When This Cruel War Is Over (17 page)

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Authors: Thomas Fleming

BOOK: When This Cruel War Is Over
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“I insist you retract that letter. Immediately!”
“I doubt if that's possible. You can't take back the kind of insults I wrote. They can only be wiped out by gunpowder.”
“Are you out of your mind? This man has come over to our side, heart and soul.”
“I know all about his performance. It was worthy of John Wilkes Booth. A lot of people wrote me about it.”
“I won't let you kill him.”
“He may kill me. It'll be a fair fight.”
“We need you both! Your men won't come without you.”
“This is more important than the war, Janet. This is a question of my honor—and his honor, if such a thing exists in the northern mind. I can't lead men into battle if they know I failed to repay this insult.”
“There was no insult on Major Stapleton's part. He barely knew of your existence—at least in relation to me. I saw no need to mention you because I regarded the promise I made to you as no more than an agreement
to reconsider your—your—affection for me—when the war ended. I never agreed to marry you or to deny myself the attention of other men. I didn't retire from the world to await your return like some creature from a romance.”
The black eyes in the bearded face remained as opaque as moonstones. This was a very different man from the overgrown boy she had seen off to war with a halfhearted kiss.
“That was not my understandin'. It was never my understandin'. I don't believe it was yours until you met this Yankee double-talker.”
“You're wrong. You know things were not well between us, Adam, before the war. You must have known I was putting you off with patently weak excuses—”
“I don't pretend to understand the female mind—”
“The female mind! I consider that an insult. My mind is no different from yours. It tries to make realistic judgments on the world around me. It tries to be honest with itself—and with others.”
“Then why weren't you honest with me?”
“That would take a volume to explain. I was flattered at first by your attention to me—”
“Colonel!”
Pompey, Adam's burly black body servant, stood in the doorway, streaming sweat. “Federal cavalry. Met'm on the road to Hopemont. A hundred of'm at least!”
“Jesus Christ!” Adam was on his feet, a tower of fury. “Get my gun. I'm gonna die fightin'. They ain't goin' to lock me up in some prison for the rest of my life!”
Janet was transfixed. She was going to be in a battle. There would be bullets flying everywhere. Perhaps she would die. As Pompey raced upstairs screaming, “Federal cavalry!” she realized Adam was acting like a madman. Was it her fault? Did he want to show her how ready he was to die for the cause?
“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. “You're needed. You've got to hide. Or run.”
“I can't run. My horse is spent. There ain't another decent horse left on the farm. The federals took them all and paid in their rotten greenbacks.”
Rogers Jameson rushed into the room in his nightshirt, hefting a shotgun. Pompey was on his heels with Adam's pistol.
“You can't fight them! They'll kill you both,” Janet said.
“Six to one your goddamn Union major set them on us!” Adam roared.
“You have to hide! There must be somewhere you can hide!” Janet said.
“Janet's right.” Amelia Jameson stood in the doorway, white-lipped. “In my bedroom there's a window seat. Adam could curl up in that. Janet and I will have a visit. She'll sit on top of it.”
Rogers Jameson shook his big head. Strangled words drooled from his wired jaw. “Gdum. Rathr die—”
In the distance the thud of hooves became audible. The federal horsemen were no more than five minutes away. Adam's rage vanished. It was miraculous. In an instant he was cool, collected and decisive. “They're right, Pap,” he said. “It's my only chance. Will the niggers stay loyal?”
“Of course,” Amelia said.
“Th-dmn-wll bttr,” Roger Jameson growled.
AMELIA JAMESON'S BEDROOM HAD DEEP blue window DRAPES, a pale green Oriental rug and a canopied bed with sky blue hangings. The rest of the furniture was fragile Chippendale. An Italiante painting of Venus and Adonis hung on the south wall. For a moment Janet imagined Rogers Jameson in this room, in that bed. A Kentucky version of Beauty and the Beast. No wonder they hated each other. For a moment she saw the whole inner drama of the marriage: Amelia's attempts to civilize Rogers, his even stronger determination to remain untamed.
Adam Jameson flung the cushion off the window seat and flipped up the lid. Robin Jameson smiled up at them. “I thought you were going to fight it out, Big Brother,” he said.
Adam picked Robin up by the front of his shirt and flung him across the room. His head struck the rug with a sickening thud. Amelia rushed to him with a frantic cry. Insanity!
Adam seized Janet's arms. “If they find me,” he said, “I'm comin' out shootin'. Go flat on the floor. I don't want the last thing I see in this world to be you with a bullet wound.”
He kissed her. The pounding hooves of the federal cavalry mounted to thunder. They were turning in the drive. Adam climbed into the window seat. He had to lie on his side, his legs curled. He clutched the pistol to his chest and looked up at her. “I love you,” he said.
