The Sword (4 page)

“All of them?” she asked. “So we are to have arguments, then?”

“It was meant to be,” he said, now quietly. “All of it. You, me, this night, this dance was meant to be.”

She searched his face and found none of the usual frivolity there. He looked thoughtful. “What do you mean, Lieutenant?” she asked softly. “How can that be?”

He searched her face for long moments. “I have always believed that God prepares a man for one certain woman. And He prepares that woman for him.”

“That is a very deep theological concept, Lieutenant Stuart,” she said, trying to restore some lightness to the curious turn the conversation had taken. “So how would this woman know which man was fated to be her husband?”

Sensing her slight withdrawal, Jeb answered, “All you have to do is take a look at Eve. There she was. There he was. She knew right away that God had made them to be together.”

“Your logic is flawed, sir. She had no other choice to make.”

He made a slight shrug, although it didn’t affect the grace of his dancing. “You’re probably right, ma’am. Logic isn’t my strong point. Dancing, however, is. And may I say that you are one of the finest dancers of any lady I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. You are a very skilled dancer yourself.”

“Thank you, ma’am! I love music, and I love dancing,” he said enthusiastically. “I’m afraid I have no skill in music, except for a keen enjoyment of it. Do you play an instrument or perhaps sing, Miss Cooke?”

“I play the piano, and even some guitar, and I enjoy both very much. I do sing, although not as well as some. But like you, sir, I do enjoy all good music.”

“And waltzing,” he added. “By any chance, may I claim the rest of your waltzes tonight, Miss Cooke?”

“It would be considered very impolite for us to monopolize each other, you a newly arrived single gentleman, and an officer, and me, the daughter of the commander of the post,” she considered. “But I don’t think either of us shall be ostracized too much. Yes, Lieutenant Stuart, you may have the waltz for the rest of the night.”

“How about all of the dances for the rest of the night?” he asked impishly.

“That would be entirely too scandalous. The waltzes are enough. And you, sir, do not tell me how ‘it is meant to be.’ I’ve already pointed out the flaw in that theorem.”

There were several more waltzes during the ball. In general, Flora felt neither Lieutenant Stuart nor she was considered to be acting in a rude manner—except by Gerald Small, who continued to try to monopolize her—but the fact that she and the lieutenant danced together so much was certainly noted. She was certain Jeb Stuart commanded attention wherever he went and with whatever he did. And of course, as Flora was the commanding officer’s daughter, her actions were of interest to the entire fort and the little town.

Toward the end of the evening, Gerald Small began dancing with a pretty blond girl whom Flora did not know, and he kept casting triumphant, slightly mean glances at Flora. She barely noticed and was sure she missed some.

As it happened, the last dance of the night was a waltz. At the end, Lieutenant Stuart escorted Flora back to her father. They exchanged greetings, and Jeb said, “Sir, I have found out that Miss Cooke has quite a reputation as an expert equestrian, so I have asked her to go for a ride with me tomorrow afternoon. She has agreed. Will that be acceptable to you, sir?”

“Of course, if Flora wants to go,” Colonel Cooke said.

Jeb said in a most courtly manner, “I count it a great privilege, and I will be very careful to see that your daughter is safe. Thank you, sir.” He turned to Flora. “Miss Cooke, I cannot adequately express my appreciation for your company tonight. It has been a delightful evening, and I owe my enjoyment of it expressly to you.
Thank you, and until tomorrow, Miss Cooke.” He bowed gallantly.

“Until tomorrow, Lieutenant,” she replied as she curtsied prettily.

Colonel Cooke studied his daughter’s glowing face. “You just met him tonight, and you’ve already agreed to go riding with him, Flora?”

“Yes, Father. Surely you have no qualms? Already I have ascertained that he is a Southern gentleman of the first quality, from a noted Virginia family, and a Christian man. I’m sure no one would think ill of me or of him.”

“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant,” Cooke said as they walked slowly toward the door, arm in arm. “He’s a fine man and a truly excellent soldier. It’s just that I suppose I’ve never seen you take to anyone quite so quickly.”

She laughed, just a little, and squeezed his arm. “Papa,” she said lightly, “perhaps it was just meant to be.”

L
aughing with delight, Flora looked over her shoulder and called, “Is the 1st Cavalry always so slow?” Easily her mare jumped a broken-down snake fence and reached the border of the pecan orchard half a minute before Jeb Stuart caught up to her, his big white stallion easily clearing the fence.

He jumped down, grinning as always, his blue eyes dazzling in the blinding summer sun.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, it’s not that the 1st Cav is so slow. It’s that you’re fast. You beat me fair and square, Miss Cooke.” He reached up to hold her hand as she dismounted. “I thought I would let you win, you know. Turns out I should have asked you to spare my manly feelings and let me win.”

Affectionately Flora patted her mare’s heaving sides. She was a pretty gray palfrey, a gift from her father upon her graduation. “Her name is Juliet, a noble and delicate name, but she runs like a hardworking quarter horse.”

“This is Ace,” Jeb said, slapping the big horse’s haunch. “And we always won until we met you two. Let’s walk them out, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s walk back to that little creek where we started. It’s
very warm, and I think that the water may be much cooler than what we have in our canteens.”

Jeb had shown up at exactly two o’clock, as promised, resplendent in his cavalry uniform with the dark blue coat and sky-blue trousers, both with golden trim and insignia. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat with a golden band.

