Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [110]
Fannie had given birth to four children, and two had not survived. There had been doubts about Wyllys’s health as well, and his first year had been difficult. Chamberlain had grown weary of doctors, of somber pronouncements and vague predictions, and through it all he had feared more for Fannie. Their home had become the warm nest she needed, and the deaths of the children had shaken her, but Chamberlain was amazed that she had come back, had learned to smile and laugh and play again. Even after the second death, it was as though she had expected it, a price for the happiness, and so it too had passed, and now the boy was growing, the problems were behind them, and the family was complete.
“Daddy!” Daisy saw him now, jumped off the bed, ran to him and clutched his leg.
Fannie turned around and smiled, saw his expression, and the smile faded. She turned back to the boy, made sure he was all right, then stood up and said, “You’re back so soon. I wasn’t sure . . . you said it might be a couple of days.”
“Yes, it did not take long. The ride is fairly short. Come, we need to talk.”
“Let me get them ready for bed. It’s been a rather long day. They seem to have some new energy these days, or maybe . . . I have less.” She forced a small laugh, and he knew she was preparing herself for something, some news, his face had betrayed him. He went outside, to the small front porch, sat in a rickety chair, saw lights now, the day was done. He pushed back carefully, felt the chair twisting, groaning, and he looked up, saw the first stars, looked back on his day, his meeting, what he had done, and realized now that he actually felt alive, and happy, and it shook him, he had not felt this way in years. Now he would have to explain that to her.
It was not long, a few minutes, and she came out, had wrapped a sweater around her shoulders, moved in front of him, to the other chair. He could barely see her now, her silhouette in the dim lamplights of the town.
“I don’t think I could have gotten them to bed if you had not come home. That’s all I heard this afternoon, ‘Where’s Daddy?’ ”
They sat quietly, and Chamberlain felt himself tensing up, felt his heart beating. His hands began to sweat, and he took a deep breath, then another. Fannie heard him, knew he was finding the words, waited a few minutes, then said, “Are we moving?”
“What? Moving?”
“I thought . . . maybe you have been offered a new position.”
“Well, no, but . . .” He stopped, could put it off no longer. “I saw the governor today, Governor Washburn.”
“The governor? Really?” She laughed, “My father calls him Old Breadball.”
Chamberlain smiled, knew many reasons why he did not discuss politics with Reverend Adams.
“The governor has offered me . . . a commission. He has offered me a command position, a lieutenant colonel’s rank . . . in the Maine volunteers.”
She sat up straight, and he felt her eyes. “Why would he do that?”
“Because I requested it. I volunteered for service.”
She stared at him in the dark, and he leaned forward, brought the chair slowly back down onto four legs.
“You volunteered . . . to join the army? Why on earth . . . you mean, you want to leave here? Leave us?”
“No, I didn’t do it for that. Please. I love you, I love you all. But . . . this has been coming for a long time . . . maybe since the war started.”
“You can’t mean this, Lawrence. You’re not a soldier.”
He heard the edge in her voice, knew she was not going to take this well. He turned in the chair, faced her.
“The closer I came to doing this, the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was something I had to do . . . I wanted to do. I cannot let this war happen without doing something. If I don’t do . . . something . . . I will regret it for the rest of my life.”
Her voice was quiet, softer. “But what about your career? You can’t just . . . quit. Have you told them?”
“No. I will do that tomorrow. They already know, probably. Woods knows. I’m sure I will hear a lot of . . . criticism. Those old men,