‘Sure, boss. Thank you.’
There was so much Gilbert wanted to say but he could think of none of it now.
‘There are still dirty pictures in the wagon,’ he said. ‘You want them? Good market for them where you’re planning to go.’
Roberto smiled and shook his head.
‘Better not,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to get into no trouble. At least not too quickly. That reminds me – I have one here.’
He took out his billfold and extracted the picture of Clara on the chair.
‘That was the best one,’ said Roberto.
‘It was. Sure you don’t want to keep it – as a souvenir?’
‘Souvenir, boss?’
‘Memory.’
Roberto tapped the side of his head with the tip of his index finger.
‘My memories are up ‘ere, boss. You take the picture.’
He handed it to Gilbert.
There was nothing else.
‘You take good care of yourself, my friend,’ Gilbert said.
‘When the war is over, I come back to Washington. Then maybe we work together. What you think?’
‘I’d like that, Roberto. I’d like that very much.’
They looked at each other.
‘Maybe then you’ll tell me your second name is,’ said Gilbert with a weak laugh.
Roberto tried to say ‘sure’ but no sound came when he said the word.
‘Well, I better be going,’ said Gilbert.
Then he put out his arms and he and Roberto embraced.
‘Thank you, my friend,’ said Gilbert.
‘And you, my friend,’ said Roberto.
They held each other. There were tears in Gilbert’s eyes. Eventually he pulled himself away. He put the map and the photograph in the satchel and flipped it into the rear of the wagon. Then he tied up the canvas. He climbed up onto the seat.
‘You know how to drive that thing?’ asked Roberto with a grin.
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Gilbert.
He flicked the reins onto Leonardo’s back and the horse moved off slowly. Gilbert looked back. Roberto stood in the damp dust of the road and waved a hand. Gilbert waved back and wondered if he would ever see him again.
He headed south. There were still wagons, Union soldiers and Confederate prisoners all over the battlefield but their number seemed somewhat reduced. A lot of the bodies seemed to have been buried now too. The stench of death and rotting corpses was still as strong though. Gilbert wondered if the smell was actually in his nostrils or on his clothes.
It was though this had all been for nothing. Roberto had come along and for a couple of days Gilbert had believed that he had recovered the direction in his life. Now that was all gone. He would return to the studio, he would mount the exhibition, he would make money – but it would all mean what to him, in the end?
He wondered again if he should join the army. Join up after the exhibition had run its course. He had never been directionless like this before. There had always been things he wanted to do with his life. What had changed? Sarah was gone. Nothing would bring her back. He needed to find the road that Roberto had talked about. He had never had a problem doing that. Why was he so lost now?
It dawned on him that one of the reasons he had come to Gettysburg was that he had hoped he might get a better understanding of death. Sarah had died – why? For what? He had hoped that here in the orgy of dying that had taken place, he might find some clarity, some answers about death. Yet he had none. The death of all the men here might – just might – have had some value; but Sarah’s had none. Why had she had such a tormented life? She had just wanted to be happy and she had a huge capacity for it. But somehow that lust for life had been destroyed. She had drunk the cup of life – slurped it down – only to find that it was a poisoned chalice Where was the justice or fairness in that?
As he crested the brow of a hill he saw a wagon coming towards him. It was drawn by two horses but it was what was on the bed of the wagon that made Gilbert smile. It was a portable darkroom – a photographer’s wagon. As it came closer, Gilbert saw that the driver was a man with a wide face, wild hair and a full beard and moustache. His eyes were fixed, not on Gilbert but on the canvas structure behind him. The man looked stunned and furious. Gilbert tipped his hat and said, ‘Afternoon’.
48
As Gilbert cleared the battlefield area, heading south, he tried to concentrate on the future. He should be in Emmitsburg in a couple of hours. He would stay overnight at the Farmers’ Inn. It would be nice to see Abby again. Then on to Washington. He reckoned that he would get there some time on Wednesday the eighth.
