'm honored to wear black for him."

"He must have been... quite a man," he commented. His hand skimmed my side and rested on my hip.

"Unhand me."

Instead he stepped up closer; I put the knife between us, digging the tip into his stomach.

"Unhand me," I repeated.

He stepped back.

"Is there a problem, Ma'am?"

The soldier and I both turned to see Captain Waters in the doorway.

"No," I said. "He understands my expectations of his behavior now."

The Captain looked to the soldier. "Don't you have a post?"

"I'm done for the night, Sir," he replied.

"Then get out to the tents." The soldier hurried out and Captain Waters stepped in. "Are you harmed?" he asked.

"No," I told him. "But thank you."

He nodded to me.

I set the table for fifteen. It was less than I had cooked for during the harvest but it had been cooler then. I set out the bread, served the stew, accepted their thanks, and took my leave to check on my mother. The sun had gone down and there were half as many soldiers in the living room as there was earlier.

The guard at the stairs, a fair, blue-eyed man, nodded at me as I passed him and gave me no more than a passing glance. I hurried to my mother's room.

I could hear her breathing when I entered the room. She was gasping. The doctor looked grave.

"She sounds worse," I said, hurrying to her side. Laying a hand on her dewy forehead as she had so many times for me.

"At this point, I would pray."

Tears welled into my eyes but I swallowed them back. Tears were for children. I found myself wishing that this wretched army had come days earlier, when it might have been of use to me.

"The onion poultice?" I asked. "Would it help?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. It makes no never mind anyway. We don't have onions."

I closed the bedroom door. "I know where there's some."

The doctor cast a look around. "You have a food store, we haven't found?"

I nodded.

"Don't you tell anyone about it. You hear me?"

"I wouldn't."

"You told me."

"I hadn't a choice, Doctor. You'll see me when I leave through the window to fetch them."

He looked at me, his eyes like hawk's eyes. "Can you find it in the dark?"

"I believe so."

"Do you have garlic, too?" he asked.

"Yes."

He looked at my mother, took her pulse, and pressed his palm to her forehead. "Go now," he said. "Bring both."

#

I hadn't snuck out of my house since I was a child. It was harder to manage than I remembered. I was in my frock with all the undergarments and my corset. But I lowered myself from the roof to the porch roof and from the porch roof to the ground. I avoided the windows and managed to bring a lantern with the lowest flame. I walked in the general direction of the shed.

Even the night was warm. The breeze seemed to blow from an oven. I heard the late summer bugs and every now and again, I turned up my lantern a bit to get my bearings. In ten minutes I found the overgrown bramble of the north field and in another five I was lifting the latch on the shed door.

It smelled like earth and spice. I turned up the lantern and set it on a shelf, pulled Papa's pocket knife out of my apron, and cut three onions from the braid. The little cloth bag at my belt easily held their weight. I found the garlic and took some of that, as well.

I turned for the lantern and gasped, backing away a step. I wasn’t alone. The soldier from the stairs and the kitchen stood behind me, again, blocking my path. He looked like a wolf; his eyes glittered like one would.

"What do we have here?" he asked.

I didn't know if he was talking about me or the provisions.

The shed was small; he was less than three paces away from me, but still he took a step closer. It was like he was trying to corral a frightened horse. And, indeed, he had me backed into a corner. My breathing came fast and my corset made it obvious.

"You have a secret, don't you?" he said.

"Mr...."

"Fin."

"Mr. Fin--"

"It's just Fin."

"When you leave, I still must eat."

"That's one use for that beautiful mouth," he said to me. He took another step closer. "I can think of others."

In the few evenings I shared with my husband before he left for the war, he had been gentle and kind. The last pain I felt was when I gave him my virginity. At least once, I had some burgeoning pleasure when he finished. But it had been long enough ago, and such a brief span of time, that a shiver went over my body.

Fin turned me roughly and pressed the front of me against the sticky pine boards. His hot breath was on my neck. He took each of wrists in his grasp and held them against the rough wall, too. I jumped when his lips touched my neck just above the high collar of my mourning frock.

