Enraged, Wade retaliated by saying publicly, "The authority of Congress is paramount. It must be respected by all — and I do not exclude that hag-ridden creature who haunts the Executive Mansion and daily heaps more disgrace upon his office and his nation."
At the reception where Wade first uttered the statement, Stanley clapped and muzzily cried "Hear, hear!" He hadn't gone so far as to attend the splinter nominating convention in Cleveland, where a Republican faction had named General Fremont its candidate. But he was dedicated to Lincoln's overthrow, and this was but one of many facts he conveyed to his new light-of-love.
Miss Jeannie Canary — the last name was something she had adopted to replace the unpronounceable one bestowed by her Levantine father — was impressed by Stanley's friends almost as much as she was by his unlimited cash supply. On the night after the renomination, she and Stanley lay naked in bed in Miss Canary's cheap rooms on the island — quarters from which he had pledged to move her soon.
Pleasantly blurry from bourbon, Stanley rested on his ample stomach, diddling Miss Canary's dark nipples with his fingertips. She usually smiled continually. But not this evening.
"Loves, I want to see the illuminations. I want to hear the Marine Band play 'Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!' "
"Jeannie" — he spoke as if explaining to a slow child — "the celebrations constitute a slap in the face to my closest friends. How dare I attend?"
"Oh, that isn't the reason you're saying no," she retorted, flouncing over and showing him her plump rear. Beyond soiled curtains, a fiery line ran upward in the sky, bursting into a shower of silver spangles. Other rockets, green, yellow, blue, followed. In the direction of Georgetown, many balloons were aloft, dangerously illuminated by lanterns in their baskets.
She poked an index finger into her cheek, as a bad actress might to convey a pensive mood. 'The real reason is you don't want to be seen with me."
"You mustn't take offense at that. I am known in this town. I am also a married man."
"Then you've got no business being here, have you? So if you won't take me out, don't bother to rent a new flat for me. Or come backstage again — ever."
Her dark eyes and her pout undid him. He heaved his pale body out of bed, found the bottle, and swigged the last of it. "All right. I suppose we could go for an hour — though I want you to appreciate the risk I'm taking." He reached for his oversized underdrawers.
"Oh, loves, I do, I do," she squealed, scented arms around his neck, breasts mashed flat against his flab. Moments like these somehow canceled Stanley's awareness of his age and banished every thought of Isabel. At such times, he felt like a young man.
The sight Miss Canary wanted to see was the Patent Office, above the avenue on F Street. They caught a hack — Stanley never brought his own carriage and driver to the island — and on the way he attempted to explain why he and his friends despised Lincoln. He started with the different plans for reconstruction, descriptions of which confused her and stiffened her smile, a sure sign she was growing cross again. He immediately tried the military approach.
"The President chose Grant, but Grant's campaign is virtually at a standstill. Cold Harbor was a disaster, the dimensions of which we are just discovering. The general has lost something like fifty thousand men — nearly half the original force with which he advanced across the Rapidan, and almost the same number as you'll find in Lee's entire army. The nation won't tolerate a butcher's bill that high — especially with Richmond still not captured."
"I'm not exactly sure where Richmond is, loves. Down near North Carolina?"
Sighing, he patted her hand and gave up. Jeannie Canary was sweet and droll, but her talents, while delicious, were limited. One shouldn't expect more of actresses, he supposed.
"I want to get out," she insisted when the hack stalled in the crowd at the corner of Seventh and F. He tried to persuade her that they shouldn't, but she opened the door anyway. With a quiver of fear, he followed.
Fireworks exploded overhead, thunderous. The crowd whistled and cheered the red, white, and blue star bursts. On the front of the Patent Office building, great illuminations had been created — huge transparency portraits of Lincoln and the unknown Johnson and tough-jawed Grant blazed in the night. Miss Canary squealed and clung to his arm, and he watched strangers take notice of them. A shiver chased along his spine. The danger had a certain piquant quality, something like the thrill experienced by a soldier, he felt sure.
"Good evening, Stanley."
Paling, he swung sharply and saw Congressman Henry Davis of Maryland tip his hat, skewer Miss Canary with a glance — she was oblivious — and pass on.
Oh, my God, oh, my God, was all that passed through Stanley's head for the next couple of moments. What a fool he was, what an absolute ass. The danger here wasn't piquant; it was deadly.
And he was now a casualty.
Charles wanted to mourn for Beauty Stuart, but no tears would come.
Instead, he examined memories; shining bits of glass in the great bright window of the Stuart legend, a window fashioned partly by Stuart's admirers, partly by his detractors, partly by the man himself. At the end, Charles could forgive Stuart's suspicion and shabby treatment of Hampton early in the war and remember instead how lustily he sang. They said that while he was dying he had asked friends to sing "Rock of Ages" at his bedside.
As senior brigadier, Hampton stood next in line to command the cavalry. He immediately got a large part of the responsibility, but not the promotion. Charles and Jim Pickles and every other veteran knew why. Lee distrusted Hampton's age. Was he fit enough to withstand the rigors of the command?
Charles thought it a ridiculous issue. Hampton had long ago proved himself able to endure hardships, bad weather, long rides, and campaigns that would fell many men who were years younger. Still, those high up seemed determined to test him further. Charles felt bad because he suspected the delay also had something to do with Fitz Lee wanting the promotion for himself. Once back from Richmond, Charles had no time away from duty, no chance to visit Gus, though he thought of her often. He had decided that the love affair must be cooled off if not ended completely. The war was helping.
At the same time, he worried that harm would come to her as ferocious campaigning started in the Wilderness. He knew the Federals had overrun Fredericksburg again and many of the inhabitants had fled. A note from Orry in answer to one of his said Gus and her freedmen weren't in Richmond or, if they were, they hadn't come to Orry and Madeline for sanctuary. From that, Charles guessed she was still at the farm. He wanted to find out if she was all right but couldn't do it.
Which was better, knowing or not knowing? Jim Pickles received letters from home, and each depressed him for days after it arrived. His mother was bedridden. One doctor suspected she had a cancer and might not last the year.
"I got to go home," Jim announced one day.
"You can't," Charles said with authority.
Jim thought for a while. "I s'pose you're right." But he didn't sound convinced.
Grant's army reeled past its own dead at Cold Harbor, apparently intent on investing the strategic rail junction at Petersburg. Phil Sheridan's cavalry feinted toward Charlottesville; Lee was forced to send Hampton in pursuit. Near Trevilian Station, on the Virginia Central line, Charles briefly saw the curly-haired Yankee, a general now, who had marked him at Brandy Station.
The Federals were about to make off with wagons, ambulances, and around eight hundred horses. Calbraith Butler's brigade was fighting elsewhere, so Hampton sent Texas Tom Rosser galloping in. Charles rode with Rosser's men, and it was then that he spied the boy general, recognizing him first by his scarlet neckerchief. Charles fired one shot, which missed. Custer fired back and rode away. It was doubtful that he recognized Charles, who now resembled a bearded bandit more than a soldier.