Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [76]
“My dear Mrs. Hancock, would you do us the honor of playing some more? This party seems to have dwindled a tad.” He exaggerated the soft drawl, and she nodded, knew not to push. She looked across the room at her husband, who stood over Johnston, a meaningless conversation so that he did not have to face Armistead.
She moved to the piano, gathered in her dress, sat on the small bench and looked up at Armistead. “What would you like to hear?”
“Something quiet . . .” He looked over at Hancock. “Something . . . appropriate.”
She thought, flipped through the music books that had come with the piano, came to one book, thin and coverless, and the book fell open at her touch. She saw the title, “Kathleen Malvourneen,” and softly touched the keys, began to sing quietly. She did not want to interrupt the others, the conversations. Suddenly, the room was quiet, her voice calling them together:
“Kathleen Malvourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking,
Kathleen Malvourneen, what? Slumb’ring still?
Kathleen Malvourneen, what? Slumb’ring still.
Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever?
Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we must part?
It may be for years, and it may be forever;
Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
It may be for years and it may be forever;
Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Malvourneen. . . .”
Hancock moved close to her, stood by her side, and he looked at Armistead, the tanned, rugged face, and saw that Armistead was crying, staring down at the piano, at Mira’s soft hands on the keys. Hancock moved around behind her, put a hand on Armistead’s shoulder, and Armistead looked up. Hancock saw the pain, saw him shake slightly. Armistead fell forward, put his head on Hancock’s chest, and Hancock wrapped his arms around his friend, felt his own tears, could not ignore it any longer, knew this would be the last time.
Mira played the song again, did not sing, felt them standing behind her, heard the soft sounds, and after a minute Armistead took a deep breath, composed himself and stood back, keeping his hand on Hancock’s shoulder.
“I must do what I am meant to do. I hope you will never know . . . you will never feel what this has cost me. If I ever . . . raise my hand . . . against you . . . may God strike me dead.” He looked down, saw Mira’s upturned face, the soft eyes, said again, “May God strike me dead.”
HE RODE hard, spurred the black mule deep in its haunches, leaned forward as the animal strained its way up the steep hills, the rocky ground. Behind him was the town, the tile roofs of Los Angeles, smaller now and far below. He rode up higher, along any trail that led up, any trail the mule could climb. He reached a long crest, could see the other side now, to the east, the wide, flat desert, and he stopped, felt the mule breathing under him, gasping for thin air.
He climbed down from the tired animal, felt better now, relaxed, his anger drained by the long climb. He looked around, was not sure exactly where he was, looked back to the west, over the town, could see the coastline, the distant islands off the coast, and he thought, My God, this is a beautiful spot.
He climbed a big rock, pulled himself up with his hands, found a flat place on top and sat down. It was cooler now, he was far above the choking heat of the summer sun. He looked at the mule, grateful, and the mule seemed refreshed as well, began to poke its nose around the rocks, looking for anything green.
He turned back to the east again, to the dull flatness, thought of the Indians, the only people out there, wondered how far you would have to go to see a white man. But you would not go, because before the Indians would bother you, the desert itself would take you, bake you in suffocating heat. He turned slightly, could see more to the south, long rows of mountains fading, smooth and round, not like the stark roughness he had seen in Wyoming, in Utah. He gazed over the smaller peaks, toward the far trails that had carried some