Janet slammed the lid. Was it his coffin? she wondered
dazedly. Was she wishing for his death? Or simply the obliteration of his relentless affection? Pompey was dragging a groggy Robin Jameson out of the room. Amelia Jameson watched him go and whirled, resolution suffusing her face. By an act of will she seemed to transform herself from hand-wringing mother to mistress of herself and the situation. Was this where Adam had inherited his decisiveness?
“We must look utterly casual,” Amelia said. “You've come down to see me. Do you knit or sew?”
Janet shook her head.
“I'll manage for both of us,” Amelia said. She rushed to a bureau and pulled out a needle and thread and a dimity apron. “Here,” she said and handed Janet a year-old edition of
Godey's Lady's Book,
the popular magazine. “We're discussing the latest styles.”
Janet flipped
Godey's
open to a display of French Empire dresses. Was this what she would be doing every afternoon if she married Adam Jameson? She had never had much interest in fashion. But it was a central part of a woman's sphere, as the experts called the female share of a marriage. Men and women had separate spheres. Why was she so eager to invade the man's sphere? Was it because the woman's sphere was so brainless?
Downstairs a fist thumped on the front door. It was presumably opened and a man's voice roared through the house: “Where's your son, Jameson? We've had eyewitness reports that he's here. If you don't produce him we'll burn the place around your ears. I have no patience with you disloyal bastards anymore. You're all outside the protection of the law.”
“That's General Burbridge,” Amelia said. “It shows how badly they want Adam—when the Grand Inquisitor himself leads the hunt.”
Kentucky's Union commander was easily the most hated man in the state. A few months ago he had issued Order Number 59, declaring that four Confederate captives
would be executed for every Union soldier killed by rebel guerrillas.
Amelia put down her sewing and went to the head of the stairs. “General Burbridge,” she said. “You may recall me as Amelia Conway. Your father and my father were friends when he served in the Congress. Please calm yourself. I haven't seen my son Adam for three years. My other son, Robin, is upstairs, much indisposed by a fever. Adam's fianceé, Miss Todd, is visiting me. I can't believe you'll carry out such a barbaric threat.”
“I'm going to search every nook and cranny of the house and barns!” General Burbridge roared. “If we find him, I'll most definitely burn the place as a just punishment for concealing a known desperado.”
“I won't bother to defend my son as a courageous soldier of the Confederate Army,” Amelia said. “I'll only assure you that he isn't here.”
She returned to the bedroom and picked up the dress and the sewing basket again. “I hope you and Adam had a chance to talk last night,” she said, her manner as composed and serene as if Janet were merely a welcome guest and the house were not swarming with Union soldiers.
“I'm afraid we only talked about our plans for our—our hopes to win the war.”
“This grand conspiracy I hear hints about now and then?” Amelia said, ignoring Janet's evasion. “My husband wouldn't dream of confiding in me. What have you learned about it?”
“Enough to give me hope,” Janet said.
“What a cross your poor mother and father must be bearing. Losing those two wonderful sons.”
“My mother is very low. I wonder if she'll ever recover.”
“I'm not sure I could bear the loss of even one son. Will Adam play a part in this insurrection?”
“A vital part,” Janet said.
“Do you think it has a chance of succeeding?”
“Mrs. Jameson! You'll excuse me. We must search this room as welL”
General Burbridge stood in the doorway. Short and slim, with a blond Vandyke beard, he exuded energy—and arrogance. His blue uniform was pressed and immaculate. The black leather holster on his hip gleamed. His boots had a similar shine. He wore a pair of white leather gloves that added a touch of luxury to his appearance. Janet thought of Adam Jameson's faded and patched gray uniform and almost wept.
Amelia introduced Janet. Burbridge scowled. “I'm familiar with Miss Todd's name. You and your father entertained this desperado last night at Hopemont. That in itself could be grounds for arrest.”
“I don't know what you're talking about, General,” Janet said.
“We have an eyewitness ready to testify.”
“I didn't know you arrested women,” Amelia Conway said.
“I've arrested several. A few nights in prison had a wonderful effect on their loyalty.”
Behind Burbridge loomed two big cavalrymen with carbines. The general turned and snapped, “Where's that nigger?”
One of the troopers shoved Pompey into the room. “We know your son is here. This is his body servant,” Burbridge said. “He never goes anywhere without him. What's he doing here without your son?”
“Pompey was ill. Adam sent him home to recuperate,” Amelia said.
“Pompey's too damn faithful for his own good. We've offered to make him a contraband. Under the terms of the Emancipation Proclamation, any nigger who's forced to serve the Confederacy in any way is free.”
“He didn't say nothin' about bein' sick,” one of the soldiers said. “He said he come home because he got tired of the war.”
“Tell us where your master is and you're a free man. We'll free every slave on this place,” Burbridge said.
Could any black resist that offer? Janet could almost feel Adam's finger tightening on the trigger of his pistol. “I tole you—I don' know where the colonel is,” Pompey said. “Someplace in Virginia's all I recollect.”
