Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [244]
The woman nodded, a faint smile, and Anna looked to her bags, and the door closed softly behind her. She stood, felt a deep yawn rising in her, moved to the baby, sleeping again, and she smiled and said in a whisper, “Soon . . . we will be a family again . . . this will be over. . . .”
She moved toward the sunlight, a tall window, looked out over the thick green grass of the wide yard, saw troops, men with shovels, and they were digging hard, throwing dirt into a wide pile, and she felt a sudden cold shock. They are digging a grave. She tried to see, could not, her eyes thick with tears. She stayed at the window, thought, Why have they not told me? Behind her there was a soft knock at the door. She turned, angry now.
“Yes?”
The door opened, and she saw the face of the young doctor. He bowed slightly, said, “Hello, Mrs. Jackson, may I be allowed to come in? I would like to speak to you before you visit your husband.”
“Visit him?” Her voice was rising, tears running down her cheeks. She pointed toward the window. “So, am I allowed to visit my husband before he is buried?”
McGuire was puzzled, looked toward the window, said, “Buried? He . . . is not . . .” Now he saw the men, the shovels. “Oh my . . . no, no, Mrs. Jackson. That is not a grave. Well, it is . . . but, not, oh no. . . .”
She wiped her eyes, looked out, watched them working again. Now men jumped down into the hole, began to lift something, and she felt her stomach turn slowly, thought, What is happening? A long box appeared, was slowly lifted, and several other men moved closer, lifted it farther, away from the hole.
“Ma’am, that’s the body of General Paxton, Frank Paxton. He was killed during the fighting. His body is being moved, taken back to his home in Lexington.”
She stared down at the box, said, “Yes, I know Mr. Paxton . . . General Paxton. He is our neighbor. His wife . . . she cried when he left. I suppose she knew something like this would happen.” She was calm now, looked at McGuire, waited.
“Lieutenant Morrison . . . your brother has told you about your husband’s wounds. We removed his left arm, patched his right hand . . . it is healing well, I am very pleased. But . . . there is a new problem. I believe he now has pneumonia.”
She stared, felt the words, said slowly, “May I see him, Doctor?”
“Certainly. He is weak, I have given him medication, to help him sleep. He is in some pain. The medication makes him . . . drift away . . . in and out. He may not recognize you, but I am certain your presence would be most welcome.”
McGuire stood aside, and they moved downstairs together. Anna suddenly stopped, a familiar smell, saw the young girl and said, “Oh, Miss Chandler . . . Lucy . . . do I smell lemons . . . lemonade?”
The girl smiled, said, “Yes, ma’am. We received a box of lemons yesterday . . . a gift . . . someone from Florida. Mother is making lemonade for the soldiers. Would you like some?”
Anna smiled, said to McGuire, “Please, go on ahead, Doctor. I wish to prepare a surprise for my husband.”
SHE SAW her brother, and Captain Smith, and she walked toward them, carried the tray carefully, and now her brother moved to her quickly, said, “Anna . . . here, let me. Very kind—”
“No, Joseph, it is not for you, it is for Thomas. Before I see him . . . would you please see if he is awake, and offer him this glass? I would like it to be a surprise.”
He smiled, said, “Of course. Captain Smith, may I take this inside . . . for the general?”
Smith bowed, nodded to Anna, tried to smile, said, “Please do, Lieutenant. I heard the general talking just a few minutes ago. He is awake.”
McGuire was beside the bed, saw the lieutenant come in, and the young man nodded, motioned to the glass. McGuire understood, said, “General, we have a treat for you, something you may have been missing.”
Jackson lifted his head, saw the glass, said, “Another of your medications? Very well, Doctor.”
“No . . . well, not mine, actually. But should do you some good.