The Sword

by Gilbert, Morris

  From then on they had held hands sometimes, and Jeb often took her arm. One twilit night on the veranda he had kissed her very lightly again, to say good night. But they had been very careful to keep a certain distance from each other. Flora did admit to herself that she reveled in Jeb’s touch, and sometimes she deliberately took off her gloves—that perennial, eternal must for a well-brought-up young woman—just so she could feel his rough, heated hand. Jeb knew when she felt this way, she could tell, and she could just as certainly sense his reining himself in, holding himself back, only giving her as much as she asked for, as much as she was ready for.

  She smiled dreamily. “Maybe I’m taking some liberties with him,” she whispered to herself.

  “Whut’d you say?” Ruby said suspiciously. She was behind Flora, putting a final polish on her riding boots.

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, the scriptures say dat a woman what lets a man take liberties is gonna end up in the pit!” With righteous vigor she polished away.

  Flora laughed. “I don’t think so, but neither Jeb nor I are going to end up in the pit. And yes, I call him Jeb and he calls me Flora because we’ve given permission for each other to use our given names.”

  “Right out of the pit,” Ruby said grimly. “With you knowin’ him less’n a month.”

  “I believe this is what is termed ‘a circular conversation.’ All right, Ruby, I’m ready. Please help me with my boots.”

  With a final defiant rub, Ruby knelt down to help pull on Flora’s boots. They were fine, black knee-high leather boots, handmade by a boot maker in Baltimore especially for Flora, and the fit was so close that Flora could neither get them on nor pull them off by herself.

  “For—such little—feet as—you got—these boots sure is—hard to git on.” Ruby grunted as she pulled up on the uppers to get Flora’s foot into the boot. Finally she got the right one on and went to work on the left one. “But—hit’s a mighty—good thing—that you got—such little feet—’cause white ladies—don’t s’pose to have—big feet.” She stood up and looked Flora up and down with satisfaction. “You is such a tiny lady, no wonder Mr. Lieutenant Jeb throws you around like a little kitten.”

  Ruby had caught them once, when Jeb had come to fetch her for a ride. Her father had been at headquarters, and Jeb had picked her up, swung her around, and then tossed her onto the saddle. He did this often when they were alone, but this time Ruby had seen them, and she had been holding it over Flora’s head ever since. “I’m of a mind that the colonel might not like to think that Mr. Lieutenant Jeb is jugglin’ his daughter around like some clown in a travelin’ fair.”

  “You’re not going to tell him, Ruby …,” Flora said, her cheeks reddening. “Please don’t tell him.”

  “Well …”

  “You can have that magenta silk petticoat you like so much, Ruby,” Flora said with inspiration. “I don’t like that color much for me, but it would be wonderful on you.”

  Ruby’s eyes lit up. She had longed for the petticoat ever since Flora had received it along with some dresses she had ordered. “Well, I’m not one to be carryin’ no tales; in the Proverbs it says talebearers will be backbit. So thank you for the petticoat, Miss Flora.” Hurriedly she disappeared into Flora’s dressing room to find the treasured article.

  Flora was wearing her navy blue riding habit, trimmed in light blue. As it looked so much like the cavalry uniforms, Flora had bought a wide-brimmed felt hat and had trimmed it with some of her father’s gold military braid and a tassel. Now she crammed the hat on her head, cocked it to a jaunty angle, pinned it securely, and hurried downstairs. It was almost three o’clock, and Jeb was never late.

  Her father was in the parlor, gravely pacing before the empty fireplace. He looked up as she came in. She hurried to kiss him. “Hello, Papa. You were so quiet I thought you were taking your afternoon nap.”

  Colonel Cooke didn’t smile much, but he did when Flora kissed him. “No, actually I was waiting so that I might speak with you, Flora. I assume Lieutenant Stuart is on his way?”

  “Yes, sir. He should be here at three.”

  “I see. That does give us a few minutes.” He led her to the sofa, and they sat down. “I’ve had another letter from Mrs. St. George. She says that although you have delayed your visit, you’ve still given them no reason for the delay nor a date when they may expect you.”

