Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [243]
The pain began to ease, and he kept his thoughts focused away, the men . . . General Lee. There is more for me to do. God does not want me yet. The enemy is still there . . . waiting. . . .
. . . the field . . . the thick brush, the dense tangles. His heart was racing, and he thought . . . the high ground, we must place the guns. He saw the lines now, his men, rolling forward, the enemy falling back, the edge of the river, falling, jumping in, panic, and his men were there, at the edge of the water . . . the river churning hot and red, and he could hear the yells, the screams of the enemy, and now they began to move across, his troops, marching across the river, above the bodies of the enemy, pressing on, into the tall trees on the other side. . . .
Thursday, may 7, 1863
SHE HELD the baby, stepped down from the train, helped now by men in dirty uniforms. They stood aside, made a clear path for her. There was a carriage, and a man held the door. She nodded, tried to smile.
Her brother was behind her, held a large cloth bag, motioned up to the top of the carriage, and other bags were lifted, tossed up. He climbed in, sat beside her. They did not talk, and the carriage began to move.
He knew it was his responsibility to bring the news, to bring her here. They both knew that Jackson had allowed him to serve on his staff because of her. She did not want him near the fight. This way he could still be a soldier, and, even if Jackson took his own fight close to the front of the lines, something she tried not to think about, his staff, and her brother, would be safe.
It had taken him two days to reach her, the delay caused by Stoneman’s cavalry raid. The train that brought them was heavily armed, would fight their way through if necessary, but finally the tracks from Richmond had been cleared, and now they had reached Guiney’s Station.
There were troops in the yard, small groups, dirty, ragged, and officers, some familiar. She saw women now, coming out on the porch of the big house, waiting for her. She was led, a gentle arm, soft words and sad faces. She watched her brother moving away toward the small cottage, and men saluted, and she thought, I should see him now, but they were pulling her away. She looked into the faces now, saw the concern, the deep sadness, and knew something was happening, something her brother had not told her, and she tried to turn, said, “I must see my husband. . . .”
Mrs. Chandler nodded, said, “Yes, my dear, yes. You should talk to Dr. McGuire first.”
She stopped, turned, knew they were not going to tell her anything, and she said, “Please, take me to him.” The baby began to cry now, and she looked at the small face, thought, It has been a difficult trip. She looked at Mrs. Chandler.
Now, a girl moved closer, said, “Please, Mrs. Jackson, allow me to put the baby in bed. We have a place made up special, for both of you.”
Anna saw the eagerness, soft kindness. “I suppose . . . all right,” she said. “I will rest a bit.”
They led her into the house, up to her room, and she laid the baby down in a small bed. Her bags were there now, and she looked at the faces of the women again, and began to feel overwhelmed, the anticipation, the stress of the trip passing.
She sat wearily on the edge of the bed. “I must have a moment . . . please. Thank you for all your kindness.”
The girl was leaning over close to the baby, and