Crossing (33 page)

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes. By the way, it’s Leslie.”

“Yancy.”

“There’s just one more thing I’d like to tell you, Yancy,” Leslie said quietly. “I love Virginia; it’s been my father’s home and my home our whole lives. I can’t imagine living anywhere else, and that’s why I took the chance of staying here when I decided to join the Union. I couldn’t face moving somewhere in the North, and I know that my family would have insisted on coming with me.”

“I believe they would,” Yancy agreed. “You have a good, strong family.”

“But I love the United States of America, too,” Leslie went on steadily. “I hate the thought of this country divided, torn apart. I want Virginia to always be a part of the United States of America. It’s just that simple.”

“I understand,” Yancy said. “Believe me, I understand.”

Lorena slipped in then and came to her brother’s bedside. He reached out and took her hand. “Don’t fuss. I feel fine.”

She scoffed. “I didn’t come up here to fuss at you like some nanny. I just wanted to tell Sergeant Tremayne that Missy has laid out a cold supper for him. After witnessing him devouring one meal, I think it’s safe to think that he may be hungry.” She gave Yancy a sidelong glance.

“Isn’t it annoying when people talk about you like you’re not in the room?” Leslie asked, his gray eyes twinkling.

“It is,” Yancy answered him. “But I do have to admit that I’m hungry. I’m not surprised that Miss Hayden noticed that.”

“Silly boys,” Lorena grumbled, turning and marching out of the room.

Yancy watched her leave then turned back to Leslie and sighed. “She hates me.”

Leslie managed a weak laugh. “She likes you. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t tease you.”

“Really?” Yancy asked. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Leslie answered. “It’s when she starts getting all frosty polite that you have to watch out.”

“Mmm. I’ll remember that,” Yancy said thoughtfully.

“See that you do,” Leslie warned him. “For your own good.”

Yancy moved toward the door. “You do look tired, and I’m going to leave before your sister comes back and bodily throws me out. Good night, Leslie.”

“We’ll see you again, right?”

“Hope so, my friend. Hope so.”

Yancy made his way back downstairs to the parlor, where Dr. Hayden and Lorena waited for him. Dr. Hayden said, “My wife has gone on to bed; she’s not well. But she made me soundly promise to invite you to stay the night, Sergeant Tremayne, if you haven’t made other arrangements.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Dr. Hayden said briskly, rising. “After what you have done for this family, it’s as I said before, you will always be welcome in my home. Now I’m tired and I’m going to go to bed, but Missy will see to your late supper and then show you to your room.”

“I’ll take care of it, Father,” Lorena said, rising to stand on very tiptoe to give her father a kiss on his cheek. “And I’ll check on Leslie before I retire. Please don’t worry. Just get some rest.”

He did look tired; his shoulders were a little more stooped, and his gait was slow as he left the parlor. “I think I will be able to rest tonight. Good night, daughter. Good night, Sergeant Tremayne.”

“Good night, sir.”

Lorena turned to Yancy and said, “Missy’s got your supper all laid out.” She led him to the kitchen, where there was a fine spread of ham, potato salad, bread, and sliced apples.

Yancy bowed his head and said a short blessing in silence, in the traditional Amish way, and then ate ravenously. He hadn’t had anything to eat since he had sat in this kitchen before. Even though Lorena was watching him, he was so hungry he didn’t mind. Too much.

She poured him coffee and refilled his plate when he got low. When he showed signs of having enough, she said slowly, “Sergeant Tremayne, I know that I was very harsh to you when you first arrived. I’m sorry that I doubted you, but surely you can understand my feelings now that you know our story.”

“I do,” Yancy agreed. “It was a strange thing, what happened to me and your brother. I could hardly expect you to jump right into it and know how things were, with me being a Johnny Reb and all.”

She didn’t blush, but she did look slightly amused. “Well, you are, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” he agreed.

“Are you going to accept my apology or not?” she demanded.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t believe I heard an apology anywhere in there.”