  “Yes, I know, Father,” she said quietly.

  “You haven’t confided in me either, Flora. But I think I understand. It’s Lieutenant Stuart, isn’t it?”

  She looked up at him and met his gaze directly. “Yes, sir.”

  He studied her for long moments. “You don’t want to leave because of him. Flora, you first met this man on the Fourth of July. How can you make such a momentous decision, to put off such an important event as your social debut, on the basis of such a short acquaintance?”

  “I—I can hardly explain it to you, Father. But I can promise you that I know I am not making a mistake. I know what I’m doing.” He looked doubtful, and she went on eagerly. “Papa, I know how very much you love the Lord, and how you’ve taught us to trust in Him in all things. And I do. I trust in the Lord, especially in this. I trust in the Lord, and I trust Jeb Stuart.”

  He listened to her closely then nodded. “Flora, ever since you were a child, you’ve been strong in the Lord, and you’ve been sure of yourself and your place in this world. You were a good child, and you’ve grown to be a good Christian woman. I don’t know Lieutenant Stuart very well, and so I can’t say that I trust him, but I do know you, and I do trust you. He does make you happy, doesn’t he?”

  “Oh yes, Papa! So very happy!”

  “Then I’m glad for you, my dear. I hear him thundering up now. I declare that man can sound like an entire squad when he’s galloping around on that great thumping stallion. Go on, Flora. After about thirty times I suppose he doesn’t have to come in and make any obeisance to me anymore,” he finished gruffly.

  “Thank you, Papa, and I won’t be too late!” She rushed out, her face glowing.

  Jeb had found a way to ride down to the Missouri River. Just south of the fort the high bluffs lowered a bit, and he had found a place that was not at such a steep incline. Ace had managed it easily. Jeb told her he had waited until he was certain of her expertise on a horse, and then he had taken her there.

  Today was only the second time they had come, for it took over an hour from the fort, riding at a businesslike trot. But on this day they rode slowly, talking and enjoying the cheerful summer day, the cool breezes that found their way up the banks from the river to sweep across the deserted fields, the smell of wild honeysuckle and green grass and thick rich dirt.

  When they reached the path down to the river, with a smile Jeb went in front of Flora, assuring her that if Juliet were following Ace she would be less likely to let herself get in a dangerous slide down the still-steep hill. Ace picked his way carefully, and so did Juliet. When they got to the riverbank, Jeb tied up their reins and let them loose.

  “Do you have your old trick, your sugar?” Flora teased.

  “Of course.” He looked at her face expectantly, and in unison they said, “Works every time!”

  They began to walk along, arm in arm. “You and your tricks,” Flora muttered, now with ill humor. “All sugar, all the time, with the ladies especially.”

  “Are you jealous?” he asked slyly.

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I am sure. It’s just such a spectacle sometimes. Some of them, like my friend Leona Pruitt and those two blond sisters, the Aldridge girls, practically swoon every time you talk to them. For shame, Jeb Stuart. You shouldn’t flirt so much.”

  “I can’t help it,” he said with an ingenuous, bemused air. “Ladies are just so pretty, so little and soft and sweet.”

  “You can’t keep a bunch of ladies as pets, Jeb,” Flora said darkly.

  “You are jealous,” he said with
delight. “It’s so cute.”

  “I am not cute. And I am not jealous.”

  He patted her arm. “You sure don’t have a reason to be.”

  The shores of the Missouri River were sometimes thick yellow mud in the rainy season, but now, in August, they were dry and cracked. The river was still strong, its flow sure and steady, the clear water twinkling like stars in the late red sunlight.

  “Did you know that the Missouri River is the longest on the continent?” Jeb asked.

  “Longer than the Mississippi?” Flora asked with surprise.

  “Yes ma’am.” They looked up at the buff-colored bluffs high above them. “It is one of God’s wonders of creation.”

  “I’m so very glad that you think such things,” Flora said quietly. “So often you’re so rollicking and rowdy that one would think you never had a serious thought in your head.”

  He glanced at her. “But you know different, don’t you, Flora?”

