XVI

It was thinner than the one his sister found. More delicate. He supposed there could have been a trade. Perhaps there should have been. After all, he was the strong one, he should have the thicker of the two. Double the sticks, cleaner twine, to show strength where she could show… wisdom? What sort of wisdom would encourage her to leave this place? To leave him? To leave her?

The single-breasted Confederate grey uniform fit loosely around his body. The man he’d taken it off of was a little rounder around the waist, quite a bit shorter, and Matthew had the element of surprise. He came up on the man from behind as he was investigating the fire, dragged him off into the woods and stripped him of his clothing, then buried him deep. The boots fit fine, but they crowded his foot with the hole in it. Afterward, he’d burned his father’s barn alongside the house, impatient to move things along. Two days later he sought out Lieutenant General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson’s company in Fredericksburg.

He lived among the men, going by his natural name, guarding the southern front. He had thought of changing it, but nobody would recognize him in the city. There was one taller, bigger war slave that seemed to address him differently, but Matthew could not have cared less.

His musket was properly cleaned, his uniform appropriately pressed, and his belly full when the alarm was sounded. April 30th. Seven days after… what was it?

Union Major General Joseph Hooker moved his army across the Rappahannock River. There were rumors of him trying to surround Fredericksburg, but Robert E. Lee took the movements of the advancing threat as a sign. On May 1st, as the first shots rang out, Matthew looked out across the Orange Turnpike. He felt lighter as he watched the Union army create a defensive barrier.

“Why don’t they push forward?” Jake Leyd stood to his right. A boy just barely older than him, though still soft.

“Doesn’t matter,” Matthew said, feeling the weight set back in. His back had begun to ache as the days went on. “Their rear is to the woods.”

“And what does that matter?”

“Where did you say you were from?” “Savannah.”

“How’d you end up in the Carolina division?”

“They needed people. I’m people.”

Matthew laughed, though it felt mechanical. He realized he was laughing because he thought he should, not because he wanted to. “Savannah is a long way from Virginia. We got some stuff in those woods out there. Things you don’t want to deal with.”

“Like what? Bears? Bobcats? We got those down in Georgia.”

“No, not like bears or bobcats. Darker.”

“I don’t know nothing scarier than a bobcat.”

“There are some rules to the woods, Jakie. Don’t go in alone, always light a fire in the dark, and if something calls to you it’s best to keep on moving.” Matthew leaned in to whisper. “And if you ever see a woman in black, you best just lay down and welcome death.”

Jake shuddered, but he smiled. “We got vampires in Savannah,” he said in his southern drawl. “Seen ‘em myself, I think.”

The rest of the day was spent standing as guards, watching the battle splinter ahead of them. Shots rang out and cries echoed across the fields. Matthew itched to join them, but stood his post, knowing the best was yet to come.

The next morning he was kicked awake. Jake handed him a rifle. “We’re going,” he said.

“Right now?” Matthew rubbed his eyes and watched light sprinkle across the horizon. The dawn was quiet, though the birds still sang across the hills. Or were those muskets?

“Right now.”

They set off before the sun had fully risen. Soldiers yawned and slumped as they moved. Men from North Carolina joined their ranks somewhere along the way, and Matthew could see the opposing army through the trees at times. Once, even close enough to watch as a young soldier raised his rifle, and a seasoned one pushed it back down. Just as the general had said, they thought it was a retreat.

They moved south, and veered west. Matthew watched as some hesitated to enter the woods. He gave Jake a push across his back and stepped across the threshold behind him, feeling at ease as the brush swept over him. Everywhere but his foot. His foot still ached. The branches blocked the sky overhead as the last of the trees began to leaf. Darkness ran across the forest floor, and between the pines Matthew caught glimpses of her shadow.

Damp leaves crunched under his limp as he marched. The rain came and went. Sometimes in a drizzle, sometimes in a downpour, but at all times there was a steady mist. His sweat mixed with it, and before long Matthew’s clothes were clinging to his body. His musket had become slick through the day and slipped from his hands twice.

By the evening they were facing east, toward the turnpike. There was electricity in the air as troops hurried past each other into position. Matthew’s boots were stuck in the mud, and they squelched every time he shifted his weight. The sun began to set behind them and their shadows grew longer, and he saw her dancing between the soldiers.

“Do you think this will work?” Jake asked.

“I don’t really care,” Matthew responded. He was glancing down the hill toward the enemy. He’d already picked out his first victim. A redhead, huddled behind a small barn while his brothers tore down a fence around it. He was plunging a shovel into the dirt, filling the holes with spikes.

When the moment came, he charged. His legs carried him, pounding against the mud as he flew down the hill. He watched the ginger turn to run, so he bent to one knee and took aim. Shots fired around him. A man to his left screamed and flew backwards, blood shooting from his shoulder. Matthew pulled the musket into a firing position, calmness taking over, and he pulled the trigger.

His target dropped. He bent over to the screaming man and took his weapon as a soldier hit him from behind. He lurched forward, regained himself, and stood straight. A black-haired boy was running down the hill away from him, dressed in grey Confederate clothing. A Union soldier stood by the barn downrange, and Matthew took aim. The black-haired boy dropped when he pulled the trigger.

The attack lasted minutes. Matthew rejoined his troop at the bottom of the hill, shouting alongside the army as the Yankees retreated deeper toward Fredericksburg. Her shadow lay between them.

“I hear we’re going to push them again,” Jake said, just a few moments later. Matthew was picking weapons from the fallen soldiers, slinging some over his back and carrying the rest between his arms. “Sooner rather than later.”

“They want this over with,” Matthew responded. He caught her shadow creeping around the barn. “And so do I.”

By the time the sun had fallen and the moon had risen, word came that Jackson rode forward to scout. Matthew sat on the front lines, waiting for his general’s return. A steady drizzle fell, while a game of checkers was played with rocks and sticks.

“You have to take the jump,” Jake said.

“Why? He’s crowned.”

“Even when a piece is crowned you have to jump.”

“But he has more authority. He can do as he pleases.”

“Well that’s how we’re playing it. Traditional rules.”

“Fine.” Matthew took a pebble from a square drawn in the mud and moved it forward.

“No, not that one. That’s not crowned yet.”

“Not all kings wear crowns.”

“They’re back!” A cry came from down the line. “The general is back!” Men flocked, condensing on a mound for a chance to watch General Jackson ride back into camp—Stonewall Brigade and North Carolina Boys combined. The general was surrounded by a group of chosen soldiers, galloping.

Her hand was on his shoulder. He didn’t need it there, not to know where she was, but it was comforting. He knew what came next, and nodded. Her hand disappeared and he spotted her in the trees, her dress flowing freely. The hair had been swept from her gaze, and out of his wrinkled eyes he saw her youthful face.

“It’s Union!” Matthew shouted, raising his musket. He took aim at the shadow of Lieutenant General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, and he fired.