That was it, that was what happened late in the day, it was the Something. A-whirl on her giddy bed, the woman paraded this all before her. It was a circumstance which might have meant a great deal if she had not been a wicked woman. But she had been one. “Tyler,” she whispered aloud, and it made a terrible sound in her mouth. “Husband,” she said, and the word was just as shocking. Forever, my sin and my tremendous responsibility. In this same hour he may be on a rack, and my own arms cranking his sockets apart, my ears receiving his outcry. Whomsoever God hath joined together, let them not rack one another asunder … Then, for the first time, she screamed. It was not a loud scream, and no one heard her.

Chapter 2

2.

More than anything else, the thick scent of decaying flesh made Dan awake. It was the chestnut gelding beside his front fence, now forty hours dead, a vast balloon frosted with a thousand flies. He wondered how the rebels could endure it; there were plenty of them in the yard tending their own horses, or merely sitting on their heels and eating crackers. A wagon had stopped in front of Mrs. Knouse’s gate. It was loaded with loose shoes, and a swarm of beggarish soldiers clustered around the tailboard, passing the shoes from hand to hand, throwing their old foot-gear aside, trying on the new.

There was no water in his pitcher and he must go down to the pump before he could wash. He tried to count the mornings … two days ago he had been scything weeds. Yesterday he awoke at Fannings’; yesterday cannon took the sky apart. Now the morning air was heavy with a foreboding warmth. Clouds which could not be identified by size or shape or color, but which existed nevertheless, lay like cloth across the sun and its shadows were dull and hazy.

Downstairs he found the rooms blue with bacon smoke. The double doors of the library and front parlor were drawn tight; the general must be asleep still, for he had been riding about until very late; dimly, Dan had awakened to look out and see the horses trooping home, all silver in the dust and shine of the moon. Men muttered about The Old Man and Lee and Up On The Hill. The Confederate Commander’s headquarters must be there, at Johnsons’ or the seminary.

In the kitchen, a nervous man with blood-shot eyes got up from the table and offered his hand. “Haowdeedo. We’ve taken possession, as you see.” He spoke with the swift, run-together slur of the martial Britisher.

“I expected that you would. Excuse me—I want to go out to the pump.”