Perhaps they were the neighbors of his childhood, perhaps they were more than that. At this moment they were only heads above the slatted wooden seats; they were bonnets and beards and children asleep. Carpet-bags, haversacks, cloth-wrapped bundles stood along the aisle. Bale picked his way carefully past them. A baby, fat pink lump wound up in an old plaid shawl, was saying earnestly H’la, h’la, h’la, and its mother fumbled with the front of her dress while the father held up a newspaper to shield her. People filled this coach—too many people. The war had unsettled the world; it bubbled the sediment and the froth together and kept them sloshing about. Forever, these motley Americans were riding up and down their land on the cars.

There was a vacant space beside a black slouch hat with a white trefoil and a number on the front. Bale sat down, squeezing his leather case between his feet. The man who wore the slouch hat stared pettishly ahead and did not acknowledge Dan’s nod. He was about twenty-three, beardless, a thick yellow mustache twisting down to cover his long lips. A white silk handkerchief had been stuffed around his neck to keep stray perspiration from soiling the collar of his uniform. Bent across his shoulders were corroded oblongs of gilt braid.

He moved his unbuckled scabbard aside, and flicked a tuft of ashes from his cold cigar. Then, from the corners of pale blue eyes, he seemed suddenly to see Daniel for the first time.

The officer turned, his mouth curving slightly under its tawny brush. “I’m a sucker,” he said, “if you’re not Dan Bale.”

Bale extended his hand. “Hello, Ty.”

“Well,” said the officer. His voice was shrill, taut, weary. He stared at Dan. “Thought you had left Pennsylvania for good.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Are you just coming back, now?”

“Just tonight. You haven’t been home recently, have you?” he added, with an unhappy eagerness. “My grandfather’s near death. That’s why I came back from the west.”

The soldier shook his head. “First time I’ve been home in seven months, and I’m only here now because I’m sick. No sense in my coming. My wife managed it; she had Colonel Baxter send me.”

“You’re married, then?”

“I married a girl from Philadelphia,” said Ty briefly.

They were silent for a moment, their heads bobbing on their shoulders as the car lurched and quivered.

“I see you’re an officer, Ty.”

“Captain. The Seventy-second. Philadelphia brigade.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bale muttered. He wondered what else he could have said.

Tyler Fanning shrugged. “It’s damn hard work, if you ask me. Hardest work I ever did in my life … I got hit with a piece of shell at Antietam Creek. Sick as a dog for weeks. Couldn’t keep anything on my stomach.”

“Are you all right now?”