by Misty Moncur
“Don’t worry,” he said.
“But it is a problem that needs to be worried over,” I protested.
“And I will worry over it. You just be your normal, caring, considerate self with Jarom.”
I nodded. He was generous to say I was considerate, given all I had put him through.
“Besides, I can’t say that I blame him. You’re so pretty.” He sounded exactly as Jarom had, and his gaze was equally as intense.
I was so often sweaty and grimy like the men. I didn’t often feel pretty. I turned flattered eyes back to the path and began to walk again. After a moment he caught up.
“I’m amazed at how well you have healed,” I told him as we passed through an area of low-hanging ponderosa bows. I could smell the needles, spicy in the warm woods, and I knew I would never forget this moment walking through them with Zeke. “You don’t even have a limp of any degree.”
“I’m amazed as well. The healers said they thought to take the leg, but you wouldn’t let them. ‘That vehement little girl,’ they said.” He chuckled. “I think you scared them.”
I smiled, remembering.
“Lamech said you stayed by my side until Seth ordered you to bathe.”
“That’s true,” I admitted with a fond laugh. “And Lamech told me you treat him well, better than the others, he thought, though he was a little embarrassed to admit it.”
“You asked me to.”
I hadn’t. I had asked him to be sure he wasn’t inadvertently harsh on Gideon’s younger brother.
“That’s probably why he took such dedicated care of you and your leg. He bore the brunt of your care after I left.”
His brows lifted. He hadn’t known that.
“I heard that I also owe much to the ministering of your unit.”
He stepped into the brush at the side of the path to pick me a pink flower. I brought it to my nose when he passed it to me. “Yes,” I said. “Gid gave you a beautiful blessing on the battlefield while I wept on your chest.”
Silence fell between us, but it was replaced by birdsong from the trees, crickets chirping from the underbrush, and the buzz of bees around the blooms.
“I think that is when he knew,” I said softly into the sounds of the wild garden.
“Knew what?”
I was nineteen years old. I had been through many battles, through a war. I had been wounded a number of times. I had known soldiers—healed many of them, loved many of them. Fallen in love with two of them. I had learned to value love and faith and loyalty as I valued safety and peace.
All this, and I still did not know how to tell Zeke I loved him.
“That was when he knew my love was given elsewhere,” I said. “It was strange. I saw myself through his eyes, watched myself sprawled across your chest sobbing. You were so pale. You wouldn’t wake up. I was…” I paused, searching for the word. “Inconsolable. I can imagine how he must have felt watching that. But even then I knew it could not compare to the anguish I felt when I thought you would die.”
“He knew it too?”
I nodded.
“Have you…talked to him of this?”
“We have made our peace. He is happy for us.”
“Though he nurses a broken heart?”
“Don’t sound so smug,” I said even though he didn’t. “I break a lot of hearts.”
“And is your heart broken, Keturah?” His voice had a huskiness that came from deep within his chest.
“Yes,” I told him truthfully, my eyes clear and steadily trained on his. “Help me mend it?”
He squeezed my hand tighter and walked me back to my unit’s camp.
Chapter 11
“Lib,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”
He looked up from the scroll he was reading. His eyes took a moment to focus on me. “What is it?”
I bit my lip. “I need Seth to be here too. Can you take me to find him?”
He rolled up his scroll and set it aside. “Sure.”
Seth was busy talking to two of his men near his tent, so Lib and I waited at the cook fire until he was done. While we waited, Onah walked past and I waved to him.
“Is he from your village?” Lib sat next to me, and my shoulder brushed his arm.
“No. He came to our village once seeking the midwife.”
He looked down at me with a question in his eyes.
“My mother.”
“Ah. I didn’t know Leah was a midwife.”
“She hasn’t been doing a lot of midwifing with the army.”
But she had been doing some. Her skills and knowledge had been put to good use since we had left Melek, and she always seemed to be in the right place to help those who needed it. The people in the cities we conquered and camped in called upon her services, as did many of the army wives.
Lib gave me a grin, and then we fell silent. It was the first uncomfortable silence we had shared in a long time. We talked about many things, but we had never had occasion to talk about midwifing or childbirth. I was glad when Seth told his soldiers goodbye and came toward us.
Lib stood quickly. “Keturah needs to talk to you.”
I stood too and pushed Lib playfully aside. I could speak for myself.
“I need to talk to you,” I told Seth with a sideways smirk at Lib.
Seth looked at the sky and then looked at us. He glanced toward the other boys in camp and asked, “Do you want to walk?”
“Sure,” I replied and looked to Lib, who shrugged his agreement. It was only right to allow him to speak for himself too.
They fell in on either side of me as we walked out of the camps. When we neared the woods, I took a silent breath and addressed Seth.
“Captain—”
“Whoa, Ket,” Seth cut me off. “Is it to be like that with me, too?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Seth and Lib exchanged a glance.
“Oh, you mean because of Gid.”
“We’ve all noticed you’ve been addressing him, uh, more formally.”
