Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [73]
“Here . . . ?”
“You’re too valuable to the operation of this army—the supplies, the detailed work. Can’t have you up there, in the middle of the fighting.”
Lee sank into his chair, felt a great weight press him down.
Davis shoved papers aside again, looked at Lee. “Invaluable, General. You are what we need here. Behind the scenes, running the show. No one better at it, no one at all.”
Lee stood, pulled himself slowly from the chair. “Thank you for your confidence, Mr. President. I have to get back to my office . . . a great deal to do.”
“Yes, I’m sure, General. Busy times, busy indeed. Keep me informed.”
Davis turned back to his work, and Lee moved slowly out through the quiet offices, back to his own vast piles of paper.
14. HANCOCK
June 1861
“NOTHING. NOT a word, not a damned word!” He sat on the floor, shuffled again through the mail pouch, scattered the letters around him.
Mira stood over him, put a hand on his shoulder. “It takes time. They haven’t forgotten you.”
“Are you sure? We’re a long way from Washington, a long way from the war. I’m just another officer who happens to be far enough away that he can be overlooked. What do I have to offer? Right now they’re looking for fighters, company commanders, brigade commanders. I’m a supply officer. They’ve probably got men lined up in the street for the field positions. Damn!”
He gathered the mail, straightened the bundles, put them back into the pouch, and she knelt down, picked up a handful of letters, mail for the soldiers of the Sixth, Armistead’s men, helped him put them in order.
“Is there anyone else you can contact?”
“I’ve written General Scott, the War Department, the Quartermaster General’s Office. I suppose I could try Governor Curtin. He knows my father well, might be able to find me something in the Pennsylvania volunteers.”
“When will the next mail run be?”
“Hard to say. They’re a bit quicker now, maybe three, four days. All we can do is wait.”
He got up off the floor, lifted the pouch over his shoulder, reached for his hat.
“I’ll be back soon. Once I deliver this, I’ll come help you get the house ready. Anything you need?”
“No, I have it all. It should be a nice dinner, we’ll try to make it a fun evening. The piano should be here soon; the church is sending it over in a wagon.”
“The piano?”
“I thought it might be nice, some music . . . this doesn’t have to be a sad evening.”
“But it will be. This whole thing is sad. But yes, music will be nice. You’ve been practicing?”
“Win, if you came to church more regularly, you would hear quite an improvement in my playing. If I know soldiers, and my playing is not satisfactory, there will be at least one of you who will show me how it’s done.”
He laughed, pulled open the door. “Soon.”
She pushed the door closed behind him and locked it, her habit now. Her mind began to work, to plan. She mentally counted heads, went back to the kitchen, the pantry, lifted a small sack of flour, put it down heavily on the thick wood table. She reached up to a high shelf, brought down a large clay bowl, set it by the flour, then paused and thought of Armistead, waiting with a bright smile, the eagerness of a child, as she kept him waiting, waiting for the cookies to cool. He would eat an entire sheet full if she let him, and so she would make him wait, torture him playfully with the smell, until he begged, please. Then finally she would produce the flat pan, and he would gobble the first one in one bite, then savor the rest, slowly. Win would have to wait until Lewis picked out the ones he wanted, the big ones, before he could get to them. She smiled, thought, yes, I’ll make those too. It would be good to see him smile again.
THEY BEGAN to arrive about six. Hancock answered the door, opened to see officers in civilian clothes.
“Mr. Garnett, Mr. Wiggins, welcome, come in.”
“Thank you, Captain. Mighty fine of you to do this. Most kind.” The men entered the house.
Hancock pointed to a small table, bottles and glasses, said, “Wine, gentlemen? Help yourself. Mrs. Hancock will