There would be no need for a long lead up to the exhibition. He wouldn’t even frame the photographs. He would just get them mounted on the walls as quickly as possible using nails or string or whatever. Elisabeth could help. Speed was the thing now – to get his pictures up before anybody else. He reckoned that he could open the exhibition on Friday morning.
He would let it run then for as long as there was interest. He would charge an admission fee and sell copies. He assumed newspapers would want to make woodcuts. There would be foreign rights. He knew nothing about any of this but he would have to learn – and quickly. Unless there was another big battle, the interest in this should last into the Fall – he should be busy until then. That was the thing now. To keep busy. To try and stop himself from thinking.
But he couldn’t stop.
The exhibition would be a sensation. The images he had taken showed unspeakable things. But then what? He would take Leonardo and the wagon on the road and go to the scene of the next battle? See more death? Is that what he would become? The photographer of death? Maybe he wouldn’t even become that. The fact was that he would probably never get a tip off as good as the one that Roberto had gotten last week. God – was it really only last week? So much had happened. And at the end of it all he seemed to be back where he started. Mourning Sarah. Grieving for her. Missing her. And missing Roberto, who had blazed in Gilbert’s life briefly like a comet and was now gone too. Was that what his life was destined to be? Amazing, extraordinary people would blaze into his life and then be gone just as quickly, leaving him alone, bereft, just as he was now.
There had been times on this journey when he had thought that he might get some kind of eureka moment; when suddenly everything would become clear and he would find the path that Roberto had talked about. He had hoped that he would find the wisdom or magic or whatever it was that he needed to continue. Now he knew that there was no wisdom or magic. There was nothing to be learned. There was only the long lonely vista of life that remained to him. What he did after the exhibition didn’t matter. He would do something to fill the time. And he would always grieve for the brief spells of happiness he had known with Sarah. And wonder why she couldn’t have had longer.
God, there were people who came on earth and did nothing with their lives. They touched nobody. They achieved nothing. They ate and drank and had sex and the world was no better or worse for their passing. Sarah had come into it like a light and had touched everyone who knew her. Why couldn’t she have been given longer? And why had her time here been marred by that terrible illness that afflicted her? Questions. All these questions and no answers.
Leonardo trotted along, the sound of his clip clopping forming a kind of rhythmic background. Occasionally, above the noise of the hooves or the creaking of the wagon, Gilbert heard a bird call or a dog bark while the thoughts circled endlessly in his head.
When the sound of other hooves joined the panorama of sound, it was so gradual that he was unaware of them. Eventually though they became loud enough that he broke from his reverie. There was something not quite right. Leonardo’s hooves couldn’t be making all that noise. He looked at the horse in puzzlement and then glanced over his left shoulder.
He was just in time to see Leroy draw level with the wagon, his musket across his lap and pointed at him.
49
&
nbsp; ‘Well, I’ll be darned,’ said Leroy. ‘If it ain’t Mister Smarty Pants Photographer again.’
Leroy was not smiling. Glancing over his right shoulder, Gilbert confirmed that Hays was on his other side, holding a pistol.
‘Why don’t you just pull that wagon in there, boy?,’ said Hays. ‘We need to have a talk with you.’
Gilbert did as he was told. Hays indicated with his pistol that Gilbert should get down from the wagon and he dismounted. The two Rebels remained on their horses.
‘You cost us a lot of money, boy,’ said Hays, matter of factly. ‘You and that foreign friend o’ yours.’
‘It wasn’t us,’ said Gilbert, trying and failing to keep the panic out of his voice.
‘And caused us a lotta trouble too,’ said Hays as though he hadn’t heard him. ‘Had to pay off those deputies, get new horses, new guns, had to kill a bunch of folks. And it’s all your fault, Mister Photographer.’
‘It was the sheriff ––’
‘Don’t take me for a fool,’ Hays snapped.
‘There are still photographs of the girl in the wagon,’ said Gilbert. ‘Forty sets. You could sell ’em and make a lot of money.’
‘Is that right?’ said Hays. ‘Probably about a tenth o’ what we’d a made from one slave. What say, Leroy?’
