‘Oh, Jess, you know what I mean. There are exceptions, of course. Mr. Lincoln is the perfect example. But most of them … most of them have to settle for less than they aimed for, to compromise, to trade off.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly what politics is all about.’
‘My father says the only thing you can be sure of with a politician is that he will lie to you.’
‘If you want to change that,’ Jessica countered, ‘get into the arena yourself.’
She told the driver to take a circuitous route so that Andrew could see the lakefront. It was hard to think of such a vast expanse of water as a lake: it looked like the sea itself. The sun picked dancing diamonds off the top of waves cut by the prows of a dozen passing ships. The fine houses along the lakefront faced a maze of temporary wharves with a board sidewalk and a dirt beach beyond which lay the trestled tracks of the Illinois Central, its depot, and the immense ugly Sturges & Buckingham grain elevators. As far as the eye could see, ships dotted the glittering water.
The McCabe house was as imposing as Andrew had expected it to be, a big house with turrets like a French chateau, set well back from the avenue and approached by a semi-circular driveway. There was a large open space opposite. Jessica said that there were plans to turn it into a public park.
A butler showed Andrew to his room. The furniture was solid and old, the bed soft and inviting. Jessica told him that her father would join them for dinner; he had been delayed in town.
‘Tell me about your mother,’ he said. ‘When did she die?’
‘Five years ago.’
‘Your father has never considered remarriage?’
‘I think he was so relieved to be free, it was all he could do to pretend grief at her funeral,’ Jessica said.
Startled by her frankness, Andrew said nothing for a moment. Jessica looked at him and smiled, then shook her head.
‘You’ll just have to get used to me, Andrew.’
‘I’ll try,’ he said. ‘But it’ll take some doing.’
‘That’s all right,’ she said, her face quite serious. ‘There’ll be time.’
She took his hand and led him into the sitting room. There was a portrait above the huge fireplace of a woman in a ball gown. She was tall and slender, with an imperious Roman nose and small disdainful eyes. ‘Your mother?’ he asked.
‘Yes. She was such an unhappy woman.’
‘She looks as if she might have been,’ he said. ‘Yet your father …’ He let the sentence taper off.
‘What made an interesting man like my father marry a dull provincial little snob like Mama?’ she said. ‘You’re not the first one to wonder about that, Andrew.’
‘Tell me, then.’
‘She was very pretty when she was a girl,’ Jessica explained. ‘And Daddy knew nothing about women. He was thirty years old when he took Mama out for the first time. He didn’t know what else to do, except marry her. It was almost inevitable.’
‘Like you and I?’ Andrew asked teasingly.
‘No, not like you and I at all,’ Jessica said. ‘They had no sooner got married than Daddy made all that money selling his land here in Chicago. She was bewildered. She probably thought that they would have a nice, safe, dull, ordinary life, a little house, children. He would go to the office every day. She would cook and sew and invite friends around for tea on Sundays. Instead of which she found she was married to a ruthless, restless man who was determined to get to the top – and did. And she just didn’t know how to handle it.’
‘He didn’t love her?’
‘It depends what you mean by love,’ Jessica replied. ‘I’m not sure men like Daddy can ever love in the conventional sense. He was fond of her, kind to her. He indulged her. She was absolutely no use to him at all intellectually. She was as pretentious as a cockatoo. She tried very hard to be clever and bright but she was hopeless at it.’
‘I think that’s a very sad story,’ he said.
‘Yes. Mama was a very sad lady. She had everything in the world except the one thing she wanted. And she hadn’t the remotest idea how to get that. She never learned it.’
Not all stories have happy endings, Andrew thought, as he put on clean linen before going down to dinner. It gave him a different perspective on Senator Angus McCabe, an understanding of that ruthless driving force he might otherwise have found off-putting.
Dinner was simple and informal. There was a good rack of lamb, plenty of fresh vegetables, roast potatoes, a cabinet pudding to follow. When the maid had cleared away the dishes McCabe brought a port decanter to the table with three fine crystal glasses.
‘Well, Andrew,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk. I’ve been watching you and Jess.’
