“In the wagon out front.”
“If you’ll excuse me a moment.” He started for the door.
“There’s one other thing, Mr. Jeffcoat,” Buck said, stopping him before he was able to escape. “Our driver—I know him only as John—is also in need of your services.”
“Sir, rest assured this also will be handled appropriately. Dolfus,” he called out, “pull the wagon from in front around . . .” His voice trailed off as he closed the door behind him.
Ruth murmured. “I haven’t seen Miriam and her husband for so long, and now to impose on them like this—”
“Momma, you know Miriam, if you didn’t call on her she’d be offended. Wouldn’t you be if circumstances were reversed?”
“You have the wisdom of a mother,” she said with a smile, then put her hand to her mouth. “Sarah, baby, forgive me.”
“A compliment is kindness, Momma.”
Buck could feel Ruth studying him as he observed her daughter. Sarah was sitting in the fiddle-back chair at the corner of the desk, pale and weary. She hadn’t yet cried, and he had to admire her stoicism, but he also wondered how much more tragedy she could endure. She’d already suffered the loss of her brother in the war, the less-than-honorable demise of her abusive husband in a Yankee prison camp, and now the senseless murder of her beloved father in front of her eyes. Not to mention being shot herself.
“I’m glad you know the Graysons,” Buck said. “Miriam’s a good woman who’s at her best in a crisis. Until she arrives, is there anything I can do for either of you? A glass of water? Brandy perhaps?”
“Nothing, thank you.” Sarah bowed her head. “You’ve been so kind already—” her voice trembled “—and you saved my life.”
She’s so brave, so beautiful, and I’ve brought nothing but pain and death to her and her family.
“If only I could have saved your father,” he said.
“You have no cause for regret, doctor,” Ruth assured him. “My husband left this life quickly, and I believe, painlessly. He was a good husband and a wonderful father. I’m comforted by the belief that God is closest to those whose hearts are broken. Had Jacob lived, I fear the time ahead would have been very difficult for us all.”
Sarah finally broke down and began to weep silently.
Jeffcoat hurriedly reentered the room, wiping his brow with a silken kerchief. “Can I get anything for you ladies, brandy perhaps?”
Before Ruth could answer she heard a heavy knock on the outside door. A moment later, the black man appeared. “Mr. Jeffcoat, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Grayson have arrived.”
“Show them in. At once.”
Dolfus didn’t get a chance. A short, plump woman in a black taffeta hoop dress, bustled around him and marched directly to the women. She extended gloved hands to Ruth and Sarah. “Oh, my dear Ruth. Mr. Jeffcoat’s informed me of your loss. I’m so dreadfully sorry. These difficult times. . . . All our losses—” She stopped, brooded for a moment, then recovered her resolve. “But you’re among friends now. I’ll see to it that everything that can be done will be. Oh, this is so terrible, so tragic.”
She turned abruptly to her husband. “Augustus, Ruth and her daughter are our house guests and will be sitting Shiva with us.” She sighed. “We remain a house in mourning. So much mourning.”
Only then did she acknowledge Buck’s presence. “Elijah.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek gently against his chest. Then, with a final squeeze, she pulled away. “I’m sorry we can’t offer you the hospitality of our home right now.” She bit her lip and her eyes brimmed. “But you’re back. Thank God for that. If only Harry and Bert were here too.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.
“Miriam,” her husband whispered, “don’t—”
“I’m going to have Janey clear out Bert and Harry’s rooms. Our guests will stay there,” she declared uncompromisingly.
“Honey, are you sure?”
She fluttered her hand. “Ruth and Sarah will remain with us for as long as they wish.”
“Yes, my dear.” He nodded and for a moment his dark eyes became glassy, before he too bolstered himself. “I’ll walk Buck over to the Sand Hills Hotel and see to it he’s given their best accommodations. By the time I return Rabbi Mendelssohn should be here and you can complete the necessary arrangements for tomorrow.”
“The surrey and the mare,” Buck remarked, “belong to the stagecoach company, but the gelding’s mine.”
“Put your mind at ease, doctor,” Jeffcoat interceded. “I’ll see to it they’re delivered to the hotel livery as soon as possible and arrangements made for their proper care.”
Buck stood and turned to Miriam. “Please ask your family physician to examine Sarah’s wound as soon as possible and redress it.” Without thinking of the propriety of his action, he took Sarah’s hand and gently caressed it. “I’ll see you and your mother tomorrow. Rest well.”
While the banker was giving his carriage driver instructions to wait for the ladies, Buck sized up his old friend. Augustus Grayson was clean shaven, dressed in obviously expensive but worn clothes, and still athletically fit. The fifty-year-old’s sole concession to the passage of time seemed to be the silvering of his hair and the crow’s feet at the corners of his hazel eyes.
“God, it’s good to see you, Gus,” Buck said as they proceeded down the street on foot. “But once again, I seem to be bringing a world of trouble.”
“You’re home. That’s all that matters now.”
Buck had to struggle to keep up with the banker’s rapid pace as they marched toward the hotel. At the corner where only chimneys of houses remained, they turned to the right.
“Gus, you’re as fit as ever. How do you do it?”
“Well, I still walk to and from work every day, weather permitting. Miriam limits me to two cigars a day if I have any, out of her presence, and she watches what I eat like a hawk. Of course, as she’s fond of pointing out, that isn’t much because I usually have my foot in my mouth.” He chuckled. “Lord I love that woman.”
He slowed his stride when they approached a large brick-built two-story house. At first glance it appeared undamaged. As they passed by, however, Buck realized it was no more than an empty burned-out shell.
“The Wilson place.” Gus shook his head. “Good friends. All died in the fire. So many deaths.”
Buck couldn’t hold back any longer the question he’d dreaded asking. “What happened to Bert and Harry, Gus?” It was clear to him they were dead.
His friend continued on several more paces before answering. “Franklin. Tennessee. Last November.” His voice grew husky. “Nine thousand men, six thousand of them ours, were killed that day.” For a while he didn’t speak. “I received a letter from a Captain Halben in December, just before Christmas. He said he tried to convince the boys to separate before the battle, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted on marching together. Were advancing side by side when the Yankees lowered their cannons and fired pointblank into the formation. My boys . . . just . . . disappeared.”
“God damn this war.” Buck’s jaw tightened. He knew what each size of munitions could do to the human body, from the ragged tears of the minie-ball to the multiple punctures of the Gatling gun to total destruction by mortars and cannon fire. He and Grayson walked on side by side for another half block before Buck was able to get past the lump in his throat and the anger.
“I’m sorry, Gus, for them, and for you. Bert and Harry were good men who did you and Miriam great credit. They were honorable men and devoted sons. My family and I adored them.”
They were also a study in physical contrasts, Buck reflected, one short and stocky, the other tall and lanky, with complimentary senses of humor. How they loved to laugh and play off each other, so full of life. It was difficult for Buck to imagine them being gone.