He plucked the cigar from his teeth. "Now listen. It was a damned long ride up here —"
"May I remind you that no one begged you to make it?" The old defenses were going up again; the tartness, the wry mouth. They hurt him. But he had known for months that pain was necessary if he were to do what was right.
He smoked and stared, saw angry bewilderment in her blue eyes. He nearly relented. Then Ab Woolner came to mind, and Sharpsburg, and a great many other events and changes — so many, it hardly seemed possible that three years could contain them all. Or that any man could withstand them. Yet he had. But he was not unscathed.
More softly: "How long are you able to stay?"
"I have to start back when it's dark."
"Would you like —?" The unfinished question and her slight turn toward the door leading to the sleeping rooms had an adolescent awkwardness not typical of her. Red appeared in her cheeks.
"I need to water Sport and let him rest," he said, aching to carry her in to bed. She heard the unspoken refusal.
"I'll give you supper when you're finished."
With a bob of his head, he went out.
The dapple of shadow and light from moving clouds continued into the evening. Charles consumed two bowls of the thin beef soup and four pieces of coarse, delicious brown bread baked earlier. She ladled out a small portion of soup for herself but didn't touch it. While he ate, she said little, resting her chin on the backs of her interlocked hands, her elbows on the table on either side of the cooling soup. As she studied his face, she tried to fathom the sad mystery of what was wrong with him. Occasionally she prodded with a brief question.
He said he was sure the war was lost. He spoke of the high rate of desertion and Lee's failure to demonstrate faith in Wade Hampton by promoting him to commander of the cavalry. He mentioned actions whose names were unfamiliar and the escalating hostility.
"When Hunter was in the valley, he burned Governor Letcher's home in Lexington. The Military Institute, too. In Silver Spring, right outside Washington, they say Jube Early looted homes and farms in retaliation. Now he's loose in Pennsylvania — God knows what he's doing there. When this whole business started, it reminded me of a South Carolina tournament: fair ladies, courageous horsemen, games. It's turned into an abattoir, with butchers and cattle on both sides. Good soup," he finished insincerely, pushing the bowl away. Do it now. Don't prolong it.
"What I came to say, Gus —" he cleared his throat "— with things going so badly, I don't know when I can get here again."
Gus lifted her head, a swift, fierce movement, like a response to a slap. Bitterly, she said, "Next week or never, the choice is yours. It always has been. I —" There she stopped, shaking her head as if saying no to herself.
"Go ahead, finish."
Her voice strengthened. "I hope you didn't expect a flood of tears in response to your announcement. I'm not sure I want you here in your present frame of mind. It's hardly new or profound to say that war is terrible. And you seem to forget men don't carry the entire burden. Do you think it's any easier to be a woman with a son or husband in the army? Do you think it's easier to sit and watch grown men play soldierboy by tearing up a garden — all the food you have in the world — and ruining a farm with their hooliganism? I know the war's done hard things to you. It's in your eyes, what you say, everything you do. You seem to be filled with rage —"
He rammed the chair back and stood, cigar in his teeth. He had lit a new one after eating, having decided he would go when the cigar was smoked. He might be leaving sooner than that.
"Don't bother to display your truculence," Gus seethed. "I've had my fill. What gives you special dispensation to beat your breast longer and harder than any of the rest of us? I love you, idiot that I am. I'm sorry for you. But I won't be treated like some dumb animal that's misbehaved. I won't be kicked, Charles. If you choose to come here again, let it be as the man I fell in love with. He's the one I want."
Moments ticked by. He drew the cigar from his mouth.
"He died."
She returned his stare. Softly, without wrath, she said, "I think you had better go."
"I think so too. Thanks for the food. Take care of yourself."
He walked out, mounted Sport, and rode away beneath the lowering clouds of night.
For half an hour, Gus did nothing. She sat at the kitchen table, her hands on her stomach, while grief beat at her. Sometime during this period, Washington knocked at the back door. She didn't answer. He went away.
Darkness crept into the kitchen. When she finally stood, it was to light a lamp. She felt much as she had the night her husband died. She couldn't believe it had happened to her.
If she had been more realistic about Charles — less smitten — she would have recognized that something like this could happen. There had been signs, strong ones, during the past year. A couplet from "An Essay on Man" cycled endlessly through her thoughts: Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd. And now a bubble burst —
"And now a world."
The whisper died away. With mental pushes and kicks, she forced herself to move through the dark house. Dusting this. Straightening that. Motion, work — anything to numb the pain.
She lit two more lamps in the kitchen, heated water on the stove, pulled all her clean dishes from the shelves and washed each piece, dried them vigorously, and put them back.
Another knock. This time, Washington didn't wait for an answer before stepping inside. "Miz Augusta, it's near onto midnight. Too late for you to be up."
"This floor's filthy. I'm going to scrub it."
Washington's forehead furrowed; such behavior was incomprehensible. "Major Charles didn't look so good —"
"He's been quite ill. Dysentery."
"He didn't stay long."
"No."
"He comin' back soon?"
She had to he. "I don't know. Perhaps."
Still frowning, Washington chewed on his lower lip. "If you're goin' to wash the floor this time of night, you let me help you."
"I want to do it by myself. I don't feel sleepy." She remembered her manners. "But thank you."
The door closed, shutting out his troubled face.
She filled a pail and found her brush. She couldn't believe how badly she hurt. His leaving was the direct cause, but the deepest guilt was hers. She had let down her defenses. Opened herself to love, whose other Janus face was the possibility of loss.
Would she have changed anything? Refused to love him? It took her no time at all to answer with an emphatic no. But, God above, it did hurt now.
Despite that, she still took pride in being a self-reliant woman. She had endured this damned misbegotten war, and she would continue to endure it. She would endure the pain, too, for as long as it lasted. She knew how long that would be. Till the hour she died.
No matter. She would endure everything because there was always, even amidst the worst, some reason for wanting and needing to survive. She knew her own reason well and only wished she had been able to tell him. But it would have been a cruel and self-serving use of the truth.
Gently, she rested a hand on her waist. Then, as the clock rang midnight, she got down on her knees and began to scrub.
115
The night after the battle of the Crater, Billy wrote:
Sun., Jul. 31. Routine company inspection. All quiet on the siege lines following yesterday's devastation.
Saturday, waking to reveille at 2 a.m., we breakfasted and marched in shirt sleeves to Ft. Meikel, a section of the works from which we witnessed the detonation of 8,000 lbs. of powder in the T-shaped mine shaft, approx. 600 ft. long dug in complete secrecy by Lt. Col. Pleasants's 48th Penn. Veteran Vol's — chiefly coal miners, from whom came the idea. At first, I regret to say, it was rejected by Gen. Meade & our own chief of engineers, Maj. Duane. But opposition was overcome, and the task accomplished by men working day & night for a month. That the miners did not suffocate was due to a clever scheme which drew foul air from the tunnel by means of a fire & a secret chimney. Company A of our battalion assisted with part of the task, building the covered way protecting the mine entrance & the approach to same. The mine ended at a point 20 ft. beneath the rebel works along Peagram's Salient. The charge went off with a monumental rocking of earth & lighting of the sky such as I have never before witnessed. The scheme was a total success until Gen. Burnside's IX Corps, in line of battle in a nearby ravine, commenced its advance into the smoking crater.