Crossing (10 page)

“Yes … sir … Major … sir,” Chuckins said weakly. “I was sick. Sandy and Peyton took me to the infirmary.”

Major Jackson stared at him unforgivingly, raking him from head to toe.

“Uh—but—” Sandy started stuttering.

“Chuckins feels better now, though, Major Jackson,” Peyton said smoothly. “He didn’t want to miss class.”

Jackson’s blue-light gaze transferred to Peyton, and even he shifted uncomfortably. “Who is Chuckins?” Jackson demanded.

Charles Satterfield came to backbreaking attention and said stiffly, “It’s me, sir. I’m Cadet Charles Satterfield.”

“Well, Cadet, you are late for class, and being ill, you’ve also made your friends late for class. Two demerits for you, one for each of you, Cadet Owens, Cadet Stevens. If you don’t want any further punishment, be on time for artillery tomorrow,” Jackson said coldly. “Dismissed.” He went back into the classroom and again locked the door firmly.

The three cadets stood still in shock for long moments. Then Sandy blew out a long, “Wheeew! We set him off this time, no fooling!”

They turned to walk back down the hall. “And I got two demerits,” Chuckins wailed. “That’s not fair! I didn’t think of it. You did, Peyton!”

“Relax. I’ve already got four demerits,” Peyton said carelessly. “It’s not like they won’t graduate you, Chuckins. You’re a good little cadet. You’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’m never listening to you two again,” Chuckins grunted. “I’m gonna be right on time for artillery tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” Sandy agreed.

After a while, Peyton said, “Yeah, me, too.”

Sandy Owens, Chuckins Satterfield, and Peyton Stevens were on time, even early, for artillery class the next day. With much selfrighteousness, they sat in the front row, their eyes fixed, without wavering, on Major Jackson.

“Understand that learning to load and fire a cannon has no importance whatsoever if you don’t learn to
aim
a cannon…. Any fool can fire a big gun, but it takes a smart man to hit what he’s aiming for.”

The cadets sat listening as Major Jackson lectured, and none of them wiggled, for they had learned that his eyes would glow dangerous blue fire if they did. Also, as unassuming as he was in his natural and experimental philosophy classes, he was the polar opposite in his artillery classes. He was authoritative, commanding, and knowledgeable to the point of being almost mystical. In the Mexican War, one of his sergeants had said that it was almost as if he had single-handedly invented artillery.

“Now, gentlemen, we will go out and take practice in the
art
of artillery. I will appreciate it that you understand that the cannon is an instrument. It is an art as much as a skill. Some of it has to be born in you, for it’s not just the mathematics and the angle and the azimuth and the wind speed. You’ve got to have the eye. The eye, gentlemen! So let’s go see if any of you boys are blessed with the eye.” Jackson stepped off the podium and left the room.

In perfect order the cadets lined up two by two, marching behind him.

Before VMI was given the opportunity to obtain the services of the renowned Major Thomas Jackson, they had only conducted dumb-fire exercises of the cannons, relying on live-fire for the muskets. But former Lieutenant Thomas Jackson, of General Winfield Scott’s army in Mexico fighting Santa Anna, had made quite a name for himself. He and one man, a sergeant of artillery, had managed to break down the great fortress of Chapultepec single-handedly, with one cannon. They held the line until reinforcements arrived from his commander, Captain John Magruder. General Winfield Scott had taken special notice of Lieutenant Jackson, and so because of conspicuous bravery, he had been brevetted to the rank of major.

Because Major Thomas Jackson had gained quite a bit of fame and notoriety for his artillery work and he had persuaded the commandant of VMI that live fire of cannon was essential for the training of the cadets, he had been granted extremely special privileges for his artillery class. The college had, in effect, dug out a large trench, so that the cannons would fire into a hillside and not a fallible target. Four cannons had been purchased for the institute, and every month more powder and balls were bought for Major Thomas’s enthusiastic students.

The low ground of open field was to the west of the classroom building. The cannons were placed into a twelve-foot gully that rose above them. Six-foot-tall bales of hay, with circles painted on them vaguely representing men advancing, served as targets. To the rear was a shed filled with ammunition and supplies. The targets were set up in the field, and the underclassmen among the cadets began to open the shed and bring out the powder and shells.

Major Jackson stood rigidly as they did this, staring at the targets as if they were an oncoming battalion.

Peyton Stevens, the only cadet that had ever dared to initiate a conversation with Jackson, stood close by him. “Sir,” he asked speculatively, “do you think there will be a war? The papers all say so.”

“I’m more interested in what God says than what the papers say, Cadet Stevens. But I pray daily that there will not be a war,” Jackson answered.

The irrepressible Stevens would not be quiet and asked intently,”Would you fight with the Union, sir?” This was a constant question with Southern men—what would they do in case the South seceded?