‘Oh, Daddy!’ Jessica laughed. ‘You’re not going to ask Andrew what his intentions are, are you?’
‘You know damned well that I am not, Miss!’ Angus McCabe said fiercely. ‘But there are one or two things I want to say to this young man, if he plans to get involved with you!’
‘Well, sir,’ Andrew said. ‘I think you could take it that I plan to do just that.’
‘Really?’ said Jessica, imps of devilment in her eyes.
‘Very well,’ McCabe said. ‘Then listen to me, young feller-me-lad! You’d best know what you’re getting into. As you see by the fact that she’s sitting here with us, breathing our cigar smoke and drinking the same port we’re drinking, I’ve brought my daughter up a bit differently to what is considered the ideal for a young woman. I’ve taught her to have a healthy disrespect for humbug. I’ve shown her that the only sensible way for a human being to live is to take life head-on and grab everything it offers. We may of course get a second chance, just as the Bible-bangers would have us believe. That, I contend, would be a bonus, and in the meantime, the best plan is to use this life as if it were the only one we’re going to get!’
‘And you may have noticed that I do just that,’ Jessica said.
‘Yes,’ Andrew grinned. ‘I noticed.’
‘I think you also ought to know that Jess has a temper that makes mine look like a child’s tantrum and an edge on her tongue – if you get on her wrong side – that would flay skin off an elephant. She’s opinionated, she’s stubborn and she’s intelligent. Those are qualities a lot of men find off-putting in a woman.’
‘Would you rather I left the room, Daddy?’ Jessica said. ‘I wouldn’t want to inhibit you.’
‘She’s a good-looking girl,’ McCabe went on, unperturbed by Jessica’s sly shaft. ‘And she knows it. She can use her … charms to get her own way, and does.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Andrew said, vastly amused by all this. ‘I’d noticed that, too.’
‘It doesn’t bother you?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Andrew said. ‘Let’s say it doesn’t bother me enough to matter.’
‘By God, she’s right!’ McCabe said. ‘You are an honest man!’ He filled Andrew’s glass and raised his eyebrows at Jessica. She shook her head.
‘I’ll leave you two … gentlemen alone for a little while,’ she said. ‘I’m going to change into something more comfortable.’
‘She’s quite a girl,’ McCabe said, as the door closed behind Jessica. ‘Bull-headed as her father and, if anything, smarter. You know about Hardisty, I take it?’
‘Only the barest details,’ Andrew said.
‘Ach, it was a schoolgirl infatuation!’ McCabe said. ‘They were children. Grew up together – the family lives just up the avenue here. I blame myself for not seeing what was going on.’
‘They planned to marry.’
‘I’ll tell you the truth, boy. I never expected to see it happen. It was like one of those medieval romances, the “Song of Roland”. Pure and mystical. I don’t think he ever did more than kiss her. He went off to war. Like one of the Knights of the Round Table, off to joust with dragons. They were in love with love, both of them. Not with each other.’ He took another cigar from the box and pushed it across towards Andrew. Andrew sh
ook his head. McCabe cut his cigar carefully and lit it, squinting through the wreathing smoke at Andrew.
‘Yes, Senator,’ Andrew said, sensing the implicit question. ‘I was engaged. She was killed during the battle of Manassas.’
‘She was a nurse?’
‘No, sir.’ Andrew told him about the Black Horse Panic and the way that Ruth Chalfont and her mother had died.’ We met when I came back from serving in the northwest. I was fresh out of the army. I resigned my commission and went into civil engineering.’
‘Why did you quit the army?’
‘It sounds stupid when I say it now,’ Andrew said. ‘With this war going on. But I could not take the senseless slaughter. It appalled me, disgusted me. We killed people and destroyed their way of life simply because they opposed our taking their lands.’
‘It’s manifest destiny, lad!’ McCabe said. ‘The future of this nation lies in the West. We can’t keep this giant fettered, kept back from what is its natural destiny because of a few heathen savages!’
‘You may be right, sir,’ Andrew said. ‘Maybe that is this country’s destiny. I think it repugnant that we should use such means to realize it.’
