Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [57]
“You are all quite eager for a war,” he said, and there were whoops, a jumble of hot words and the loud cries for blood. He waited, wanting to tell them, to give them some of the wisdom that had been taught to him only where the blood flows and men scream, the horrible sounds of raw death.
“In Mexico . . . I have seen a war. You do not know what . . .”
But they had stopped listening, heard only each other, the growing pulse, the throbbing rhythm of passion, the voices now together in one long, high, frightening sound. Jackson stepped down, moved through outstretched hands, the deafening cries of a world gone mad, and walked away, left the noise, a swelling horror, behind him. He walked toward the town, felt his mind drift off, floating away, out past the hills, thought of his path, his duty to God. He weighed again, as he had so many times, why he would fight, why it was the right thing to do, but all the politics and causes ran together, scrambled his mind into a mass of confusion, and the one clarity was that God was here, was with him, had shown him the Path, and the reasons men gave no longer mattered.
ANNA ROSE earlier than usual, the sun just over the trees on the eastern rim of the mountains. Jackson was already gone, out for his morning walk, and she dressed quietly, with special care, with respect for the Sabbath. She thought, The services will be good today, a break from the turmoil of the past week.
Jackson had been occupied with preparations for the deployment of the cadet corps, the readiness required to send these boys off to train an army, a new army. The week had ended with nothing definite, though constant rumors had kept the entire town on edge.
Anna walked down the stairs that wound through the center of their home. She stopped midway, stood on the small landing, paused to listen, could hear her husband’s footsteps, the unmistakable rhythm. She listened, waited for him to climb the back stairs, and heard his every motion, could see him in her mind, removing his boots, the long, high stretch, organizing his body, seeking out the pains and probing them. Then he quietly opened the back door and padded inside.
He came into the hallway, tiptoeing, would not wake his little esposita, rounded the base of the stairs. Anna stood above, looked down on his tall frame, and he saw her suddenly, smiled up at her. She did not smile in response, did not share his good mood.
“My darling, you startle me. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”
“No, Thomas, I . . . just fell awake, had to be up. This is a special Sunday.”
“Why? Oh, forgive me, I know it is special. I have missed the good prayer sessions, the good company. . . .”
“No, Thomas, this is special because you will be leaving soon. We both know that. All the prayers, all our hopes, have not been answered. There will be a war.”
He was surprised at her gloom, tried to put it aside. “There is no war yet. I am still here, with you. There is still hope. The Almighty may yet make them see, may turn us away from this course. It can still happen.”
“No, Thomas, it will not happen. God does not change our course, that is for us to do. All we have done is plan one course, and only one course, and there is only one end.”
He was stunned, had not heard her speak this way before. He realized he had been so busy this week, had spent so much time at the institute, he had not been with her, had not been of much comfort. She heard the rumors, all the buzz in the town, and he understood how rumors affected people.
“We are preparing, we must be ready. But that is not for today. This is the Lord’s day, and we shall spend it with Him, you and I together.”
He started up the stairs,