Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [36]
Lee rose from the table, made way for Rebecca as she cleared the table. He went to Mary’s chair, but Custis intervened.
“Excuse me, Father, but Mother and I have made plans for this morning.”
The young man slid Mary’s chair back, and he helped her stand. Lee saw a faint smile cross her worn face. “Yes, my son and I are going for a ride.”
Lee thought it was not a good idea, she was so frail, but he saw his son’s firm grip, the two of them standing close, and he felt Mary’s enthusiasm, so rare now.
“Well, you be careful. Custis, you drive—”
“Robert, enough!” Mary said. “I have managed around here without your help for too long. I believe I can take care of myself, and my son too!”
She was teasing him, but the words stung. Lee nodded, backed away, and walked down a wide hallway to the study. He stood at the large desk and looked at the ledgers and the paperwork. He thought, I will sit with Custis later, go over the records. He sat down heavily in the soft leather chair, rocked back, felt great relief that his son was home, then thought again of his post, of San Antonio and Fort Mason.
He knew it would be more of the same, uneventful and frustrating, and his career still had little chance of advancement. While in Washington, he had learned that more than twenty colonels were ahead of him in seniority, and the news struck him like a hammer, made him think of retirement. But he could not sit still at Arlington and grow corn. And so, his long leave was finally expiring, and he was assigned to fill the temporary vacancy left by General Twiggs’s prolonged visit to the capital, appointed mainly because he was the only colonel currently assigned to a post in Texas.
He had gone there for one reason, volunteered for the cavalry because it was the only chance he might ever have to be a soldier again; the satisfaction that came from the praise, the respect from General Scott, the good work in Mexico. He had spent three years as Commandant of West Point, appointed over many others, a job politicked for by men who sought the prestige, the opportunity to grow old in the quiet surroundings of their own authority, absolute control over a corps of cadets. But Lee had tired quickly of the mundane responsibilities, the annoying administrative duties, conflicts over ridiculous infractions of outdated rules. It had been no better than his long career as an engineer, and to the surprise of all who knew him, he jumped at the opportunity to command the newly formed Second Regiment of Cavalry, an honest command of real troops, and so he’d gone to Texas.
But Texas was not like Mexico, and he was under the authority of General David Twiggs, a thoroughly disagreeable and bitter old man, who had a complete dislike for Winfield Scott. The Department of Texas was Twiggs’s private domain, and Lee learned quickly that Twiggs had little regard for his abilities and a great suspicion of his warm relationship with General Scott.
The Second Regiment was stationed far from the comforts of San Antonio, far into the miserable heat and incredible hostility of the wilderness. And if Lee was to receive no support from Twiggs, he would receive less help from the elusive Comanches he was sent to control. But contemplating the coming winter, the changing seasons, the fresh chill of the Virginia winter, he thought, I do miss Texas . . . and I am not a farmer.
“Colonel Lee?”
It was Rebecca.
“Yes, what is it?” It came out gruffly, and he was instantly sorry. “Is there something I can do for you, Rebecca?”
The old woman padded slowly into the study, pointed out toward the front door. “Colonel, there’s a visitor, sir. It’s Nate, ol’ Nate.”
Lee did not know who she meant. He stood and walked past her and to the front door, opened it and faced a huge black man, with broad shoulders and thick neck, one of Custis’s former slaves. As Lee looked up at the massive frame, the name came back to him.
“Nate! Yes, yes, Nate, why, come in. It’s been a while since you left.”
The man leaned slightly, stepped through