“He’s not the Supe anymore,” Lee said. “He’s our commanding officer. And we’ll be having supper with him this evening.”
“With Colonel Lee?”
“Yes. He’s still my uncle and he’s having a welcoming supper for you.”
“This is my best uniform and it’s covered with coal dust.”
“Sam will take care of that for you.”
“I’d prefer to do it myself,” Johnny said a little stiffly.
Lee looked at him for a moment. “You’re going to have to get over that. You’re in the South now and slavery is legal and part of the culture here.”
Johnny glanced over his shoulder at the man carrying his bag and decided not to answer.
“Is something else bothering you?” Lee asked.
“Yes. I’d rather not go to the Officers’ Club.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t handle liquor well and everyone will insist that I have a drink.”
“I don’t recall you ever having a problem with liquor.”
“We drank beer and ale at West Point, Fitz. It doesn’t seem to have the same effect that hard liquor does. I get very belligerent when I drink whiskey or other spirits.”
“When did you discover this?”
“When I woke up in a Cincinnati jail.”
Lee chuckled. “That must have impressed Salmon P. Chase.”
“I don’t think he ever knew. At least I pray that he didn’t. But I haven’t had another drink since and don’t intend to.”
“Very well. But we must go to the club.”
“If we do, Beauty Stuart and my brother will devil me into taking a drink.”
“I’ll protect you from them.”
“Ha.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that you’re no match for them, my friend.”
“When I make a promise I keep it. No matter what the cost,” Lee said in a serious tone. “Nothing is more important to me than my honor. You have my word of honor that no one will devil you into taking a drink.”
“Very well then. My future is in your hands.”
~
Johnny saw the light under Paul’s BOQ door and knocked.
Paul opened the door almost instantly. “There you are, brother. Come in.” He stepped back. “How was dinner – I mean, supper, with the great Robert E. Lee?”
Johnny looked at the open bourbon bottle and the empty glass on the writing table.
“Want a drink?” Paul closed the door. “I have another glass here somewhere.”
“No thank you. Have you been drinking all day?”
“Yes.” Paul poured bourbon into the glass. “Unlike you and our cousin, I don’t get pugnacious when I drink, I just get numb. Numb is good.” He took a long swallow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Paul sighed. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I hate it here, that’s what’s wrong. These people – this American aristocracy with their gentle oh-so-perfect manners. The hopeless, poverty-stricken, red-necked, share-cropping crackers. The miserable, pitiful, downtrodden slaves. I hate them all. They make me sick and ashamed of being a human.”
“That’s the liquor talking, Pea.” Johnny sat down on the bunk.
Paul took another swallow. “Wait until you see the really big plantations further south. The simpering, whimpering Southern Belles with their perfumed hair, their crinolines and their niggers waiting on them hand and foot.” He looked at his brother. “They say that word like there’s nothing wrong with it. If I were to say shit in front of one of them, ten men would challenge me to a duel for offending the poor girl’s delicate ears. But the word nigger goes unnoticed. Like dog, cat, or mule.”
“Why don’t you request a transfer?”
“It would break Beauty’s heart.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“He wouldn’t understand.” Paul finished off the glass and refilled it. “How did the two halves of one country become so bloody different in only eighty years?”
“I suspect that they’ve been quite different all along.”
“Maybe. But you didn’t answer my earlier question. How was supper with Old Granny Lee?”
“It was fine.”
“Fine?” Paul asked with a mirthless laugh. “Did you enjoy being waited on by all the house niggers? Did they show you the quarters of the field niggers? Did you see all the partly white babies playing in the dirt?”
“I’m as shocked and repulsed as you are, Pea. What do you want from me?”
Paul shook his head. “I don’t know. An answer perhaps.”
“An answer to what question?”
“How do we live with ourselves in the middle of such – inhumanity.”
“I don’t have an answer except to say that we’re soldiers, Pea. Soldiers endure living in cold, in mud, in scorching heat; starving and diseased under intolerable conditions. This is our duty station. We must endure it.”
September 14, 1856
New York, New York
The New York Times National Desk Editor looked up and watched Anna Van Buskirk thread her way gracefully through the clutter toward his desk. “That was fast. I just filed your Battle of Osawatomie story. Good work, by the way. Those widows’ stories went right to the heart of it.”
“Thank you.” She sat down in his side chair.
“Sorry to pull you out. It wasn’t my decision.” He pointed upstairs. “He wants you to cover the election.”
“It’s going to cool down in Kansas anyway, now that John Geary’s the Governor.”
“Too bad we didn’t get an interview with him. He’s an interesting fellow.”
Anna put a copybook on his desk. “Governor Geary and my brother Jack are close friends.”
“From when Geary was the Mayor of San Francisco?”
“Yes. Well, no. Before that. They knew each other from the Mexican War. Geary was the commanding officer of the Second Pennsylvania Infantry that stormed Chapultepec Castle with my father and my brothers. Geary was wounded five times during the charge.”
