But the long vigil had left Stanley in a state not typical for him: he craved the companionship of someone from outside the War Department building. So he ignored the waiter motioning him to another table and proceeded to the one where George sat staring at his fried potatoes with a look Stanley thought odd indeed. George didn't raise his head till his brother cleared his throat.
"Hello, Stanley. Where did you come from?"
"The telegraph room. I've been there all night awaiting news from Virginia."
"Is there any?"
''Very little. May I join you?"
George waved at a chair. Stanley put his tall hat on another, then sat, tugging his waistcoat down over the steadily growing bulge of his paunch. "Is something wrong, George? Trouble with Constance or the children?"
Bastard, George thought. It was Stanley's style to ask such questions with a hopeful tone. "Yes, there is. Ten minutes ago I saw a ghost."
"I beg your —"
"Sir?" said the waiter, who had been hovering to take Stanley's order.
"Come back later," Stanley snapped. ''Tell me what you mean, George."
"I saw Virgilia. Riding one of the avenue cars."
Astonished, Stanley didn't speak immediately. "I presumed Virgilia had gone far away from this part of the country. I've not heard from her or about her for two or three years."
"I'm certain it was sire — well, virtually certain. You know she never cared for clothes, and this woman was smartly dressed. Her hair was stylish. Even with those differences —"
"Obviously you aren't certain at all," Stanley broke in. "But suppose it was Virgilia. Why are you concerned? What difference would it make? None to me or Isabel, I assure you. I have nothing in common with my sister except a last name and a loathing for the South."
"Don't you ever wonder if she's all right?'
"Never. She's a thief and a slut — and those are the kindest descriptions I can apply. I don't care to discuss Virgilia or any other unpleasant topic. I have been up all night, and I want to eat a peaceful breakfast. I can do so at another table if you wish."
"Calm down, Stanley. Order something and I'll keep quiet."
But he didn't. He picked at his potatoes, took a bite of cold beef-steak bathed in greasy gravy, and said, "I do wonder somelimes. Where Virgilia is. I mean."
"That's your prerogative," Stanley said, taking the same tone he would have used with a man thinking of stepping in front of a fifteen-inch columbiad about to be fired. Conversation lagged after that. Stanley ordered and ate a huge breakfast, topped off with the last of seven muffins lathered in plum preserves. George, meantime, saw distorted, sharply angled images of the woman's face sliding away in the street-railway car. In a strange way, the brothers were glad of each other's company.
As they left the dining room, Stanley paused to say hello to a pale, stooped individual just entering with some other men. George recognized Representative Stout, one of the Wade-Stevens gang. He and Stanley whispered like old cronies. George continued to believe that his brother had entrenched himself with the radicals out of expediency rather than conviction.
Stout rejoined his friends, and the brothers went outside. "Going to work now?" Stanley asked. George said no, he planned to walk down three blocks to see whether the Evening Star had posted any recent bulletins.
"I've taken to relying on the correspondents for accurate news. You boys in Stanton's office seem to publish what's favorable and quash the rest."
The insult galled Stanley, but he could think of no retort; unfortunately, his brother was right. He fell in step and accompanied him to the Star offices, a corner building on the wrong side of the avenue at Eleventh Street. They found a crowd of almost a hundred people reading the long handwritten strips hanging outside.
Latest from the Seat of War
General Lee Surprised
General Stoneman Playing
the Mischief with His Cavalry
in the Rear of the Rebels
-----
Enemy Menaces Fredericksburg;
Our Virginia Correspondents Report
Terrible Fighting Saturday & Sunday
at Chancellorsville
Scowling, George said, "Old hash. I read it all yesterday, must be going —"
"Wait a moment," Stanley said. "They're bringing out a new one."
The crowd shifted and whispered in anticipation as a man in shirt sleeves appeared with a long sheet trailing from his hand. He moved a ladder, climbed up to the line strung across the building, and attached the hand-printed bulletin.
Thrilling News from the Army!
Hooker All Right!!!
-----
Prodigies of Valor Performed
by Our Men —Thousands of
Enemy Prisoners Taken
-----
General Stonewall Jackson
Said to Be Severely Wounded
Almost instantly, there was reaction. "We won! Fighting Joe's done it!" "Bring those prisoners back, and we'll hang 'em." "Lookit that — Jackson got what he deserves." Stanley tapped fingertips against his waistcoat. "If those reports are true —"
George didn't hear. For the second time that morning, he felt as though he had been hit. Blurry pictures swam in his head. He saw the strange, shy Presbyterian boy from the hills of western Virginia who had become his friend. Even in his youth, and despite his peculiarities, Jackson had seemed to carry a promise of greatness that was indefinable but very real.
George remembered after-hours hashes and Jackson fastidiously avoiding most of the food because he feared to disrupt his digestion. He remembered calling him Tom and sitting with him, and with Orry and Sam Grant, after the capture of Mexico City. He remembered Jackson ordering a glass of wine and tasting it once, while the rest of them swilled beer.
The bulletin rattled in the breeze. It only said reported, and experience reminded George that many such bulletins proved wrong in whole or in part. He had a bad feeling about this one, though.
He realized Stanley had spoken. "What did you say?"
"I remarked that if the rumor about Jackson is true, it will be a blessing for the Union. An even greater one if the wound proves mortal."
"Shut up, Stanley. Save your stupid remarks for that vengeful crowd you're so chummy with."
"I'll say anything about a traitor that I damn well —"
"No, you won't. He was my friend."
Stanley opened his mouth, but just as quickly closed it. Head lowered slightly, George continued to fix him with a baleful stare for another few seconds. Then, stiff-backed, he turned and walked around the corner and out of sight.
Some in the crowd had overheard the exchange. One man thrust his chin toward Stanley. "What did that officer say? That Stonewall was his friend?"
"Anybody who'd admit that oughta be lynched," a fat woman said.
"I share that sentiment," Stanley declared. He regretted his impulse to breakfast with George and again thought of calling him to the attention of Colonel Baker.
78
Virgilia knew she would suffer for going to Washington. When she eventually returned to Aquia Creek, the woman recently installed as head of the hospital nurses would chastise her for leaving when so many wounded were coming in from Chancellorsville. General Hooker's great advance had met with failure there, something not yet widely known in the capital, Virgilia discovered.
Virgilia's conscience had prompted her to stay on duty, and she would have but for several circumstances. She had waited nearly four weeks for an appointment with Miss Dix. Others could pick up her work during an absence of a day and a half. And she had to do something about her situation because it had become intolerable.