Chapter Seven

 

August 1841, West Point, New York

 

Ulysses S. Grant used slow and deliberate strokes with the pencil. Etched on the sketchpad resting on his knees was the image of Lidia Rumble holding young Ben in her arms, against a faint backdrop of the Hudson River.

Mother and son were seated on a wood bench, across a stone basin from Grant and his pad. He was cross-legged in the grass. A small hole in the side of the basin allowed a spring to flow through it, the water going over the east side, then down the slope to the Hudson eighty feet below. Ben always stared at the spring as if seeing it for the first time—the water had some magical, calming effect on him. They were isolated from the hustle and bustle of the Academy in Kosciuszko’s garden.

Lidia jokingly called it her husband’s garden; that he had earned it not only because of his middle name, but more so for the hazing that missing Z had brought upon him during plebe year. Pre-dating the founding of the Academy, set on a ledge just below the Plain and over-looking the Hudson, the tranquil garden had been designed and built by Thaddeus Kosciuszko in 1778. It had been a place of contemplation for the Polish patriot who had designed the fortifications at West Point during the Revolution. A steep set of stairs cut into the side of the Plain was the only access. The ledge was thirty feet long and only twenty feet at its widest.

Lidia, Ben and Grant had been coming to the garden the last two afternoons as Grant worked on the sketches. He had already done one, but torn it off and put it underneath the blank pages, telling Lidia it was but practice. Grant was morose after his eight weeks of freedom from the Academy and facing two more years until graduation. The class of 1843 was trickling back from furlough, many like prisoners returning to their correctional institution. A new group of plebes, the class of 1845, was finishing up their beastly summer training and the entire Corps was gearing up to transition into the academic year, moving from their encampment on the Plain, into the barracks.

“Worried about Lucius?” Grant asked.

Lidia ran her hand over her belly, feeling the life inside her. “He has told me some things about Palatine and his family that cause concern. And I sense there are dark things about the place he’s holding back.”

“He’s spoken little of his life before the Academy to me,” Grant said as he continued to sketch. He was well known in the Corps as an artist, although it was not quite as respected as his abilities with a horse. Robert Walter Weir, the Professor of Drawing, praised Grant as one of the finest cadets he had ever taught, up there with James Whistler, who unfortunately, not being as proficient at chemistry as he was at painting, had been booted out of the Academy for academic deficiency after only one year.

The Academy did not teach drawing to make artists. It taught drawing to train engineers to trace terrain features. Like every other subject, the Academy twisted the content to fit one goal: the preparation of officers for the art of war.

“He showed me the letter from his mother,” Lidia said. “And the fact St. George never delivered his message directly is troublesome to me. Who knows if Mister Cord delivered it accurately or if the encounter actually occurred as he said?”

“I believe on that, you can trust Elijah,” Grant said.

Lidia ignored the comment. “Lucius talks of St. George in the most negative light. I sense bad blood between the two. I hope he hasn’t had a confrontation.”

“Lucius can handle himself,” Grant said. The pencil paused. “May I ask you something, Lidia?”

She ran a hand through Ben’s hair. “Yes?”

The boy was small for his age. He had blue eyes and his mother’s red hair and a most pleasing disposition for a child.

“Why did you accede so readily to marry Lucius, knowing that Elijah was the one—” Grant searched for a polite word—“responsible?”

“It’s quite simple,” Lidia said. “During the crisis, Lucius was willing and Elijah was not.”

Grant grinned. “Your logic is perfect.”

Lidia raised a red eyebrow. “You understand? Few do.”

“You made the right decision. Calmness in crisis is an admirable trait, more so than genius or courage. Elijah’s not a bad man, but I don’t see him as dependable to others. Perhaps that will change. I sense he has something deep inside that is made of tougher stuff than most suspect.”

“One can hope, but it’s not something that occupies my thoughts.”

Grant drew another line on the pad. “You liked him well enough once upon a time, as they say in fairy tales.”

Lidia stiffened, then reluctantly nodded. “Yes. I did. He is charming. And when he gives that smile—” she did not finish.

“Ah, well,” Grant said, “that is in the past.”

