Free The Union Quilters by Jennifer Chiaverini

their burdens as best she could from so great a distance, she was suddenly inspired.
    When the Union Quilters gathered at Two Bears Farm three days later, they began by sharing letters they had received from the front since their last meeting. In the more than five months since the men had marched off to war, the women had learned that letters from the regiment were more reliable and informative than the out-of-town newspapers, which exaggerated triumphs, glossed over misfortunes, and omitted the small, precious details of their men’s daily lives that were admittedly not newsworthy but mattered greatly to the women who loved them. Since the letters described the experiences not only of the author but also of friends and neighbors in the company, the Union Quilters had come to think of them as community property, to be read aloud to all, except for paragraphs of the most personal nature. Mary took notes for her father, who printed the most relevant excerpts in the Water’s Ford Register on the same page as the list of regimental casualties, which thus far had been blessedly light, and included no one from Company L.
    Mary herself read first, a letter Abner had sent more than two weeks before. Next, Dorothea shared Thomas’s news, which had arrived at the Water’s Ford post office the same day as Abner’s, though it was dated a week later. “The rest is just for me,” she said, when a half page yet remained. She forced a smile and fought back tears as her friends teased her, mistakenly believing that in the passages Dorothea had not shared, Thomas’s prose had taken a turn for the romantic. What they did not know, what she could not bear to tell them, was that Thomas was grieving for the child she had lost on the day of his departure. She had finally summoned up the courage to tell him how she had returned home from the rally only to be overcome with cramps and to find that her courses had come upon her, heavy and painful. She had assured him she had fully recovered, and that she was under Mrs. Hennessey’s watchful care, and that they would surely be able to try again. But relief that she was well and hope for the future did not mitigate their sorrow.
    “I have a letter,” said Gerda as Dorothea carefully folded Thomas’s and returned it to the envelope. “From Jonathan.”
    Charlotte drew in a sharp breath and shot Dorothea a look of outraged incredulity, but Gerda did not seem to notice. An awkward silence descended upon the circle as Gerda unfolded the pages. “My dearest friend,” she began. Dorothea exchanged a quick, stricken glance with her mother, Lorena, and silently chided her friend for her insensitivity—and her brother for his indiscretion. “Thank you for your warm and witty letters, which provide me with pleasant company at the end of my exhausting days. If not for my fatigue and the noise of the camp, I could almost imagine that it is Saturday afternoon and I am seated at your kitchen table, enjoying a delicious meal and a clever argument—”
    “That’s very nice,” Mrs. Claverton interrupted coolly. Beside her, Charlotte flushed scarlet, fists balling up her skirts in her lap. “However, if you don’t have any relevant news to share, perhaps someone else—”
    “I’ll skip ahead,” said Gerda, turning over the page. Dorothea could not tell if she was oblivious to Charlotte’s consternation or enjoying it. “He continues, ‘We have had some new arrivals in camp of late, and among them I discovered some companies from western states that had not yet been examined or mustered into service. I commenced with the examination, and to my consternation I discovered that a full fifth of the men were unfit and would have to be dismissed.ʹʺ
    “And yet some perfectly fit men aren’t even allowed to get that far,” said Constance, frowning as she tightened her lap hoop around her most recently finished top. She sewed and knitted as diligently as anyone, though her creations went to