Antebellum BK 1 (52 page)

Pate stepped forward and caught the bridle. “Where are you going?”

“
To the tavern, if they’ll let me in. After the battle, I’ll come back and interview the winner. Let go of my horse.” She raised her quirt.

Pate released his grip. “If you try to leave town to tell Brown how many men I have I’ll have you shot.”

She gave him an unfriendly look, then pulled her horse into a tight turn and urged him toward the town.

July 1, 1856

Lawrence, Kansas

J
ohn Brown strode through the diners and stopped to stare down at Anna with blazing eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” He threw a newspaper down on her table.

Anna picked up her teacup in one hand and the paper in the other. “What am I supposed to be reading?”

“
The story entitled:
Henry Clay Pate on John Brown on the Battle of Black Jack
.”

“
Snappy headline.”

Brown snatched the paper back, found the story and began reading. “‘Had I known whom I was fighting I would not have trusted a flag of truce. Captain Brown commanded me to order my company to lay down their arms. Putting a revolver to my breast he repeated the command, giving me one or two minutes to make the order.’”

“
What’s your question?” Anna asked.

“
How could you write such a falsehood?” Brown demanded.

She shrugged. “I didn’t write that. It’s not even my paper.”

He looked at the masthead. “
New York Tribune
.”

“
I work for the
New York Times
.”

“
Well,” he spluttered. “I’m going to write to them and demand a retraction.”

“
I think you should. Henry Pate knew who you were before you got there.”

“
How do you know that?”

“
I told him.”

“
You what?”

“
I told him that you were coming, that he was outnumbered, and I advised him to release your two sons and your other men.”

“
I could have you shot for that.”

“
Everyone keeps telling me that they can have me shot.” She waved at him with a shooing motion. “Go away.”

July 4, 1856

Arlington, Virginia

L
ieutenant Johnny Van Buskirk stepped from the train, shouldered his heavy duffle, looked down the platform and raised his free hand to wave at Lieutenant Fitzhugh Lee. “Fitz. Here. Fitz.”

Lee saw him, waved and began working his way through the crowd of passengers toward Johnny. Behind him, a young black man, in homespun, followed in such a deferential manner that Johnny knew at once that the man must be a slave.

“
So how was it?” Lee asked, shaking Johnny’s hand enthusiastically. “Are you and the lovely Miss Chase betrothed?” He looked at the duffle bag on Johnny’s left shoulder. “Give that to Sam.”

“
I can manage,” Johnny said.

Lee gave him a warning look. “Please don’t embarrass us. Give the bag to Sam.”

Johnny hesitated but the black man stepped forward and took the bag off his shoulder. “It’s my job,” he said in a tone that only Johnny could hear.

Lee led the way. “Your brother and Jeb Stuart are waiting for us at the Officers’ club.”

“
I should check in with the company first,” Johnny said.

“
That isn’t necessary.”

“
I’d rather clean up and stow my gear first, if you don’t mind. And I’m looking forward to seeing the Supe again.”

“
He’s not the Supe anymore,” Lee said. “He’s our commanding officer. And we’ll be having supper with him this evening.”

“
With Colonel Lee?”

“
Yes. He’s still my uncle and he’s having a welcoming supper for you.”

“
This is my best uniform and it’s covered with coal dust.”

“
Sam will take care of that for you.”

“
I’d prefer to do it myself,” Johnny said a little stiffly.

Lee looked at him for a moment. “You’re going to have to get over that. You’re in the South now and slavery is legal and part of the culture here.”

Johnny glanced over his shoulder at the man carrying his bag and decided not to answer.

“
Is something else bothering you?” Lee asked.

“
Yes. I’d rather not go to the Officers’ Club.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because I don’t handle liquor well and everyone will insist that I have a drink.”

“
I don’t recall you ever having a problem with liquor.”

“
We drank beer and ale at West Point, Fitz. It doesn’t seem to have the same effect that hard liquor does. I get very belligerent when I drink whiskey or other spirits.”

“
When did you discover this?”

“
When I woke up in a Cincinnati jail.”

Lee chuckled. “That must have impressed Salmon P. Chase.”

“
I don’t think he ever knew. At least I pray that he didn’t. But I haven’t had another drink since and don’t intend to.”

“
Very well. But we must go to the club.”

“
If we do, Beauty Stuart and my brother will devil me into taking a drink.”

“
I’ll protect you from them.”

“
Ha.”

“
Meaning what?”

“
Meaning that you’re no match for them, my friend.”

“
When I make a promise I keep it. No matter what the cost,” Lee said in a serious tone. “Nothing is more important to me than my honor. You have my word of honor that no one will devil you into taking a drink.”

