Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [55]
Jackson watched the old man turn away, walk into the parlor. He noticed a slight bend in his back, a weakness in the bones. The old man had lost three of his children, and Jackson still shared the horror that was in this house, of the terrible black night when his own dear Ellie had died giving birth. He tried to push it away again, but here, inside the house, the memories were everywhere. He watched the old man, thought, You are with this every day . . . always. He shook, a brief, cold jolt. God must be of comfort, he thought. Junkin was a deeply devout man, and they had spent great, long hours discussing their faith. The old man had always been there with the right words, and now, Jackson thought, it is my turn to provide the comfort, the words.
“Come in here, Major, if you please. Take a seat.”
Jackson followed, and Julia went away, toward the rear of the house. Jackson wanted to say something to her, something consoling, but she was gone. He moved into the parlor, sat across from the old man, could still hear the calls, the loud voices from outside.
“Sir, are you all right? Have you been assaulted?”
“Oh yes, Major, very much so. My university, my students, have assaulted me in ways they don’t even understand. Those children out there,” he waved a thin arm to the front of the house, “they think they know what is best for this country. They read about some fancy politician in South Carolina making some flaming ridiculous speech about revolution, and off they go. They have no sense of what . . . no sense of the reality . . . My God, what is happening to us, Major?” He stopped, put his head down, rested his face in soft, open hands.
Jackson thought of words, but nothing came. There were not many in Lexington who were still holding on, who had heard of the secession votes and were still fighting it, who did not share the loyalty to the new cause, the defense of Virginia.
“Sir, President Lincoln is raising troops, says there will be a war, there will be an army sent here, we are to be attacked. . . .”
The old man raised his head, looked at Jackson with red eyes. “You miss the point, Major. All of that is . . . out there, somewhere. What is right here is our lives, our homes. My home. Right now the students of this school are openly preaching the overthrow of our country. The townspeople here are gathering themselves into militia units. People are talking about Virginia as though she is some sort of Holy Land!”
“But the President . . . Lincoln is—”
“What Lincoln is doing is responding. There are vast numbers of . . . idiots—yes, that’s the word—in these state governments, who believe that they can make a good speech, rouse the people into a rebellion and defy . . . defy the word of God!”
Jackson sat still, absorbed the old man’s words, felt confused. “The word of God?”
“Major, this country was founded by good Christian men, on the principles of equality, justice, and all of it under God. That has never been done before, never, in the history of the world! This country is God’s model, God’s message to the rest of the world. ‘Look here! We are God’s chosen land, this is how God intends man to be governed.’ ”
The old man’s voice cracked, he was losing control, trembling. Jackson waited, leaned forward, caring.
“Point is, Major—the real point, that is—the reason I wanted to see you: I’m leaving.”
“Leaving . . . the university?”
“Leaving Virginia, Major. Going up to Pennsylvania. I have already resigned my position. These young fools outside don’t even know it yet. I cannot live in a place that does not want me. Any control I have in this university is gone. It has been made quite clear to me by a good number of the local citizens that my views are treasonous.”
“Doctor, you cannot . . . just leave. This is your home, your family. . . .”
“My family is in shambles, Major. My children . . . those that are . . . not gone . . . my sons are scattered . . . my wife sits now with