The Crossed Sabres (3 page)

“Get in the house!” Tom commanded Marlene, and after one wild look at his bloody face, she wheeled and ran away. Tom stood there, gasping for breath, aware of the pain that was beginning to run along his body.

Standing there looking down at Spence, he knew nothing
could ever be the same between them. And sorrow for all the good times that could never come again with this man was a keen blade of regret in him. Finally Spence opened his eyes, and when they focused, Tom got such a look of hatred that he hardly recognized the man.

Grayson got to his feet painfully, then without a word, turned and walked to the buggy. Tom tried to call out, but knew it was hopeless. He had seen Spence like this before, harsh and unforgiving, but never had felt the weight of his anger personally. He watched helplessly as the man got into the buggy, after several unsuccessful tries, then drove off without a single word or look. Then he turned and went into the house, and as he tended to his own hurts, he realized that something had gone out of his life forever. The war and all it implied had worn upon him; now the loss of his best friend weighed heavily on Tom Winslow, and he felt sad that this day marked the end of all things.

CHAPTER TWO

The Fires of War

Fort Sumter’s smoke-stained flag drooped from a broken flagstaff as ninety exhausted men marched out to their ships, drums beating and colors flying. They were angry, hungry, and tired men, but their backs were straight as they marched.

General Beauregard, wearing a hussar sword with a gilded hilt—the gilded metal of the guard twisted into lovelocks and roses—watched them go. Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard with his dark, handsome face, posed there, feeling the thrill of victory.

But the fall of Fort Sumter was like a stone falling into a still pond, the ripples spreading over North and South.

In Washington, Abraham Lincoln waited, pacing up and down the White House halls in nightshirt and carpet slippers. He had been called many names, including an ape and a buffoon. The crude small-time politician, a comparative failure at forty, was thrust into the presidency by a series of almost comical political events. His cabinet included Seward and Chase, who hated each other, each believing he should be president instead of Lincoln. When one of Lincoln’s aides protested against the disrespect these men showed toward Lincoln, the president smiled, saying, “When I was a boy, if I had just one pumpkin to bump in a sack, it was hard to carry, but if you could get two pumpkins, one in each end of the sack, it balanced things up. Seward and Chase will do for my pair of pumpkins.”

In the North, Abraham Lincoln grew tired and discouraged
as he faced a task no man could survive. Often he wondered about Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy. He said once, “Davis was born only forty miles from my own birthplace. He got the start of me in age and raising. I guess if you set out to pick one of us two for president, you’d pick him, nine times out of ten.”

In the South, Jefferson Davis was as tired as Lincoln. He looked much like John Calhoun, stern and austere. He was brilliant, but his brittle temper and caustic manner prevented him from drawing men to him. His cabinet included Judah B. Benjamin, the dapper Jew; Toombs, the tall, restless Georgian, as fine to look at as a young bull—and as hard to manage; Alex Stephens, vice-president, called “The Pale Star of the Confederacy”; and Mallory, Regan, and Walker.

Neither nation was prepared for war, and for months there was a frantic scurry to put together armies. The Northern newspapers, published by Horace Greeley, tried to force Lincoln into action by running the headline
ON TO RICHMOND!

Throughout the country the fall of Fort Sumter was felt, and its ripple effect quickly reached Belle Maison and the house of Winslow. It was all Sky and his wife, Rebekah, could do to keep their boys from joining the army immediately. Dan and Tom were persuaded to stay out of it only with great difficulty, but they could do nothing with Mark, who enlisted as soon as Seth Barton had organized the Richmond Blades.

It was not a bad time for Tom, despite the unsettled affairs of the country. Marlene had gone back to New Orleans after Tom’s fight with Spence, but had returned a month later for a prolonged stay. Her mother, a widow of fifty years, accompanied her, and the two were fortunate enough to find a small frame house just outside of Richmond. They made a place for themselves in the higher realms of the social world in the city and showed no inclination to return to New Orleans. This delighted Tom, who immediately resumed his courtship with Marlene.