“
Very well then. My future is in your hands.”

~

Johnny saw the light under Paul’s BOQ door and knocked.

Paul opened the door almost instantly. “There you are, brother. Come in.” He stepped back. “How was dinner – I mean, supper, with the great Robert E. Lee?”

Johnny looked at the open bourbon bottle and the empty glass on the writing table.

“
Want a drink?” Paul closed the door. “I have another glass here somewhere.”

“
No thank you. Have you been drinking all day?”

“
Yes.” Paul poured bourbon into the glass. “Unlike you and our cousin, I don’t get pugnacious when I drink, I just get numb. Numb is good.” He took a long swallow.

“
What’s wrong?”

“
Wrong?” Paul sighed. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I hate it here, that’s what’s wrong. These people – this American aristocracy with their gentle oh-so-perfect manners. The hopeless, poverty-stricken, red-necked, share-cropping crackers. The miserable, pitiful, downtrodden slaves. I hate them all. They make me sick and ashamed of being a human.”

“
That’s the liquor talking, Pea.” Johnny sat down on the bunk.

Paul took another swallow. “Wait until you see the really big plantations further south. The simpering, whimpering Southern Belles with their perfumed hair, their crinolines and their
niggers
waiting on them hand and foot.” He looked at his brother. “They say that word like there’s nothing wrong with it. If I were to say
shit
in front of one of them, ten men would challenge me to a duel for offending the poor girl’s delicate ears. But the word
nigger
goes unnoticed. Like dog, cat, or mule.”

“
Why don’t you request a transfer?”

“
It would break Beauty’s heart.”

“
Have you talked to him about it?”

“
He wouldn’t understand.” Paul finished off the glass and refilled it. “How did the two halves of one country become so bloody different in only eighty years?”

“
I suspect that they’ve been quite different all along.”

“
Maybe. But you didn’t answer my earlier question. How was supper with Old Granny Lee?”

“
It was fine.”

“
Fine?” Paul asked with a mirthless laugh. “Did you enjoy being waited on by all the house niggers? Did they show you the quarters of the field niggers? Did you see all the partly white babies playing in the dirt?”

“
I’m as shocked and repulsed as you are, Pea. What do you want from me?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t know. An answer perhaps.”

“
An answer to what question?”

“
How do we live with ourselves in the middle of such – inhumanity.”

“
I don’t have an answer except to say that we’re soldiers, Pea. Soldiers endure living in cold, in mud, in scorching heat; starving and diseased under intolerable conditions. This is our duty station. We must endure it.”

September 14, 1856

New York, New York

T
he
New York Times
National Desk Editor looked up and watched Anna Van Buskirk thread her way gracefully through the clutter toward his desk. “That was fast. I just filed your
Battle of Osawatomie
story. Good work, by the way. Those widows’ stories went right to the heart of it.”

“
Thank you.” She sat down in his side chair.

“
Sorry to pull you out. It wasn’t my decision.” He pointed upstairs. “He wants you to cover the election.”

“
It’s going to cool down in Kansas anyway, now that John Geary’s the Governor.”

“
Too bad we didn’t get an interview with him. He’s an interesting fellow.”

Anna put a copybook on his desk. “Governor Geary and my brother Jack are close friends.”

“
From when Geary was the Mayor of San Francisco?”

“
Yes. Well, no. Before that. They knew each other from the Mexican War. Geary was the commanding officer of the Second Pennsylvania Infantry that stormed Chapultepec Castle with my father and my brothers. Geary was wounded five times during the charge.”

He read the first page and smiled. “Have I ever told you that you’re a great newspaperman?”

“
You better not, unless you want a kick in the shins.”

He looked back down at her copy book. “Geary’s six foot six?”

“
Yes. And very handsome.”

“
Ah-ha. And a widower, I see.”

She laughed. “And thirty-seven years old.”

He looked at her for a moment. “How old are you, Anna?”

“
Almost fifty.”

“
Really?”

“
Don’t. I know that I show every year of my age.”

“
I honestly thought you were about forty.”

“
I wish. My sister-in-law, who’s my age, looks thirty-five.”

“
Nancy?”

“
Yes.”

He nodded. “Umm. She’s a real looker.”

“
Well.” She stood up. “I better go see what the man upstairs wants me to do.”

“
Tell him you need a vacation.”

“
I might.”

September 14, 1856

Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

A
nna walked into the dining room to find Nancy sitting alone with a wineglass in one hand and cigarillo in the other. A silver candelabrum, with nearly burned down candles, lighted the room. “What are you drinking?” Anna asked.

“
Muscatel.” Nancy pointed to an open decanter on the sideboard. “You’re late.”

“
I know. Long day at the office. Sorry.”