In the North, they called it Second Manassas. In the South, they called it Second Bull Run. Everyone called it a solid Confederate victory.
The troops returned to Richmond once more. As it was after every battle, the hospitals overflowed with wounded men. Again they were quartered in private homes and warehouses and barns. There were funerals every day, which were a taxation on the spirits of Richmond citizens.
General Lee gave Morgan a two-day leave of absence, and Morgan spurred Vulcan to an all-out gallop all the way to Rapidan Run.
Jolie must have been watching for him, because as he neared the stables, she flew out of the back door. He barely had time to get off his horse before she threw herself at him.
He caught her up and smelled the freshness of her hair and was shocked at the firm roundness of her figure. He had to remind himself again and again that she was a woman now and not the little girl he had first known. “Aw, Jolie, don’t make so much of this,” he said.
“I will if I want to!” Jolie cried. He saw there were tears in her eyes. She tugged at his arm. “Come on into the kitchen. I know you’re starved.”
“I could use some of Evetta’s good cooking, that’s for sure.”
Soon everyone was in the kitchen, and Morgan was eating and, between bites, telling of the battle and what it was like being on General Lee’s staff. After lunch he said, “Come on, Jolie. Come walk with me. I want to go see my horses.”
The two went out and walked along the fenced-in pastures. It was a pleasant day. Summer was dying slowly and reluctantly, and the air was heavy like old wine.
For Morgan it was a time of joyful relaxation. On the way to battle and in the midst and fury of it, his nerves had been pressed to the limit. Now he soaked in the sight of his horses, the mares contentedly grazing, the new foals playing, the geldings running just for the fun of it. All thoughts and images of war and battle faded away. “It’s good to be home,” he said quietly.
“It’s good to have you home.”
Jolie stayed close to him all afternoon, as he talked to Amon and went through the stables, looking over every horse and checking the tack and the feed. Finally she said, “Let’s go in, Morgan. You probably need to take a nap before supper.”
“Sleeping in my own bed sounds really good. I think I will.”
Morgan slept until supper, got up, and ate like a starved wolf. “I had forgotten what a fine cook you are, Evetta. This is delicious.”
“Nothing but barbequed ribs.”
“Always my favorite, you do them so well.”
Evetta smiled and, in a rare show of affection, came and brushed Morgan’s hair back from his eyes. “We done miss you around here, Mr. Tremayne. We surely have.”
“I’ve missed all of you, Evetta. You’ve done a good job, Amon, you and the boys. The place looks great.”
After supper, Evetta and Amon left, and Ketura went up to her bedroom.
Morgan and Jolie went into his study and sat quietly for a long time, watching the small cheerful fire that Morgan had built. Morgan felt a sense of peace soaking in.
After about an hour Morgan said, “You know, I’d like to have some popcorn. You have any?”
“Yes, I’ll make it.” Jolie got up quickly and found the corn and the long-handled covered pan they popped it in. Soon the homey sound of corn popping filled the room. She poured it into two bowls then sat down and started munching.
Morgan looked down in his bowl and said, “I wonder why some corn pops and some doesn’t. We always called these that didn’t pop ‘old maids.’”
“Why do you call them that?”
“I don’t know. Because they didn’t do any good, I guess.”
“Not very fair to women. Some women can’t be wives. Nobody asks them.”
He grinned at her and said, “And old bachelors just get to be crusty old complainers. Like me.”
“Not like you,” Jolie said firmly. “Oh, I just remembered, I have a letter you’ll want to read.” She went to the desk and got it. “It’s from Colonel Seaforth.”
Jolie watched his face as Morgan read it. When he had finished, Jolie saw that he was grieved.
“They miss that boy of theirs, don’t they?” Morgan said quietly.
“Of course they do. He was such a sweet boy. Such a loss!” They munched for a while in companionable silence.
Jolie finally asked, “Are you sorry you joined the army?”
