by Andy Kutler
The thought of Camp Chance flooded his memory with names and faces. Ethan. Gaylord. Whit. TJ. Even young Peter Kirch. Nearly two years had passed since he had seen them all.
He recalled the day he and his wife had reunited, the images still vivid in his memory. His journey from Mexico had taken nearly three weeks. He had learned that Emily had moved to Richmond with her father, while her ailing mother had taken residence in the relative safety of North Carolina. It was the end of June, more than two months since Emily had left New Mexico Territory. She had clearly not received word of Cal, as Nieves had promised she would, evidenced by her stunned reaction at seeing her husband standing on the porch, no aberration, holding a bouquet of daisies. She had stood at the door, paralyzed with emotion and questions, her hand covering her open mouth so she would not scream. Finally, she began to breathe again as tears streamed from her eyes.
They embraced, fiercely, and held each other for several minutes. She finally collapsed, right there in the doorway. Her father had come down from his study and was nearly as jolted as his daughter at the sight before him. Elias had stood there wordlessly for a full minute before giving Cal a warm smile and discreetly withdrawing.
Cal and Emily sat beside each other for an hour in that doorway, clutching one another, as Cal slowly explained his abduction and subsequent travels. Why had he not sent word that he was returning to Virginia, she had asked. Because a promise had been made, he had told her, and he assumed she was already aware of the letter Nieves had pledged to deliver. A letter he now understood she had never seen because of her hasty departure.
By that time, of course, Virginia was fully mobilized for war and Richmond was in a frenzy. Cal was prepared to serve Virginia but also determined to attend to his marriage. Emily deserved that. They discreetly took a room at a boarding house and stayed there for two days without emerging. Finally, after another prolonged, tearful embrace, Cal rode north. He had heard that J.E.B. Stuart, who had been an upperclassman at West Point when Cal was just a plebe, was forming a cavalry regiment in Winchester. Upon his arrival, Cal was welcomed by now-Major Stuart, who did not recall Cal but was plainly relieved to have another professional in his ranks. Stuart commissioned Cal as a captain and assigned him to command one of his squadrons. In subsequent months, Stuart enjoyed a series of promotions in Lee’s army, eventually reaching high command of the entire cavalry corps. Impressed with Cal’s command of his men and tactical skills, Stuart enthusiastically turned the 1st Virginia Cavalry over to him.
The servants began placing the main course in front of each diner. First Emily, then Major Saunders, followed by Emily’s father and Cal. As James placed a dish in front of Saunders, their shoulders brushed, earning James a glare from Saunders, who looked as if someone had just kicked his dog.
Cal retreated to his memories again. He could not have been prouder of the regiment he inherited. Volunteers be damned, the men came in as exceptional horsemen and substantially more receptive to military commands and discipline than Cal had thought possible. He recalled his conversations with Ethan before the war, and their shared skepticism of volunteers and militia. Boy, had they pegged these men wrong. They came to fight, and were willing to be led by officers they respected.
“They’re Yankees, I told the general,” said Saunders, who had regained his levity. “And they don’t know Virginia humidity.” He laughed again at his own anecdote.
Elias Peyton chuckled dutifully, earning a blank stare from his daughter. Cal knew how much it pained Emily to watch her father groveling to this worm. Cynthia Peyton would never have tolerated such a guest in their home, most likely asking their longtime employee, old Gus Caldwell, to throw the man out by the seat of his pants. But her mother had succumbed to tuberculosis last June, leaving a hole in their family they could never fill.
Emily again managed a smile on behalf of her father. Cal, conversely, chewed the inside of his cheek, squeezing the sterling silver fork in his hand. He caught Emily’s eye, and then felt the pressure of her foot again under the table. Harder this time. A warning.
He looked at his plate. The baked scrod was quickly cooling, the melted butter congealing around it. His appetite was gone but it had nothing to do with the food. Cal pushed the plate forward and James quickly whisked it away. The few bites he had managed were delicious; it was the words that spilled from their guest’s mouth that Cal could no longer stomach.
