Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [38]
“You mean, how many still work the land? How many . . . hands?” Lee felt a sudden cold shock. He could not say the word slave to this man, had almost never used the word at all. “Thirty . . . or so, I believe.”
“When they gonna be freed, if you don’ mind me askin’, Colonel?”
The question sank deep into Lee. It was the same question he had asked himself when he first read the old man’s will. The will called for release of all Custis’s slaves within five years of his death, and Lee had seen the mandate as a relief, the added incentive to take care of an unpleasant burden. But there had always been a problem. Many of the slaves simply did not want to leave, had no thoughts of any other home, but once freed, they would have to be kept on as paid labor, and Arlington had enough financial struggles as it was.
“I’m working . . . hard at it, Nate. You know those people. Most of them have no idea what lies beyond these hills. I cannot just . . . send them away. Where would they go?”
“I didn’ know about much of nothin’ either, Colonel. Now I’m doin’ good. I knows some of ’em . . . they been hearin’ about Africa . . . this Liberia. I knows some of ’em wants to go there.”
“I’m happy to hear that—Liberia is a good solution. But it’s expensive. I cannot . . . Mr. Custis’s estate does not have the money to pay for that. Not now.”
Nate looked down, rubbed his chin with a hard hand. “Colonel, you think there ever come a time when everybody . . . do like you?”
“You mean, give all the . . . slaves their papers?”
“Yes, sir. Everywhere.”
Lee thought, ran a hand through his hair, said, “I believe . . . the Negroes are where God wants them to be, and when God wants the Negroes to be free, then He will free them. God has set you free, through my hand. He has set your brother free through your hand. There will come a time—”
“Colonel, you is a good man, a decent man, and I thanks you for what you done for me, and for Bo. But forgive me, Colonel, not meanin’ no disrespec’, this here is your name on this paper, not God’s. If’n we waits for God to set all of us free, we be waitin’ for a long time.”
Lee stared now into the man’s eyes, the deep lines in the black face. “You may be right about that. It may be a long time. But I must do what I believe God wants me to do. I can’t do anything else.”
“It ain’t you, Colonel, that I’m talkin’ about. You done good, you is doin’ good.” Lee began to see a small light, a flash of anger in the dark eyes. “But they is plenty of white folks who don’t depend on God for much of nothin’. They ain’t about to change the way things is.”
“Nate, all I can say . . . well, I promise you that God will decide one day it is time, and it will happen.”
Nate nodded, but Lee saw he did not agree, did not have the faith that Lee so cherished.
“Colonel, I be goin’ now. I gots to find my brother, then I be on my way. Thank you, Colonel, I hope God blesses you.”
The man turned and was quickly gone, soft respectful steps. He went out the front door, closed it quietly behind him.
Lee sat back against the soft leather, stared toward the hallway, felt something strange, a new sensation. He had never had such a conversation with one of . . . them. He thought, God has had a hand here, in this. He thought of John Brown, the reckless calls for abolition made by people who did not live with slaves, who took no responsibility for what happened to them. But the speeches went on, and there was great anger in the South, especially down in the cotton states, where there were many more slaves than here, around Arlington. Nate is right, he thought. These people are not letting God decide. There had been blood in Kansas, blood at Harper’s Ferry.
Lee stood, walked toward the small window that looked toward Washington. God, please let them see reason. . . .
SAN ANTONIO had not changed, and Lee spent his brief time of command once again swallowed up by the same monotony and aggravations that he had left. As he’d expected, Twiggs came quickly back from Washington and assumed command of the Department