I pursed my lips together. “Well,” I said. I didn’t want to discuss Gideon with these two, or why I had chosen to address him as Captain from now on. “Today my business with you is formal.” I took another breath. “I want to formally request a discharge from the army.”
They both stopped walking. I took a few more steps and turned to face them. I could see I had surprised them.
“You want to go home?” asked Seth.
I nodded. “I do.”
“Why?” they asked in unison.
I smiled at them and shrugged a little. “Look at me,” I said. “I’m not that little girl anymore.”
They exchanged another look, sheepish smiles. They both shifted their weight. Lib put his hands on his hips. Seth rubbed the side of his nose and took a step back, smiling into the dirt at his feet.
“The Lord has other work for me to do.” I bit my lip on a nervous smile of my own. “Someone else for me to fight with.”
“Are you taking volunteers for that position?” Seth asked.
I laughed and shook my head.
Turning, I started again along the path that wound through the garden, and again Lib and Seth each fell in beside me. I closed my eyes. I would miss them at my side when this was over.
Seth cleared his throat. “You know you can go home any time you want. I’ll speak to Isaiah.” Isaiah was the chief captain over our thousand. He was directly under Helaman. “We’ll get it arranged. When do you want to leave?”
“Never,” I said on a sigh. “And before the harvest moon.”
The harvest moon was about three weeks away. My own unit was assigned to escort me home. I didn’t think I needed their protection, but since Mother and Kalem were returning home with me, I welcomed the extra protection for them.
One day about a week later when I was getting off of a guard duty in the towers with Noah, Zeke was waiting to walk me to my camp.
I waved to Noah as he discreetly veered
away to take another path back to camp.
“I’m coming with your unit to Melek,” Zeke said, glancing at me from the corner of his eye as he walked next to me.
My first impulse was to object, because I would be safe enough with my unit. My second impulse was to protest, because I thought it might be hard for his family to see him and then let him go again. And my final impulse was to utterly refuse, because I didn’t want him there when I said my final goodbye to Gideon.
Instead of protesting, I said, “I would like that, if you can get permission.” I let my eyes sparkle up at him because a part of me did want him to come. Melek was not home without him. A part of me wanted him to protect me, but it was a part of me that had existed in the past, and I didn’t know if just being home in the familiar forest would be enough to bring it all back.
“Micah’s coming too,” he said, clearly surprised when I did not refuse his company. I was glad I hadn’t. “He wants to make the betrothal official.”
I lost my breath. Was he talking about us? It was what I wanted, essentially the reason I was going home, to prepare, but nobody—not Zeke, not Micah, not Mother—had discussed it with me. For a moment I felt betrayed and helpless.
Zeke went on. “He’ll come back for a year to finish in the militia while Cana prepares to start their home.”
Their home.
“Whose home?” I slowed, staring unfocused at the ground as I tried to figure out what he meant.
“Micah didn’t tell you yet.” His question fell flat when he realized Micah had not told me anything.
“Tell me what? No. What’s going on? Whose betrothal is becoming official?”
He didn’t answer.
“Zeke?”
“Micah and Cana,” he admitted. “I thought someone would have told you by now.”
By now? How long had it been? Micah and Cana? But it was Kenai who loved Cana. And Cana loved him. At least, that was what I had always thought.
But there was an apology in Zeke’s voice. Was it because he knew this was wrong? Or simply because he felt guilty that no one had told me about our families’ plans?
It made my heart ache to think of Cana loving Kenai and betrothing herself to Micah just because he had offered.
“When did this happen?” I asked, but I didn’t wait for an answer. “And Zeke, why? What about Kenai? Why did Cana agree to this? How can she do it?”
“Ket—”
“What was Micah thinking?” I burst out. I wanted to let Zeke talk, let him answer my questions, but question after question tumbled from my mouth. When had Micah gone home? Who allowed this? Did our parents know? Did Kenai know? Where would they live? Where would Kenai live? Because he certainly couldn’t live near them.
When I finally ran out of questions, Zeke sighed and said, “Kenai is fine with the arrangement.”
I shot him a dubious look I knew I had picked up from Melia, who had been disappointed so many times and lost so much.
Was I disappointed? Cana would be my sister. That was what I had always wanted. And Kenai was fine with it. Maybe I had misjudged their feelings.
No, I wasn’t disappointed.
I was inexplicably heartbroken.
I turned my face suddenly away from Zeke and, to my dismay, I began to cry. I tried to cry silently, but I knew I hadn’t succeeded by the tone in Zeke’s voice when he said, “Keturah?”
I just shook my head.
He took hold of my elbow and led me to a large stone a short distance off the path.
“Sit down,” he said firmly.
I did, dodging the nettles that grew around the stone, and I kept my eyes on the ground while I waited for him to pick a fight with me.
He knelt in front of me. “Does it bother you that much?”
Couldn’t he see that it did? I nodded, though I didn’t think it was necessary.
“Why? What is it that really bothers you? Is it about Jarom? I told you I would deal with that.” He paused. “Is it about Gid?”