“I can’t say I’m sorry, no. I know it was the right thing to do. But it’s hard, Jolie. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
She considered him. The lamplight fell across the surface of his cheek, darkening and sharpening the angles of it. She saw in him those things his friends and the people who knew him loved—the tenacity, the faithfulness that never wavered, the fierce loyalty, the determination to always do the right thing. He was a man to stay by his friends, for good or bad, to the end of time. These were qualities that people admired in Morgan, and Jolie admired them, too. It had nothing to do with the feelings she had for him. She just recognized him for what he was, an honest, honorable man.
“I wish you didn’t have to go back. I wish this war was over, and you could stay home,” she said. Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible.
“I wish that, too. But you do understand, don’t you, Jolie, that this is something I have to do?”
“I do understand. I know that’s just the kind of man you are.”
“Sometimes I wonder what kind of man I am,” he said regretfully. “But one thing I do know, it was time for me to join the army and fight. Fight for this place, for Amon and Evetta and their children, for my family, and for you. I’m just glad that you know that, Jolie.”
“There’s something else I have to ask you, Morgan. Are you going to marry Leona Bledsoe?”
Ruefully, he answered, “No, I’m not. Or rather, Leona Bledsoe isn’t going to marry me.”
“What?”
Morgan shrugged. “She decided that she didn’t want to have anything to do with a lowly private.”
“But you love her, don’t you? Did you—are you terribly hurt, Morgan?” Jolie asked anxiously.
“I was, but somehow now it doesn’t seem to matter quite so much. I haven’t forgotten her, but no, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Jolie felt a rush of overwhelming relief wash over her. Then she had a thought that shocked her. I could make him want me. I could lean against him and kiss him and make him forget Leona Bledsoe once and for all! Jolie immediately chastised herself, angry that she would even think of using such wicked feminine wiles to trap Morgan.
She was distracted for the remainder of their conversation, and when Morgan said good night, she hurried upstairs before he kissed her on the cheek. She definitely didn’t trust herself.
As she lay in bed, wide awake, she thought, I have to be better than that. Morgan is too good a man to have me use cheap tricks on him like Leona did. But oh, how I wish he would love me! I know I’ll never love another man in my whole life.
Please, God, keep him safe. Keep him safe….
She finally fell asleep, still praying for the man she loved.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Private Tremayne stuck his head inside the brightly lit tent.
Captain John M. Allen, assistant quartermaster forage, did not look up from his camp desk. He was scribbling furiously. “Yes?” he said absently.
“Sir, I’m reporting back from leave and ready for duty,” Morgan said, stepping inside the tent and saluting.
“Hm?” He finished a sentence with a flourish and a final period then looked up. He was a young man, only twenty-nine years old, but he was balding and wore thick spectacles that glinted oddly in the light. And his demeanor was that of a much older man. He was grave and always seemed distracted, as if his mind was racing ahead of the moment to the next order, the next column of numbers, the next inventory report. “Oh, it’s you, Tremayne. Yes, yes, go on. You know what yo
u should be doing better than I.” He went back to his scritch-scratching.
Morgan ducked back out of the tent and headed behind the line of officers’ tents that surrounded General Lee’s modest tent headquarters. The horses were picketed there in neat rows underneath a stand of oak trees.
Morgan frowned as he passed them. He saw that someone had put a nervous, flighty gelding right next to Traveler. He would have to remedy that right away.
A good-size tent was pitched nearby, and Morgan went there first. It was not lit, and as he neared, he could see in the darkness that two figures sat on camp stools just outside the tent flap. “Hello, Meredith, Perry. I’m back, as I guess you can see.”
Both men murmured, “Good evenin’, Private Tremayne.”
Perry was General Lee’s body servant. A tall, solemn black man, he had all the dignity such an exalted position should bestow upon a man.