Flora had been so excited about seeing him again that she could barely get dressed, alternately berating Ruby for being so slow and urging her to hurry up. Finally, however, she had dressed in her very best new riding habit, emerald green of heavy cotton with a snappy jacket with a tight waist and peplum. The skirt was ground-length and had a small train, as it must for women to be able to cover their legs and feet appropriately while riding. She wore a dashing brimmed hat, pinned up on one side with a gold brooch that had belonged to her mother.

Jeb had made appropriate greetings to her father, but Flora was so anxious to ride that she had almost immediately demanded that they go. They had cantered outside the fort and come to one of the countless streams that crisscrossed the rolling hills above the river. On the other side was a wide field filled with black-eyed Susans growing riotously and the graceful lines of a pecan orchard on the far side. Flora had immediately challenged Jeb to a race.

Now they walked slowly back across the field. Jeb looked at Flora’s sidesaddle, mystified. “I’ve never understood how ladies can even sit on a horse on those contraptions. And especially I’ve never thought a lady could beat me in a race riding one. What I’ve heard is certainly true, Miss Cooke. You are one fine rider.”

“I’ve been riding since I was four years old,” Flora said. “And I do love to ride. I even like to shoot.” She glanced up at him slyly.

With his dress uniform, he wore his cavalry saber and his pistol in a black leather holster. “No, no, ma’am!” he blustered. “You’ve already beaten me soundly at riding. I’m not going to let you shame me right down to the ground by outshooting me.”

“Maybe some other time,” she said.

“I hope there are many other times,” he said quietly. Then, as
he was wont to do after a sober moment with her, he reverted back to jollity. “Now I know you can ride and sing and play the guitar and piano. I know you can dance better than any lady I’ve ever seen. Tell me everything else about you.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. I want to know it all.”

“Oh, but no lady would ever tell all about herself. We must remain mysterious, so as to keep men intrigued,” Flora teased. “Besides, you already know a lot about me, and I know very little about you, Lieutenant. Tell me about your home and family.”

Jeb told her about his family in Virginia, about his father, Archibald Stuart, who had long represented Patrick County in the Virginia Assembly and then was a congressman. He mentioned some of their connections to other prominent Virginia families, such as the Prices and the Pannills and the Letchers. “But it was through one of my father’s political connections that I got my commission to West Point,” he said with some pride.

“A fine institution,” Flora said. “My father says West Point cadets make the very best soldiers in the world.”

“I’m a better soldier than I was a West Point cadet,” Jeb told her, eyes dancing merrily. “I graduated with 129 demerits. I think they just graduated me because I was so rowdy and raucous they didn’t want me to corrupt any more cadets. I had a nickname there, you know.”

“What was it?”

“They called me Beauty. It was because I was so homely, I guess. Like you call a tall man ‘Shorty.’ ”

“I don’t think you’re homely, Lieutenant,” Flora said casually. “Not at all.”

He looked pleased, like a young boy. “Really? Anyway, that’s why I grew the beard … to cover up my homely aspects.”

As they walked, Jeb bent and picked about six of the black-eyed Susans, then presented them to her with a bow. “Now you, Miss Cooke, have nothing at all homely about you. You’re like these flowers, bright and glowing in the sunshine. And I must say that
your riding outfit there is about the prettiest concoction I’ve ever seen. You truly are a ‘beauty’ in it.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, accepting the wild bouquet with a queenly gesture. Flora was rather accustomed to compliments from men, but deep down she knew that Jeb Stuart’s admiration pleased her more than any other.

They reached the cool deep shade of the cottonwoods that bordered the little singing stream, and Jeb filled their canteens with the cold, fresh water.

Flora watched him, bemused. In truth he was just a little above average height, but he was a big man, with broad shoulders, giant hands, and long legs. For being so brawny, he was curiously graceful, with a rolling stride, but on horseback he had a power and grace that she had never seen before.

And whoever in the world could say he was homely? He’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met! Men are blind to male beauty, I suppose … but women certainly are not. They crowd around him like honeybees to the comb! He’s just so imposing, so … commanding … so …

The end of the thought made her blush, and at that moment he stood and turned back to her. A knowing, amused look crossed his face as he stepped up to hand her the canteen. She dropped her eyes and took a long drink of the refreshing water.

Jeb drank then led the horses up to the stream so they could drink. “Would your mare wander, do you think?” he asked her.

“I don’t think so, but even if she does, she always comes to me easily,” Flora answered.

“I’ve got a trick to get Ace to come to me if he’s off foraging,” Jeb said, looping the horses’ reins around the pommels. “Let’s take a little walk along this stream.”

They walked in the shade of the trees along the grassy bank. The stream was really just a little bubbling trace only a couple of feet across at its widest part, but in places it was waist-deep.

“I love this little stream. I ride here often,” Flora said. “I don’t even think it has a name.”

“Then let’s name it,” Jeb said. “How about Beauty’s Stream?
Meaning you, of course, Miss Cooke.”

“And you, Lieutenant Stuart. After all, if West Point says it, then it must be so.”

They came to a great fallen hickory tree just at the edge of the water. Flora sat down on it. Still holding her little bouquet, she threw one of the bright yellow flowers into the stream, and they watched it bob merrily away.

Jeb cocked one booted foot up on the log and leaned over her, not too close but near enough for her to again feel the sense of his physical presence so strongly that he might have been touching her. “I hear, ma’am, that you are planning to go to Philadelphia soon, to make your social debut.”