Sheridan squinted at him. “What man doesn’t want a furlough? Time to see his family? Rest and recuperate? Marry his lass.”
“I will offer it, but we are the only family we have.”
Sheridan grinned. “You sound like regulars to me. I will see that Grant knows of your sacrifice and service in my reports.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Sheridan shook his head. “If I had a company of men like you, I’d finish this war in a week.” He turned toward Custer. “You’re fortunate to have these men in your brigade.”
“Yes, sir. They are a special group.”
“Well then, Lieutenant.” Sheridan took the cigar from his mouth and waved them away. “I release you to your men. Rest while you can because this war isn’t over yet.” A haughty grin took over his face. “I’m thinking a move on Richmond next. Really put a stranglehold on the bastards.”
Wolf saluted both the generals, forcing a grimace onto his lips. They returned his gesture of respect. Their hands drifted down, and Wolf turned, leaving the room.
His boots thumped the wood floors as he departed. He passed other officers waiting for their commander. He went back to his horse and rubbed her nose while he unwound her reins from the tree, patting her flanks.
“You did good, Sarah,” he said to her. Her eyes flicked open wider. “Have to get you fed here. You’re looking thin.”
“Lieutenant,” came a voice.
Wolf turned. Custer walked his way to him. He held out a paper. “You should take this.”
He took the paper in his hands. It was the furlough orders with Sheridan’s signature scrawled across the bottom. “I don’t want this.”
Custer’s eyes flashed. “I don’t care what you want. You’re still in this army? These are your orders.”
It took a minute before Wolf could respond. “Yes, sir.”
“Then take these orders. Your men need it. Your men deserve it.”
Wolf folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. He gave his general a faint smile. “Thank you, sir.” But his words came out flat.
Custer gave him a short grin. “You truly killed the fellow?”
“I suppose we did.”
The general eyed the trees and the men resting about them trying to stay dry. “That’s too bad. I would have liked to have met him sword to sword.” The glory of a duel with such a legendary enemy glowed bright in his eyes.
“I am sure he would have been delighted by the prospect.”
The trumpets of battle didn’t fade in Custer’s eyes. “What did he look like when he was wounded? Brave? Scared?”
Wolf reflected for a moment, recalling Stuart’s face after the bullet had entered his belly. “I suppose he just looked surprised.”
Custer blew air through his mustache. “As is any man who faces his own demise.” Each man contemplated their own end in silence. “He would have been a good man to fight alongside.”
“He would have.”
“Today we dealt them a grievous blow. The more momentum we build, the stronger we become.”
“We’ll see it through until it’s done.”
Custer smiled at him. “Yes, we will. Carry on, Lieutenant.”
“Where is our camp, sir?” Wolf said, mounting his horse.
“About a mile in that direction.” Custer pointed.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Get some rest, Lieutenant Wolf. It won’t be long before I need you again.”
Wolf walked his horse away in silence, his furlough orders burning in his pocket.
Chapter Thirty-Six
May 12, 1864
Richmond, Virginia
The rain came in a dreary drumbeat like a funeral procession. Throughout the night and day, it seemed the heavens mourned the loss of one of the greatest cavalrymen ever known. The horses clip-clopped in a slow and deliberate manner, mimicking their riders with drooping tired heads.
The quiet sobs of Flora leaked from the carriage behind him. The more he had tried to tune out her sorrows, the more they cut at him.
The woman had been through so much over the past few years. The split of her family. The death of her daughter. And now the unexpected dispatch of her beloved husband, a man she’d traded her former life for. Ostracized by her own blood now, where would she find a place to live and acceptance?
He’d given his favorite mount, Butler, a break from the fighting and riding, letting him walk unburdened behind. His backup mount, affectionately named Charles after his hometown of Charleston, South Carolina, was a gray gelding with a fine temperament, just not the same as old Butler. The coming rain caused his hip to ache. Each sway of the horse caused discomfort, but nothing could soothe the ache in his heart at the loss of his commander.
They passed the earthen walls surrounding the outskirts of Richmond. The guards got one glimpse at the stars on his collar and stood to attention. He didn’t even bother to glance their way, focusing more on traversing this solemn path of grief. Then it would be back to war.
He was the next in line to lead the corps. However, he had never thought he would be in the position of taking command. He hadn’t been given any orders from Lee yet to assume his new role. It would be soon. It had to be.
They couldn’t afford to be leaderless in the face of the Union campaign. Not now when things were so close to the brink. His mind drifted to Fitzhugh Lee, Marse Robert’s nephew. He wouldn’t give the corps to him, would he? But then his mind wandered to his commander’s other decisions as of late. He was no career soldier, an outsider, older than most of the rest. No, I am the senior division commander. The orders will come soon. We don’t have the luxury to tarry.
Oh, how wars change things. He had gone from being a businessman and outdoorsman to a commander rising to lead his very own division. He would never be surprised that wasn’t in his blood. He was a man who did the surprising. He was cool under Death’s cruel watch. But he never thought he would be the senior major general in the Army of Northern Virginia Cavalry Corps. Fate was fickle and decisive, taking men before their time and watching others fade to dust.