Meredith was Lee’s cook. He was average sized, of average height, but his wide grin was like a summer sunburst. He was much more jovial than Perry, but then he wasn’t actually in General Lee’s presence very often. Morgan suspected that when Meredith talked with the general, he was like everyone else was, pretty much: on his best, most dignified, most polished behavior. General Lee brought these finer qualities out in a man. Meredith said, “I wanted to burn your camp stool for kindling ’cause you didn’t scrounge me enough rich pine to get a hot quick fire going this morning. But Perry wouldn’t let me.”
“You rascal,” Morgan said as he popped into the tent, retrieved his stool from underneath his bunk, and popped back out again. “Right over there, on the west side of this field, is a pine forest. You should have gone out there and found your own rich pine for the general’s breakfast.”
“Was too late by the time I knowed I was short on it,” Meredith said lazily. “ ’Sides, that’s your job.”
“Yes, guess it is,” Morgan admitted. “That’s my title these days. Aide-de-Camp, Scrounging. And Private Tremayne my horse needs blank. Make up any ending you choose.”
It was true, but Morgan was not displeased with his duties. Far from it, he was doing exactly what he wanted to do. He helped Captain Allen find forage for the horses all over the South. He knew every farm, every barn, every storage shed and storehouse in northern Virginia, and he could always find chickens, beef, eggs, bacon, flour, cornmeal, and sugar for General Lee and his staff. But mostly he took care of Traveler, General Lee’s beloved horse, and all of the staff officers’ horses.
These staff officers had deeply resented Morgan at first. Word had gotten around that he was the only person General Lee had personally requested as an aide-de-camp. But Robert E. Lee would never in his life show favoritism to any man under his command, and his staff came to see that he treated Morgan with the same courtesy and respect that he treated everyone else, whether a general or a servant.
Morgan made an effort to show Lee’s officers that he had no ambitions for promotion or recognition. From his very first day in the field, he wordlessly groomed every officer’s horse, checked each animal regularly to make sure it was in sound health, paid endless attention to each horse’s preferred diet, checked the shoes of each, and even brushed each horse’s teeth. Without being asked, he took care of all the tack, keeping the saddles clean and well-shined, the stirrups set just right, even the saddlebags and rifle sheaths polished.
Soon it was true. Everyone, from young couriers to assistant adjutant generals, was coming to him and saying, “Private Tremayne, my horse needs…” Anything from shoeing to liniment to a tooth check to a hoarded apple filled in the blank.
In those first few hard and lonely days, as they marched to engage the enemy, Morgan had also started helping Perry and Meredith with the general’s supply wagon. In spite of the fact that General Lee’s camp tent was not very large and his furnishings were simple and few, both men were constantly anxious that they should have everything perfect for him. A clean tent, clean sheets for his cot, clean uniforms, polished boots, adequate lamplight, plenty of wood for his camp stove, a good stock of food staples, seasonings, coffee, tea, and fresh fruit when they could find it.
Morgan helped them with his expert scrounging, and he helped them to organize everything in the wagon so they could quickly load up and move or unload and camp. He had his own little tent, of course, but Meredith and Perry’s was actually a four-man tent, and eventually he just sort of moved in on them. They had the room, and it seemed so much trouble to pitch his own tent. It suited Morgan just fine, though it caused some whispers among the officers, particularly the ones who were slaveowners. Morgan didn’t care.
Now, as the three men sat on the little stools looking out at the sweet Virginia night, Morgan said, “I brought us two tins of tea and some coffee and sugar. How’s the general’s stock holding out?”
“Jest fine since you been with us, Mr. Morgan,” Meredith answered.
“Good. In a couple of weeks, I’m going to have three hundred acres of rye and barley ready to harvest, so the horses will be fixed up, too. Maybe Captain Allen will give me and about ten stout fellows leave to go harvest it.”
Perry pursed his lips. “We’ll have to see ’bout that. ’Cause we’re heading up North, you know. To Maryland.”
“We are?” Morgan said with astonishment. “When?”
“Day or two, I gather,” Perry answered. He didn’t purposely eavesdrop on Lee’s councils of war, but like most people who were accustomed to having servants, General Lee rarely took note of their presence.