"Easy," he whispered. He licked the back of my neck from my collar to my hairline. A scant stretch of skin but I felt it in my toes. His lips found my earlobe and his tongue played with it.

My heart sped. Between my legs, an ache awakened.

"I can keep a secret," he whispered to me, "if you make it worthwhile." He released my wrists but I kept my hands pressed against the boards.

"I haven't any money," I said.

He took a stinging handful of my hair, sending my hairpins to scatter over the dirt floor, and pulled my head back. His teeth scraped my cheek. I struggled not to whimper and yet the insistent throbbing between my legs only intensified.

"Don’t be coy," he hissed.

"What do you require of me?" I breathed.

He let go of my hair and turned me around again, so I faced him. My pride wouldn't let me look away. "You, here, tomorrow at the same time. Wear nothing under your skirts."

I closed my eyes. "I will be here."

I didn't see him lean into kiss me, so his lips on mine made me stiffen. It only encouraged him. He sucked on my upper lip and then my lower lip. He ran the tip of his tongue along the crease. His lips were so much softer than those of my husband. I ached with want, but still didn't open my mouth for him. He chuckled.

"What's your forename?" he asked.

"Anne."

He kissed my lips again softly and smirked, backing away. "Until tomorrow, Anne."

He let himself out of the shed and left me there, shaking, alone.

#

It was the doctor who suggested that I volunteer to work with the wounded in our barn. He thought it would be best for me to spend as little time around the soldiers in the house as possible. And, after noticing the way the officer's eyes followed me, I tended to agree.

Besides, it would take my mind off of my obligation to Fin that evening. An obligation that left me dreading the sunset. The one glow of optimism came from my mother's response to the poultice. It wasn't miraculous but it gave me reason to hope.

Most of the soldiers in the hospital were recovering so my job as a nurse was simple. I had only to change bandages and carry water. Northern or southern, the men were so grateful to me that it was difficult to think of them as the enemy.

In the evening, I cooked again for the officers while the doctor saw to Mama. Fin was at the stairs. His dark eyes followed me and an ache, a throb, really, pulsed between my legs. I tried to ignore it but to deny it would have been a lie.

I sat with my mother and read aloud from the Bible until the sky was dark. Then, I slipped off my stockings, pantalets, and one of my petticoats. I put them under the sheets in the laundry basket. It was so much cooler but I felt indecent.

I took the low lantern over the roof, slipped to the north field, and picked my way to the shed, my heart pounding the whole time. I opened the door; Fin was already there.

"Get in here," he said.

I closed the door behind me and put my back against it. He took a step towards me. In his hands he held a yellow squash.

"You mustn't take anything," I said. "If the other soldiers see--"

"I'm not going to take anything." He laid the squash on a shelf and put out his hand. "Give me your lantern."

I did as he said. He put the lantern on a shelf and turned up the flame. Then he turned back to me.

"Lift your skirt."

I pinched my lips together but did as he bade me. With my husband, we had always been in the dark, under the covers. The sensation of eyes on my nudity brought heat to my cheeks. I held the skirts at my waist.

He didn't hide his gaze. When he spoke, his eyes were still fixed between my legs. "Whore camps follow the soldier camps all over. It isn't hard to see a woman bare." He stepped closer and put a hand on my hip, palm against skin. "But to see a lady...." His voice mocked me.

Both hands found my flanks and felt me over, like I was livestock for sale. He dug his fingers into my flesh and roughly separated my buttocks. I couldn't silence my gasp but I did lift my chin. I showed him my defiant expression. It only made his smile widen.

His hands went from back to front; unexpectedly gentle fingers stroked the hair between my legs. I clenched my teeth so I wouldn't make a sound and clenched my thighs to prevent his touch. But I couldn't control my breathing and I couldn't stop his determined finger from pressing into my flesh.

"Oh, mercy me," he said, his voice a taunting exaggeration of my southern. "You're as slick as a strumpet."

