Джон Джейкс: North and South

Orry didn't want his silence interpreted as agreement. "Glorious?" he called back. "I think not. Not this time."

But Charles was already cropping his horse for greater speed, and he was laughing with such joy of life he never heard the dour voice behind him. Hair streaming, he went galloping toward the misty sunrise, the perfect picture of a cavalier.

Next day Orry received a letter from the state government. He hid it until evening, when he could discuss it with Madeline in the warmth of their bed.

"They asked me to consider a commission. Possibly a brigadier's. Apparently the lack of an arm is no handicap at that rank, and they claim my former service makes me invaluable. Invaluable — imagine that."

He laughed, but there was scant humor in it. Then: "Do you know, Madeline, years ago John Calhoun said West Point men would lead great armies? I don't suppose he imagined they would lead them against each other.''

After a moment she said, "How do you feel about the proposal?"

He lay back and stroked her hair. "It's tempting, but I'd hate to leave you here alone."

"I'm not afraid of Justin."

"It isn't Justin who worries me. Have you noticed how some of the plantation people are behaving? They've gotten lazy. A few have an almost arrogant glint in their eye. This very afternoon I caught Cuffey whispering with another house man. I heard the name 'Linkum.' "

She assured him she would be fine if he chose to leave. He thanked her, but he knew his decision would spring from something far more elemental. His land, Main land, was threatened now. Would he or would he not defend it?

"I'll show you the letter in the morning," he said. "I do believe I'll have to give them a favorable answer."

"I almost knew you'd do that when the call came."

The call. The words touched off bursts of memory, the strongest of them aural. The old, nearly forgotten drums were beating again, summoning him, demanding that he answer.

"How would you feel if I accepted a commission?"

She kissed his mouth. "I'd regret it." Another kiss. "And be proud." A third, still longer and sweeter. "And wait for you to come back to me at the first possible moment."

Her arms clasped him tightly. He didn't think he'd ever been so happy. She whispered to him:

"I love you too much to lose you, my darling. If you go away, I'll pray such prayers God can't help but send you back safe and sound."

Stanley's crony, Boss Cameron, had secured a post for him in the capital. Washington was already showing signs of turning into a warren of profiteers, influence peddlers, and political hacks. But old, plodding Stanley was invigorated by the new challenge, and Isabel looked forward to an exciting social adventure. Stanley and his wife had already closed their house and enrolled their boys in a fashionable Washington school. At fourteen, the twins were undisciplined ruffians. Their absence would be welcomed by the entire town of Lehigh Station.

Up in Rhode Island, a violent storm destroyed a large section of roof at Fairlawn. George received the news by telegraph and decided to leave by train the next day to assess the damage. Constance said she wanted to go with him. She needed a holiday; she was peeved at the world and inexcusably short-tempered with William and Patricia. Brett and Billy promised to look after the children, since Billy hoped to be at Belvedere a few more days before returning to duty.

That night, after a lengthy meeting he had called in his office at Hazard's, George found himself unable to sleep. By eleven-thirty he was in the library, a full tumbler of whiskey before him on the polished table, six inches to the right of the rough brown object he had treasured for so many years.

He stared at the meteorite a long time, finding himself less proud of his trade, less certain of its worth, than in the past. He saw all the destructive uses to which star iron had been put throughout the centuries, and to which it would soon be put again. He finally drank the whiskey around three in the morning, and extinguished the lamp and climbed to his bedroom and the warmth of his wife's slumbering form, but even then he failed to find rest.

Newport had a dead, abandoned look under gray skies. George and Constance felt strange staying in the great house all by themselves. Yet at the same time they relished their unfamiliar privacy.

On the afternoon of their first full day at Fairlawn, George met for an hour with the building contractor who would repair the roof. Then he and Constance went for a walk along the deserted beach. White combers were breaking. The sky had a vast, wintry look unsuited to springtime. She kept her arm in his, eager for the sense of contact.

"You never told me the reason for the night meeting, George."

"Nothing secret about it. I called in all the foremen and told them we were placing the factory on a twenty-four-hour production schedule. We're already receiving orders from the War Department. No doubt Stanley will see that we get many more. We're liable to come out of this richer than ever."

"At the price of a certain number of dead bodies.''

He frowned. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

He stopped and turned toward her. He had to get something into the open. "Stanley says Washington wants all the Academy men it can find."

"For the Army?"

"Or government posts."

She looked at him steadily. "Do you want to serve?"

"Want isn't quite the right word. Somewhere, in some fashion" — he took a breath; it was far from the happiest admission he had ever made, yet there was relief in saying it — "I feel I must."

She started to cry, but immediately fought back the tears and squared her shoulders. "It's your decision, darling." She took his arm again. "Could we go back to the house now? I feel a sudden and quite uncontrollable urge to make love."

Despite her smile, he still saw a glint of tears. He cast an eye at the scraggly underbrush visible behind large boulders up at the edge of the beach.

"What's the matter with right there?" He managed an impish smile, then kissed the tip of her nose. ''Unless, of course, you deem yourself too conservative, Mrs. Hazard."

"George" — a pause, a teasing look — "did you ever do this sort of thing before we were married? At West Point, for instance? You seem to fall into it quite naturally."

"I have no comment."

She thought again. "What if we're seen?"

"By whom? There isn't another soul for miles."

"It's rather chilly."

"I'll keep you warm."

"Do you really think we dare?"

"Of course. Wartime has a disastrous effect on convention. People know they might not get a second chance."

She saw that his jest hid something somber. There was no humor in his eyes. She clasped his hand tightly. They turned their backs on the lifeless sky and ran toward the rocks.

At Belvedere, Billy and Brett went in to supper together. Billy suggested they go walking afterward because the spring night was so fine. They both understood that there was a second, unstated reason; the passing hours had released an increasing poignancy. Late that afternoon he had received a telegraph message: orders to return to Washington the following morning. The thought of his imminent departure depressed Brett and ruined her appetite.

Toward the end of the meal, there was a commotion. A sudden light suffused the twilight sky beyond the dining-room windows. As Billy, Brett, and two serving girls rushed to look outside, a distant shudder shook the house to its foundation. One of the girls gasped. A groom came running excitedly into the room, exclaiming that a shooting star had blazed bright as noon, then disappeared in the next valley.

The meteor striking the earth would account for the concussion they had all felt. The unnerved man spoke of the many shooting stars seen above the valley of late. He trembled and whispered something about God's fury coming to the land.