Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [74]
Mira entered from the kitchen, brought a large platter of bread and cheese, set it down on another table, and the men bowed to her, a short, formal greeting, and then reached for the wine.
Hancock heard a carriage, looked out through the screen, saw Johnston climbing down with a large bundle of flowers wrapped in brightly colored paper. Hancock did not see the staff officers, and felt relief, for there would be plenty of food now, the house would not be so crowded. With generals, you never knew what they assumed. Johnston came to the door, Hancock stood back, and Johnston held out a large hand. Hancock took it, and both men knew they were not yet enemies.
“Please, allow me to present these to our hostess.”
“Certainly. She is back in the kitchen . . . come. . . .”
“No, I’ll wait here. Don’t want to interfere.”
Mira appeared again, brought another bottle of wine, and Johnston made a great show, a low sweeping bow. “On behalf of all the new civilians who have gathered here this evening, we offer you this gift, our warmest thanks for your fine hospitality.”
“Well, goodness, Mr. Johnston, thank you, these are quite impressive.”
She took the flowers, saw the variety, knew this had taken some time, and carried them back into the kitchen to find a vase.
“Tell me, Captain, in all honesty. This party was her idea, was it not?”
Hancock was still by the door, looking outside for one more guest.
“Well, now that you mention it, yes, I must confess. I’m not a big party man myself.”
“Quite all right, Mr. Hancock. I don’t believe any of us have felt much like celebrating, certainly not now. I appreciate your wife’s sense of sentiment. It’s important we don’t forget . . . that we can do this . . . that we are all still friends.”
Outside, horses rode up, two more officers in civilian clothes. Hancock tried to recall the names, men from Benicia. Johnston moved up closer, followed Hancock’s gaze, said, “Ah . . . Captain Douglas . . . that is, Mr. Douglas. Mr. Harrison. Good, good. Hope you don’t mind, Captain. They came down this morning, on the steamer. I asked them to join me here.”
“Not at all, General.” Hancock laughed, and Johnston got the joke, nodded.
“Yes, well, we do cut a wide swath, Captain.”
Hancock welcomed the men, and after greetings were exchanged all around, Hancock said to Johnston, “Will there be more, sir?”
“No, not tonight. There’s a few more arriving tomorrow, another boat.” Johnston seemed more serious now.
Hancock said, “So, when do you leave?”
Johnston looked at him, and the sound of voices behind him grew, the talk of soldiers, glasses of wine moving about. He said quietly, “How did you know I was leaving?”
“I have many good friends here, Mr. Johnston.”
“It’s not what I had hoped for. This place doesn’t offer what I had . . . well . . . it’s not important.”
He turned, left Hancock at the door, went to the table where the half-empty wine bottle waited. He poured a glass, the others gathered around him, and Johnston joined the party. Hancock turned, looked outside again, the sun was on the far trees, and the light was slipping away.
Mira appeared again, brought out more wine, to the great happiness of the men, and Hancock watched them toast her, a rowdy salute. She glanced at him, knew he did not share the mood, and he turned again and looked out, waiting.
The horse came at a slow trot, and Hancock did not recognize him at first, had not seen him in civilian clothes for a long time. He pulled the horse into Hancock’s yard, dismounted by the others, unhooked a hanger, a thin bag, from the side of the saddle, carried it carefully above the ground, then saw Hancock standing, waiting at the door.
“Good evening, Captain. Sorry to be late. I had to stand over my aide to get him to clean this just right. Couldn’t give it to you dirty.”
Armistead passed through the door, did not look at Hancock’s face, and Hancock closed the door, followed him into the party.
The men gathered around the new arrival. A glass was presented, and Mira came out of the