Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [150]
Pendleton said, “Good night, sir,” and was gone, the flaps dropping back down to seal out the cold.
He stared now at the letter, felt a cold lump in his stomach. Anna had been pregnant again, and he had not seen her since he heard the news. They had been together briefly the previous spring, in Winchester, prior to the great battles, his great triumphs over the Federal armies in the valley. He had not mentioned the pregnancy to anyone, not even his staff, had feared if word got out, God would not be pleased, would punish him somehow. His fear for Anna was so great that he would not think of her at all, would coach himself to think instead of God. If he revealed too much, if God knew that he was afraid for her, if he did not trust completely in God’s care, He would take her from him, as He had taken Ellie, as He had taken his daughter.
Jackson did not recognize the writing on the envelope, saw that it was from North Carolina, where Anna had gone to spend the long months with her family. He took a deep breath, tore open the envelope. His hand shook slightly as he held the paper out, catching the lamplight.
My Own Dear Father,
As my mother’s letter has been cut short by my arrival, I think it but justice that I should continue it. I know that you are rejoiced to hear of my coming, and I hope that God has sent me to radiate your pathway through life. I am a very tiny little thing. I weigh only eight and a half pounds, and Aunt Harriet says I am the express image of my darling papa ...
Tears filled his eyes, and he wiped with his sleeve, then began to search down the page, came to the line he had sought:
My mother is very comfortable this morning . . .
He put the letter down, smiled, wiped more tears away, then looked up, through the walls of his tent, said in a low voice, “You did not take her from me. Thank You, thank You.”
He sat staring for a minute, then read the letter again, saw the final words, signed: “Your dear little wee Daughter.” He smiled again, stared into the walls of the tent, closed his eyes, staring far away into the dark, and saw the face of his mother, her face with a smile like he had not seen before, a glow from her that filled him with a sudden energy, a bright light deep inside him. He knew it was a gift, that his new and precious daughter would fill that place, the lonely dark hole that his mother had left, and he thought, Yes, she will be named for you, she will be called Julia. Then the image began to fade, but deep inside he felt her smiling still.
HIS MOOD was different. He did not ride out to watch the troops. He rode at the head of the long column, stared out to the front. The staff noticed, but no one asked about the letter. They had learned early what he expected of you and what you did not do. His division commanders had served with him long enough to witness his irritability and intolerance for inefficiency. Now, he too was involved in a conflict with A. P. Hill; the fiery temper and fragile ego that had plagued Longstreet were now tormenting him as well.
Hill had shown a tendency to march his division with too much haste, stringing out his men into a sloppy line, leaving behind many stragglers. On the march into Maryland, Jackson had ordered one of Hill’s brigadiers to halt, to allow the unit to close up and regroup. Hill had furiously protested, and Jackson responded by having him arrested, had ordered him to march at the rear of his division. In the weeks that followed, Hill had been granted a brief reprieve, the opportunity to lead his division at Antietam, but even his timely heroics there had not changed Jackson’s mind about his need for discipline, and a long series of letters and accusations from both men had poured across Lee’s desk.
Lee tried to soothe feelings on both sides, with little success. Jackson was unbending, and Hill demanded a full court of inquiry, a disruption even in the best of circumstances, and Lee knew the army could not afford to be tied up with such administrative energy. And, despite Jackson’s anger, and Hill’s talent