He read the first page and smiled. “Have I ever told you that you’re a great newspaperman?”
“You better not, unless you want a kick in the shins.”
He looked back down at her copy book. “Geary’s six foot six?”
“Yes. And very handsome.”
“Ah-ha. And a widower, I see.”
She laughed. “And thirty-seven years old.”
He looked at her for a moment. “How old are you, Anna?”
“Almost fifty.”
“Really?”
“Don’t. I know that I show every year of my age.”
“I honestly thought you were about forty.”
“I wish. My sister-in-law, who’s my age, looks thirty-five.”
“Nancy?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Umm. She’s a real looker.”
“Well.” She stood up. “I better go see what the man upstairs wants me to do.”
“Tell him you need a vacation.”
“I might.”
September 14, 1856
Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey
Anna walked into the dining room to find Nancy sitting alone with a wineglass in one hand and cigarillo in the other. A silver candelabrum, with nearly burned down candles, lighted the room. “What are you drinking?” Anna asked.
“Muscatel.” Nancy pointed to an open decanter on the sideboard. “You’re late.”
“I know. Long day at the office. Sorry.”
“If you’re hungry, there’s a plate for you in the kitchen. It may need warming. The fire’s probably burned down by now. Mrs. Keller’s asleep.”
Anna poured a glass of wine and sat down beside Nancy. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m bored.”
“Where’s Robert?”
“On his way to St. Louis to see an old friend from the army.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Were your ears burning earlier?”
“Why? Were you talking about me?”
“My former boss says you’re a looker,” Anna giggled.
“What’s a looker?”
“From the context I presumed it to mean attractive.”
“How did my appearance become a subject of discussion between you and your former boss?”
“He tried to pay me a compliment about my looking young for my age.”
“In other words, he tried to get you in bed.”
“I wish.”
“What happened to that lawyer you were seeing? Francis Scott Key’s son. Phillip is it?”
Anna nodded. “My old standby.”
“Is he still available?”
“He’s always available.” Anna smiled. “To any woman this side of the grave.”
“Get a hook in him.”
“He’s also married.”
“Oh, that’s no good.”
“There’s a pool in DC betting whether his wife, a jilted mistress or an irate husband will be the first to shoot him,” Anna giggled.
“Forget I mentioned him. We’ll have to find you an unattached stud.”
“The older I get the less important the sex becomes, yet I seem to need male companionship more. Odd, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. To me the sex is better than ever.”
“Eww. I don’t want that mental image of you and my brother, thank you.”
“Jack didn’t seem troubled by it,” Nancy said with a giggle.
“What?”
“When Robert and I were on our so-called honeymoon, Jack was in the next room at the Free-State Hotel. It turns out that the walls are paper thin. I was a bit vocal on numerous amorous occasions.”
Anna laughed out loud. “It serves him right. Jack and his first wife, Caroline, used to rock the rafters when they visited here for Christmas.”
Nancy looked puzzled. “Something about being here, or were they always like that?”
“I think it was just the freedom of having somebody else watching their children.” Anna shook her head sadly. “Do you remember Little John?”
“Yes. Jack brought them down from Buffalo. I think it was the Easter before they died.”
“That was the sweetest little boy. It almost broke Dad’s heart when he died.”
“I remember. Your father never seemed to regain his sense of humor after that.”
“I think Uncle Thomas died and Aunt Nanette left for France at almost the same time.”
“Does anyone ever hear from her? Is she still alive?”
“Aunt Nan? Yes, she’s ninety-eight and still alive. She lives in Paris, under a cloud of suspicion. Poor soul.”
“Poor soul?” Nancy laughed. “I think by now we can safely say that she’s gotten away with murder.”
“What makes you so sure she’s guilty?”
“Everyone knew that she’d vowed to kill Banastre Tarleton and then, by coincidence, she just happened to be in Leintwardine, England on the day he died from some exotic poison? Please. Who ever heard of Leintwardine, let alone visited the place on a whim?”
“I’ve never been able to reconcile the image of that sweet little old lady with the cutthroat that she was supposed to have been during the Revolution or the cold-blooded murderess afterward.”
“She always had a hard edge on her.”
“Did she?”
“She intimidated your mother. Who else could make that claim?”
Anna tipped her head to the side. “Now that you mention it.”
September 18, 1856
Near St. Louis, Missouri
Robert Van Buskirk climbed the steps of the battered stoop and knocked on the screen door.
“Hello, Robert.” Julia Grant appeared behind the screen. Because her right eye roamed, she always stood with her head turned to the right, looking at the world through her stable left eye and presenting herself in profile.
“Hello, Julia,” Robert said cheerfully. “Is Sam here?”
“Yes. Did you come to collect a debt?”
“Me? No. In fact I came to pay one.”
“To Dudy?” she asked in surprise.
