I wanted to yell at the unfair world, then sneak away with him to a faraway island, somewhere distant, deserted—except for us. I rearranged my face to hide my disappointment.
“I love you, Em.” Wash slipped his hands into mine, then slid out of the swing, dropping to his knees in front of me. He gazed at me with wide and oh-so-blue eyes. “Perhaps this seems a bit hasty, but I know how I feel.” He lifted my hand to brush the stubble of his cheek. “I want to be with you, only you, and time is not on our side.”
“Wash? What—?”
“This is my clumsy attempt at asking an important question.”
Heat ran up my chest to my face. My thrill at seeing him was being dampened by the armor trying to protect my heart. Yes, I wanted to see him, spend as much time together as possible. But there was still an enormous black obstacle before we could move on. I wanted to delay professions of love, delay thinking of a life together, because the war was all too likely to rip my soul to shreds. Mother had rather unkindly reminded me that as general officer, GK would be a target and his aides would give their own lives to protect him. The horror of losing my brother or Wash haunted my days and made sleepless my nights.
“We have plenty of time, Wash. I shall see no one else in your absence. You can rest assured of that.” I fought to control the tremor in my voice and patted the seat next to me. “Now come.”
He shook his head with a laugh. “Emily, I am not down on my knee to ask you to be my inamorata. I am asking you to marry me.”
“Oh,” I squeaked. “Oh my.” He had swiftly moved past professions of love without waiting for my response, driven past the uncertainty of surviving a war, and arrived, smiling and disconcertingly handsome, right where I longed but feared to be. I took a bit too long to gather my thoughts.
“That’s not the answer I was hoping for.” His grip on my hand loosened, his eyes clouded.
“Give me a moment, Wash. You’ve obviously thought through this, but it’s all fresh and new to me.”
“Forgive my presumption,” he said stiffly. “I thought you felt as I did.”
I had known this man for a mere six months. We had spent only a few days of that time together, yet I was already hopelessly in love. Still, I had imagined his proposal on some distant romantic evening after a proper and exciting courtship. This was too soon.
I brushed an errant rose petal from the folds of my dress. Tell him no, we should wait, at least until war’s end when we can spend more time with each other. We shouldn’t act in haste but proceed with minds uncluttered by war and separation. My thoughts ran to the wounded soldiers, the growing cemeteries that dotted every town. The heartbreak would be unbearable if I were to lose Wash—
“Yes,” I said, ignoring my inner voice. I simply couldn’t refuse him, look into those eyes, and then send him back to the fight. Especially when, deep inside, I knew he was right—I could no longer imagine my life without him. Whatever my world of possibilities was to contain, it must include him. “Yes, I will marry you.”
He took my hand, and we stumbled across the grass and flower beds, my worries tucked away.
* * *
The next morning, I slipped on the engagement ring Wash had given me, delicate white gold with blue and crystal-clear stones arranged like a flower. Although it brought me joy, it also evoked a deep sadness for a loss I had suffered years before.
I tucked those thoughts away and bounced down the stairs, humming “Love’s Dream.” Perhaps that was a giveaway. It took Mother about thirty seconds to notice my ring. She caught my hand as I headed to the dining room for breakfast, put on the spectacles that hung from a chain around her neck, and inspected the ring. “Something to tell me, Emily?”
“He proposed.” I grinned, and she embraced me.
Mother took another peek at the ring. The gems cast stars on her face as she tilted my hand in the sunlight. “Good heavens, I believe those are diamonds. Your fiancé spared no expense. All of Cold Spring will be agog.” She wrapped her hand around my wrist. “Come, let’s talk.”
Over breakfast, I reviewed with Mother what I knew of the Roeblings. “Washington’s father is John Roebling. He was born in Germany but immigrated here for the opportunities. He—”
“So you’ve told me. Besides, I read. I probably know more about him than do you.”
I looked at her through my eyelashes. I never read enough or the right things, in her judgment. “Wash plans to join his father in the family business after the war. He’s built bridges for the army.” Also blew them up, but I didn’t think that improved his case.
* * *
Several months later, I harbored doubts about marrying a man I had known for such a short time. When I wrote to him with my concerns, he answered back:
You dread our growing cold after marriage; a short separation from my darling is the cure for that, but unfortunately the remedy is as severe as the disease. However, a little trouble in getting something always adds to the zest of it.
Our last visit before we were to be married was both glorious and heartrending. We reveled in each other’s company while the clock ticked our precious hours away. For two days, we barely left each other’s side, as if to prevent anything from wedging between us.
On the dreaded day of his departure, we lingered on the platform as the engine on the long, black snake of a train hissed its impatience. He hugged me tightly, and I closed my eyes to capture the security of being wrapped in his arms, the tickle of his mustache when we kissed, the piney scent of shaving soap on his neck. I wanted to preserve the moment like a rose pressed in a book.
A soldier appeared at his side. “Sir, it’s time.”
Wash whispered in my ear, “This is a mere blink of an eye in our life together. Stay strong, my love.”
I stared at the toes of his boots so he wouldn’t see the tears burning down my cheeks. He kissed my forehead, and his hand slipped from mine. He walked to the train, tall and straight and purposeful, chatting with the soldier. It must have been easier for him to close one door in his mind and open another, as if stepping from one compartment of the train to another. Perhaps he must in order to survive the brutal world of war. A final turn back to wave and Wash climbed into the railcar. I blew a kiss but too late. The black snake had swallowed him whole.
* * *
That year was horrific for the Army of the Potomac. I prayed for an end to the war. My brother and Wash wrote about having been in Petersburg and Spotsylvania, but their current location was usually reported as “somewhere in Virginia.” The daily letters from Wash became weekly, then only a handful of letters through autumn. Although he tried to ease my nerves with lighthearted stories, the newspapers told a different one, that Virginia especially was a desperate place.