“There wasn’t?” She seemed genuinely surprised, so surprised that Yancy laughed. At first Lorena glowered at him, but then she smiled, too. “Perhaps there wasn’t. So I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

She began to gather up the dishes and cover them with linens.

Yancy helped her. As they finished up, she showed the first sign of true discomfort with him that he had seen yet, and it secretly amused him.

“So, Sergeant Tremayne, would you like me to show you to your room now?” she asked with artificial brightness.

“That would be nice, ma’am. I have to admit that I’m tired, and I have a long ride tomorrow.”

She led him toward his room and said, “Oh? Where are you—oh, no, no, never mind. Here’s your room.”

It was a bedroom next to Leslie’s, with a bed fully long enough to accommodate Yancy’s six-plus feet. It had clean linens, and the fresh smell floated in the room. On a washstand was a pitcher of water, a basin, soap, hand towels, and a razor and soapbrush. Yancy smiled a little; he still didn’t have to shave—his Indian legacy. “This looks wonderful, Miss Hayden,” he said, and in a grateful gesture he reached out and took her hand.

She stared up at him for a few moments, still and silent, her hand warm in his. Then abruptly she pulled free and said hurriedly, “Good night, Sergeant Tremayne,” and almost ran down the hall.

Softly he called after her, “Good night, Miss Hayden.”

He washed, and slept, and for six hours heard no echoes of battle and knew no fear or pain.

A
t dawn the next morning, Yancy went to the capitol. His dispatches were waiting for him, so he rode out. It was ninety miles back to the camp at Manassas Junction; since both Yancy and Midnight had been rested, they were able to make it in less than twenty-four hours, with only brief stops for rest and food and water.

On the outskirts of the camp, Yancy saw General Jackson sitting on a split-rail fence, nodding a little in the early sunlight. Beside him, Little Sorrel grazed, her reins trailing in the verdant high grass. Yancy came to a stop, and Midnight stamped and whinnied a little, as he was accustomed to do, but the general didn’t stir.

Yancy watched him affectionately. No one would ever take him for a general, much less for the mighty Stonewall Jackson. Still he wore his old, dusty, threadbare major’s tunic, grimy and wrinkled. As always, his beat-up forage cap sat with the bill right down to his nose. Although he sat ruler straight, as he always did even in his five-minute naps, he still looked rumpled and awkward, like a nondescript meager clerk.

So different on the battlefield
, Yancy thought in wonder. He remembered his cool courage when the sharpshooter had targeted them at the Battle of Manassas. He recalled that when Jackson rode up and down the battle lines, shouting to his 1
^st
Brigade, it stirred the blood and gave the men courage and a sense of fierce honor and grim determination to fight for Virginia and the Confederacy—and for Stonewall Jackson.

The object of Yancy Tremayne’s admiring reverie jerked a little, stirred, muttered something under his breath, then looked around. “Good morning, Sergeant Tremayne.”

“Good morning, sir.” Yancy saluted sharply.

Slowly, with deliberation, Jackson took a lemon out of one pocket, a small paring knife out of another, cut the top off the lemon, lifted it to his lips, and began to suck out the juice. “You have my dispatches?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jackson motioned to him with a peremptory wave. “Bring them here.”

Yancy dismounted and handed him the courier’s bag.

“Wait,” he ordered.

Yancy tied Midnight to the fence then stood at parade attention.

Jackson took out his spectacles that he needed for reading. But his eyes were not weak. He could see a battlefield well enough. As he sucked on the lemon and perused his orders, the frown on his face grew darker and darker. “If they would just give me ten thousand men, I would be in Washing ton tomorrow,” he growled. “What a waste, what a criminal waste of time and opportunity.”

Yancy knew that he spoke to himself, as he often did when they were alone. Around other officers and men Jackson spoke succinctly and without giving away any indication of his feelings. Certainly he never spoke aloud to himself. But Yancy knew that because of his prior relationship with Jackson when he was just a servant, basically, and because of Anna Jackson’s closeness to Yancy, General Jackson somehow trusted Yancy more and was able to let his iron guard down. Somewhat and sometimes, at least.