Morgan jumped up. “I better get to seeing to those horses right now. I’ve been gone two days. I’ll bet they’re in an unholy mess. Did you know that some idiot picketed Colonel Corley’s fidgety gelding right next to Traveler?”
Perry and Meredith exchanged amused glances. “No, sir, Mr. Morgan, I sure didn’t know that,” Meredith said solemnly. “You’d better get to tendin’ to that right now.”
“I sure better,” he grumbled, heading off toward the horses. But he heard his two friends talking as he walked.
“I ain’t never seen the like of a man that loves horses so much,” Perry observed.
“Oh, yes you have, Perry,” Meredith said. “His name is Marse Robert E. Lee.”
Morgan couldn’t help but grin as he continued toward his favorite task.
The only way in which Morgan had insisted on insinuating himself near to General Lee was because he was determined from the beginning to follow the general when he was in the saddle. It was Lee’s habit, as the army marched, for him to ride with them, passing through the ranks of cheering men to encourage them. And he constantly rode around the battlefields, surveying the ground with his field glasses, watching the masses of men and artillery as they maneuvered. Normally when General Lee was on the move, only two or three of his most senior staff and a few ready couriers accompanied him.
On August 15th, when General Lee left Richmond to face General Pope, Morgan saddled up Vulcan and moved up behind the three couriers who were following General Lee and his officers. The first time Lee stopped for a short rest, Morgan dismounted quickly and pushed his way rudely up to Lee and took Traveler’s reins without a word as Lee dismounted.
“Good afternoon, Private Tremayne,” Lee said, the first words he had said to him since that day two weeks previously in his office.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Morgan replied.
General Lee walked to the side of the road and stretched a bit, slapping his gauntlets into one palm, a habit that he had.
Morgan gently led Traveler and Vulcan to the side of the road and stood, waiting.
Colonel Robert H. Chilton, Lee’s chief of staff, stalked up to Morgan and said in a severe undertone, “General Lee did not request that you accompany him personally, Private Tremayne.”
“No, sir, he didn’t,” Morgan said. “But it seems to me that you and the other officers would appreciate someone just to see to the horses while you’re conferring with the general.”
“Oh,
” he said, his severe expression lightening just a bit. “I see. Perhaps you’re right, Private. But be sure you remain quiet and unobtrusive. General Lee does not appreciate any fussing and flapping in his presence.”
“No, sir,” Morgan said respectfully. “I will be quiet, sir, and I’ll keep the horses calm.”
“See that you do,” he snapped then thrust the reins of his horse into Morgan’s hand.
Soon Morgan was holding the reins of five horses: Traveler, Vulcan, two belonging to colonels, and one belonging to a major. Quickly Morgan improvised. He tucked Vulcan’s reins into his belt, casting a cautious glance back at his temperamental horse. Vulcan seemed to stare back at him with disdain and tossed his head, but he didn’t attempt to pull away. Morgan then gently pushed Traveler to his right side, followed by a colonel’s horse. Morgan looped Traveler’s reins around his thumb and forefinger and the other set of reins around his ring and pinky fingers. He did the same thing with the horses on his left side and jockeyed the reins around the same way. This way, two horses were on one side of him, two on the other, and Vulcan behind. Morgan kept up a soft, reassuring nonsense conversation to keep the horses still and calm, hoping that it wouldn’t be in the same class as fussing and flapping.
When General Lee and the three officers returned to retrieve their horses, General Lee merely said, “Thank you, Private Tremayne.” But Morgan saw a quick gleam of amusement in his eyes, and he knew that General Lee had overheard Colonel Chilton and was amused, probably about the fussing and flapping. Of course, Lee could never single Morgan out by having a light conversation with him; there were about a hundred thousand men who would love his doing just that with them, and it would cause untold jealousies if one man was that lucky. Still, Morgan knew that he and General Robert E. Lee had just shared a private joke. Morgan knew it would be a treasured memory to him all of his days.
Last Cavaliers Trilogy Page 87