  “Oh yes. I may not know everything about you, Jeb, but I know you. I know you very well. I know that you are a loving, giving Christian man.”

  He stopped and turned her to him. “But Flora, do you really know me? Can you know my heart? I feel that you do. I’ve felt that ever since the first night we met.”

  She stared up at him; she was so tiny, and he loomed over her. But that fact had nothing to do with her sense of the power she felt from him. It was, she knew, because he had spoken the truth that night, and she had known it in her mind, in her body, and in her spirit. “You said that God made each man for a certain woman, and that that woman was made for that man,” she said softly. “I remember. I’ll never forget it. I can’t forget it.”

  Suddenly he dropped to one knee, took her hand, yanked off her glove, and pressed his lips to her fingers. He looked up at her, and his blue eyes blazed as the hottest part of the fire. “Flora, you are the woman for me. I’ve known it all along. There’s never been any other woman, and never will be, that God has made for me. Only you. Please, Flora dearest, would you do me the greatest honor, bestow upon me the greatest joy a man could ever have, and consent to be my wife?”

  Breathlessly she replied, “Yes, Jeb. I was meant for you. I always was and forever will be.”

  He leaped to his feet and kissed her, deeply, a long kiss full of joy and passion and giving. For the first time, Flora surrendered herself. She gave in completely to all of the love and longing that she had for him and matched his desire with her own.

  It was Jeb who finally pulled away from her. He swallowed hard and was breathing a little heavily. But the old Jeb could not be held down for long. He threw his hat up in the air and shouted, “Did you hear that? Miss Flora Cooke is mine! Finally! Whoo hoo!” Then he grabbed her around the waist, hoisted her up, and whirled around and around.

  Flora laughed with sheer delight, throwing her head back and her arms in the air.

  Jeb set her down and then, grinning like a fool, went to fetch his hat.

  Flora was trying to straighten her own hat, as it had fallen to her back, held on by the gold braided straps. “I’m dizzy,” she told Jeb, “and I don’t think it’s only from turning in circles. I can hardly believe it, even though—even though—”

  “You’ve always known it, that you would marry me, ever since the Independence Ball,” he said smugly, helping her settle her hat and pulling the bolo tie up under her chin.

  “I didn’t even think I’d be calling you Jeb by this time,” she replied smartly. “Much less that I’d be calling you my fiancé. Oh! My fiancé!”

  “Sounds good, doesn’t it? But I can’t wait till it’s ‘my husband.’ That sounds even better. Can we get married now?”

  “Silly bear,” she said, playfully pinching him. It was like pinching a concrete pillar. “I do think we should at least have a decent engagement, considering we’ve hardly had what’s considered a decent time for a courtship.”

  Impatiently Jeb took her left hand, removed her glove, and tucked it into his waistband along with the other. “You are now my fiancée, and I am going to hold your ungloved hand, no matter how scandalous it is. And what do you mean by a ‘decent engagement’? There’s nothing at all indecent in us, and I’ll fight any man who says there is.”

  “I just meant that we should plan a wedding far enough in the future so that we could make arrangements for our families to be there,” Flora said soothingly.

  “Your family and my family are scattered all over about a dozen states,” Jeb argued. “It would take too long to try to herd them all together. I want to get married now.”

  “Jeb, stop saying that. You know perfectly well that we can’t get married now.”

  “I know not now, like today. But soon. It already seems like I’ve been waiting for you forever, Flora. I mean it.”

  She looked up at him and saw that he was perfectly serious. And why not? she thought. By the standards of time, we haven’t been together long enough to be this much in love … but Jeb is right. It does seem as if we’ve been waiting our whole lives for each other … and I suppose we have. We know it’s the right thing in God’s eyes. What do we care what men think?

  “What about November, Jeb?” she asked finally. “I would like to have a nice church wedding and for at least some of my family to be able to come. The St. Georges and the Virginia Cookes. And surely in that time your father and some of your sisters and brothers may be able to make arrangements to be here.”

