Джон Джейкс - Love and War

"Watch out, he might —"

In the confusion, hands seized him from behind. Two other noncoms, one formidably large, had dashed around the end of the counter. "You'd better get out of here, boy," the big man said while the clerk puffed out his cheeks in a series of gasps, to demonstrate his outrage. He fingered his collar as if it had been permanently soiled. "Start trouble and you'll have your lunch in Old Capitol Prison. Maybe your Christmas dinner, too."

Charles wrenched free of their hands, glaring. They weren't hostile — at least the big one wasn't — but they were determined. His impulse was to start throwing punches. Behind him, in the lobby, spectators had gathered. He heard the questions and muttering as the big noncom gripped his arm.

"Come on, reb. Be sensible. Hightail it before —"

"What the devil is going on here?"

The barked words sent the noncoms to attention. They released Charles, who turned to see a stern, middle-aged officer with white hair and three fingers of his right hand missing. One shoulder of his dark blue coat-cloak was thrown back far enough to show an epaulet with an eagle of silver embroidery.

"Colonel," the clerk began, "this reb marched in here and made insulting demands. He wouldn't accept a polite refusal. Instead, he tried —"

The words went whirling away through Charles's mind, unheard as he stared at the Union officer and saw a farm in northern Virginia, in another year, in another lifetime.

"What is it exactly that he demanded?" the officer said with an angry glance at Charles, then a second, swift and astonished, one. My God , Charles thought, he isn't an old man at all. He only looks it .

His voice unexpectedly hoarse, he said, "Prevo?"

"That's right. I remember you. Hampton's cavalry. West Point before that."

Someone in the office mumbled, "Oh, we're to have an Academy reunion, are we?"

Prevo's glance silenced the speaker. Then, more temperately, he said to Charles, "What's the trouble here?"

"I came to ask for help. I desperately need to locate a Brigadier Duncan in the Union Army."

"Nothing so hard about that," Prevo said, his eye and his testiness directed toward the flushed clerk. "However, you shouldn't walk around with that revolver. Especially in this building. Take it off and give it to me, and we'll see what we can do."

Calming, Charles unfastened his gun belt. Prevo buckled it and hung it over his shoulder. To the bald clerk he said, "I want your name, soldier. Why didn't you do the decent thing and direct this man to the personnel clerks in the adjutant general's office?" To Charles: "They would have the brigadier's current address. I don't know him."

"Sir," the clerk stammered, "I explained — This man's a reb. Look at him. Arrogant, dirty —"

"Shut your mouth," Prevo said. "The war's over. It's time to quit fighting. Generals Grant and Lee seem to have assimilated that fact, even if you can't."

The humiliated clerk stared at the floor. To the big noncom, Colonel Prevo said, "I want his name on my desk in an hour."

"Yes, sir."

"Come on, Main. I remember your name now, too. I'll show you to the right office." As they started out, he paused and pointed to the counter. "I think you dropped your cigar."

The lobby crowd dispersed, though Charles continued to draw stares as he and Prevo walked up to the next floor. "Thank you, Prevo," Charles said. "I recognized you right away. Georgetown Mounted Dragoons —"

"And several other units since. Every one was decimated in Virginia, so they finally retired me to duty here. I'll be out in a couple of months. Here we go — turn right. We'll soon know the whereabouts of this General Duncan."

"I'm immensely grateful, Prevo. I really do need to see him about a serious matter."

"Professional?"

"Personal."

Prevo paused at a closed door. "Well, here's the office. Let's see what we can do." All of the wrinkles in his exhausted face moved when he tried to smile. "Even though I only lasted my plebe year, I have fond memories of the Academy. And the Academy does take care of its own. By the way — are you in a rush?" "No. Finding Duncan is important, but there's no hurry." "Excellent. I'll buy you a drink afterward. And," he added, lowering his voice, "return your gun." He opened the door as effortlessly as if he had all his fingers instead of one and a thumb.

Maureen, the plump, potato-plain young woman, brought the baby from the kitchen in response to Duncan's shout. The infant had been resting on a blanket in a patch of sunshine while Maureen opened pea pods for the evening meal. He had dark hair and a merry round face and wore a tiny shirt, trousers, and snug slippers, all of navy blue flannel. Maureen had sewn the garments herself.

"You say tonight , sir? Where are we going?"

The infant recognized his great-uncle and cooed when the brigadier swung him expertly into the curve of his left arm. "To the frontier — to see red Indians.'' Anxiously: "Will you still come along?"

"Indeed I will, General. I have read about the West. There is great opportunity there — and not nearly so much crowding as here in the East."

To ensure the arrangement, he added with a cagey smile, "Also, in the United States Cavalry there are many men of good character — single men — desirous of finding attractive, decent young women to marry."

Maureen's eyes sparkled. "Yes, sir. I have read that, too."

Mrs. Caldwell, the buxom, middle-aged housekeeper, came downstairs as the brigadier held out his right index finger. "Ah, sir, it is you. I was in the attic, but I thought I heard you arrive."

"Only to announce a permanent departure, this very evening." While he said that, Maureen wiped the extended finger with her apron. Duncan then put the finger into the baby's mouth. Up came one small, clutching hand, to find the knuckle and close.

Duncan explained matters to his housekeeper and entertained the baby at the same time. White spots, hints of teeth, had appeared on the infant's gums, and he loved teething on the brigadier's finger. He chewed it hard, grimacing and drooling happily.

"Then it's a promotion, is it, sir?"

"Yes, Mrs. Caldwell."

"My most sincere congratulations." She touched a corner of one eye. "I shall be sorry to see you go. The past five years have passed swiftly. And pleasurably, I might add."

"Thank you. Now we must discuss your future."

Mrs. Caldwell was happy about the generous settlement and even found a positive side to the sudden departure. "My widowed sister in Alexandria has been begging me to come for a visit. I may stay a week or two —"

"By all means. I can handle storage of the furniture and close out the lease by letter. We needn't bother with those things today. We have quite enough to do."

"What time is your train, General?"

"Six sharp."

"Then I'll definitely go to my sister's this evening. I'll hire a cab."

"Take the horse and buggy. I make you a present of it. I won't be needing it again."

"Oh, sir, that's extremely generous —"

"No more so than you have been," he said, remembering certain nights, lonely for both of them, when she was far more than a conventional housekeeper. Their gazes met, held a moment. Then, blushing, she looked elsewhere.

"You must at least permit me to drive you to the depot," she said.

"No, we'll hire a cab. That way, you can reach your sister's before dark."

"Very well, sir. Will you excuse me so I can see to your packing?" A great deal of it had to be squeezed into the next few hours.

But even little Charles seemed to approve of the abrupt redirection of their lives. He chewed harder than ever on his great-uncle's finger.

Charles continued to draw stares in Willard's saloon bar, but Prevo's presence forestalled trouble. The gun belt on the table had some effect as well.