At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [45]
He wished he could tell her of Northrup’s death and the things he was afraid of now, but military censorship would only cut it out. He knew better than to try. Instead he told her how much he missed the richness of summer at home, the quiet lanes, the smell of growing things, the sight of horses leaning into the plow, men laughing over pints of ale after the work was done, faces burned by the sun.
He missed the silence. His ears ached for it. He missed dew on the grass, and the smell of clean earth. He told her all of that, more clearly than he ever had before, and setting the words down almost brought it within his grasp again.
There was a sharp rap on the wood by the sacking curtain, jerking him back to the present. The moment he answered, General Northrup came in. Joseph was startled, having assumed that he had left. Now his face was as pale as before, and his body as stiff, but his eyes were hot with anger. He did not attempt to conceal it, but stood swaying very slightly on the damp earth floor, his hands locked behind his back. He spoke before Joseph could rise to his feet.
“Captain Reavley, I have to tell you that I find morale among your men so low that they have descended to the grossest disloyalty toward their officers. There is a laxity that I cannot and will not tolerate.” He spoke very clearly, enunciating each word. “I have even heard oblique suggestions that my son was less than competent in his command. It is a slur on the name of a fine man who gave his life in the service of his country, and it is…obscene.” He took a deep breath. “In the name of decency it must cease. The men responsible for such traitorous talk must be identified and punished.” He drew his shoulders back even further. “I am disappointed in you, sir, that you did not take action sooner than this to stop such infamy.”
Joseph was standing now. He felt the heat burn up his cheeks, not for shame that he had not defended Major Northrup, but because he had allowed himself to hope that the general would leave without hearing it.
“Perhaps you believed that you were being loyal to Colonel Hook,” Northrup went on. “You are mistaken. The ultimate loyalty is to the truth. You do the army no service by keeping silent while slander and betrayal go on. As a man of God your duty is to the highest principles of honor. Your own convenience is nothing.” He sliced his hand in the air, then put it back stiffly to his side again. “You have let down your cloth, sir. I will not permit you, or any man, to dishonor my son. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” Joseph’s mind raced. How could he respond to this man who was so deeply outraged by what was essentially the truth? If only right were as clear as General Northrup imagined. Did one place ideals of truth before compassion for men? This was a hell where just to survive took all a man could dredge up out of his soul. Hope and sanity were lights on a hill the other side of the abyss.
Northrup was waiting for an answer. His son was dead and his grief was insupportable. What good was forcing him to see the truth?
“Well?” Northrup’s temper broke. “Don’t just stand there, man! Account for yourself!”
How many explanations were there that would not wound irrevocably? They would sound to Northrup like lies and excuses anyway.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Joseph began. “Major Northrup replaced a man deeply respected. It was after that that we suffered a great many losses, both wounded and dead. Some of the men blamed Major Northrup for giving orders that cost many of those lives.”
“Rubbish!” Northrup snapped. “To blame an officer for necessary orders is close to mutiny, sir. Which you must know as well as I do! You may be a man of the cloth, but you are in the army. How long have you been out here?” His eyes narrowed and he looked Joseph up and down critically.
“Since September 1914, sir,” Joseph answered him equally curtly.
Northrup swallowed. It was