My eyes shot to his. They were brimming over with concern. His words were so gentle, but they cut into me like an axe.
“I just, I thought Cana loved Kenai. That’s all. It’s a surprise. A shock.” I stood and scrubbed my tears quickly away. They were embarrassing. No one else in the army cried.
Zeke did not get up. Before I could step away, he took hold of my fingers and gently pulled me back down. “Sit,” he said and when I did, letting my knees bend slowly until I met the stone, he searched my eyes.
“I’m trying to understand what about the betrothal upsets you so.” His voice was calm, and I was starting to realize he wasn’t going to say something mean or defensive.
“Then ask yourself why no one told me about it for all this time, why you yourself hesitated to tell me just now.”
“I think they didn’t tell you because it is not official yet. How often do you really see Micah anyway? How many opportunities have there been?”
I bit my lip.
“I did not tell you because I thought you knew. And I hesitated just now because I could see it hurt you.” He took a breath. “And I can see that the pain goes deeper. It is caused by more than Micah’s neglect to inform you. I don’t know why. I’m not even sure you do. But you can talk to me, Ket, even if you think it will hurt me.”
Still unsure what he meant, but recognizing his genuine concern, I leaned into him and rested my head on his shoulder.
In the end, Zeke did get permission to go to Melek. So did Micah. They both had capable men to take their commands while they were gone.
I said many of my goodbyes over the few days leading up to our departure.
“Melia, promise me you will come to Melek if you don’t find your father in Nephihah,” I said.
That was where she intended to look after Zeram passed on, which Mother said would not be long now.
We squeezed each other’s hands, and she said, “I promise.”
Then I sought out Onah, and we played a game of ball while we talked.
“I’m glad you were here,” he admitted when I said goodbye and started to leave. “You know, when I got here. It was nice to know someone.”
We hadn’t actually known each other. We had only met briefly the one time. But there was something about Onah I liked, and I had been glad to see him, too, standing here in the cause of righteousness.
“I’m glad I was here, too,” I said. “Be safe.”
I also made a special effort to see both Eli and Seth before I left.
Eli was Darius and Jarom’s chief captain, and I had learned he was Seth’s best friend, though neither one of them had ever said so. Over the years, Eli had been a kind of quiet presence in my life. He had taught me many skills, including the correct way to slip a blade through an enemy’s ribs to inflict immediate death, a skill which had saved many Nephite lives and minimized suffering.
Eli was excruciatingly handsome. He was also excruciatingly shy, and his shyness was compounded when he was around women. It had taken me a long time to realize he was shy, since every time I got near him he walked in the other direction. At first, I had thought he was disdainful and proud, but after getting to know him, I found him to be one of the most caring and humble men I knew. And having lived among Helaman’s stripling warriors, as they had come to be called, I had met many humble men.
I found him alone spearing fish down at the stream, up to his knees in water. Other men fished, but not close by. I approached and sat quietly, watching Eli until he had a half dozen fish tossed into the grass on the bank. I was sure he sensed me there, but he never turned to look at me.
“You should hold your spear closer to the water while you wait for the fish,” I said.
He tossed the last fish onto the bank pointedly and finally turned to look at me. “Did you come here to tell me how to fish?”
“I came here to tell you goodbye.”
He gave a slight nod, then stepped out of the water. “I heard you were leaving.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah. I guess it’s getting around.”
I watched him wipe his spear down with a cloth from his satchel. I knew I was making him uncomfortable. He was probably wishing I would leave.
“What is Eli short for?”
While he decided whether or not to tell me, I got up, moved to the stream, and began gutting and cleaning his fish.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said after watching me for a moment.
“It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”
He made a questioning sound, and I was sure his expression would have matched it if I had turned to see it.
“You taught me a lot of combat skills,” I reminded him. “You watched out for my younger brother. You didn’t insist on discovering me that day at the training ground.”
I did look up at him then and was rewarded with the first full blown grin I had ever seen him break into.
“When I saw you fight Gid, it only took a moment to figure it had been you in the trees that day. You have a quick-thinking and protective brother.”
I grinned too. “Do you still think I look like a boy?”
His eyes locked on mine, but after a moment he looked away, embarrassed. “No.”
Our conversation fell off, but the silence was not awkward. He went to one knee next to me and finished the last two fish.
Then it was time to go, and I hadn’t told him anything I had wanted to. But Eli wasn’t the kind of man to whom you could come right out and say I admire you. You have meant something to me.
I knelt back on my heels, preparing to stand and leave.
“Elijah,” he said with a sideways glance.
I smiled a little and felt the tears prick at my eyes. “I wish you the best in everything, Elijah,” I said.
Seth was next.
I waited for him outside the training ground when training was done for the day.
“Make sure he walks you back,” said Lib as he walked away with the others.
I rolled my eyes. It was hard to believe sometimes that he was still so concerned about my safety, even inside the city walls. His vigilance was both endearing and annoying.