General Burbridge growled in disgust. “Search this room. Every inch of it,” he said, waving Pompey out the door ahead of him.
Looking embarrassed, the troopers prowled the bedroom. They pulled back the hangings of the bed. They looked under it. They peered into a large armoire and poked the muzzles of their guns among Amelia's dresses.
Suddenly Janet was
inside
the window seat on which she was sitting, her arms around Adam Jameson. She was pressing her lips against his bearded mouth, murmuring,
Don't don't.
She could feel the tension building in his big body toward an explosion that would catapult him into the center of the room, gun blazing. He would kill these two troopers but the others would kill him before he got out of the house.
She could feel the heat of his body, taste his breath.
Don't,
she begged. Wanting had nothing to do with it, but she was ready to say,
I love you
. She was ready to say and do almost anything to defeat these obnoxious federals.
The troopers found nothing in the room and departed. Downstairs, Janet heard an exasperated General Burbridge shout, “Get all the house niggers together! I want to question them! One may tell the truth!”
In a few minutes they could hear Burbridge making a sonorous speech to Rose Hill's servants. He offered them the same freedom he had dangled in front of Pompey.
“You're sure they'll stay loyal?” Janet asked.
“I've devoted a good deal of my life to winning their affection,” Amelia Jameson said.
For Janet, the words summarized hundreds of hours spent in the slave quarters. Thousands of southern women had done the same thing with their slaves, from the northern border of Kentucky to the Gulf of Mexico and the Rio Grande. It was an exhausting, often demanding task, utterly beyond the competence of men. They were the reason that the South's slaves had remained loyal while almost every able-bodied white man served in the Confederate Army.
General Burbridge was back, growling in the doorway. “Mrs. Jameson, Miss Todd,” he said. “Would you come downstairs for a few minutes?”
“For what purpose?” Amelia asked.
“I'm under no obligation to explain myself. Come with me, immediately!”
“General Burbridge, I'm relying on you to preserve some remnant of your family's reputation as gentlemen while you're in my house,” Amelia said.
“Mrs. Jameson, if your house was not being used to conceal a desperado, wanted for murder and reckless destruction of private property, I would be intimidated by your high tone.”
Don't, don't,
Janet pleaded. She was back in the window seat, desperately trying to control Adam Jameson's rage and simultaneously trying to control her own anger.
“What in the world do you want me to do downstairs, General Burbridge?”
“I want you both to testify in front of the servants that you haven't seen Adam Jameson today. I want them to see you both lie—if that's what you choose to do—so they'll know the morality of the people who are denying them their freedom.”
Suddenly Janet knew with unbelievable clarity what
was going to happen next. Was she somehow connected to Adam Jameson's mind and heart by that mystic plunge into his hiding place? She stood up, saying in an extra-loud voice, “We'd better do what General Burbridge says.”
Amelia gazed at her, startled, almost affronted. In the same moment, Adam flung up the window seat and leaped into the room, his pistol leveled. “If you make a sound, Burbridge, you're a dead man,” he said.
The shock and fear on Burbridge's face produced an explosion of pleasure in Janet's mind and body that she could only compare to the moment of climax with Paul Stapleton in the Happy Hunting Ground. It was bewildering—and appalling. Was she falling in love with war and death?
“Take his gun,” Adam said.
Janet removed Burbridge's pistol from the holster on his hip and handed it to Adam. “Now, Burbridge,” Adam said. “You're going to call your second in command upstairs. You'll tell him to bring Pompey with him. When your man gets here, we'll disarm him too and then you'll tell him to order every man in your command to throw their guns into the Ohio. Pompey will march them down there and make sure they do it.”
“How do I know you won't kill me anyway?” Burbridge said.
“That's a chance you'll have to take, Burbridge. I don't know another man I'd enjoy killing. I'm inclined to do it for your murder of innocent prisoners of war, not to mention your insulting remarks to my mother and Miss Todd. But I have compunctions about killing an unarmed man. However, if you attempt to retaliate against my family or Miss Todd's family for this embarrassment, I'll come back to Kentucky and kill you, armed or unarmed. Is that perfectly clear?”
General Burbridge glared at him. Adam jammed his pistol into his chest. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Burbridge said.
“Let's begin the game,” Adam said. He seized Burbridge's arm and walked him to the door.
“Colonel Haldeman!” the general called. “Would you come upstairs, please? And bring that nigger, Pompey, with you?”
Adam dragged Burbridge out of sight, to the left of the door. Colonel Haldeman soon appeared—a stocky redhead who walked with a swagger. He had Pompey by the arm.
“General?” Haldeman said at the head of the stairs.
Adam prodded Burbridge with his pistol. “I'm in here,” he said.
Colonel Haldeman walked into the room to find Adam with his pistol pressed against General Burbridge's head. “Give your gun to the lady, Colonel. If you don't want to kill the general—and yourself.”

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