“What about Prudence?”
“I’ll give her enough money to live on until she finds her own way.”
“All right. If your mind’s made up, I won’t argue any more.” She took his right hand in hers. “I never realized how much alike you and Tom are.” She turned his hand over and looked at it. “That’s the same hand.”
Jack pulled his hand away and stood up. “I need to – do something.”
Jane gaped at him. “What?” She saw the look on his face and knew what he was thinking. “No, no. Jack. I didn’t mean anything improper by that.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He looked toward the back door as if he wanted to run.
Jane folded her arms. “Jack. Look at me. I’m an old woman. I’m five years older than you and six years older than Tom. I wasn’t trying to seduce you. I’m not even interested in sex any more.”
Jack looked at her but didn’t reply.
“I love you like the brother you are – like the brother you’ve been for most of my adult life,” Jane said earnestly. “Why can’t you understand that?”
He shook his head and sighed. “Clementine.”
Jane wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure you know that I tried, but I never liked her.”
He nodded. “I was angry at you for that. You said she was trash and as it turned out, you were right.”
“If I ever said that Clementine was trash, I most sincerely apologize. She wasn’t trash; she was damaged. If she hadn’t been your wife and if I hadn’t been so worried about your happiness, I could have pitied and maybe even befriended her.”
“She was a heartbreak, but I loved her. I really loved her.”
Jane got up. “I know you did,” she gasped, then sobbed. “Oh Jack. Can I hug you? Please. I really need to.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her head against his chest. “Forgive me, Jane. You’re a better sister than I deserve.”
October 28, 1862
The Shenandoah Valley, Virginia
Robert E. Lee answered Colonel Johnny Van Buskirk’s salute. “What news have you brought me, Colonel?”
“McClellan and a hundred thousand troops crossed the Potomac two days ago, sir. But he’s made no move to cross the Blue Ridge or to get ahead of General Longstreet.”
Lee shook his head. “That man does not wish to win this war.”
“He’s remarkably cautious, sir.”
“I fear that he will not remain in command for long now.”
“Who do you think will replace him, sir?”
“Hancock would be my choice. Or Buford, perhaps. Both have been overlooked by Washington.”
“Which Buford, sir? Napoleon or John?”
“Oh that’s right. I forgot there were two. John was who I meant.”
“My brother’s with him, sir. He’s a regimental commander.”
“Did you tell me that once before?” Lee asked.
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Good. Because I did not remember it and should have – had I been told.”
“I don’t like to burden you with anything frivolous, sir.”
“There is nothing frivolous about family, Colonel. Family is why we’re all here.” He looked toward the sound of celebration. “Do they know something that I should?”
“No, sir. There was a little fight between General Longstreet’s skirmishers and some from Burnside’s corps. Burnside withdrew so the men see it as a victory.”
“They’re hungry for a victory after Antietam.”
“Yes, sir. I suppose they are.”
“Is your wife still in Richmond?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you seen her lately?”
“No, sir. I was within a mile of her father’s plantation the last time I was carrying a message to you from Richmond, but I didn’t have time to stop.”
“I have another message to be taken to Richmond and I think you can visit your wife while you’re there. Lincoln will recall McClellan and then it will take some time for the new commander to get started. Take two weeks, if you want it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
“The message that you want taken to Richmond, sir.”
Lee waved his hand. “Just go ahead on. I’ll send it with someone else.”
November 1, 1862
Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey
Jack was chopping wood when Abraham Van Buskirk opened the picket gate and waded through the new snow toward the wood pile. Jack put down his axe and took off his right glove to offer his hand to Abe.
“We saw you come in last night,” Abe said, as he shook Jack’s hand. “I would have come over then, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome.”
“You’re always welcome,” Jack said.
“We thought you were dead until we got Robert’s message,” Abe said after an awkward silence.
“I was dead for quite a while but I’m trying to find a way to live again.”
“Got another axe?”
“Yes, but I’d rather talk to you first.” Jack gestured toward the back of the big house. “It’s ghostly in there with all the furniture covered, but I have a fire in the kitchen stove.”
Abe nodded. “How did you get in?”
“Anna left a key to the padlock under the porch.” Jack led the way toward the back door. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“Yes, she told me.”
Jack stamped his feet on the steps to knock off the snow as he climbed toward the back porch. “Are you still planning to move to New Mexico in the spring?”
“That was Robert’s suggestion. I still haven’t decided.”
Jack held the door for Abe, then closed it. “Coffee? It’s fairly fresh and should still be hot.”
“Please.” Abe went to a cupboard and took down a mug, then put it on the kitchen table where Jack had left his own mug, and sat down. “What’s it like in New Mexico?”