"Don't," I whispered. But my thighs relaxed and he laughed at me.

His fingers found a place where my husband's had rarely played. Where mine never strayed. He circled the spot with solid pressure over and over. Around and around until my hips wanted to move with him. Until I had to concentrate not to respond.

He knew. Somehow, he knew because he said, "Prideful girl." He took his hand away; it was a relief and a disappointment. "I'll make you a bargain."

"No," I said, before he even offered it, dropping my skirt. "I don't make deals with mudsills."

His expression darkened. "Very well. An ultimatum, then. I'll hear your pleasure this night, from your own lips."

"You won't."

"I will if you'd like this place to stay hidden. And...." he smirked, as if I was a struggling rabbit caught by two snares, "...if you'd like for me to take pains to not put a child in you."

I looked at him, my eyes frozen wide. I hadn't considered pregnancy. "No," I breathed.

"Yes, indeed." He brought his hand to my lips and rubbed my wetness across them. Then he followed his finger with his tongue. His lips brushed mine when he said, "Get on your hands and knees."

My throbbing was insistent. It was shame compounded. Why did this hateful man make me feel things that my loving husband couldn't? When I didn't move quickly enough, his heavy grip on my shoulder made my knees bend. I pressed my palms flat on the dirt floor and felt the grit between my fingers. My corset held my back straight.

He lifted my skirt to my waist and moved my knees apart with his boot before he knelt beside me. I closed my eyes.

Something solid pressed against my opening. At first, I thought it was his organ but it was too cool and too unyielding. It worked into me, getting slick, a bulbous shape opening me wider and wider and finally lodging in me in a satisfying way. Like a cool compress to my hot throb. My body trembled.

He worked the bulge inside me, twisting it so that texture massaged me from inside. I had never felt such a thing. My finger nails dug into the dirt. My ribs strained against my corset. My elbows buckled and my cheek pressed to the earth; it was rich and dank in my nose.

Fin's other hand reached around to my front and found the spot he had teased before. I clenched on the object inside me. I was worked inside and out. Without intending to, I opened my legs wider. Without intending to, I moaned.

"From your own lips, like I said," he told me. I could hear his smile.

His fingers and the object stole my senses and control. My hips moved with the invasion. His fingers chased me. Then, the world stilled around me. Pulsing pleasure started deep and shivered out. I cried out, gasping for breath. The corset prevented me from drawing deep; stars swam before my eyes.

Shadows, then blackness, covered my vision. It made the pulsing bliss intensify. It was too much for me to bear. The last thing I remembered before I lost consciousness was the withdrawal of the swollen object from my body and my shuddering aftershocks of pleasure.

#

I woke on the floor of the shed and I don't know how long I had been unconscious. The yellow squash lay in front of my face, smelling like me, stuck with dirt. The lantern still sat on the shelf. It was only when I sat up that I noticed Fin standing in front of the door.

"Same time tomorrow," he told me.

#

The onion poultice eased Mama's breathing. The blue left her lips on the second day. I gave her a sponge bath and put her in a fresh nightshirt. When she was resting easily mid-morning, I went to the barn to help care for the wounded soldiers with the doctor.

Men needing care arrived in the night. I saw my first fresh head wounds and the raw newness of a severed limb. I paled but didn't faint; the thought of fainting actually brought the blood back to my head and into my cheeks. In the afternoon, I scrubbed bloody bandages back to a beige tinge and hung them to dry.

I longed for a break to the heat but there was none.

In the mid-afternoon, when I was I was penning a letter to a soldiers sweetheart, I saw Fin standing in the barn door, watching me. The wounded man had a head wrap over his eyes, so he didn't see my distraction.

"I'm sorry," I said to the wounded soldier. "I've written, 'The heat is unrelenting but the battles go on.'."

"And every night I think of you, Martha," he continued. "Knowing you wait for me makes me long for home with my head and my heart and my soul."

I wrote, still feeling Fin watch me.

"For now, I'm resting...." He paused. "What state am I in, Ma'am?"