“It is indeed. I’m happy and our child is on the way,” she added, running her hand over her belly once more. Still, she seemed uneasy about the subject. “But we are trying to hide a truth that many suspect.”

Grant looked at Ben’s eyes without comment, then resumed sketching.

“Am I a bad woman to try to live such a lie?” Lidia asked.

“I don’t judge you,” Grant said.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“You aren’t a bad woman,” Grant said firmly.

“But the issue troubles you,” Lidia said.

“It makes life hard for Elijah,” Grant said. “He has undergone the Silence for a while and will continue to bear it until he graduates. And even then, it will haunt his life among graduates. The army is a small place.”

A shadow fell over Lidia’s face. “I’ve heard. But he did abandon me while Lucius stood for me.”

“That is so,” Grant allowed. “Although, Elijah wasn’t exactly in the best condition to make a decision that morning and he was also facing the prospect of getting shot.”

“Which is a point against him,” Lidia noted.

Grant opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself.

“How bad is this Silence?” Lidia asked. “I’ve heard of it, but as long as I can remember, no one survived it long enough to graduate.”

“As I said, Elijah is tougher than he appears,” Grant said. “But it’s extremely hard on him. A principle to succeed in the Corps is teamwork. We cooperate and we graduate. Elijah has few he can count on. It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone.”

“Will he graduate?” Lidia asked.

Grant shrugged. “He was having a difficult enough time before the Silence. Now, he struggles with his studies on his own, although I help him with mathematics. Time will tell. And what about you? Would you ever consider letting Elijah into Ben’s life in some way?”

Lidia ran her hand over her belly again. “Perhaps once our child is born, it might be a good time to reconsider.”

“It might be,” Grant agreed.

“The Corps can be harsh, can’t they?” Lidia asked.

“Most of the time it’s for good reason,” Grant said. “They’re being prepared to lead men into combat, the toughest and most chaotic environment imaginable.”

“But sometimes it’s all so petty. You saw how my husband suffered because of his middle name. As if it were his fault that stupid town in Mississippi spelled it the wrong way.”

Grant nodded. “Some of it is petty and mean, but there are many different personalities in the Corps. Overall, they’re a good bunch.”

They sat in silence for a while as Grant continued sketching.

Lidia finally spoke. “Can I ask you something, Sam?”

“Yes?”

“People speak of Texas and Mexico. And then there’s the slavery issue. Lucius tells me the south will never give it up willingly.”

“Most likely not,” Grant said.

“Then we will have war, won’t we? Of one sort or another?”

Grant stared down at the drawing. He ran a finger over the outline of Lidia and Ben. “Cump Sherman says it is likely. I trust his judgment.”

“Cump was a gloomy sort. I’m glad he graduated, although he was always unfailingly polite.”

“I imagine he still is a tad gloomy. And polite.”

“What is war like?”

Grant looked up, his face grim. “I don’t know. We’re taught of it and we read of it, but the reality will be something we can’t comprehend until we taste the fire.”

Lidia gazed at the Hudson. “You seem resigned to it. Some cadets sound eager when they talk of the possibility of war.”

“I suspect those who sound most eager, might end up feeling differently when faced with the actuality.”

Lidia looked back at Grant. “You make it sound so matter-of-fact. I know that’s what they teach here. But what do you think you will feel if you have to fight?”

Grant closed the sketchbook. “Fearful. For those I command.”

“Then why would—”

“It’s my duty,” Grant said simply. “I swore an oath on the Plain to defend the Constitution of the United States.”

“Promise me something,” Lidia said.

“And that is?”

“If there is war, and Lucius has to go, that you’ll take care of him.”

“The army might have a say in whether we serve together,” Grant noted, “but I’ll do whatever I can.”

Lidia wasn’t done. “And, God forbid, at some future date, by some chance, Ben has to become a soldier, that you’ll take care of him.”

“Now you really sound like Cump,” Grant said. “It’ll be many years before Ben could carry arms. And I believe Lucius would rather his son do anything other than wear a uniform. In fact, I believe that’s why he went back to Mississippi. To explore possibilities.”

“Yes, but look where Ben is growing up,” Lidia said. “It’s inevitable he’ll be drawn to the army.”