‘Well said, well said,’ McCabe agreed. ‘You’ll not find it a popular viewpoint, I fear. But I see you believe it.’
‘Yes, sir, I do,’ Andrew said. ‘You praised me a few minutes ago for being honest. You wouldn’t want me to lie now.’
‘If you should ever get into politics, Andrew,’ McCabe said reflectively, ‘you may find there are times when it is necessary … not to tell the truth. I do not mean to advocate that any man should lie, though I know that many do it as readily as drawing breath. But there are times, lad, when the blunt truth is not what people want to hear. At such moments, wisdom lies in saying nothing.’
‘I’m sorry, Senator,’ Andrew said. ‘I fear we’ll have to agree to disagree.’
‘For now,’ McCabe said. ‘Maybe you’ll alter your point of view one day. And remember me when you do. Tell me about this Ruth you were engaged to.’
Andrew explained how Ruth was the daughter of Quakers, themselves from Quaker stock. Jacob and Eleanor Chalfont had come to America in the late 1840s from England, a little hamlet whose churchyard contained the bones of William Penn. They had only the one child, Ruth.
‘She was just a little thing,’ Andrew went on, his voice soft with fond remembrance. ‘Her hair was blonde, almost white, and soft as gossamer. Blue, blue eyes. She was bright, too, went to college. They set a lot of store by education, Quakers. Ruth had trained as a nurse. We just … liked each other, right from the start. It all seemed so natural, me working for Jacob, becoming a partner. It seemed natural that we’d get engaged, although there were plenty of others who came calling.’
‘And you were in love with her?’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Andrew said. He could say it now, without feeling any grief. She had been beautiful, quick, ashine. He had been like some great clumsy bear, paying court to a hummingbird, but he had loved her. And now she was gone and there was only the faintest touch of regret inside his heart for what had been.
McCabe nodded, as if what Andrew had said confirmed what he had been thinking. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound in the room the shifting of the coals in the fireplace. The door opened and Jessica came back in. She was wearing a Japanese kimono embroidered with dragons in greens and golds that set off her eyes and her rich, auburn hair.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Have you two run out of things to talk about?’
‘No,’ her father said. ‘We just kind of ran out of the need to say any of them.’
‘Oh, Daddy!’ Jessica said, kissing the top of her father’s head. ‘Somehow you always manage to say just the right thing.’
‘Sometimes I get it righter than others,’ McCabe said with a smile. He got heavily to his feet and stuck out his hand. ‘I’m turning in,’ he said. ‘Andrew, I’ve enjoyed talking to you. I hope you’ll consider my home as your own while you’re here.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Andrew said. ‘And not just for that.’
‘He’s all right,’ McCabe said to his daughter. ‘I think he’ll do.’
‘So do I,’ Jessica smiled, and the dimples showed as she kissed her father good night.
‘He’s an interesting man,’ Andrew said, when McCabe was gone.
‘He’s a darling,’ Jessica said. ‘Come, let’s sit in the parlor. Would you like a cognac?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Good! I’ll join you.’ Jessica brought the golden liqueur in two goblets and they sat on a leather chesterfield in the fire lit parlor.
‘He told me he didn’t even start learning to learn until he was thirty,’ Jessica said, in answer to Andrew’s question about her father. ‘He told me that one day he woke up and looked at himself in the mirror, and realized that he was a nobody. He remembers it so clearly, even now. He stood in front of the mirror and vowed he was going to be a lot more than that. He put every cent he had into one, big gamble. And it paid off. He made a million and a half dollars.’
‘He could have lost everything.’
‘Yes, but that wouldn’t have stopped him. He’d’ve done something else. He’s lost that much half a dozen times since those days.’ She frowned. ‘I’m talking too much.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I want to hear it. All of it.’
‘Some other time,’ she said. Her voice was drowsy and soft. ‘Not now.’ She turned to face Andrew and something in her eyes told him what he wanted to know. He took her in his arms and Jessica chuckled.