“Yes. He loaned me five hundred dollars on the day that Mexico City fell. I’d completely forgotten about it until my new wife came across the IOU last week. You heard I was married?”
“Indeed. Congratulations,” she said.
“I’m embarrassed that it’s taken so long to repay the money. You see, my father had just died and I was badly distracted at the time.”
During Robert’s speech, Julia’s husband, Ulysses, had appeared in the shadows behind her. Now he stepped forward and pushed open the screen door. “Come in, Professor, come in. I’m happy to see you.”
Robert shook Grant’s hand but stayed on the stoop. “If Julia will be so kind as to excuse us, I’m not used to spending so much time in the saddle and need to walk the kinks out.”
“Of course.” Grant walked out and followed Robert down the steps. “I heard that lie you were telling my wife.”
Robert looked back to see if Julia might have heard and was relieved to see that she was gone. “It wasn’t a lie. It was a small stretch of the truth.”
“I loaned you five hundred pesos to buy two identical burial urns, not dollars. And Jack paid me back the next day. Or Thomas. I’m not sure which now, but I was repaid.”
Robert shrugged. “So I mixed up a few facts. Who cares?”
“I heard what happened to you in Kansas. Damn politics have ruined the Army.”
“I used my authority to help a family member. They had grounds.”
“They had grounds to slap you on the wrist,” Grant agreed, “but not to dismiss you from the Army. The War Department’s filled with pro-slavers and they were out to get you. The scum.”
“Don’t you own slaves?”
“No. My father-in-law does. I work them, try to treat them like humans, and pretend that I don’t hate myself for it.”
“So this is Hardscrabble farm?” Robert said to change the subject.
“Yes. Quite a sight, isn’t it?”
“I had some difficulty finding you. I was first told that you moved away from here after Julia’s mother died.”
“We did. I still run this place and Julia’s father’s place. I had to come here to see to the harvest and Julia decided to come with me. I don’t know why. She hates this place more than I do.”
Robert handed him an envelope. “There’s a bank draft in there for five hundred dollars and a line of credit for five thousand. You can draw on the credit line as you wish. Julia need not know that it exists.”
“I can’t accept this, Robert.”
“Why not?”
“Look at this place. Is there any way that it could earn enough to pay you back?”
“War’s coming, Sam. Within a few years you’ll be drawing colonel or general’s pay.”
“They’ll never take me back. I have the reputation of a drinker.”
“You have the reputation of a drunk, which is only partly true. The whole truth is, you’re a cheap drunk. I’ve seen you in a stupor after a single shot of whiskey.”
Grant chuckled. “True. And I welcome the quick oblivion, but the consequences are hard.”
“Stay away from whiskey and you’ll redeem yourself when the war comes.”
Grant looked pensive. “Civil war in America. I’d feel very guilty hoping for it.”
“Don’t feel guilty. Nobody can stop it. In fact, the war’s already started in Bleeding Kansas. The rest of the country just hasn’t realized it yet.”
Grant bent to pick up a stick, took out his pocket knife and began whittling as they walked. “Do you really think they’ll give me a command?”
“Let me put it this way. When the war starts, the Pro-Slavery, field-grade officers will all be going south. That pretty much gua
rantees that I’ll be able to get a brigade or a regiment. If you can’t get a command on your own, I’ll give you one.”
“Why would you do that?”
Robert shrugged. “You’re a natural leader and I’ve never known anyone that could envision a battlefield the way you can. It’s a true gift that you have.”
Grant looked thoughtful. “If you’re right, I suppose it would be a good idea, politically, to distance myself from my father-in-law as soon as possible.”
“What would you do then?”
Grant shrugged. “I don’t know. Work for my father selling harnesses, I suppose. But working two farms with his slaves makes me feel like a hypocrite.”
“I can’t advise you on that, Sam.”
“I know.” He looked around at the fields. “I didn’t want to go to West Point but after I was out in the field with troops behind me, I thought I’d found my calling. I’m no longer sure that I have a calling.”
“Yes you do. Like me, you’re a soldier.”
“Some soldiers we are.”
Robert smiled. “We will be again. If you get a command first, please don’t forget me.”
“Of course not. Unlikely as that is.”
March 8, 1857
Washington, D.C.
President James Buchanan did not look up or rise from his desk when Anna Van Buskirk was ushered in. “I found your recent feature article to be both insulting and distasteful,” he said as the outer door closed.
“Was it inaccurate?” Anna stood near the door, waiting for an invitation to sit.
He met her eyes now. “It was misleading. You were accurate in stating that I wrote to Associate Justice John Catron before the inauguration but the implication that I tried to influence the Supreme Court’s Dred Scott versus Sanford decision was untrue.”
“It’s a matter of public record that in your inaugural address you said that the slavery question would ‘be speedily and finally settled’ by the Supreme Court. You would have no way of knowing that unless you had some communication from someone like Chief Justice Taney.”
He sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. “Conversations between the Judicial and Executive branches of Government are not illegal.”
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