be.
At first they would ride to Santa Fe singly or in pairs. But before the year was out, they'd be arriving by platoons and companies, shaking the earth with the sound of their coming. He would devise a new flag for them to carry against potential enemies, and write a proclamation establishing the new government on an equal basis with that of mongrelized Washington and all the nations of Europe.
It would be convenient to employ Huntoon as his first herald in Texas, but Ashton made it impossible. Powell meant to live with her from the moment they were reunited. Therefore —
A contented sigh signaled his decision.
Powell shivered; the evening air was cooling rapidly. Tonight was not only suitable; it was ideal, he thought, gazing east. He felt close to Ashton all at once.
Perhaps she, too, was growing excited as he drew near. He had sent a letter from Virginia City, which he presumed she had received by now; the mail surely traveled faster than his overburdened wagons. In the letter, he had described the contents of the wagons, their probable route of travel and approximate timetable. Was she poring over his words at this moment, thinking of the two of them romping on sheets of presidential satin? Delightful vision —
About an hour later, with night settling, he examined his four-barrel Sharps to be certain it was fully loaded. He tucked the gun away inside his frock coat, yellowed by travel dust, and sought Huntoon at the smoky fire. Collins was napping against a boulder on the far side. Two of the hired men still squatted next to each other, chewing jerky. The third had gone to take the first turn at picket duty.
'James, my friend?' Powell said, touching his shoulder. Huntoon's spectacles flashed with firelight as he turned.
'What is it?'
'Would you come for a short stroll? I have a matter to discuss.'
Pettish, Huntoon said, 'Is it important?'
A charming smile. 'I wouldn't ask otherwise.'
'I'm infernally tired.'
A level stare, once more demanding that he prove his mettle. 'Just five minutes. Then you can have a long rest.'
'Oh, all right.' Sounding like a cranky child, Huntoon wiped biscuit crumbs from the corners of his mouth. He had grown slovenly on the journey. Powell distastefully noted black dirt under the lawyer's nails.
They moved off among the rocks as the fire crackled beneath the black sky. From the near distance came the cry of an animal, half yelp, half growl. Banquo Collins sat up instantly, raising the brim of his buckskin hat. One of the teamsters glanced at the guide.
'Mountain lion?'
'No, laddie. That animal has two legs.'
134
Earlier that day, Charles rode north in the Carolina springtime, through green rolling land where bowers of azalea blew to and fro in the warm wind and wisteria bloomed in purple brilliance. He saw little except Gus.
He saw her in the face of a much older farm woman who gave him a dipper of water when he asked politely. He saw her in a cloud formation. He saw her on the backs of his eyelids when he tethered the mule and rested by a roadside tree.
In all the muddle and madness of the past four years, he was trying to find something of worth. She was all there was. His memory held scores of small, touching portraits of her racing across the grass to greet him, cooking in the kitchen, scrubbing his back in the zinc tub, bending to embrace him in bed.
He had found one thing of value in the war, and out of confusion and some stupid, contradictory sense of duty — the same duty still driving him along these unfamiliar dirt roads — he had thrown it away. The hurt and regret that followed the dawning realization were immense. His physical wound was healing nicely, but the other one — that never would.
While still in his home state, he had chanced upon a rural store on whose counter stood a glass jar containing four old, dry cigars. He had the remainder of one in his clenched teeth at this moment; he had smoked the first half last night. The other three protruded from the pocket of his cadet gray shirt.
He was riding in hot sunshine, the gypsy robe rolled and tied behind him. Suddenly he saw a mounted man crest the next rise in the road and come cantering in his direction. Alarm gripped him until he realized he was still in North Carolina, though damned if he knew where. And the emaciated horseman raising dust in the afternoon wore gray.
Charles reined in the mule and waited. Birds sang and wheeled over nearby meadows. The rider approached, slowing his mount while he took Charles's measure and decided he was all right, though the man — an officer — still kept his hand near his side arm.
Charles chewed the cigar nervously, a glassy look in his eyes. The officer walked his skeletal roan closer and stopped.
'Colonel Courtney Talcott, First Light Artillery Regiment of North Carolina, at your service, sir. I gather from that shirt and your revolver that you're a soldier?' He scrutinized the scrap of sword in Charles's belt and his peculiar, dazed expression. The tone of the colonel's question hinted at lingering doubt.
Almost as an afterthought, Charles muttered, 'Yes, sir. Major Main, Hampton's cavalry scouts. Where's the army?'
'The Army of Northern Virginia?' Charles nodded. 'Then you haven't heard?'
'Heard what? I've been down on the Ashley, finding this remount.'
'General Lee requested terms from General Grant more than three weeks ago. At Appomattox Court House, in Virginia.'
Charles shook his head. 'I didn't know. I've been taking my time riding back there.'
'You certainly have,' Talcott replied, not hiding his disapproval. 'You needn't continue. The army has disbanded. The last I knew, General Johnston and his men were still in the field, though he, too, may have surrendered by now. If he hasn't, he soon will. The war's over.'
Silence. A tan female cardinal fussed in a bush when a jay swooped too near her nestlings. The artillery officer looked askance at Charles, who showed no emotion. The colonel said again, more emphatically, 'Over.'
Charles blinked. Then he nodded. 'I knew it would be. I just didn't know when.' The officer scowled. 'Thanks for the information.'
Frostily: 'You're welcome. I would turn around and go home if I were you, Major. There's nothing more to be done in Virginia.'
The artilleryman cantered past, raising dust. He had no intention of riding beside the listless and slightly mad-eyed junior officer even for a few miles. The fellow had even forgotten to salute. Disgraceful.
The dust settled. Charles sat on his mule in the middle of the road, slumped, as the news sank in. It was official. They had lost. So much blood, suffering, effort, hope — wasted. For a few blindly wrathful moments, it made no difference that the cause was misbegotten. He hated every goddamn Yankee in creation.
Quickly, that passed. But to his surprise, the defeat hurt more than he would have expected, even though it was inevitable. He had known it was inevitable for at least a year. Seen portents, read prophecies, long before that. The horses slowly starving in Virginia. Articles in brown old newspapers about Southern governors defying Davis with his own sacred doctrine of states' rights. A Union carbine that fired seven shots —
Feelings of relief and despair overwhelmed him. He plucked the fragment of the light cavalry saber from his belt and studied it. Suddenly, while light glanced off the stub of blade, his eyes brimmed with rage. A savage outward lash of his arm sent the metal cross whirling over the meadow, there to drop and vanish.
He knew the only course left to him if he were to stay remotely sane. He must ride on to Virginia and try to repair the damage done by his own foolishness. But first there was duty. Duty always came first. He had to make
