The Sword (9 page)

Jeb spurred Ace so furiously that he got ahead of the battle line and rushed into the scattered Indians, yelling like fury. Only a few of the officers had barely kept up with him, including Stanley and Lomax. Close by him, Stuart saw an Indian turn and point a rifle right at Lunsford Lomax, and Jeb thrust at him but landed only a thin slash on the Indian’s side and rode past him, then turned back. The Indian now had his rifle pointed at Jeb.

Close by Jeb heard, “Wait, Jeb! I’ll fetch him!” He saw Pat Stanley, unhorsed, kneeling and pointing a carbine at the Indian. He pulled the trigger, but the rifle misfired, and Stanley was out of ammunition. Quickly the Cheyenne rode toward Stanley, who watched helplessly as the warrior raised his rifle to point directly at Stanley’s head.

Jeb shot forward, and this time landed a killing blow to the Indian’s head. But as he fell he fired, and Jeb felt the shot hit him high on the breast.

Stanley jumped up and ran to him. “Jeb, you’re shot! Stay here. I’ll get my horse and get you to the rear.” He disappeared and soon came back riding his horse, which had managed to unseat Stanley in the middle of the fray but then had only moved a few feet off to unconcernedly graze a little.

“I don’t think it’s too bad,” Jeb said cheerfully. “But I guess I had better go get it seen to. No sense bounding around on Ace, here, until the bullet plows around and finally blunders into my heart.” Blithely he rode to the rear.

Flora kept reading those two lines over and over and weeping harder each time the words burned into her heart.

Her father had been an Indian fighter for many years, and she and her sisters had always worried about him when he was on patrols. Flora had seen injured men, had even seen men killed and brought home to weeping wives and families.

She’d thought she knew and understood the dangers of a soldier’s life. But this was different. This was her husband, her beloved Jeb. And though his letter was so obviously cheerful, with the energetic note of his demeanor clearly coming through, Flora sobbed helplessly with the sudden harsh reality she was now facing. Jeb was a soldier, he was in constant mortal danger, he could be injured—he could even be killed. Thinking of it, she felt as if she herself might simply pass out into a cold, lonely darkness and oblivion.

How long she remained in this desolation, she really didn’t know. But finally she rose and washed her tearstained, swollen face and smoothed her hand over her swollen belly. She couldn’t do this to herself. She couldn’t do it to the baby. And most certainly she could not do it to Jeb. If she were a weeping, wailing wreck of a woman all the time, Jeb would go mad with grief, she knew. He was happy with her, he found joy and pleasure in his life with her, and she was determined that she would keep it that way.

She would find the strength in the Lord, to live with His comfort, to live under His care. She would learn to live her life with Jeb—no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the hardships or the grief—to the fullest, every day, to be grateful to God every day for him, and never to forget all of the countless treasured moments they had. She would be strong, and she would be full of joy, always, for Jeb.

She would do this. No matter what the cost.

The wounded of the 1st Cavalry were not able to get back to Fort Leavenworth until August 17th.

Flora saw them come into the parade grounds, and she saw Jeb’s big body lying on a travois. Though she was so big now she couldn’t possibly run, she hurried as fast as she could to his side. He looked up at her, and with an almost stunned relief, Flora saw that his eyes were clear and dancing as merrily as ever. She knelt by him, awkwardly.

“The baby’s not here yet,” Jeb murmured. “Oh, I’m glad.”

“I am, too. He waited until he could see his father.”

“Flora, my best girl, you can’t know how I’ve missed you.” He joked, “I would have hurried back much sooner, but these lazy fellows wouldn’t come along with me.”

She ran her fingers down his face and entangled them in his soft beard. “You’re pale, my darling. Your letters … You seem not to be hurt too badly.”

“I’m not,” he grunted then pulled himself up to a sitting position. “And I’m as tired of this infernal machine as a man can be. I can walk into that infirmary myself. There’re no men big enough to carry an ox like me, and somehow I don’t think they’d welcome Ace pulling me in.”

“No Jeb, don’t. You’re scaring me,” Flora begged even as he stubbornly pushed himself to his feet.

He took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it, as he had so many times before. Flora never tired of it. “Please don’t be frightened, Flora. I never want you to be frightened of anything in this world. I am fine, really. I’m so much better, thank the Lord, and I feel very well, if only a little weak.”

Flora nodded. “All right, then. I do have to agree that perhaps I might walk you into the infirmary, instead of Ace.” She put her arm through his.

