Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [60]
There was a mirror hanging on the wall across from the window, and Lee checked his appearance, the fine dark suit, looked down at the fresh polish on his black leather shoes, and with quick, precise steps, went out to meet the governor.
The walk to the capitol was longer than he had anticipated. He climbed hills and walked down streets that intrigued him. There was much of his own history here, and he felt a strong sense of kinship, the revolutionary spirit that had filled this place nearly a century before. He kept a brisk pace, felt the cool spring air, and up ahead could see a statue, a man on a horse, standing high in the middle of a circle, a wide plaza. He approached with curiosity, then saw: George Washington.
He stopped. People were walking past, few looking at the tall figure, the sharp bronze features. Lee felt himself breathing heavily, the exhilaration of the walk, and he looked into the face of Washington, thought, We too are in the midst of a revolution. He wondered what Washington would do in his situation, and felt, of course, he had been in this same situation, accepting the cost of fighting for independence.
Lee spoke, in a low voice unheard by people dashing past. “What has changed? Why has it not worked?” He began to think of history, the great men: Madison, Franklin, Adams. They did not design a government to control the people.
He shook his head, looked around at the crowded street. He watched a family, a young mother pulling along two reluctant children, then saw more children, a small park across the plaza, parents sitting on benches while children crawled about in thick green grass.
I have so missed that . . . all of that, he thought. But I did that myself . . . the army, my whole life.
Now he thought of Mary, watching him write his letter to Scott, giving up his career. He’d cried, put his head down on his arm there at the big desk and wept, and she was there, put a frail hand on his shoulder, tried to help, and he realized for the first time what she had given up. She had married a young soldier, had shared the life that his career demanded. She was confined to a wheelchair now, could barely walk at all, and now he was gone again, leaving behind advice, as he always had, to move the family, take the girls and leave Arlington. He knew, as she could not comprehend, what a war would do to his home.
And so, Lee knew he would accept this command, would defend his home, because in the end he had nothing else, he had given up all of it.
He looked back up at the face of Washington. We are all revolutionaries, he thought. If we understand that, we will have great strength, we will defend our homes, we will prevail.
He turned, began to move through the crowds, toward the capitol.
LEE WAS surprised how quickly he was escorted into Governor Letcher’s office.
“Colonel Lee, a surprise, to be sure. Good of you to come, however. Please, please, be seated. Cigar?”
“No, thank you, Governor. I received your gracious request, and thought it best that I come here. . . .”
“Excellent, yes, Colonel. Oh . . . excuse me, I don’t believe I should refer to you . . . excuse me, Mister Lee.”
“It’s quite all right, Governor. I still refer to myself as Colonel.”
“Well, Mr. Lee, I would prefer to call you Major General Lee. Are you, um, pleased with that title?”
Lee began to feel swallowed by the energy, the enthusiasm, of this man who, he suddenly thought, did not look much like a governor. He thought of the imposing figure of Sam Houston, the image pressed into his brain, a contrast to the bald man with the puffy red face who sat across the wide desk. Around the wide office sat several others whom Lee did not recognize, men in dark suits. There was a sense of celebration, and Lee wondered, Has something else happened, what have I missed?
“Sir, I am honored that you would offer me the position.”
“Well,