‘If that,’ said Leroy.
‘You gone and ruined this boy’s life,’ said Hays, indicating Leroy.
‘How have I done that?’ asked Gilbert, trying to sound scornful.
The result however was somewhere between pathetic and pleading.
‘He was planning to go back to the South. Buy a small place. Them slaves woulda given him a little grubstake. Woulda built a nice life for hisself if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘The South is going to lose the War,’ said Gilbert. ‘There aren’t going to be any more slaves.’
‘Is that right?’ said Hays again.
‘That’s right,’ said Gilbert, this time trying to sound defiant and almost succeeding.
‘Well, maybe you’re right, Mister Photographer. And maybe you’re wrong. Whatever happens though, I guess it’s a pity that you’re not gonna be around to see it.’
‘Look why don’t you just take it all – the wagon, the equipment, the horse, the pictures, everything?’ said Gilbert. ‘It’s valuable. You can sell it. You’ll make money.’
‘Oh, we’re gonna do that alright, Mister Photographer. And you know something? If it had been up to me I mighta just done that and let you live. But you see, it’s poor Leroy here. His life has been ruined by what you done. And he’s mad as hell about that. Ain’t you, Leroy?’
‘Sure am,’ said Leroy, softly.
‘So unless you got anything else to say, Mister Photographer, we should probably just get on with this.’
Hays paused. Gilbert could think of nothing else to say. His eyes darted around, wondering whether he could make a run for it. He knew he wouldn’t get five yards.
Hays said, ‘Leroy?’
Leroy slid from his horse. As he did, he said, ‘Better get down on your knees and start saying your prayers, Mister Photographer.’
And suddenly Gilbert realized that he no longer cared. He would miss the beauty of the world, the beauty he had savored and tried to capture in his paintings. And a rush of memories of the things he had done with Sarah ran through his head, so crowded that they were almost indistinguishable, one from the other. But that was not enough to keep him here.
And now he saw that maybe Leroy would be doing him a favor. Maybe there was an afterlife and Sarah was waiting for him there. Maybe it was she who had sent Leroy and Hays to bring Gilbert to her. Maybe that was how all of this worked. There would be a momentary flash of pain but he would be gone before he knew it. And then he would be reunited with her. Their bodies would be whole again. She would have no melancholia and her neck would not be broken and the back of his head would not be cracked open. And they would be together for all eternity in sunlight and flowers and happiness.
Suddenly Gilbert felt a surge of joy like he had not felt in a long time. It was how he had felt whenever he had been with her and times were good. He was coming.
‘I’m coming, Sarah,’ he murmured. ‘Wait for me. In just a few minutes I’ll be there.’
‘On your knees,’ said Leroy, but now his voice sounded distant and faint. And there was no need for the command anyway, because Gilbert had already sunk to his knees. Leroy moved behind him.
‘Oh my beautiful, darling Sarah,’ Gilbert murmured. ‘I’ve missed you so much but now I’ll be with you again. I love you and we’re going to be together for all eternity.’
Gilbert repeated the words over and over again. Far away he heard the hammer of Leroy’s musket being pulled back. Gilbert was no longer sure if he was saying the words in the right order. But he murmured on.
‘Beautiful … Sarah … love you … darling … eternity … together.’
Unconsciously, he braced himself for the shot, hunching his shoulders. Then it rang out.
50
Gilbert had expected the shot to sound much closer. It had been distant. And he was surprised that he could still hear at all. And next minute he heard the thud of a body hitting the ground.
He realized he had closed his eyes. He opened them. Leroy lay on the ground to one side of him. His eyes and mouth were open and there was a neat bullet hole in his temple. His hair had hardly been disturbed. A pool of blood was starting to spread out into the dust beneath his head.
There were hooves and Gilbert looked up to see Hays with an expression of stunned surprise on his face. Gilbert turned to his left and looked down the road in the direction of Emmitsburg. A squad of Confederate cavalry was approaching, kicking up dust as it came. Gilbert recognized the officer leading them. It was the same man that Roberto had heaped insults upon a few days ago – the man who had lived in Italy. He held up his hands and the riders came to a halt.
