In the short run, putting up with Custer’s bad temper was what the War Department paid Dowling to do. As far as he was concerned, Philadelphia didn’t pay him enough, but he would have said the same thing had he raked in a million in gold on the first of every month.
“Is something wrong, sir?” he asked now, as if he’d heard nothing from the kitchen and had just chanced to notice the general’s frown.
“Wrong?” Custer thundered. “You might possibly say so, Major. Yes, you just might.” He flung the paper into Dowling’s lap.
Predictably, he’d folded it so the story that had offended him was on top. That way, he could reannoy himself whenever he glanced at it, and stay in a fine hot temper the whole day through. He would have pointed it out to Dowling had his adjutant not spotted it at once.
“Oh, the Socialist candidate in one of those New York City districts giving you a hard time about the Cottontown attack,” he said. “Don’t take it to heart, sir. It’s only politics. Goes to show women can play the game as dirty as men, I suppose.”
“What’s her name?” Custer demanded. “Hamburger, was that it? I’d like to make hamburger out of her, by Godfrey! Didn’t I tell you we needed a victory here to put a muzzle on those miserable, bomb-throwing anarchists?”
“Yes, sir, you did.” Dowling spoke with some genuine sympathy, being a Democrat himself. “And I see that Senator Debs-”
But Custer, once he got rolling, would not let even agreement slow him down. “And you were there, weren’t you, Major, when General MacArthur came to me with that half-baked plan for attacking southeast before shifting the direction of his advance? I warned him he needed to have more resources than I could afford to commit if that attack had even a prayer for success, but he wheedled and pleaded till I didn’t see what I could do but give in. And this is the thanks we get for it.” He reached out and slapped the newspaper onto the floor.
Bending over to pick it up gave Dowling the chance to pull his face straight by the time Custer saw him again. The general commanding First Army often rewrote history so it turned out as he wished it would have, but this was a particularly egregious example.
“General MacArthur did request more resources than you were prepared to provide, yes, sir,” Dowling said cautiously.
“That’s what I told you,” Custer said. It didn’t sound that way to Dowling, but arguing about what had happened was a pointless exercise. Trying to keep similar disaster from happening later occasionally even succeeded.
Libbie Custer came out and nodded to Major Dowling. “Did you see the lies they were telling about Autie, Major?” she said, setting a hand on Custer’s shoulder. “They’re all a pack of shameless jackals, jealous of his fame and jealous of the victories he’s won for his country.”
George Armstrong Custer was a blowhard. He’d blow hot, and then five minutes later he’d blow cold. Elizabeth Bacon Custer, as far as Dowling had been able to tell, wavered not at all. When she got angry at someone, she stayed angry forever. Some of that anger she aimed at anyone presumptuous enough to criticize her husband in any way. And some of it she aimed at Custer himself. From some of the things she’d said to Dowling, she’d been furious at the famous general for better than forty years.
Long-handled feather duster in hand, Cornelia came out and started cleaning. “Excuse me, Major Dowling, suh,” she said when she dusted near him. He nodded and smiled at her. Every time he looked at her-and she was worth looking at-he wondered how the men of the Confederacy reconciled their claims of Negro inferiority and their own mingling of blood with the Negroes in the Confederate States.
He shrugged a tiny shrug his uniform hid. The Rebs didn’t need to reconcile anything. They were the masters down here. They could do what they wanted. No. They had been the masters. Despite hard times on the battlefield, the United States were changing things.
Custer, now, Custer looked at Cornelia in exactly the way one of those Rebels might have done.
Libbie Custer’s eyes said something, too.
Having Cornelia go elsewhere was a relief. Tension in the front room went with her, as it did in a front-line bombproof when the barrage shifted to supply dumps farther back. Dowling found himself able to think about the war again. “Do you think we’ll be able to accomplish anything worthwhile this winter, sir?” he asked.
“We may have to make the effort, Major,” Custer replied. “For the moment, though, however reluctantly, I am accumulating men and materiel to make sure we have reserves and adequate stocks on hand in case we do have to make any mass assaults in the next few months.”
Digging a finger in his ear to make sure he’d heard correctly would have been rude. Dowling was tempted, even so. One thing he’d seen over and over again was Custer ignoring reserves and logistics. His gaze slid to Libbie. Brief acquaintance had convinced him she was a hell of a lot smarter than her heroic husband. If she was smart enough to have convinced him of the need to prepare, Dowling was ready to call her a genius.
Custer said, “It’s the election, of course. If that snake Debs slithers into the White House, we shall have to go all out to force the CSA to make peace before TR leaves office in March. I want to be ready.”
“I-see,” Dowling said slowly. Maybe Libbie had put that bug in Custer’s ear, but maybe he’d thought of it all by himself. He did pay attention to politics. And maybe word had come down from Philadelphia, quietly recommending buildups all along the line in case the U.S. Army had to try to force the Rebs to yield in the four months between Debs’ election and his inauguration.
“Do you know, Major,” Custer said, “that back in ’84 there was some talk of procuring the presidential nomination for
Dowling valiantly didn’t say anything. He was convinced commanding First Army was beyond Custer’s capacity. For the life of him, he didn’t see why the War Department kept the old warhorse in the saddle instead of putting him out to pasture. Things were going well enough on most fronts that the retirement of an aging lion shouldn’t produce any great outcry, no matter how much the public revered Custer’s name.
President Custer? There was an idea to make any man who didn’t believe things could have been worse for the United States think twice. Even though it hadn’t happened-and probably hadn’t been so close to happening as Custer asserted now, thirty-two years after the fact-contemplating it was enough to make Dowling…
“Are you well, Major?” Libbie Custer asked sharply. “You look dyspeptic. Maybe the general should send this wench Cornelia over to your quarters to cook for you and bring you back up to snuff.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, dear,” Custer said. “Anyone can see that the good Major Dowling is not off his feed.” He chuckled.
Libbie Custer glared at him because he refused to remove the attractive housekeeper from his not very attractive house. Dowling glared at him because he’d called him fat. Dowling knew he was fat. He didn’t appreciate being reminded of it.
Oblivious to having angered both people with whom he was conversing, Custer went on, “Now we shall just have to wait until after the seventh. If God be kind, both Senator Debs and this ignorant, vicious Hamburger woman will get the drubbing they so richly deserve. And if the Lord should choose to inflict Debs on us because of our many sins, we shall still have four months in which to redeem ourselves.”
Dowling sighed. Agreeing with Custer on anything, even a matter of politics, tempted him to take another look to make sure he wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t dreamt anything might incline him toward Socialism, but if Custer loathed it, it had to have its good points.
Somebody knocked on the door of Socialist Party headquarters. “Another Western Union boy!” Herman Bruck shouted over the election-night din that filled the place.
Flora Hamburger happened to be standing close to the door. “I’ll get it,” she said. Opening the door for a moment would let a little of the tobacco smoke hazing the atmosphere escape. Her own father’s pipe was but one among a great many sources of that smoke, as he and the rest of the family had come down with her to learn