They turned down Grace Street, which led to the house of Dr. Charles Brewer, Stuart’s brother-in-law. The house reflected both wealth and respect. It was well-kept, having been recently scrubbed of all soot. The townhouses were all in a row, and a covered lamp flickered a flame on the street corner. They stopped and Hampton dismounted.
Stiffly, he walked to the covered carriage. He looked inside and Flora’s face was between her hands. Her hair had a disheveled appearance and her eyes were rimmed with raw redness and tears. “We’re here, ma’am.”
She shook her head in slight nods. “I can’t go in there.”
He gazed down. He wasn’t a man of great emotion, especially with the female folk. He found much greater comfort in the company of other men. Everything was easier, more linear, and straightforward.
“You should see him.”
She glanced at him. “Why? He’s already gone.”
He peered down again, worried he’d caused her pain. “I know I would want my kin to say their goodbyes.”
Her mouth twisted. “You were supposed to watch out for him.”
“Ma’am, we are at war. It still rages north of here. I was not with him when he was injured. All I know is that as soon as he discovered you were taken, he wouldn’t rest until you were found.”
“Heathens! Every last one of them.” She took a handkerchief and wiped her nose. “And your man was no better. He should be court-martialed.” Her handkerchief moved to the corners of her eyes.
He sighed. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”
“What would you know about loss?”
“My brother—“Frank’s ghost was waiting for them on the porch of the Brewer home, pale and somber as if he grieved Stuart’s death as much as the next man.
“I’ve lost my daughter and now my husband.”
He held his tongue before he said something in anger. “They are all grie
vous. I do not pretend to know your pain.” Rain dribbled off the brim of his hat. “However, I would like to step out of the rain.”
She sighed audibly. She took out her umbrella and handed it to him. He slid it open, holding it high to ensure she didn’t get wet. She offered him a hand, and he gracefully accepted before helping her down. Her boots sank into the mud with a squinch and he guided her from the muddy street.
Together they traversed the steps to the porch. A man with long muttonchops and a shaved chin awaited them there. He nervously wrung out his hands as they approached.
“Flora,” he said. “I’m so sorry. We did all we could.” He reached out to embrace her and she held out a hand. “Please, just take me to him.”
“Of course, ma’am. General?” Charles said.
“Wade Hampton.”
Charles lowered his head in respect. “I’ve heard of your brave exploits.”
“Charles,” Flora said.
“Yes.” He pushed open the door and led her up a staircase.
Flora hiked her dress, forging her way up the stairs. There were other women and a cluster of Stuart’s aides in the parlor. McClellan, Boteler, and Garnett. Everyone dried their eyes, watching Flora walk past.
Hampton nodded to the women but didn’t say a word as was his way. Frank would have made them smile, but now he was only a ghost along with the rest. “Gentlemen.”
The largest of the three aides, Henry McClellan, wiped his eye. “I apologize for our appearance. We are most distraught.”
“No need, Henry. This is a most joyless time.”
“He gave me his bay, General. A fine, beautiful animal. He said I should have him because he was bigger and would hold me better.” He wiped his eyes again with a smile. “It is a mount fit for a king.”
“If this country ever had royalty, he surely would have been,” Hampton said.
“The finest.”
“How can we go on?” Boteler said, his voice quavering. He nudged a finger beneath his glasses.
Hampton’s brow creased, his voice growing in anger. “You have a responsibility to your country.”
Boteler took a step back, and all the men appeared admonished with their honor called into question.
Lifting a hand, Hampton asked for forgiveness. “I apologize, we carry on because our nation needs us.” He waited a moment, letting his words settle on them. “I must pay my respects.”
The aides all nodded their understanding. The situation was gut-wrenching for them all.
The wooden steps complained as he made his way to the second floor. He was surprised by the man he met at the top of the stairs. He was tall and thin, and the goatee that hung from the tip of his chin reminded Hampton of a billy goat. His hair had a slight wave to it and stuck out around his ears. Sharp cheekbones accented his slender face. He held a top hat in one of his hands and wore a fine coat with a black bowtie.
“General, I didn’t expect you,” he said.
“Mr. President.”
“These are grave times under which we meet. The heavens send their rain as the angels mourn.”
“These have been hard days.”
“I feel we will see more mourning rain before we are done.”
“Aye, we will, but we will prevail. Even now Lee repositions to block Grant.”
“I’ve heard. Do you think there is still a threat to the capital?”
“I do not, sir. They would never be able to hold it.”
Davis blinked away his piercing stare. “Very good. I have full confidence in you, General.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I am afraid I must keep this meeting brief. I must depart. There is much to do, and I like to have an eye on everything.”
“Of course. Your presence here is an honor to us all.”
“He was a dutiful patriot. If only all were so willing to give their lives for their new country.” Davis walked down the steps, disappearing out the front door.
