[concluding chapter 20, and finishing the novel]
6 JUNE 1851
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
Part of him had been dreading this; part of him couldn’t wait to leave. Either way, it was no longer possible to put it off. Patton dismounted and tied up his horse—a parting gift from the Republic of Texas, and a gift he was sure he didn’t deserve—and then walked to where Stewart and Cleburne waited. For a moment he entertained the idea of having one of the slaves watch his horse. It was an idea quickly abandoned, though; no help was really necessary to watch over the handful of things that were all of Patton’s possessions that had been recovered from the battlefield.
This isn’t such a bad place, he thought. Not that there was any chance of his being comfortable here—not after what he’d tried to do. The Texicans had been embarrassingly polite once Secretary Travis had announced that Patton was on the side of the angels. But although he’d been given more or less free run of the town during the week it had taken him to recover from his head injury, and he had been greeted with unfailing courtesy whenever he went out, he could not shake the sense of guilt over what he’d done. Well, almost done.
Mostly, he was convinced, his kind treatment by the citizens of Washington was due to the friendship Cleburne and Stewart showed him; those men were clearly held in high regard by the Texicans. They earned it, Patton thought. And that was what was making this morning so difficult.
He allowed himself to be distracted by the arrival of a work-gang. Groups of prisoners, manacled together, were set to work at repairing the damage done to the capitol building, presumably during the coup; Patton recognized some of the men from Wheat’s company. Walker was not among them, and Patton wondered if the man had been hanged yet. Likely, he thought, Travis will hold Walker until he can obtain the greatest benefit from a trial. A lot of powerful men will be dreading that event when it finally happens. I bet Stewart will do his all to help Travis make ‘em squirm.
Cleburne and Stewart broke off their conversations when they saw Patton approach. “You’re up early,” Stewart said, smiling. “You must be feeling better.”
“I am, and thank you.” Patton paused, looking for strength. “It’s time for me to go.”
“Thought as much,” Cleburne said.
“You knew?”
“If you’d decided on staying,” the Irishman said, “you’d have been babbling about your new regiment and fancy new uniform. Instead of which you’re wearing buckskins a mountain man would be ashamed of. So—you’re leaving.”
For a long moment the three men stood there, the only sound the banging and scraping of the prisoners at work on the damaged building. Somebody say something, Patton thought.
“Well,” Stewart began. His voice shrivelled, died.
Oh, Hell, Patton thought. It’s up to me, then. “Look, it’s not as if I’m not grateful for what the two of you have done for me.” Hell, without you my bones would probably be out in that wood by the creek—or I’d be on a gibbet. “But after what I—what I was up to out there, I just couldn’t see my way to staying.”
“Not even for a regiment?” Stewart asked. “By this time next month you’d probably be up to your elbows in Mexicans or savages. Any resentment over the recent unpleasantness wouldn’t last long out there.”
“Are you staying, Stewart? If they’ll give me a regiment, they’d surely make you a general.”
“It’s tempting, Patton, if only to keep you from ranking me.” Stewart smiled as Patton laughed—a bit too enthusiastically, he knew. Cleburne allowed himself a small grin, and Patton told himself, Cleburne at least knows that I can’t stay.
“Be honest,” Stewart said. “What’s there to go back for, really? Whether it was right or wrong doesn’t matter, but you resigned your commission. Even if you could ignore the way you and I were both betrayed, I don’t think that you owe them, Patton, and if anything Virginia might not want your loyalty. Why not give yourself a fresh start, man?” He scuffed the toe of his boot in the street, raising dust though it was still early morning. “You could bring your family here with you. There’s land being given away, and from what I’m told it’s more productive than anything under plow in Virginia.”
“Oh, I’m not going back to Virginia.” Patton felt a surge of relief at the realization Stewart had been confused. “No, I’ve burned that boat, Stewart.” He looked over Stewart’s shoulder and saw the horseman approaching, and smiled.
“Merce and me, we’re going to the Californias. I might still get me that regiment, just in some other man’s army. Even got a letter of introduction from Secretary Travis.” Who is probably as happy about my leaving as I am.
“California? That’s a long way off,” Stewart said. Cleburne, Patton noted, seemed interested. Not precisely a stay-at-home sort, are you? Patton thought. I have to remember to write you. Once Merce and I get settled.
“A long way, maybe, but we’ll probably have us some fun out there. You could always come out with me, you know. Not much more for you back in Virginia than there is for me, after all.”
“Cleburne made me the same offer,” Stewart said, smiling. “But I have debts to repay.” For some reason Patton thought of Chatham Wheat, and that drunken conversation the night before the battle. Perhaps being a patriot was a bit like getting men to fight. It had to work on a personal level, not in the world of abstraction and storytelling. Stewart clearly understood this. I don’t especially want to be a patriot, Patton decided. Not until something reaches me on a personal level.
“So this is where the three of us part.” Cleburne said.
“We haven’t really given you a proper send-off,” Stewart told Patton, half-laughing. “You’re still standing upright. Hell, you’re still sober.”
“All the more reason for me not to delay my departure anymore,” Patton said. “I’m certain that if I once raise a glass with you two, it’ll be next spring before I’m on my way.”
“If ever,” Cleburne said. Patton nodded, acknowledging the truth.
There was nothing much more to say. He shook hands with Stewart, who laughed some more, presumably to disguise whatever it was he was feeling. When Patton extended his hand to Cleburne, the Irishman surprised him by enfolding him in a fierce hug. Hibernian manners, Patton thought, but he returned the embrace and found himself squeezing Cleburne just as fiercely; it seemed to provide an outlet for his sadness and confusion.
They walked with him back to his horse, by which time Merce had caught up. Merce didn’t say anything, just nodded; Patton nodded back. Hell, they were brothers and brothers could say plenty without having to open their mouths.
Soldiers don’t cry, Patton told himself as he climbed into the saddle. His friends followed, on foot, as he and Merce rode down to the river, and took the road north to the edge of the city. The last Patton saw of Washington-on-the-Brazos, before he turned his gaze firmly west, was Cleburne and Stewart waving good-bye from the green bank, their faces dappled in shadows cast by the trees over their heads.
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty
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