Valley of the Shadow: A Novel by Ralph Peters Read Free Book Online

eye, and her trouble learning geography, then of tiny Lawton, a merry hellion, a year and a half old. He thought, too, of the dreadful loss of Charlie, of other losses … but at the end of all sorrows, Allie waited, her smile as full of grace as Heaven must be. They had wed when he was twenty and she fifteen—he could not wait longer, nor did she desire delay—and for eleven years she had been the finest wife to him that any man could want, a woman of sweet ardor. He longed for her every night.
    At least their home was south of Sherman’s path. He wondered again if Allie had settled last winter’s debts, incurred when he—a cautious man with money—had upended the family’s finances, borrowing to come home and see his family on a month’s leave. The cost of all things, from railway travel to biscuit flour, had soared, but pay had not kept pace as the currency withered. Last month, he, a brigadier general, had strained to settle his commissary bill.
    “When this cruel war is over,” he muttered.
    Too dry to sing anything, even a hymn, let alone a soldier song, he tempered his stallion’s pace to a meeker mildness, unwilling to stir up dust to afflict his men.
    Brilliant slants of light purpled the ridges. Evans tugged back the reins.
    “Who’s that walking peg-a-leg there? George Nichols, that you, boy?”
    Nichols limped from the column, nodding a salute. Two of his comrades moved to the roadside with him, one on each flank.
    “What’s the matter, son? New shoes a trial?”
    The soldier seemed hardly more than a child between his broad-shouldered friends.
    “No, sir. Nothing wrong a-tall.”
    Evans recognized Lem Davis as the man who spoke up next. “Spent shell casing got him back at the Heights, Genr’l. Fool won’t take to a wagon, show some sense. That leg’s swelled to busting.”
    Evans turned to his aide, performing as General Gordon might have done in similar circumstances, saying, pulpit-loud, “Hear that now, Captain Gordon? That’s the kind of men we grow in Georgia.” Then he bent from the saddle toward the boy. “You’ve shown a fine side, Nichols. But wait on the wagons now and take your ease. Hear?”
    The lad stepped forward again. On that bad leg.
    “If’n that’s an order, sir, I’m set to obey it. But I’d as lief walk.”
    Evans told himself that, yes, it was an order. For the boy’s own good. But he also knew that the ways of the heart were many and the needs of the soul were legion.
    “Son … you do what you want,” Evans told him. “Just remember that pride comes before a fall.”
    “I ain’t going to fall none. Leg’ll carry me.”
    In the shadows below a shimmering sky, Evans smiled.
    “Well, then … y’all get along and catch up to your company.”
    The men saluted, each in his odd manner, just as none of their uniforms were uniform. Evans rode on.
    Behind the last mob that passed for a march formation, he entered the domain of limping forms and quitters. That eager boy, Nichols, was made of rock-hard stuff, even if he looked barely fit for man-britches.
    Turning his mount in the richer-each-moment light, Evans thought: Lord, isn’t that just us, though? All of us? From that young private to General Robert E. Lee, we’re so doggone stubborn we just don’t know what’s good for us.



 
    TWO
    July 8, dawn
    Monocacy Junction
    “Sir, sir!” The orderly shook Wallace, none too gently. “I hear a train. Coming from Baltimore way.”
    Wallace brushed off the man’s hand and rose, stiff and groggy, from the floor. He heard the swelling throb of a locomotive. God grant it be the veterans.
    He pulled on his boots and fumbled with his coat, forgoing sash and sword. Ross had orders to stop any train that approached the iron bridge, but Wallace feared that his own two stars might be needed to settle matters.
    The noise of the great machine grew huge, then screamed to a hissing stop.
    Righting his hat, Wallace hurried out of the shack. Sleep’s claws pursued