“Most of it’s a desert but my mother’s place in Mesilla isn’t that much different from here.” He poured coffee in their mugs, then put the pot back on the stove and sat down at the table. “It’s about a thousand acres on the Rio Grande. The house and most of the outbuildings were destroyed by the Confederates, but legally the village is part of her estate, so you could take anything you want and run the villagers off, if you wanted to.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“They’re mostly southern sympathizers.”
“Aren’t they mostly former slaves?”
“Yes. My mother’s. She freed them when she inherited the place. They’re just ignorant Mexican peons that resent the North because of the Mexican War. They have this crazy idea that the South will return New Mexico to Mexico, if they win.”
“Did Marina give them their homes?”
“Do you mean give as in deed the houses to them?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant.”
Jack shook his head. “It probably never occurred to her. They lived in the houses free and she paid for repairs and such, so what difference would a deed make?”
“If I was to go there I’d want to give the village to the villagers.”
Jack shrugged. “The whole place belongs to you to do with as you please.”
“I haven’t accepted it.”
“Doesn’t matter. The deed’s filed in your name.”
“What if I choose not to go there?”
Jack shrugged. “I suppose if nobody pays the taxes on it next year it’ll be taken over by whichever Territorial Government has possession of it.”
“You’d let that happen?”
“It holds more bad memories than good for me.”
Abe sipped his coffee. “Then I guess we’ll go there next spring.”
“You really don’t have to wait until spring, unless you just want to. The winters there are mild. If it snows overnight it’s usually melted by noon the next day.”
“I need some time to talk my sister into it.�
��
“Ah. I didn’t know that Ginger wasn’t in this with you.”
Abe shook his head. “She’s fought me every inch of the way. Now she says that she’s going to join the army as a nurse.”
Jack shrugged. “Don’t ask my advice. I’m a complete failure with all women.”
“Are you going to join the army?”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not interested enough in the outcome.”
“Don’t tell me that you approve of slavery.”
“I don’t approve of slavery, nor do I approve of killing one of my brothers or nephews, Abe. I’m staying out of this one.”
“I wish I could get into it.”
Jack shrugged. “If you don’t start for Mesilla soon you may get your wish.”
“What do you mean?”
“I stopped in Elizabeth to get a horse and was told that the sheriff is forming a posse to arrest you and your guests.”
“For what? We’re not breaking any laws. The fugitive slave laws have been repealed.”
“I’m too far out of touch to advise you of the legality of what you’re doing, Abe. But if the County Sheriff comes here to arrest the former slaves that you’re harboring and you resist, you’ll be on the wrong side of the law.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No it isn’t. But I don’t think there’s any way to stop the Sheriff from coming. Afterwards he might be punished for abuse of his office but it’ll be too late for you and your charges.”
Abe looked up at the ceiling as if there might be help there.
“If you want to go down fighting, I’ll fight alongside you,” Jack said. “But we can’t win. You’ve gotta accept that.”
Abe looked back at Jack. “No. I don’t want to fight them. It’s not that important.” He sighed. “Would you come over to my place and explain what’s happening and tell the families over there about Mesilla?”
“Families? You have families over there?”
“Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”
“I don’t know. For some reason I was thinking they were all men.”
Abe shook his head. “There are more women than men and more children than adults.”
“Then you need to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.” Jack drained his coffee mug and stood up. “Let’s go talk to your people.”
November 5, 1862
Washington, D.C.
Anna Van Buskirk stood up behind her desk as General Ambrose Burnside came into the small White House office. “Thank you for coming, General. I know how busy you are and I promise not to take very much of your time. Please have a seat.” She sat down and turned to a new page in her notebook.
Burnside sat across from her. He was bald with bushy gray whiskers that ran from ear to ear over a clean shaven chin. “I was at West Point with your son, Quincy,” he said.
Anna looked up and tried to hide her shock that this old man could be a contemporary of her son. “You were probably surprised when he made it through his plebe year,” she said, lamely.
“I recall that he had a large number of demerits, yes.”
She paged needlessly through the notebook to gather her thoughts. “I need a little biographical background for the news release.” She slapped her forehead. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Congratulations on your new appointment.”
“I’m not sure if congratulations or commiserations are in order. Being the commander of the Army of the Potomac is a monumental responsibility.”
“Yes. Well, let’s not share that thought with the public.” She opened a second notebook. “Let me see. I have that you were born in Liberty, Indiana, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” She offered him the notebook. “Why don’t you read this and tell me if I’ve gotten anything wrong?”
Burnside read through the biography. “I’d rather that you didn’t mention that I was eighteenth in my class of thirty-eight.”
“Certainly.” She made a note.
“There’s no mention here of my wound.”
“What wound?”
“I was shot through the neck by an Apache arrow in 1849.”
“What unit were you with at the time?”
“It was still called the Third U.S. Artillery, but we’d been converted to a cavalry unit to protect the mail routes.”