Many of Davis’s friends held positions within the military as political appointments, something that should have gone to the side in favor of men with experience and proven leadership. He’d been heavy-handed with his control of the government, and Hampton’s men still found themselves foraging and robbing the Yankees to stay fed. But he dismissed the man to pay his respects to a better man.
He turned toward the room. Crying could be heard from inside its confines. He gently pushed the door open. Flora lay across Stuart’s chest, her arms covering her face. The general’s face was pallid and lacking any of the lusters of life.
Stuart’s beard laid limp, no longer bushy. His hair was damp and stuck to the side of his head. His appearance was almost peaceful.
A faint scent of death lingered in the room. Before the war, he would have turned away or covered his nose, but now it was second nature as he’d grown immune to it.
Silently, he stood observing. Time ticked by and his mind went numb.
Flora peered at him. “You can pay your respects.”
He gave her a slight nod and joined her. He knelt to his knees one at a time. The floor was hard beneath him, and his kneecaps instantly complained. He folded his hands in front of him, and ignoring the smell, he began to pray.
Dear Lord, take this brave knight of the South into your heavenly Kingdom. He was always kind and just. His bravery knew no equal. He was a man but of the noblest kind. A warrior but more gallant. I pray that he finds peace in your gracious embrace. Help his family through this difficult time and ease their suffering. Help us fill his void on the field of battle. Carry your servants to victory. In Christ’s name. “Amen.”
Slowly, he got to his feet. He brushed off his knees to regain the feeling where they’d gone numb. Flora’s red eyes were drenched with tears. “I just don’t know if I can do this again.”
He reached out and took her hand. “You can and you will.”
“How do you know?”
“Is there any other way?”
She blinked rapidly and swallowed. “I will never love another man. I could never bear it.”
He’d heard of widows never marrying again, but he had remarried after his wife had passed. It was all about companionship. A man could have more than one companion. He supposed a woman could as well in her life. But to take the dead’s cold hand in yours and sleep in a cold dark bed for the rest of your life wasn’t living; it was playing dead.
“You follow your heart, Mrs. Stuart.”
She breathed through her mouth. “I am not mad at you, General.”
“It’s okay if you are, but I know you’re not.” Sometimes the anger made it easier to surpass the grief.
“But earlier.”
“Do not concern yourself with that. This is the cruelest time on a person’s soul.” He’d been through it with Margaret, his first wife. Her affliction had come quick, and in twenty-four hours, she was gone. He supposed her situation wasn’t that much different. A love taken before their time. His daughter, Sarah, reminded him of her every time he saw her; she looked just like her mother. Then his two beautiful boys, Wade and Preston. Each one like her in their own way.
“My behavior was shameful.” She lifted her chin and dared him to counter her statement.
“If I could have saved him, I would have given my life.”
Her mouth quivered, but she maintained her composure. “I know you would have. You are a noble warrior.”
He felt blood rush to his cheeks. “You have my sympathy. I’ve never met a man with more zeal for life. He made men believe in the cause. Believe in their invincibility. We have a void to fill in our leadership and in our hearts.”
“His loss will be felt for the rest of our lives.” She picked up Stuart’s sheathed sword that was leaning against a chair. “This is to go to our son. I have half a mind to give it away. War only brought this family suffering. Maybe it’s best we never know it exists.”
“Give the boy the sword.”
“Why? So he can fall wielding it against a
nother foe? Then a mother will be with only a daughter and nothing else.”
“Give it to him so he has something to admire of his father. Something to remember him by.”
“Would that he had a father to show him these things instead of a sharp piece of metal.”
Hampton dipped his chin to chest, forcing his beard to fan outward. “One day he will want to know.”
She studied the saber in her hands.
He didn’t know what else to say, but the enemy still roamed free on his country’s sacred ground. “I must take my leave for the Yankees do not rest.” He turned to depart, and her voice stopped him in his tracks.
“General.”
He regarded her from over his shoulder.
Her voice held the strictest conviction, as if she were a queen. “Whip those damn Yankees.”
A short smile took his lips. “It’d be a pleasure, ma’am.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
May 12, 1864
Custer’s Brigade bivouac, Near Yellow Tavern, Virginia
“Yellabelly,” Hogan said with a smile. The Irishman shook hands with him, cocking his head as he spoke with sarcasm.
“You know I don’t like that term,” Wolf said with a smirk.
“Yet it is yours all the same.”
“Not sure we could have done it without you and your men.”
“Never a dull minute doing business with you.” Hogan regarded the two sharpshooters behind him. “We sure as hell couldn’t have done it without you and your men.”
“Are you going to ride with us to take Richmond?”
Hogan shook his head. “Sheridan doesn’t know it yet, but he isn’t going to take Richmond.”
“He isn’t? We’re so close. Stuart’s command is leaderless and on the run.”
“Leaderless, I think not. They have lost, yes, but other skilled commanders line their ranks, and at this point, what good would capturing Richmond do?”
“End the war?”
“No, no, no. This war will carry on past that now. Early in the war, yes. Now? Not so much. You’ll be marching on past and rejoining Grant. I have a feeling we’ve been too long from him anyway.”
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