Spence Grayson, to everyone’s surprise, did not return to his home in New York at the outbreak of the war. At his father’s request, Spence had stayed in Virginia to sell off their holdings, which were considerable. Though he was an alien in a strange land, he was not treated badly, as were others who lacked his wealth and his ability with a dueling pistol. Even the aristocracy of the Confederacy, whom he met at the home of the Chesnuts, treated him with formal courtesy.

Spence’s relationship with Tom, however, had changed, partly because the Northerner continued his pursuit of Marlene Signourey.

Their first meeting after the brutal fight occurred at a banquet. Tom had known it would happen and had sought out Spence at once. Extending his hand, he said, “Sorry, Spence.” Grayson had taken it quickly, nodded and replied, “Let’s forget it, Tom.”

But Tom Winslow knew that it would never be forgotten, no matter how many times they smiled and shook hands. There was a hard light in Spence’s eyes that had not been there before, and Tom knew something had died that night they had fought in the darkness at Belle Maison.

Marlene met both of them with smiles, attended the theater with Spence and went to Belle Maison often, spending much time with Belle Winslow. The two young women were the same age, and drew the young soldiers like flies. At every ball—and there were many in the days preceding the first battle at Manassas—Tom found himself thrown into Spence’s company often, for the aristocratic society of Richmond was not large.

The beginning of July, it became obvious to everyone that the first great battle of the war was edging closer. Most of Tom’s friends had joined the Richmond Blades, where his brother Mark was an officer, so wherever Tom went the conversation was all strategy and battles and arms. He felt left out, and though no one belittled him—as they had some others—Tom felt left behind.

This sense of isolation only compounded one Friday when a review of the army was to take place. As he watched Mark dress in his uniform, noting the excitement and eagerness that swept him, Tom’s desire to be a part of it became even stronger.

Dan, too, was affected. At breakfast that day, he begged once again for permission to enlist, but both parents were adamant.

“I’ll be left out!” Dan moaned. “It’ll all be over before I can join the rest!”

Sky’s lips tightened as he answered bleakly, “That’s your least worry, Dan. This thing won’t be settled by one battle.”

Later as they drove to the parade ground, Sky asked, “What are you going to do with that young woman, Tom?”

The question startled Tom, for his father rarely addressed such intimate affairs. He had brought his sons and daughters up to be independent, and though he was always available to them, he refused to meddle in their personal affairs.

“Why, I guess I’m going to try to marry her,” Tom blurted out. Encouraged by his father’s interest, he said, “It’s what I’ve wanted to do, but I’m not sure if she’ll have me.”

Sky looked out across the rolling hills, noting the gap the carriage would pass through. He was thinking of the day when a band of Sioux might be on the other side, for the years had not taken away all his caution. Now he smiled at his own fancies, but sobered as he turned to glance at his son. He loved this tall, dark son of his, though it was difficult for him to put it into words. The men of his world rarely spoke about such things, considering it to be a weakness. But now he wanted to put his arm around his son’s broad shoulders, to take away some of the burden that had come to him.

“Well, she might not,” Sky said finally, speaking slowly. “Women are hard to figure out. But if she did, it’s not the best time in the world to begin a family.”

“No, I guess not.” Tom sat there swaying with the motion of the carriage, thinking of his father’s statement. Finally he
said, “I guess it wasn’t much better when you and mother got married. It was pretty wild in those days, wasn’t it?”

“Wild enough,” Sky mused; his eyes, blue as the sky overhead, were serious. “Always an Indian or two around to put an arrow in your liver. Not as bad as your grandfather had it, though. He lived on the verge of trouble all his life.” He thought of his father, Christmas Winslow, born at Valley Forge during that terrible winter when Washington’s ragged Continentals froze and starved. Washington himself had come by to see the new baby and to congratulate the father, Nathan Winslow.

“Well, sir,” Tom said after waiting for several minutes with no response, “I guess there’s no way to be safe, is there? A man can’t hide in a hole.”

“No, he can’t. And no man can make a decision for another one, either.” Sky stared at the hills, then turned his face toward Tom, a smile on his lips. “Whatever you do, son, stick with it. That’s what counts. Any man can start something—but the real test comes when you’re facing difficulty.” He uttered a quiet chuckle. “I’m not much good at giving advice, am I, Tom? But you’ve got good blood in you. If you make a mistake and get floored, why, get up, wipe the blood off and go at it again.”