“Don’t you agree, Colonel?” asked Saunders, turning to him with a solicitous smile.
Cal took stock of the man. They were of roughly the same age, but there the similarities ended. Saunders was diminutive, his posture strangely erect, as if he was trying to sit as high in his chair as he could. When they were formally introduced, the man’s hand had been soft and clammy. He had a thin, well-groomed mustache, and his sable hair was slicked back with some sort of scented oil. His sky-colored uniform was immaculate and adorned with ribbons Cal had never seen. Who knew what the State of South Carolina was handing out to its officers.
Behind the shifty smile and hollow laughter, Cal knew the man was clearly baiting him. He fought mightily to hold his temper.
“No, Major, I do not,” he said, controlling his voice. “The Union Army has made its share of tactical errors, and General Lee has taken advantage of those missteps, embarrassing the Yankees on several occasions. But that is a tougher group than you give them credit for. They will not be deterred by…the weather.”
“But, Colonel,” Saunders persisted, then stopped himself, looking across the table at Emily. “I do apologize Mrs. Garrity,” he said, with an ingratiating smile. His eyes dropped down for a half-second to the bare top of her bosom, left uncovered by her dress. He gave her a wink. “I do know how boring this talk of strategy and tactics must be for a woman.”
Emily batted her eyes at him. “No apologies, Major, you just go right on as if I’m not even here. But please do let me know if you have something meaningful to say, so I’ll know to pay close attention.”
This time Cal placed his foot on top of Emily’s and her father coughed into his napkin.
Saunders, lost in his own self-absorption, held his smile having completely missed the insult. He turned back to Cal.
“Every time the Yankees have set foot on Virginia soil, it has been a catastrophic failure. I surely do hope that General Lee takes the fight to the North.” He winked at Cal as if they were confidants. “Though I am not sure everyone in Richmond shares that view.”
Cal placed a hand on his butter knife, wanting to plunge it into Saunders’ winking eye. The man’s irreverence was maddening. He took a sip of his coffee instead, restraining himself for the sake of his host.
Saunders focused on his dinner for a moment and Emily looked directly at Cal. She gave him an exaggerated wink and then rolled her eyes.
He grinned. She wants me to toss him through the window.
Listening to Saunders’ hot air was certainly not how he had hoped to spend the first day of his furlough. He knew Lee would march the army again, and soon, perhaps not returning to the Commonwealth for months. And he knew that ruby red dress Emily had plied herself into, the one dress she owned that did not hide her figure, was no accident tonight.
He glanced across the table, caught Saunders again leering at his wife, and realized their guest was likely having the same thought. Emily was sipping her Burgundy, and as Cal met her eyes again, he could see the tiniest of mischievous smiles behind her wine glass.
Her father, conversely, was unable to mask his displeasure at the turn of the conversation. Elias Peyton had arranged this dinner on Cal’s behalf. He had hoped that an introduction to one of the Confederate president’s most trusted military advisers and a rising star in Richmond’s social and political circles might lead to a more suitable posting for Cal. He hadn’t, of course, given any thought to the notion that Cal would sooner throw himself off a cliff than leave his line regiment for a desk in Richmond.
Cal turned back to Saunders, the
man still eyeing his prey across the table. Cal had the advantage of knowing that Lee did indeed plan to invade Maryland again, perhaps even deeper onto Northern soil. But he had no idea if Richmond was aware of that.
“I’m sure whatever General Lee decides,” Cal said wryly, “President Davis will be the first to know.”
Saunders’ smile quickly faded and Elias attempted again to broker peace.
“Major, as you may know, Cal is considered one of General Stuart’s finest subordinates. Trained at West Point, served on the frontier. Perhaps President Davis could use his expertise on matters pertaining to the cavalry?”