After another guttural grumble of exasperation, Jackson took off his glasses, tucked them away, and looked back up at Yancy. “At ease, at ease, Sergeant. Don’t stand there posing like a popinjay. Sit down and tell me about Richmond.”

Yancy sat on a fence rail, took off his cap, and mopped his forehead. The July sun was climbing higher in the sky. It was goingto be another scorching day. “I brought the papers, sir. They’re in my saddlebag. They’re full of the battle, of course—and of you.”

“Me?” Jackson grunted.

“Yes, sir.” Yancy grinned. “They’re all raving about the famous General ‘Stonewall’ Jackson.”

“Stonewall,” Jackson mused. “What General Bee said …”

“Yes, sir. That’s your new name, sir. And they’re calling us the Stonewall Brigade.”

“Good, good,” he murmured. “The credit should go to the noble men who fought and to God. Not to me. All that nonsense aside, Sergeant, what is the mood in Richmond? And at the capitol?”

Yancy told him about the tumult at the capitol, centered mostly around the Department of War. He described the crowds in the streets, excitedly talking and milling about, apparently only to go over and over any small detail or gossip about the battle, and related the sight of the Federal prisoners with the crowds jeering at them. And he told Jackson of Chimborazo Hospital, which Yancy had briefly toured on his way into town to get the dispatches. “Of ours, almost 1,600 wounded, sir,” he finished in a low voice.

Jackson nodded. “Brave and courageous men, God will they be healed to return to stand with us once more.” He jumped off the fence and mounted Little Sorrel, still working on his lemon. “Back to my headquarters, Sergeant Tremayne. I want you to brief my aides, then you can eat and rest. Rode all day and night, did you?”

Yancy untied Midnight and mounted up. “Twenty-two hours, sir, with only two short breaks for food and water,” he said proudly.

Jackson reached over and patted Midnight’s sleek neck approvingly. “Fastest horse in the Confederacy, I guess, and never seems to tire. No wonder Colonel Stuart keeps trying to buy him from you. And if I know that rascal, you might better keep him on a tight rein when Stuart’s around. Rogue cavalrymen been known to steal what they can’t buy.” Jackson spurred ahead and Yancy followed, grinning.

Anna Jackson came north by train to the camp in Manassas. On the last lap of the journey, the train was absolutely packed with soldiers. They were boisterous, exuberant. Anna sat quiet and still in her seat, her gaze downcast, but it was to no avail. She noted in her writing, “A lady seemed to be a great curiosity to the soldiers, scores of whom filed through the car to take a look.”

Finally she arrived at Manassas Junction, where an awkward young corporal with his right arm in a sling met her and told her he was to take her to a hospital to wait for the general. She sat in a tiny, dusty, deserted office beside the front entrance.

Across the street, squads of soldiers were making coffins for their fallen companions. The sight made her deeply sad. She remembered the rowdy young boys on the train and wondered how many of them would die in the battles that must surely come. She wondered if her husband would join them. And as the thought crept into her mind for perhaps the thousandth time, she turned her eyes away from the bitter sight, bowed her head and whispered, “ ‘But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.’ Only in You, Lord, do I find strength.”

Peace settled on her like soft satin, and she waited calmly until Jackson came driving up in an ambulance to rescue her. He jumped out and the corporal led him in.

When Jackson saw Anna, his eyes brightened, he ran to her, enveloped her in his arms, kissed her sweetly, and held her to him. He whispered, “Esposita, my darling wife, how I have missed you! How grateful I am to the Lord for bringing you to me!” As always, Jackson was oblivious to others when he was with Anna. With her, no matter who stood by or overheard or observed, he was the tender and boyishly adoring husband.

“I’ve missed you, my darling Thomas,” she said, clinging to him. “Every day, every hour.”