Tom stared at his father, filled with a sudden knowledge that this man loved him, though he could not put it into words. He felt a lump in his throat, waited until it went away, then said, “I’m joining the Blades, sir.”

Sky nodded. “Thought you might be. Dan, he’ll be right behind you. Can’t sit on a young fellow for long, not one with any spirit. Your mother and I will be praying for all three of you boys.”

They spoke no more of the matter, but when they got out of the carriage, Tom put his hand out awkwardly, saying, “I—I appreciate it, sir, your talking to me like this.” Then he whirled around and walked away rapidly.

Rebekah, who had come in another carriage with the rest
of the family, came to stand beside Sky. “He’s joining up, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She was a strong woman, this wife of Sky Winslow. There were no tears in her eyes, but she put her hand on his arm for support, whispering, “We’ll have to lean on each other—and on God.” Then she made herself smile, turning to say, “Hurry up, Pet! We want to get a good place to watch the parade.”

Pet had been talking to Thad Novak, a young man who had been taken in by the Winslows. “Thad and Dan and I are going to walk around before the parade starts,” she called out, and led the young man off.

Sky laughed. “Ever since she nursed that young man back to health, she acts as if he belongs to her! Well, come along, let’s see what we’ve got in the way of an army.”

“I’m going to find Mark,” Tom said. When he saw him, Tom blurted out, “I’m joining the Blades. I just told Father.”

Mark bit his lip nervously, then asked, “What did he say?”

“It was all right. Said that Dan would be in this thing before it’s over.”

Mark shook his head. “He’s too young. We’ll have to try to keep him out.”

“We won’t have any luck,” Tom remarked. “I guess all us Winslows are too stubborn.”

“It seems so. Well, be at camp in the morning and we’ll sign you up.”

“All right.”

Tom left the parade ground and moved through the crowd until he found Marlene and her mother, seated in cane-bottomed chairs placed along the edge of the wide grounds.

“Hello, Thomas,” Mrs. Signourey greeted cheerily when Tom approached. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Tom’s face broke into a smile. He liked Marlene’s mother. “How’d you get the good seats?”

“Spence got them for us somehow,” Mrs. Signourey shrugged. “He’s gone to get some lemonade.”

He groaned inwardly at the news. “Sure,” he nodded. “I’m going to find my folks. Will I see you after the review, Marlene?”

“Why, of course!” She seemed surprised that he had asked. “You’re coming to our house for a little snack. Come and bring Mother and me home.”

“All right.”

Tom left, and taking a place far across the field he watched as Spence returned with a pitcher and glasses. From his vantage point, Tom had to admit the three made a pretty picture in the crowd.

The review was impressive, and Tom gave careful attention to the Richmond Blades. Shelby Lee, the nephew of General Robert E. Lee, was their captain and had trained them well. As they marched across the field with precision, Tom wished he were in their ranks.

President Davis and several other prominent statesmen spoke afterward—all presenting much the same: If the South were to win, everyone would have to give his best. There was a performance by the military band, and for a final flourish, Jeb Stuart’s cavalry rode down the field, first in perfect order, then in a wild sabre-brandishing charge spiced with high yelping cries.

The crowd rose to its feet, screaming approval, and Tom found himself stirred along with them.

Why not do it now?
The thought came to him suddenly, and he knew he could never be content unless he joined the army. Without hesitation he shoved his way through the crowd until he found Captain Shelby Lee. “Captain Lee,” he said at once, “I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Why, certainly, Mr. Winslow. What can I do for you?”

“I want to join the Blades—right away!”

Surprised, he asked, “Have you talked with your father about this?”

“Yes. He agrees, sir, and I’d like to enlist at once.”

Lee smiled at Tom’s urgency. “Well, I think that can be
arranged. Come along and you can fill out the papers now.” As they made their way to the office, Lee said, “I’m pleased to have you, of course, and your brother will be happy as well. But you won’t get much training, I’m afraid. It looks as though we may be moving out in a week.”