He hesitated and said uncertainly, “Flora, I know this must be so hard for you, but you’re really all right, aren’t you? I mean, you grew up in a soldier’s house and you married a soldier. You always knew, didn’t you? You always knew what it would mean?”

She could see the fear in him, as she knew she would. And she steeled her thoughts and cried out to God and then smiled up at
him. “Of course, Jeb. Just know that I love you, I will always love you, and I will always be waiting for you when you come home. Now come on, silly bear, and let the doctor see you.”

No matter the cost
.

F
lora entered the room and paused abruptly at the scene that was taking place before her. Her lips curved upward in a smile, and she felt a rush of love mixed with pride.

She had been confident, almost from when she met him, that Jeb Stuart would make a good husband. He was always considerate, even gallant to her, a man who was faithful to everything that marriage stood for. But many men who had these qualities didn’t necessarily take well to infants. She’d been relieved, however, as Little Flora had come through the first year and a half utterly adored by her father.

Flora remained silent, watching as Jeb, who was lying flat on his back, set Little Flora down upon his chest. She leaned forward, making little yelps of joy. Grabbing Jeb’s luxurious beard, she tugged at it and yelled, “Paaah! Paaah!”

“Well, be careful there, little darling. You’re going to pull my beard out, and you would see what an ugly fellow I am. Did you know I grew this beard just to hide my ugly face?” He suddenly reached out and grabbed her and held her high in the air. She chortled with joy, and he lowered her until their noses touched.

“Jeb, what in the world are you doing? You always have to play on the floor,” Flora demanded, coming to stand over them.

“I’m just too big. There’s not enough room anywhere else,” Jeb said, lifting Little Flora high again as she squealed.

“You’re supposed to be rocking her to sleep.”

“I tried to, but she talked me out of it.” Jeb grinned. His eyes sparkled with merriment, and his red lips, almost hidden beneath his thick mustache, revealed a smile, exposing his excellent teeth. “I miss out on so much time with our little princess here, I have to make up for it.”

“You’ve been playing with her for over an hour. We have to feed her and put her to bed.”

Jeb got to his feet reluctantly.

Flora reached out and took their daughter.

“I’ll just watch and you feed,” Jeb said. “I think it’ll be better that way.”

Flora was still nursing Little Flora, so she opened the front of her dress and the baby began to nurse noisily.

“No sweeter sight on earth than that to me,” Jeb said. “Everyone I know says children take in their mother’s character when they nurse, so she’s going to be sweet and beautiful like you.”

Flora couldn’t help but smile. “You must want something, Jeb. You never say those sweet things to me unless you want something.”

“You hurt my feelings, darling.”

“I couldn’t hurt your feelings with a sledgehammer. What is it you want?”

Jeb pulled a straight chair close beside her. A thoughtful expression replaced his wide smile. “I’ve been giving a lot of thinking of what I am to the Lord.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ve never been a very deep thinker. I’m a lot better at action,” Jeb said, stroking his beard. “But a man has to think about his spiritual life, too, and I’ve been doing a lot of that.”

Flora felt thrilled, for she had often wondered about the depth of Jeb’s spiritual life. He had an experience with the Lord years ago,
but Flora wasn’t certain it was a conversion as she thought of it. She thought of being “converted” as she was. This included repenting of her sins at the preaching of a traveling Methodist evangelist, confessing Jesus and following Him in baptism, and taking the Lord’s Supper. Her life had been tied up with church and such devotions, but Jeb had never seemed pressed to do such service to the Lord.

Jeb leaned back, teetering on the back legs of his chair, as he often did. He kept his hands on his heavy thighs. He was wearing only trousers and an undershirt, for May had come, bringing hot weather with it. He teetered back and forth. “I’ve been a believer in Jesus for a long time, Flora. You know that. There’s never been a doubt in my mind that He is who He says He is and He came to do what He said He did. But since we’ve been married, I’ve been watching you, and I can’t help but think that I’ve let the Lord down.”

“And what is it you want to do, Jeb?”

Stuart spread his arms out in gesture and his eyes opened wide. He had piercing eyes that could see farther than any man in the company, and when he turned them on people, they were riveted, as they were on Flora now. “Why, Flora, I need to do what you’ve done. I need to join a church and start living as a Christian.”

“I think that would be wonderful, Jeb. You’ve always been a good man, I know.”

“I try to be, but from what I read in the scripture, that’s not enough. I wrote this letter to my mother. Let me read you just a bit of it.” He pulled a paper from his pocket and began to read in a low, serious tone: