Chapter Fourteen

Emerging from his bedroll to the cold yellow air of the tent, Laurence coughed and rubbed his temples. Winter sickness had swept through the camp since November, leaving no one untouched except Addison, who remained singularly robust while the rest of the soldiers became as thin and rheumy as old men. Laurence counted himself lucky to be suffering from a mild cough. Measles had struck the Third Vermont, and today he was going to visit a recently recovered soldier, Morey Aldridge, an Allenton boy, the son of a shipbuilder, and the man his sister Lucia was engaged to marry.

Morey Aldridge. Laurence imagined him a male version of Lucia, bright and empty-headed, a dandy who polished his boots daily. Morey Aldridge would find Laurence too serious, no doubt, and write to his sister about how he intended to cheer her brother up. It would become a weekly ordeal, Sunday afternoons with Morey, so that they could get to know each other better, and become like real brothers.

Laurence glanced down at his mother’s letter. Please go meet Mr. Aldridge when you have the time, she wrote. He is so looking forward to making your acquaintance. The letter was a month old, and Laurence had found one reason or another to put off the visit until today. He wondered why he dreaded meeting someone from his own society. Beside him, Addison and Gilbert snored loudly, and Loomis was curled into an awkward ball, only his beard poking from the blanket. These were his brothers, men who rarely read books or parted their hair in the latest fashion, but who understood him better than anyone.

Over the winter, their routine together had changed. Drills were shorter; nights in the tent stretched to a huddled eternity. They were always cold, always hungry, and they became domestic, bickering over the placement of their few possessions, developing an ever greater fixation with the intricacies of mealtime. Nights when rations were poor, they talked about catching another pig and building a smokehouse to make bacon and ham. This fantasy lasted through entire sodden meals of hardtack stew. Loomis and Gilbert could haggle for hours about the best wood for smoking or the correct temperature for the fire, then resume the conversation the next night as if nothing had been decided.

Laurence had a difficult time explaining such humble camaraderie to his family, so he stopped writing as many letters home. Even Bel’s little sketches of frost, flowers, and other familiar household items seemed to belong to another time. But he collected them dutifully in the flaps of his torn-up book and carried them everywhere.

The bleating notes of reveille filled the air, and Addison bolted awake, his blue eyes landing on Laurence.

“Sunday, ain’t it?” he asked.

Laurence nodded.

“Praise the Lord for this half day of drill,” said Addison. He threw off his covers and rose.

“I’m going to see my future brother-in-law today,” Laurence said. “Want to come?” Addison’s easy way with people would make it more bearable.

“Can’t,” Addison said, and lifted the flap of the tent, revealing a dull gray day. “Davey promised he’d let me take Furlough for a ride.”

When they woke, his other tent mates also declined the offer, so after drill, Laurence set out alone for the Third Vermont’s quarters. A muddy path led him through pitted pastures and bare, silvery woods, ending at a small sea of Sibley tents, sunk into the ground like their own. He couldn’t help thinking that the Third Vermont’s camp looked shabbier than his regiment’s, but the men were just as lively, and when he asked how to find Morey Aldridge, a young recruit immediately offered complicated and colorful directions, which sent him to the latrines first, then to the officers’ quarters, and finally to the tent Morey Aldridge shared with two other soldiers.

The trio sat outside it around a low fire, playing a silent game of cards. Uncertain which was Aldridge, Laurence called out the name and waited. At first, there was no response; then the largest among them raised his head. His mountainous shoulders took a long time to twist in Laurence’s direction.

“Looks like you got a visitor, Aldridge,” said one of his companions.

Morey Aldridge’s gray eyes widened at the sight of Laurence, but he nodded slowly. “You must be Lucia’s brother,” he said. “I can see the resemblance.”

His face was full of crags and shadows, his mouth a straight, severe line of red, as if someone had drawn it with a ruler. Measle scars dotted his neck and chin. Laurence hovered for a moment, staring, before he realized his rudeness. He introduced himself and was about to sit down among them, when Aldridge held up his hand.

“Let’s take a walk together,” he suggested. “I’ve been sitting at this fire too long.”

Nodding again at men whose names he would never remember, Laurence allowed Aldridge to lead him silently out of the camp and into the woods beyond. As soon as they had entered the trees, the other soldier slowed and turned.

“You must think I’m impolite,” he said, the cold air making ghosts of his words. “But I wanted to speak with you alone, and I’m never alone in camp.”

“I’m glad to meet you finally,” Laurence said truthfully, relieved that Aldridge was nothing like the dandy he had expected.

“Likewise.” Aldridge inclined his head. “Although your sister told me so many stories about her dear Laurence, I felt like I already had.” He swiveled back around and strode deeper into the winter woods. Dead leaves crunched beneath their feet. “In fact, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

There was no accusation in this statement, but still it surprised Laurence. “What do you mean?”

“Your sister wants to marry a hero like her brother,” said Aldridge, veering from the path they had been following, his gait heavy and purposeful.

“I’m hardly a hero,” said Laurence. “And anyway, my father would probably approve if you refused to fight. He never wanted me to enlist.”

“He’s proud of you, too.”

“He must put up a good show, then,” Laurence said.

“Times have changed since you left,” said Aldridge. “With so many fellows gone off to war, it’s all anyone talks about anymore. And that gives your father a lot to say.”

“You understand him well.” Laurence laughed, but Aldridge did not join in, guiding them toward a bower of pines, the green needles luminous in the dull light.

“I was planning to join the navy eventually, but Lucia begged me to go to Virginia and take down General Lee with my bare hands,” he said, raising one massive fist as they pushed through the soft wall of needles. “Anyway, there’s something in here I wanted to show you.”

The smell of pitch filled Laurence’s nostrils and made him miss his aunt’s annual Twelfth Night party, when all of Greenwood was festooned in hemlock and spruce. He could imagine his father there, holding forth on the war, a respected authority because his son was at the front.

“Your father was a navy man, wasn’t he?” he said, emerging from the pines into a small clearing.

If Aldridge responded, Laurence didn’t hear, stopped in his tracks by the sight in front of him. Rising from the dead leaves was an immaculate waist-high ship constructed from whittled branches, complete with a slender mast, birch-bark sails, and an anchor of twigs trussed together with grass. All the wood had been carved past the bark, and it had a muted white hue, resembling old snow. If it were ever set on the sea, it would look like a ghost ship, but it seemed at home on the wavy russet floor of the Virginia woods. Laurence walked around the vessel slowly, taking in the portholes and the tiny helm, the name etched on the stern, Lucia.

“How on earth did you make this?”

“While I was sick, I worked on one piece at a time,” said Aldridge. “After I got well, I came out here and put it together.”

“You should take it into camp,” Laurence said. “This would be the bulliest thing they’ve ever seen.”

“I can’t. My captain would accuse me of idleness,” said Aldridge. “Besides, I don’t want word getting back to Lucia that I’d rather be a shipbuilder than a soldier.”

“You should be a shipbuilder.” Laurence watched Aldridge straighten a sail with his large hands.

“The sparrows like to play on it,” he said. “Maybe they dream of being gulls on the sea.”

“Are you just going to leave it here?” asked Laurence

Aldridge regarded him for a long moment, his dark brows sinking. “It kept me alive, putting her together. And now that she’s finished…” He shrugged, trailing off.

“But you’re well now,” Laurence protested. “You don’t need it anymore.”

“I love your sister.” Aldridge sounded ashamed. He went back to looking at the ship.

“She loves you,” Laurence said, although he couldn’t imagine his frivolous sister saying the words in seriousness.

“If you bend down here,” said Aldridge, “you can see belowdecks.” He motioned for Laurence to see, and then, circling the ship, he pointed out all its features with grave pride. Laurence followed, stooping, praising, watching his future brother-in-law out of the corner of his eye. Morey Aldridge reminded him of his uncle Daniel, a man who tired of people easily and preferred to work alone with inanimate things, making them come alive. Laurence liked Aldridge immensely, but he also had the feeling that they could never be friends. There was too much between them and too little time to understand it in their soldiering lives.

Aldridge seemed to sense this as well, and when they finished examining the ship, he and Laurence walked back toward his camp without speaking. The woods were brighter now, and Aldridge’s face glowed like white granite, his measle scars fading. When they reached the rim of the forest, he halted and held out his hand.

“I’ll see you again,” he said, and Laurence had the curious impression that Aldridge was looking right through him to something beyond.

“Of course.” He tried to sound casual. “You should visit me next, although I have nothing so astounding to show you.”

“Please don’t speak of my ship to anyone,” Aldridge said. “I’m going to destroy it before we move again.”

“I won’t,” Laurence assured him. “I’m not sure they’d believe me anyway.” Then he took his leave of Aldridge, almost running back to his own camp, eager to get home.

Soon after, both regiments were transported by ship to Fort Monroe, where, on a low peninsula, McClellan would assemble them to attack the enemy unawares. Laurence caught sight of Aldridge on another deck, staring out to sea, his thighs pressed against the rail. Gulls wheeled between them, crying, coasting on the warm spring wind. Laurence waved, but when Aldridge did not respond, he let his arm fall and watched the other man open his mouth to the salty air, taking great, needy gulps, as if he hoped it would drown him.