“Perhaps,” Saunders said, not even attempting to conceal the doubt in his voice. “But the president has several military attaches, myself included, to advise him on such matters.”
“But surely a cavalryman of Cal’s standing—”
“I have tremendous regard for Colonel Garrity’s abilities, sir. But to be candid, the cavalry is the dimension of this fight we worry least about. General Stuart, and South Carolina’s own Wade Hampton, have outclassed and outfought the Yankee cavalry at every turn. They cannot be beaten on the field, their esprit de corps—”
“You are an arrogant man, Saunders,” Cal muttered.
Peyton slammed his palm on the table, jolting the glasses and silverware. “Cal. That is quite enough.”
“I was paying you a compliment,” said Saunders. “You and the entire cavalry corps.”
The man’s duplicity seemed boundless. “Major, allow me to provide an illustration of the difficulties we in the cavalry endure that seem to escape the attention of President Davis and Secretary Seddon. Last week I had to send one of my best sergeants home to Franklin County. Do you know why? We in the cavalry are required to provide our own horses and Sergeant Gilbride had his horse shot out from under him. Not an uncommon occurrence among those of us engaged with the enemy. So now he has to return to his parents’ farm to bring back a fresh horse. If he can find one. If he can’t, I will lose him to the infantry. That is Richmond’s policy. The men who show up as replacements? They cannot be mustered in unless they have a mount in hand. The animals we do have are worn to the bone. A cavalry mount requires ten pounds of grain today. We are receiving half of that, at best. Quality forage is becoming increasingly difficult to find. The Yankees on the other hand, seem to have an endless supply of Morgans and feed. This is not sustainable, Major, and I shudder to think where we will be in a year. There may not be a single horse left in Virginia.”
Saunders chuckled. “Perhaps, Colonel, in that case, some of your men may be shooting their own horses to find themselves some leave and a visit home?”
Cal turned to Elias and saw the older man looking at his plate uncomfortably.
Good. He knows this charade is over now.
Cal turned again to Saunders. “You have a unique brand of humor, Major.”
“Why so dour when the news has been so good? Surely you exaggerate some of these…difficulties. We’ve managed until now and we’ve whipped the Yankees every—”
“We’ve managed until now because the Union Army has been led by one inept general after another. We can’t keep counting on that. I just heard John Buford was given his own brigade. I know Buford, he’s an old dragoon and I served under him for a spell. He is formidable, and there are many more like him. General Stuart would agree with me on that point. Mark me, Major, the Yankees have some damned tenacious fighters over there. God help us if they put any of them in charge.”
Cal stood, retrieving a cigar from the humidor on the sideboard. He returned to the table, bent over the candelabra, and fired up his smoke from a candle.
“One last thing, you moronic donkey,” he said, pointing at Saunders with the lit cigar. “I see you looking at my wife like that one more time, even sideways, and I will bludgeon you with the butt of your own sidearm until even your mother will not recognize you.”
Cal quickly retreated from the dining room knowing he was on the cusp of acting on his threat.
Elias Peyton, deflated, stood and bowed his head to his guest. “My apologies, Major. I believe Cal is quite…tired, from his journey to Richmond. If you will excuse me,” he said, following Cal from the room.
Saunders looked across the table, bemused. He lifted his glass and tilted it toward Emily.
“I apologize, madam, if I have agitated your husband. It was not my intent. I have the highest regard for the cavalry.”
Emily flushed but smiled at him pleasantly. “I will be sure to convey your sentiments, Major.”
“Mrs. Garrity—Emily, if I might—your husband mentioned earlier that he will be spending the next couple of days looking for remounts for his regiment. I know you are somewhat new to Richmond, I would be happy to give you a tour of our fair city.”
“I traveled here frequently with my father when I was a young girl, Major,” she said lightly. “I am very familiar with all Richmond has to offer.”
He gave her a knowing look. “Not everything, madam. Not everything.”