“I ask God every day of my life to bring North and South together without shedding of blood. I love this country, Cadet Stevens, and it would break my heart to see brother fighting against brother on the field of battle.”

And at that Peyton Stevens grew quiet.

Anna Jackson looked across the tea table at her sister Eugenia. Anna was pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. She had borne Thomas a daughter on April 30, and they had named her Mary Graham Jackson, but she was weak and ill and had died on May 25.

Eugenia had been here with her sister since the birth. It was the end of June, and Anna assured her that she was fine and Eugenia could return home. Eugenia herself had two healthy children, which, oddly, made her feel a little guilty. It didn’t, however, diminish her true sorrow for her sister. Eugenia smiled a little. “You know, Anna, I never told you this, but I was absolutely astonished when you married Major Jackson.”

“Why would you be astonished, Eugenia?”

“He’s so
different
from you. You’re so lively—and he seems so stately, I suppose you’d say.”

Anna nodded a little. “He does appear that way. You were always prettier than I, and the young men were fighting to see who would squire you around. While you were doing that, I was spending time with Thomas.”

“He’s just so different from most men. Does he still worry about his health?”

Anna appeared somewhat disturbed with this. She hesitated before answering, “I’m afraid he’s
too
concerned with his health. He seems to me to be absolutely strong and healthy, but he has some odd ideas. He stands straight up for long periods in order to keep perfect alignment of his organs, or so he believes. He will only study his books in the daytime, because he thinks that artificial light like candles harms his eyesight.”

“My, that is strange.”

“Yes, it
is
. I suppose you’ve noticed that he keeps a lemon with him at all times? Very rarely do you see him for a long period without his biting the end off and sucking the juices out.”

“I don’t see how he does that. I should think it would make his mouth pucker.”

“He thinks it helps his health. He’s really two men, Eugenia; it’s almost as if he leads a double life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you know him, and the people of Lexington have never really known my husband. He’s so formal and stiff at times in public, but there are other times, especially when we’re alone, when he is so gay and carefree no one would recognize him.”

“I can’t imagine him being gay and lighthearted.”

“Oh yes! Why just yesterday he was talking to one of the little girls that belonged to one of the neighbors. He was saying a poem for her, and what poem do you guess it was?”

“I’d guess Wordsworth or Shakespeare.”

“No indeed, it was quite different from their work.” She smiled and quoted the small poem:

“Oh, that’s funny! Did he make it up himself?”

“He wouldn’t admit it, but I’m sure he did. So as you see, he’s really two men. The austere major and professor in the classroom, sometimes very stern and harsh. But when we’re alone, it’s a different story.”

Eugenia said in a low voice, “I know you’ve grieved terribly over the loss of Mary Graham, sister. Yet Thomas, to a stranger, seems to be just as strong and sure as ever he was.”

Anna put down her teacup and grasped her sister’s hand in hers. “He suffers, Eugenia. He suffers as much or more than I do.

You remember, he and Ellie lost a son.”

“I know. I remember.”

Anna’s voice choked with tears. “Pray for us both, Eugenia. Thomas and I will forever grieve for the loss of our baby. Don’t doubt Thomas. Just because he doesn’t show it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

“Of course I will pray, sister. I’ll pray without ceasing for you both.”

“Thank you, my darling sister. And I’ll forever be grateful for your coming to me in this difficult time. God bless you on your journey home, and bless you and your husband and children.”

When Thomas came in the door, Anna was there to meet him. He put his arms around her very gently. “Ah, my
esposita
, you’re so much prettier than any of those ugly cadets I have to face all day!” He kissed her then held her at arm’s length. “That’s a new dress, isn’t it?”

They had decided only to go into mourning for one month for their lost daughter. Jackson had not said much, but he had mourned for more than a year when he lost his first wife, Ellie, and their son. He didn’t want to go down that dim gray road again for so long. Anna had tacitly agreed.

Now she looked down at the dress and touched the skirt. It was a pretty peach color, trimmed with green, with a wide hoop skirt. Since she had dressed for dinner, it was off the shoulder, and she wore a small gold pearl necklace and drop earrings. Sadly, she remembered that she hadn’t worn the dress since before she had gotten pregnant. But she smiled a little and answered, “No, Thomas, you’ve seen it about a dozen times.”

“I suppose I’m no expert on women’s fashion,” he said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hall tree.

“No, if something doesn’t shoot bullets or a cannonball, you don’t pay much attention.”

He smiled. “I pay attention to you, dearest.”

She took his arm. “Yes, you do, husband. Come along, dinner is on the table.”

The two went into the dining room. The table was covered in fresh-baked bread, roasted beef, fresh corn off the cob, English peas, and pickled beets.

Thomas sat down across from Anna and they bowed their heads. He said, “Lord, we thank You for this food which is Your provision. I pray that You will bless it, and that You will give us wisdom and insight and will make us love You more each day. In the name of Jesus, Amen.”