"Kentucky," I answered.

"For now, I'm resting easily in Kentucky and dreaming of you. Your devoted servant, Paul," the soldier finished.

I finished the letter and read it back to him. He nodded and I let him touch it. "Shall I post it for you?" I asked.

"If you don't mind, Ma'am."

I patted his hand. "I will see Captain Waters about it."

I tucked the letter into my waist bag and checked on the few soldiers who were awake. I brought them warm water from the barrel and wiped their faces with wet rags.

Fin finally sauntered over to me.

"If I were wounded, I'd make you bathe me," he said, standing too close to me.

The doctor looked up. I glanced at Fin without answering him and tried to step away. He hooked a hand in my elbow.

"Perhaps we could do that tonight," he said.

The doctor stood, still looking at me, and moved out of my peripheral vision.

"Let go of me," I whispered.

Fin leaned into me, his breath close to my ear. "We could be here for months. There's fighting all over Tennessee. Every night, you'll be my--"

"Corporal!"

Fin jumped and pulled away from me. Captain Waters strode over, the doctor slightly behind him.

"If you aren't sufficiently occupied, I can find new assignments for you," Captain Waters said sternly.

"Yes, Sir. I was between duties, checking on Mrs. Elliot to see if there was anything she needed."

"I don't need anything," I said softly.

"Well, there you have it," the Captain said. "She doesn't need anything. Move along."

Fin nodded and headed slowly for the barn door.

"I apologize," Captain Waters said.

"No apology needed. Thank you."

"I appreciate the way you've been looking after my men. There are never enough hands."

"We're all God's children," I answered. "We all deserve compassion, according to God's word and our conscience."

He nodded to me and smiled. He reminded me of my husband: honorable and gentlemanly. Suddenly, I didn't feel like I was worthy of a man like that any longer. It made a lump rise in my throat.

#

That evening, I considered not going to meet Fin. I could stay with my mother; he wouldn't even be able to look for me upstairs in the house. But there remained the issue of having food when the soldiers left. Now that my mother was starting to give me some hope, I had to be able to feed her. The army was eating everything left behind by my neighbors; there would be nothing left whenever they were gone.

I went to the shed as I had before, without my stockings, pantalets, and with only one petticoat. I saw light from under the door before I arrived. I let myself inside and closed the door behind me. My eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the lantern when his hands were on me. He turned me to face the door.

"You kept me waiting," he said.

He worked the buttons that went straight down my spine and dropped my dress. He untied the drawstring on my one petticoat and let it fall to the floor. Then, he turned me around and roughly unhooked my corset, dropping it, too.

"Breathe," he told me. "I won't have you fainting again."

I was just in my thin cotton chemise and it was sweated through. It clung to me and the color of my skin showed through.

He pressed me against the door with his body and kissed me like he intended to consume me. His mouth was open, his tongue pushed between my lips. I tried to turn my head but he held me by the jaw.

I closed my eyes, wishing that I could be stoic. My breasts hardened against his shirt. He rubbed himself against them. When I gasped, his lips attacked mine, forcing my mouth open, using his teeth.

"I'm to be sent on a scouting mission," he said, as his lips moved over my skin. "I may be gone a few days."

"I hope you're shot," I told him.

"Tell the truth and shame the devil, Miss Anne." He knelt in front of me, put his hands on my ribs, and bit at my breasts through the cotton shift. "You'll pray for me every night."

He pulled me by my hips to the dirt floor and roughly separated my legs. He felt me; I only barely concealed my moan.

"You're wet," he said. "But not wet enough for what I want to do."

He spat on his fingers and roughly pushed my chemise to my waist. He dipped his head between my legs and I instinctively closed my thighs. He forced them apart again. Then, he licked the length of my sex.

"You're nasty," I told him.

He responding with a flicking and fluttering tongue that left me gasping for breath. He slid and slithered. While he did, he put a finger inside me. I could tell when it became two and then three. He spread his fingers, opening me. He turned and twisted them. I clutched at the thin cotton shift and pulled it higher.