  “Still too long,” he grumbled, “but if that’s what you want, my heart, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll marry in November.” Then he added, “Do you know what day it is?”

  “Thursday?” Flora guessed, mystified.

  “Actually it’s Wednesday, but that’s not what I meant. Today is August 15th.”

  “Oh, August 15th,” Flora repeated with wonder. “I was going to leave today.”

  “Oh no you weren’t, not unless me and Ace hopped on that train with you. That was my plan, you see. I can tell you all about it now. I planned that you would not leave on August 15th or any other day. I planned that you’d be with me, on this day and every day from now on.”

  She smiled at him. “I won’t pretend anymore, Jeb. I knew. Maybe not at the ball, but the very next day, I knew. And I was happy.”

  “Are you, Flora? Can you really be as happy with me as I am with you?” he asked, putting his arm around her and pulling her close.

  “Yes, because I believe in the Lord, and I believe you are my gift from Him,” Flora answered. “Even better than us, Jeb, He knew. God always knew.”

  Flora was happier than she had ever known, had ever known that a woman could be, as she prepared for her wedding. Her friends—and also now Jeb’s friends, who included just about every man he met—teased her about moving from the grand Rookery to “one room and a kitchen.” The officer’s quarters were little more than that—though they did, of course, have a bedroom—but Flora and Ruby had hours of fun fixing it up.

  As always, Jeb was the dashing, careless cavalryman. He would find Flora at the Rookery or at their new little house, come rushing in dusty and smelling of horses, and grab Flora to kiss her and hug her as if he hadn’t seen her for months.

  He teased Ruby unmercifully, and she adored him. She was fully as determined to make the house nice for “Miss Flora and Mr. Lieutenant Jeb” as Flora was, but sometimes Flora suspected she was so enamored of Jeb that she worked twice as long and twice as hard, sewing new bed linens, polishing the hardwood floors, and scrubbing the kitchen until it shone. Ruby even papered the dreary wooden walls with fine wallpaper Colonel Cooke ordered for them from New York, a small rose print that Ruby spent hours upon end matching up as she hung the thick strips. Jeb’s family sent them a fine woolen carpet for the bedroom, and Ruby would barely let Flora walk on it.

  In the middle of September, the 1st Cavalry was sent on a raid, a hard raid hunting wild Cheyenne, and Jeb didn’t return until November 4th. Sorrowfully Flora had to break the news to him of th
e death of his father. Jeb couldn’t possibly go to Virginia. The 1st Virginia was a brand-new regiment and leaves were hard to come by, and besides that, Jeb’s father had actually died on September 20th.

  And then the snows came hard in November, so Jeb and Flora had a small wedding at the Rookery, with only fifteen in attendance and Flora’s father. Flora wore her white graduation dress, and she glowed.

  For once Jeb Stuart was serious, his voice deep and sure as he promised to love, honor, and cherish Flora until death parted them. In her heart, Flora knew he spoke truth, and she knew that she would cherish this man for all of her life.

  He kissed her, his new bride, and they walked out of the parlor, for there was to be no reception. Jeb and Flora just wanted to go home. As they left, Jeb said, “Flora, I knew of God’s goodness, but I never knew He would be so good to me. You are my life, Flora. I loved you when I met you, and I promise I will love you until the day I die.”

  “You are my heart and my life, Jeb,” she said simply. “I can’t believe God has blessed me with you.”

  “It was meant to be,” he said, smiling. “I always knew it was meant to be.”

  Two weeks before, Jeb had written a cousin. In telling him of Flora, he had repeated Julius Caesar’s famous quote, somewhat altered: Veni, vidi, victus sum.

  I came, I saw, I was conquered.

  And so, for the only time in his life, he was.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The room was cold even though the fireplace held a roaring, lusty fire. Flora huddled in one of the big overstuffed horsehair armchairs by it, covered with a woolen lap robe, reading the Bible by a kerosene lamp. The cabin was rough, but Flora and Ruby had made it, on the inside at least, into a snug little cottage, with pictures on the walls and rag rugs on the floor and nice heavy black velveteen drapes for keeping out the Kansas winter.