‘Why are you laughing?’ he whispered, his lips brushing hers.
‘Because you thought you had to ask,’ she said, locking her hands behind his neck and bringing her lithe young body hard against his.
Much, much later, they tiptoed up the stairs and kissed again on the shadowed landing.
‘Another place, another time,’ he whispered. ‘Is this it, Jess?’
‘Don’t hurry me, Andrew,’ she whispered back, ‘if it is to be, it will be.’
He kissed her again and went into his room to undress. His head felt full of cotton wool: I ought to feel bad about feeling this good, he thought. He fell asleep smiling, his last thought to wonder what was happening at headquarters.
And then the dream began again
and in the dream it was as if he was in a balloon, soaring high above the ground. He could see the whole battlefield below, laid out like a diorama: the Federal gunboats on the Tennessee, the woods and ravines of the plateau above the Landing, the long lines of advancing men, bayonets like steel thickets. He saw men dying in ghastly heaps in the open field by the peach orchard, or crawling like mangled insects to the pond beside the River Road, turning its waters pink and then red with their blood. And more dying and hundreds more, all in the April sun, as Braxton Bragg threw wave after Confederate wave against the entrenched Federal troops in what they called the Hornet’s Nest, twelve unbelievably brave attacks across open fields, every one of them doomed, nothing but slaughter from nine-thirty in the morning until after four. He saw General Albert Sidney Johnston clearly, sword high, rallying an attack against Hurlbut’s position, saw him wave a hand to indicate that the wound in his leg, which was to kill him, was not serious. He saw terrified men running to rear, insane with fear, stinking with their own wastes. He saw men being scythed down between the mud-blood-slick walls of Hell’s Hollow. He could hear every bullet, every shell.
and in the dream, General Grant was scowling at him he could not understand why he was angry.
‘Thousands dead, thousands!’ Grant snarled. ‘And every one of them your fault! Look at them, man! Look at them!’ He threw out his hand in a gesture of despairing sorrow and Andrew turned to see a field. All across the field, as far as the eye could see, lay bodies: broken, mangled, smashed, ruined bodies, a slaughterhouse of human flesh over which hung the strange, flat, metallic stink of death. The field was big: an acre, maybe one and a half. Yo
u could have walked across it in any direction, stepping on dead bodies the whole time, without a foot ever touching the ground.
‘It’s not my fault,’ Andrew protested. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Not your fault?’ Grant shouted. ‘Aren’t you the man who insisted on lining that bluff with artillery? Aren’t you the advocate of attrition? Wasn’t it you who told me that if we kill more of them than they do of us, we’ll win every time?’
‘Yes,’ Andrew said. ‘But—’
‘No buts!’ Grant snapped. ‘Get out there and line up all those bodies in rows for the burial details!’
and in the dream Andrew went out to the field and took hold of an arm, one of the Confederate dead. The body was as heavy as lead. The head lolled back, mouth gaping, eyes sightless.
‘Jed?’ Andrew said. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, Jed!’
I’ve got to get him out of here, he thought. Got to get him to a doctor. Maybe he’s not dead. Maybe he’s just unconscious. He pulled harder on his brother’s arm and it came away from the shoulder with a horrid, sucking sound, leaving a great dark bloody hole full of slimy, seething maggots and he screamed in the dream out of it and …
He woke up, shouting wordlessly, to find Jessica holding him in her arms, pressing a soft, cool cloth against his forehead. Her skin was soft and warm and he smelled the remembered perfumes of her body. He was wet with perspiration, empty with relief.
‘It’s all right,’ she murmured. ‘It’s all right, you’re safe, it’s over.’
Andrew took a deep, deep breath and then let it out in a long sigh. He saw that Senator McCabe was standing in the doorway, a lamp held high. His white hair shone like a halo.
‘You were having a nightmare, lad,’ he said. ‘And a bad one, by the sound of it.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Andrew said. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ McCabe said. ‘You want a drink?’
‘No, thank you, sir,’ Andrew replied. ‘It’s happened before. I’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll away to my bed, then,’ McCabe said. ‘Jess?’
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