He added a fourth finger, his mouth still at work. He worked in and out of me, stretching me. Then, the movement paused.

He looked up. "This is going to hurt."

Four fingers weren't enough for him. He added a thumb. While his mouth worked, his hand did, too. It took seconds of overwhelming sensation before I understood his meaning. His saliva ran over his hand and he used it to slick himself into me, over fingers and over knuckles. The pressure hurt but, Lord, it felt like a hurt I wanted.

"You can take it," he said against me. "I want you to feel me while I'm gone."

It was a strong and pulsing pressure; eventually my body yielded. His hand buried in me to the wrist and he made a fist. I felt it, so full inside me. He hardly needed to move it; the twist of his wrist, in concert with his tongue, sent me galloping into pleasure. I bit my hand but still couldn't stop the strangled cry.

He moved his hand inside me, flexing and relaxing his fist. He turned his hand inside me, working me with his knuckles. His mouth took on a new intensity. My pleasure ebbed and flowed but never completely abated. The pain couldn't stop it. I felt my own juices trickle off of me and into the dirt.

I don't know how long he continued. I know I panted. I know I had loosened enough that he could move more inside me. I know I flopped like a fish. Finally, he slowed his tongue and stopped. He looked up at me, clearly knowing he had wracked my body, and clearly pleased that he had done so.

He withdrew his hand which elicited another cry from me. He was shiny with me, both his face from nose to chin and his hand from wrist to tip. He wiped his hand on my chemise.

"Kiss me good-bye," he said. He leaned over me; I waited for the assault of tongue and teeth. That wasn't what happened. His kiss was gentle and clinging. It was almost more obscene because it was.

Then, he left me there on the floor and let himself out of the shed. I think if my body had blocked the door, he would have swept me aside with it. I curled onto my side and stayed there a while by myself before I went back to the house.

#

Fin's attention did as he intended it to: I could feel him every time I moved. His knuckles bruised me from the inside in a way that he hadn't done before. His mouth's eager attentions left me sore outside as well. If my arousal sparked, I felt it all the more.

I spent the day in the barn, seeing to the soldiers. In the evening, I cooked for the officers and at night I sat with my mother. She slept easier now, even if I could still hear her breathing rattling in her chest. I went to bed unmolested for the first time since the soldiers arrived.

It was difficult to sleep. Each of the other nights, my tired body wouldn't let me explore the depths of my sin. This night, my body was anxious and my want unanswered. I told myself that I hadn't a choice but to submit to Fin, but my need revealed my lie.

I knew when he came back, nothing would change. Nothing, except I wouldn't be able to hide the truth from myself any longer.

#

It was two days before Fin returned. He arrived, slung over the haunches of a horse, raced back to the hospital-barn by his fellow soldier, who was white as a sheet. I remembered how I told Fin I hoped he'd be shot; it seemed that God heard my prayer this time.

The blood bloomed on his butternut shirt and ran over his neck from where he hung upside down on the horse. I hadn't worked in the hospital a full week, but even I knew his injuries were grave. Nonetheless, the doctor used his heavy shears to cut through Fin's shirt and get at the wound.

I stood back, not wanting to crowd his work unless he asked for me. The doctor's steady hands hesitated. I heard the rattle of Fin's breath and his last sigh. Blood stained his lips.

Then, the doctor said, "Captain. I think that this is something you should witness."

Captain Waters stepped close and I stepped up beside him. We both saw the same thing at the same time.

"I'll be God-dammed," Captain Waters said. Then he looked at me. "Begging your pardon, Ma'am."

Fin's shirt laid open revealed a wound in his chest, unremarkable in every way except that something so small could be so damaging. On either side of the wound were two small, but completely unmistakable, breasts. Fin may be a Fiona; she would never be a Finnegan.

My mind whirled with every act he'd--she'd--done to me. Every hard touch.

"No apologies needed, Captain," I said. "Those would be my sentiments, exactly."