Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [18]
He rechecked the list of lumber, refigured the roofing for the outbuildings, and heard a carriage, the sound of a horse on the bricks of the front entranceway. He stood, put on the dark gray coat that hung across a chair and went out into the barnlike foyer. He could see a figure through the glass, a soldier. The man did not ring the brass bell, had seen Lee coming, waited.
“Yes, what is it?” Lee pulled the door open, then straightened in surprise. “Well, my word. Mr. Stuart, Lieutenant Stuart! Quite a surprise!”
“Sir! I am honored to see you again, Colonel.”
Lee opened the door wide, stepped back and motioned the young soldier into the house.
“Lieutenant, I regret to say you have just missed the girls. They have grown up . . . and I’m sorry, my wife . . .”
“Yes, Colonel, I heard about Mrs. Lee. I am dreadfully sorry for her condition. Please pay my respects, sir, when you are able.”
Lee led the young cavalryman into the study, felt a flood of energy, had not seen him since he graduated from the Point. It was no secret that J.E.B. Stuart had been Lee’s favorite cadet.
“I heard you had been assigned out West, but after I went to Texas, I didn’t hear much more. My word, it is good to see you!”
Stuart was embarrassed, was not used to a show of emotion from Lee. He held a plumed hat firmly at his waist and clutched the brim with both hands.
“Yes, sir, I was in Kansas. Sent to fight Indians, spent more time chasing the guerrillas, the insurrectionists. Quite a mess out there, sir. The army seems caught in the middle . . . seems like no way to make people get along. Sad, bloody place. But, sir, I have news!”
Lee smiled. Stuart always had a way of turning the conversation, any topic, back to himself.
“Sir, I am married! And, a child! Perhaps you know Colonel Cooke, Philip St. George Cooke, a Virginian, of course. I married his little girl! And, well, we have come back here . . . a visit . . . the colonel was helpful in arranging a leave for me so that he could see his new grandbaby.”
“Well, Lieutenant, it seems you have been busy. I never doubted that . . . not for a moment. I am honored you found the time to call on me.”
Stuart suddenly brought a hand up to his mouth. “Oh, sir . . . no . . . thank you, but I am here officially, from the War Department, actually. I was there this morning, hoping to arrange a meeting with the Secretary. I have this invention, you see, a means of attaching the sword—”
Lee knew he would have to steer the young man back to the main subject, gently interrupted, “Lieutenant, the War Department? You have a message for me?”
“Oh . . . yes, sir. I was sitting in the clerk’s office, waiting for the chance to see the Secretary, when Colonel Drinkard suddenly appeared, handed me this.” He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a small envelope. “He asked me if I knew the way to Arlington. I have been instructed to give this to you.”
Stuart looked at the note, studied it for a brief moment, then suddenly remembered his duty, came to noisy attention, and handed it with a snap of his arm to Lee.
Lee could not help a smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant, you may stand at ease.”
Stuart complied, then leaned slightly forward, looked at the envelope, waited impatiently for Lee to open it.
Lee unfolded a small piece of linen stationery, read aloud, for Stuart’s benefit. “ ‘From the chief clerk, Colonel Drinkard, at the request of the Secretary of War, Mr. Floyd, Colonel Lee will report to the Secretary’s office with all haste.’ ”
Lee looked at Stuart, and Stuart said, “That’s it? Just . . . report?”
“Appears so. Well, Lieutenant, would you be obliged to give me a ride over the bridge? We can leave . . . right now, actually.”
“But your uniform, sir. You are not dressed.”
Lee looked at his civilian clothes, the dark wool suit. “Nothing in the note about a uniform, Lieutenant. They seem to prefer haste to dress. I suspect the Secretary will forgive the oversight.”
Lee pointed the