Emily looked at him with mock offense. “Major, I do confess, you are a handsome man, and quite dashing in that superbly tailored uniform. As a married lady, I should take great offense for such a comment. But—”
“But?” Saunders smiled, his teeth nearly as white as his pale complexion.
“But I don’t think I can bring myself to doing that.”
Emily leaned over the table, her eyes darting around the room to make sure they were alone. “May I make a suggestion, Major?”
“By all means,” he said, now openly gaping at the bare crevice between her full breasts.
“Perhaps you could return here at a later date?”
Saunders licked his lips. “I think that could be arranged.”
“Please do so. After, of course.”
“After?”
Her face hardened as she leaned back in her chair. “After you have found yourself a posting on the front lines, and have actually experienced for one minute the horrors my husband has endured, every day, for the last two years. That way, I can slap the face of a real man, instead of the sniveling, half-witted shirker sitting before me who would rather hide behind the skirts of rear-echelon politicians than carry a sword to the enemy.”
She rose from her chair, tossed her napkin on the table and headed for the hallway.
Saunders was sneering now and called after her.
“Too bad for your husband’s indiscretion toward me, as well as your poor manners. He’ll never know what he could have had tomorrow.”
Emily stopped and spun around, giving Saunders a withering smile. “Take one last good look, Major. Because you’ll never know what my husband has today.” She marched from the room, leaving their guest alone and seething in his seat.
***
“Mind if I join you?” asked Emily, stepping out on the veranda. She had passed her father in the hallway, who was attempting to regain his composure before returning to the dining room.
Cal was on the bench swing, staring at the cigar in his fingers. He looked up at her, smiling sheepishly, and slid down the bench so she could sit beside him.
“I’m not proud of myself, Em,” he began. He moved to stub out the cigar, knowing how much she disliked the smell, but she put her hand on his arm, stopping him.
“You’re entitled; it’s your first day back.” She smiled at him. “Some men know how to make an entrance, but you, sir, know how to make an exit.”
“I will offer my regrets to your guest when this cigar is finished.”
“You most certainly will not. He is my father’s guest, not mine. The man is an imbecile, and I suspect that even my father was uncomfortable with his jabbering and his…his…imbecilism.”
“Your father was just out here. I don’t believe this evening turned out as he had hoped.”
“How could it? He only knew Saunders’ father, not the son. Besides, he should have disclosed to you beforehand the purpose of this affair, as transpa
rent as it was. Though you likely would not have joined us.”
“Of course I would have,” Cal replied. He stubbed the cigar out on the sole of his boot. “You are wearing that dress.”
She beamed at him, the reflection from a street lamp glittering in her eyes. “This one has more laces and hooks than you are accustomed to.”
They eyed each other for several moments, knowing this night would end well.
“I do owe your father something of an apology.”
“You concern yourself too much with what he thinks of you. He knows you well, Cal, and respects your judgment.”
“He still believes, Em. Still believes we can prevail.”
“I’ve spoken to him quite a bit about that. I’m not so sure he does anymore. Privately, anyway.”
“He’s hiding it well then. He said that I was rude to Saunders. I thought I was rather restrained.”
“I saw your hand on that butter knife, Cal.”
“Exactly,” he said, “ a butter knife.” Cal lifted his boot in the air so Emily could see the sheathed hunting knife protruding from it. “See? I was restrained.”
They both laughed.
“Your father does seem different.”
“He’s truly worried. Even after Fredericksburg. He says the Yankees won’t give up until they have laid siege to Richmond.”
“He’s right about that. They’re doing it at Vicksburg, on the Mississippi.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the leaves shaking in the wind.
He twisted his body to one side, laying back with his head on her lap and draping his boots over the side of the swing. They rocked slowly.
“Four more days of this I could enjoy,” he sighed contently.
“Well, we have established that Major Saunders is a dolt,” she said, running her fingers through his thick hair. “But the man is well connected. Was he right? Will General Lee march north again?”