“Was there a named battle? Something that people may have read about at the time?”
“No, it was just a little skirmish near Las Vegas, New Mexico.”
She wrote that down. “Anything else?”
“No. I think you have all the salient details.” He put the notebook on her desk.
Anna stood up and offered her hand. “Thank you, General, and congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Anna waited until he was gone, then took her notes into John Hay’s office where Hay was sitting with his feet on his desk. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“I have tickets to the new play at Ford’s Theater tonight,” Hay said, “and I shall be accompanied by the delectable Miss Kate Chase.”
Anna curled her lip.
“She has never once said an unkind work about you.”
“That’s good. Do you want this Burnside bio or not?”
“Somebody’s having a bad day.” He dropped his feet to the floor and held out his hand for the notebook.
“Sorry.” She handed it to him.
“What did you think of the general?” Hay asked.
“He has impressive whiskers.”
Hay looked at her. “And?”
“And he doesn’t want the job.”
“The job being the command of the Army of the Potomac?”
“Yes, that’s the job he doesn’t want,” Anna said with a nod.
“He said so?”
“Pretty clearly.”
“Oh hell.”
“Could be. I wonder if he told the President that he didn’t want the job.”
Hay put his feet back on the desk. “He may have. The President mentioned to me that Burnside only accepted when the President said that Joe Hooker was his next choice. Burnside and Hooker have a well-known rivalry going.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about Burnside beyond his recent success at that bridge, but it seems to me that a man should be enthusiastic about his work if he hopes to succeed. Burnside’s not even close to being enthusiastic.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t fumble so badly that the boss has to call Little Mac back again.”
“If that happens I’m slashing my wrists.” She started back out the door.
“Anna?”
“Yes?”
“Would you send a copy boy in here please?”
“Of course, John. You’ll need to conserve your energy for your evening with the delectable Miss Kate Chase.”
“Wish me luck.”
“Break a leg.” She started out, then stopped again. “Speaking of Little Mac.” She paged through the notebook. “I came across something a few minutes ago that you should keep on file.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the full text of a report that McClellan sent to the President and the War Department after the debacle on the Peninsula. Some of it was redacted by the telegraph operator before it was transcribed.” She smiled. “Here it is.” She ripped out the pages and handed them to Hay.
Hay glanced at the page, looked up at Anna, and then began reading. “I again repeat that I am not responsible for this and I say it with the earnestness of a General who feels in his heart the loss of every brave man who has been needlessly sacrificed today…” Hay looked up again. “He said this in an official report?”
“Yes. Keep reading. Start with ‘I have seen’ and read the whole paragraph.”
Hay found the place. “I have seen too many dead and wounded comrades to feel otherwise than that the Government has not sustained this Army. If you do not do so now the game is lost. If I save this Army now I tell you plainly
that I owe no thanks to you or any other persons in Washington – you have done your best to sacrifice this Army.” Hay laughed. “I don’t think you need to worry about Little Mac being called back, Anna.”
November 10, 1862
Orchard Hill, Virginia
They were standing in the barn while a fierce, cold wind howled through the eaves. Urilla was wearing only a shawl over a cotton house dress and shivering. Her face was red, blotchy, wet with tears and her nose was running. “Why do you have to go?” she sobbed.
“It’s my duty.” Johnny’s horse was saddled and Johnny was in full uniform. “Get back in the house, Urilla.”
“What about your duty to me and our child?”
“Part of my duty to you and J.D. is to defend the Confederacy. Please go inside.”
“Hang the confederacy. I can learn to live without slaves.”
“Kiss me and get back in the house before you catch your death.”
“Oh please, Johnny. I’m begging you. Don’t go. I have this horrible premonition that I’ll never see you again.”
“Urilla. If I didn’t go back, it would be desertion in the face of the enemy. They’d shoot me.”
“We’ll run away.”
“Your father would shoot me before we could pack.”
“My father’s a humbug-make-believe soldier.”
“Be that as it may, he’d still shoot me.” He took her by the shoulders, kissed her soundly and wiped the snot and tears on his sleeve. “I love you and I promise to come back.” He swung onto his horse and rode out into the snow flurry.
November 23, 1862
Washington, D.C.
Robert Van Buskirk stood up and waved as his brother came through the front entrance of the Willard Hotel.
Jack hurried across the lobby and enthusiastically shook Robert’s hand, then stepped to the side to look at his horribly scarred cheek. “Good Lord, Robert. How did your face get so badly burned?”
“It wasn’t a burn. I’ll tell you about it some other time.” He gestured toward a group of chairs. “I wanted to talk to you before we went upstairs, but it’ll have to be quick. You know how short Anna’s patience is.”
Jack sat down and looked around. “You live here?”
The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers) Page 26