[continuing chapter 19]
They’re being awfully civilized towards me, he thought. His recent experiences had made him cynical enough that his next thought was an automatic, What do they want? If it was just a confession on the way to a quick execution, it wasn’t likely they’d be plying him with rum punch and ministering to his wounds. He shifted, cautiously, in the chair, looking for any sign of Travis or some other Texan authority come to interrogate him. No one was there, and while part of Patton wanted this to be over with, another part of him was grateful for the rest, however he’d have to pay for it later. Right now, his head still hurt damnably, and his eyes felt sore and scratchy as well; he was grateful for the sun going down, because as the afternoon had progressed he’d found it increasingly painful to keep his eyes open; sunlight reflecting off the Brazos had nearly made him vomit.
It seemed most likely to him that Stewart had had something to do with the treatment he’d received. He probably owed Stewart for that—though if his friend had told the Texans the whole truth of what had happened to them in New Orleans and beyond, it likely made Patton seem ridiculous, not much more than a schoolboy with an exaggerated sense of self-importance. Well, isn’t that what you were? Hard to argue with himself on that score. He’d been an idiot; he’d been beaten to boot.
Is that it, then? Are you just going to give up? Remember what Wheat said about false humility. It won’t undo anything you’ve done, which would mean you could well die for no reason.
“You look awfully grim for a man whose life has been spared.”
Patton looked up to see Cleburne setting down a chair in front of him. “Spared for how long?” he asked.
“Oh, I think it’s safe to say that you’ll live to a ripe old age if the Republic of Texas has anything to do with it.” Cleburne smiled, and Patton thought he saw something different, changed in the man. “Don’t ask my any more, though,” the Irishman said. “It’s up to Secretary Travis to explain.”
“He’s coming to see me again?”
“He’s taken something of an interest in you, son. I don’t pretend to understand it, but from the whispering that was going on between him and the president at dinner this afternoon, I’d say it has something of the political about it.”
“I’m well and truly sorry,” Patton said, “that I ever got mixed up in politics. I only wish I’d listened to you when you realized what was happening with Walker. Hell, I wish I’d listened to Stewart in New Orleans. How is it he learned so quickly and I didn’t?” Patton took a sip of punch, looking at Cleburne over the rim of the glass as he drank. Cleburne was watching him with a look of calm, placid bemusement. I’m glad, Patton thought, that you finally found your western adventure.
Aloud he said, “I wanted to tell you, Cleburne, that no matter what happens I appreciate what you tried to do for me after we met up with Walker. It’s not your fault I was too stubborn and wilful to see what was happening in front of me.”
“But it is my fault that I expected a young man on what was really his first campaign to recognize a disaster in the offing,” Cleburne said. “I shouldn’t have just run on you.”
“As for your last question, I had the advantage of you and you just didn’t know it.” Stewart, Patton thought, looking away from Cleburne to where Stewart had just come into the room. “I grew up with politics, though I didn’t know this until I went to New Orleans. My father and uncle played at it as if it were some sort of competition between them. I didn’t realize, until I saw for myself in New Orleans what conspiracy does to people, just how much I’d absorbed of politics.” He shook his head. “And you never had that experience, did you?”
“My family was about fighting and military honor and not a lot else,” Patton said.
“I was impatient with you in New Orleans,” Stewart said. “And then I was angry because you wouldn’t see what I’d seen. Now I realize it wasn’t that you wouldn’t see; you couldn’t see it.” Cleburne nodded. “I know now I should have taken better care of you. And I didn’t. I’m sorry about that, Patton, I truly am.”
“It’s good of you to say that, Stewart,” Patton said. “But under these circumstances it feels wrong for you to be apologizing to me.”
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen
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