Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [247]
“Let us cross over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees.”
THEY ALL stared, heard the words, and now there was silence in the room. On a small mantel a clock was ticking, and McGuire looked at it, had not heard the sound before, saw: three-fifteen. Anna was sitting beside the bed, reached out, touched the bandaged hand, then leaned both arms onto the bed, put her head down. Pendleton stood behind her, looked at McGuire. The doctor nodded, and Pendleton eased away with quiet steps, left the room and went outside.
In the yard, men had gathered, most stood, with hats off, waiting, and now Pendleton stopped, looked at the faces of the men, and no one spoke. He said, “The general has died.”
The sounds began to flow across the open spaces, low and heavy, and men began to cry. Some collapsed to their knees. Now, Smith came out, said to Pendleton, “We must wire General Lee.”
Pendleton nodded, said nothing, and Smith waited, said, “I can take care of it . . . I’ll go to the station.”
Pendleton looked at him, put a hand on his shoulder, nodded, still did not speak, and Smith moved away, slowly, past the soft sounds of the men.
Anna sat up now, stood, and around her the others still said nothing, would wait for her. She looked around the small room, said, “Thank you . . . for all you did.”
Dr. Morrison moved closer, said, “May I escort you back to the house, to your room?”
“Thank you, Stephen.” She looked at her brother, standing at the foot of the bed, and the young lieutenant moved around, took her other arm, and she turned, a last look at her husband before they led her slowly from the room. McGuire waited, heard the outer door close, then moved closer to the bed and pulled the blanket up, over Jackson’s face.
Outside, Anna saw Tucker Lacy, climbing down from a carriage, and Lacy moved quickly, alongside them, said to Dr. Morrison, “I just heard . . . men, out on the road.” He looked at Anna, moved in front of her, said, “Take comfort, he is with God now.”
She looked at him, deep black eyes. “There is no comfort in this, Reverend. My husband is dead . . . my child has no father.”
Lacy held up his hand. “Seek comfort in God . . . He is there for you.”
“Is He, Reverend? All I have ever asked is that He give me back my husband . . . allow him to survive this war and come home to his family. There is nothing else I have ever wanted.”
Lacy lowered his head, said, “Please . . . rely on your faith, do not turn away. He will comfort you.”
“Will He? Would it not be of greater comfort if He did not allow this war to happen at all? How much comfort must He give . . . how many wives and children need His comfort now?”
Lacy lowered his head, and Dr. Morrison said, “Please, Anna, let us get some rest. This has been hard for all of us.”
She felt a sudden wave of weakness, slumped against him, and now both men held her and they moved past Lacy, who wanted to say more, raised the hand again, but she was gone now, up the steps, into the house.
McGuire was alone in the dreary room, sat down on the hard couch, stared at the bed, at the lifeless form. He heard the outer door open, and now Pendleton was there, stood in the doorway, looked at the bed, then moved to a corner of the room, sat on the floor and stared down between his knees.
“What will become of us now?”
McGuire looked at the young officer, said nothing, did not know what soldiers were supposed to do, it was not a question he could answer. He listened to the ticking of the clock, began to think about the arrangements, the casket, the memorials, the funeral, imagined a long procession through weeping crowds. .