‘Executing civilians?’ he said to Hays. ‘I didn’t know the Army of Northern Virginia had that as part of its brief.’
Hays snapped into a salute.
‘He ain’t a civilian, lieutenant,’ he said. ‘He’s a spy. And you’re gonna have to answer for what you’ve gone and done to my pardner.’
Hays looked defiant, almost smug. The lieutenant looked at Hays, then at Gilbert.
‘You’re a spy, sir?’
‘I think you know my business, lieutenant,’ said Gilbert.
‘Your Italian friend not with you?’ asked the lieutenant, a faint smile on his face.
‘No sir. He decided to stay in Gettysburg.’
‘Joinin’ the Yankee army, eh?’ asked the lieutenant.
‘I’d be lying if I said he hadn’t,’ said Gilbert.
The lieutenant nodded.
‘Well he sure was passionate about the cause.’
The expression on Hays’ face had changed. Now there was dismay, almost alarm.
‘What regiment you with?’ the lieutenant asked Hays.
‘Fifty Seventh Virginia, sir’ said Hays.
‘Armistead’s Brigade?’
‘Yessir,’ said Hays.
‘Pickett’s Division?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Hays.
It seemed like his confidence was returning.
‘I take it this is the same Fifty Seventh Virginia in the same Armistead’s Brigade that almost got destroyed in Pickett’s Charge a few days ago.’
Hays eyes darted to right and left. Gilbert heard several guns cock.
‘Sergeant, arrest this man on a charge of suspected desertion.’
The sergeant jumped down, relieved Hays of his weapons and tied his hands behind his back. When this was done, the lieutenant said to Gilbert, ‘And now sir, I’m afraid we’re going to have to commandeer your wagon. We got a lotta wounded we gotta get back beyond the Potomac.’
Gilbert was not sure what to say, everything had happened so quickly.
‘I’ll just unload my
equipment then,’ he said.
‘Unfortunately, that won’t be necessary, sir. My orders are to seize everything. Your wagon and its entire contents are now the property of the Confederate States of America. I will of course, pay you, but it will have to be in Confederate dollars. You’ll be able to use them in the Confederacy or redeem them after the war.’
The lieutenant sounded as though he was reading from a script. Gilbert thought that when he had finished, he looked vaguely embarrassed.
Gilbert wasn’t sure if he was glad to be alive or not. He couldn’t decide if he cared that he had lost the photographs and that there would now be no exhibition. He knew how Roberto would have reacted if he had been here. Gilbert smiled.
A few minutes later he found himself in the bizarre situation where he was thanking the lieutenant as the wagon and everything that Gilbert and Roberto had worked so hard for, were driven off. But it would have been churlish to do anything else – the man had saved his life after all. Gilbert still had some money in his billfold – the Confederates hadn’t taken that. He reckoned he was about ten miles from Emmitsburg. He could walk it.
It would be later when he remembered that his satchel, which contained Sarah’s wedding vows and her note, was still in the wagon.
51
Abby was behind the reception desk of The Farmers’ Inn when Gilbert came in hot, dusty and damp, both from sweat and a couple of rain showers that had happened during the afternoon.
‘Why, Mister Owens – I didn’t hear your wagon.’
He told her what had happened and her eyes widened in alarm.
‘Well, at least you’re alive,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you some hot water so you can have a bath. And if you don’t mind wearin’ some of my late husband’s things, I can get your shirt and other bits and pieces washed.’
As it turned out he fell asleep in the bath and woke to find himself sitting in tepid water. Twilight was gathering outside. He felt better – physically, at least. He dressed in the unfamiliar clothes. Abby’s husband had been a somewhat bigger man than Gilbert but the things fitted well enough. He went downstairs to the dining room. Once again the smell of roasting meat filled the air.
Sunlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 2) Page 21
