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[Continuing chapter eight]
A sound woke him. After a second of puzzlement he recognized it: metal on metal. Someone was going through his things. Patton kept his breathing steady and deep, as though sleeping, and felt for a weapon under the blankets. He came up with a knife; rather than trying to find a revolver, he decided to settle for the blade, which at least would be quiet. Opening his eyes, he looked around. The fire no longer burned; though some of the embers still glowed, they weren’t enough to light the scene, and it took a moment for his eyes to accustom themselves to the almost total absence of light. Eventually, shapes coalesced and he could see the outlines of tents against the horizon. His own tent seemed to be shifting, and he realized that the intruder was in there.
He was on his feet and moving toward the tent when it occurred to him that anything of value was in his bags, which had been beside him or under his head as he slept. So instead of pulling back the flap, he simply stood beside the opening, and waited.
After a few moments, a familiar form emerged from the tent. “Cleburne,” Patton said. The Irishman started satisfyingly; Patton heard his sharp intake of breath. Turnabout, he thought, for what you did to me down at the creek.
Then Patton saw the bags and rifle Cleburne was carrying, and his heart sank. I would rather have been wrong about this, he thought. “What are you doing?” he asked, more for form’s sake than for any other reason.
“Since you ask,” Cleburne said, “I’m leaving.” Patton took a breath to speak, but Cleburne raised a hand—the one holding the rifle. “It’s no good,” he said. “You can’t say anything, Patton. I’ve known I didn’t belong here since the moment we joined this column; I just couldn’t quite bring myself to say it you. So I was going to try and leave without disturbing you—it might go easier on you tomorrow if you can honestly say you didn’t know I was going to run.”
“I’ve suspected it,” Patton said.
“Did you suspect it of your brother?”
Patton heard his own sharp intake of breath this time. “No,” he said. “You can’t mean that.”
“He left as soon as it got dark,” Cleburne said. “Came back here with me while you were talking to Walker. He didn’t say anything more than what he’d said to you earlier. But his attitude—the way his face looked—it got me to thinking, it did. Your brother said he didn’t think it was safe to stay here any longer, and while he wouldn’t explain what he meant, just the fact that he thought it not safe was enough to persuade me to finally listen to what my viscera have been telling me the last day or so.”
Cleburne paused, standing so close to Patton that even in the darkness the anguish on the Irishman’s face was clearly visible. “I know how you feel about this thing, Patton, and I know you want to see it through. But believe me, it’s not going to end well.”
He’s afraid, Patton realized. He survived who knows how many years as a soldier, and now he’s discovered that he can’t face the guns anymore. I can’t say that to him, though, he thought. The man saved my life. “You’re starting to sound like Stewart,” Patton said. The man shouldn’t be this upset about being afraid. Fear was normal heading into a fight; it didn’t automatically mean disaster. “He told me he’d lost his taste for—something. Killing, maybe.”
“Nothing wrong with feeling that way.” Cleburne shook his head. “Look around you, Patton. This country isn’t crying for liberation, surely you’ve got to see that. You’re being treated as invaders. I don’t know why, couldn’t even pretend to guess. But I’ve invaded enough places in my time under the King’s colors that I know the look, and that look is all over everyone we’ve seen. You’re not wanted here. You’ve become the Federals, and Texas is Virginia.”
“That’s something else Stewart said,” Patton murmured.
“So our boy has maybe unbent a bit since coming to New Orleans. He’s grown some, then.” Patton was uncomfortably aware of the unspoken addendum: Time you did too, boyo.
Cleburne stepped past Patton and walked to the faint glow of the fire. “I’d feel better if you’d come with me, Patton,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder. “I wish you’d see this the way I’m seeing it.”
Patton shook his head. He didn’t know whether Cleburne could see the gesture or not; it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let Cleburne’s fear infect him. “I can’t,” he said, still trying to avoid letting Cleburne know that he’d uncovered his secret. “You do what you have to, Cleburne. I may not understand that, but I’m honor-bound to respect it. And you’ll do the same for me, I know.”
“Madness,” Cleburne said softly as his shape faded into the dark. “Utter, God-forsaken madness.
“Good luck, Patton. God be with you.”
Patton crawled back between his blankets, but for a long time all he did was stare up at the stars, while the sound of the sleeping camp filled his ears.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
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