“Or pushed away from it,” Grant said. “West Point has a different effect on different people.”

Lidia stared at the Hudson. “I never thought of my son growing up to be a cadet. I must think on that.” She shivered, then turned her attention back to Grant. “Promise me you will look after both my husband and my son as best you can.”

“I’ll do my best. I’ll always look over Ben as if he were my own. Besides Cump could always be wrong. It’s—” Grant stopped and looked at Ben, whose head had turned toward the sound of boots on the stone stairs.

Rumble wore a dusty uniform and his step was weary. But his face lit up when he saw wife and child. “My dears!” He ran over and wrapped his long arms around both. He hugged them for several moments as he tenderly kissed Lidia on the forehead. “It’s so good to be back.”

“I can’t draw you in.” Grant held up the sketchbook. “You’re a day too late.”

Rumble let go and turned to his friend. “Sam.” They shook hands. “You obviously had smoother traveling. I was delayed waiting for a steamboat.”

Grant glanced at Lidia, then back. “And your visit? All is well in Mississippi?”

Rumble picked up Ben and sat down next to his wife. “It was never well. And it has not changed, except for the worse. But my mother, at least, still speaks to me and for me. My father; his stand is the same as it was before my journey. Still, I believe Ben would be welcome there.”

“And St. George?” Lidia asked.

“I avoided that part of the plantation as I have no responsibilities there and he avoids the main house. St. George is not my problem, although he will soon be my brother’s.”

Grant packed up his gear. He removed the top sheet and handed the latest sketch to Rumble. “With my compliments.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“I will leave you to your family and go for a ride.”

“I hear the Hell Beast’s mare has given birth,” Rumble said.

“Yes.”

“York must be a proud father,” Rumble said. “As I am.”

 

 

“What in the blazes happened to you?” Grant asked, his sketchpad tucked under one arm.

Elijah Cord was dressed in dirty clothes. He sported a black eye and was leading a saddled York out of the stables toward the riding hall. He walked with a drunken limp. His blond hair was tangled and dirty, but most telling was the defeated slump in his shoulders. Despite all, he attempted his trademark grin. “Got in a bit of trouble on the boat from New York City.”

The grin didn’t work. Grant reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “You need to go to the infirmary and see the Surgeon.”

Cord didn’t stop, heading toward the entrance to the riding hall.

“What do you think you’re going to do?” Grant demanded.

“Ride York.”

“You’re drunk,” Grant said.

“That’s the point.”

“What is?”

Cord halted. “I can’t tame horses like you, Sam. Or be a father like Lucius. I’m not sure what I’m good at.”

Grant was confused. “Then why are you trying to ride York?”

“I’m not going to try.” Cord led the horse into the hall, Grant following. “I’m going to do it.”

“You need to—” Grant’s advice was wasted as Cord put his foot in the stirrup and swung his other leg up and over York.

The horse had mercy for a second, then bucked and spun. Cord went flying, tumbling onto the tanbark floor. Grant walked over to York, one hand held up, palm out.

“Easy,” Grant whispered. He glanced at Cord. “You all right?”

Cord sat up, spitting out tanbark and dirt. “I’m alive.”

Grant put his hand on the rein and got York under control. “He’s not an easy ride.”

Cord staggered to his feet. “Nothing is easy, it seems.”

“I’ll teach you to ride York, if you wish,” Grant said. “But only when you’re sober.”

Cord ran dirty fingers through even dirtier hair. “I don’t know what I wish.” He paused. “I hear York has fathered a foal?”

“Yes.

“I suppose he’s a better father than I.”

Grant led York toward the riding hall door. “You’ve done well to stay in the Corps, Elijah. Focus on that.”

Cord followed as Grant put York back in his stall. Before he unbridled the horse, Grant opened the pad and removed the sketch he had made the previous day. “Here. This is for you.”

Cord took the piece of paper. He blinked and tried to focus on the drawing. “Ben and Lidia?”

“Yes. It’s my first sketch of them.”

Tears formed in Cord’s eyes. He threw an arm around Grant. “Thank you, Sam.” And then he passed out.