Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [111]
“I thought we were going to Europe, I thought that was the news. You haven’t told me if you were accepting the leave or not. It’s been weeks, and I thought, finally, you had made up your mind. I did not expect you to join the army. How could you do this . . . without discussing this with me first? Do I not have any say in this?” She was angry now, and he looked away from her, out into the dark, did not have an answer for her, had never been able to tell her that he was simply . . . unhappy.
“I’m sorry. Please try to understand. . . .”
“I thought we were finally . . . doing so well. I thought you enjoyed . . . doing what you did. You never gave me any notion that you would ever do anything like this.”
He looked at her again, tried to see her face in the dark, said, “I had come to believe that I would grow old standing in front of students, reciting my lessons, and that it didn’t matter if I was happy or not. If this is where I am supposed to be, then I would accept that. But . . . something changed. I look into their faces, and they expect answers, and I began to realize that the answers they want are the same ones I want. My colleagues . . . they stopped asking about anything a long time ago . . . they know all they need to know, and their lives are as complete as they will ever be, and that works for them. I am not ready to grow old, to accept that what I am today is what I will always be.”
She stood, moved away, to the edge of the porch, leaned against the thin railing, stared out to the night sky. “So, that’s it.”
He stood, moved toward her. She lowered her head, said slowly, her voice calmer now, “So . . . when do you leave? How long will you be gone? What will you be doing?”
“I’m not sure . . . of any of that. They’ll send me orders . . . soon . . . a few weeks. It’s a new regiment, the Twentieth. I’ll be serving under a fellow named Ames, Colonel Ames. I expect we have a good deal of training to go through. I have a lot to learn.”
“You’ll learn it. If you want to do this, you will learn it.”
He smiled, thought of Woods, Hodsdon. “They seem to believe that too.”
He moved close behind her, wrapped his arms around hers, held her against him. They stood quietly together for a long moment, then she said, “What of us, the children? Are we to stay here?”
“Well, yes . . . I suppose so. I will be able to send money home, my salary. We’ll have to see . . . it’s up to you, really.”
“Up to me?” He heard the anger again, her voice cutting through him. “How much of anything is up to me? You have made a decision that will change all our lives. A soldier . . . my God, you may be injured . . . you . . . might never . . .” And now she began to cry, shook against him softly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, held it out to her, and she wiped her eyes.
“No, no . . . don’t think on that. I will probably be sent to some office somewhere, writing speeches for some general.”
He tried to sound convincing, but she turned in his arms, faced him now, said, “No, Lawrence, that is not what you will do. That is not why you volunteered.” She had stopped crying, stared at him hard in the dark. “Go, do this thing . . . but be honest about it. Do not tell yourself that everyone here is happy for you, that you are doing something wonderful for us all. I will not spend my nights happily thinking about what could be happening to you. I will not send you away from here with a lie. If you are not happy, then change that, but remember that what you are doing may have a price for the rest of us . . . for me. . . .” She began to cry again, sobbed hard against him.
He held her, put his head down gently against hers and said, “I will try to be careful . . . I will be careful. I will come home to you. I will miss you . . . I will miss the children.”
She grew quiet, still leaned tightly to him, then he felt her stiffen, pull away slightly, and she said calmly, “I know you will.