Through the window he could see Laura Devers moving around the dining table. She had ordered their dinner from room service, two places were set and she was stooping to lower the sterno lights under the food trays. There was an uxorial feeling about the scene, almost as if they really were lovers on vacation, and Scotty Weir wondered briefly if he had been wise to involve Laura Devers. He had become so accustomed to functioning alone.
After dinner they brought their brandy and coffee out to the wicker chairs on the veranda. A new arrival was checking into the guest house next door. In the dim light they could see a single man, followed by a bellboy with two pieces of luggage. There was a murmur of voices as the bellboy opened the door, snapped on lights, accepted a tip and then walked back to the main hotel, whistling softly.
“I wish you’d say something,” Laura Devers said a few minutes later. “Really, I think it might do you good to tell me what’s in your head.”
“I don’t think you’d understand,” he said, “and there is no reason to expect you to.”
“Try me.”
“It’s an introspection that’s dogging me. I can’t seem to avoid it. First I start thinking about how the hell a farm kid wound up wearing general’s stars. I try to see myself as a professional and do I still have the guts I once had to earn that medal and was I worthy of it. You know, Harry Truman once said he’d rather have it than the presidency.”
“In all the wars, all the branches of service, out of the millions in uniform, only three thousand Americans were ever awarded the Medal of Honor. You told me that, Scotty. That should prove something to you about yourself.”
“Laura, the new angers and hurts are what’s goading me. What I’m thinking now, and I’m thinking it with my guts and balls as well as my brain, is that whatever or wherever or whoever decided that it couldn’t let Mark live, I’m going to find that thing, I’m going to take that hill my son died trying to take, and maybe when it’s over they’ll wish to Christ they’d let him do the job. They didn’t have to cut him down like that, Laura, not Mark or those other murdered soldiers either, if they’re part of it.”
Laura Devers put her coffee cup down on the saucer. “We’re just friends, I know, Scotty,” she said, “but I can’t help caring. Be careful, be clever about what you plan to do. Use your head, your skills. It was sheer guts and bravery that got you that medal but it was brains that earned those stars.”
A short time later Weir excused himself and went into the guest house to dial room service. He gave an order for a dozen bottles of liquor and added loudly that he wanted the items sent over immediately. He hung up and then, with a swipe of his hand, knocked the brass-based lamp next to the phone onto the floor. He replaced it, snapped the light switch a couple of times, then cursed when he saw a tear in the green silk shade.
Weir walked to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. He ran a stream of cold water into the basin and splashed his face, patting his cheeks vigorously and massaging the taut skin at his temples. He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair glistened with drops of water but his face was calm and resolute, and there was defiance in his gray eyes. He flushed the toilet a second time and slammed the lid.
Moments later, when the wicker service cart came creaking up the walk, Weir greeted the man with a slurred, “ ’s about time,” then asked the waiter to recheck the order.
“And you brought four Tequila Gold, right?” Weir said.
“That’s right, sir.”
“Put the order in the bar and set the four Tequilas in the refrigerator. I like the stuff cold.” When the man did as he was asked, Weir signed the service slip and added a ten-dollar tip.
As the sound of the cart faded away Scotty Weir moved to stand behind Mrs. Dever’s chair, tracing a finger over her cheek, then down the soft curve of her neck to the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. He bent and kissed her fine gray hair.
“More than just a friend, Laura,” he said in a muted voice. “My God, so much more.”
Before going to bed, Weir pulled wide the bedroom draperies and raised the windows. It was before six o’clock in the morning when the changing light wakened him and he went into the sitting room, picked up the extension phone and dialed Springfield.
Grimes answered at once. “I hope you’ve got a cup of coffee, sir. This list is rather long.”
“I’m all right,” Weir said.
“There have been a lot of calls, some of them dating back to schooldays on Maggie’s side. I’ve got them written. Shall I read them off to you?”
“No, no,” Weir said with some impatience. “You know what I want, Grimes.”
“All right, here we go. Colonel Richard Benton called late yesterday evening and he was on the tape twice earlier, too. He wants to offer his condolences directly. I did as you said, told him you were at the Greenbrier with a lady friend, didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“And?”
“And he said he understood. General Stigmuller called about eight last evening, said to tell you he’ll be at that private number after four o’clock today. He’s got part of what you want, but not all of it.”
“The Caidin lady?”
“I checked Henrotin when I got back from Chicago and then again yesterday. That head nurse is getting to know me. She says the lady is getting along as well as can be expected. She’s been given our messages.”
“Has she had other guests?”
“The nurse says still no visitors but she’s received a lot of flowers and her boss from the paper stopped by and was allowed to wave from the hall.”
“And DuBois Gordon?”
“No word from him, sir.”
“All right, Grimes, and thanks. Anything urgent, ring me here. Otherwise, I’ll be checking back with you tomorrow.”
“Sir? One last thing I’d like your judgment on. I’ve brought Mark’s flag back from Chicago with me. What I don’t know is what I should do with it. It’s on a chair in the front hall, but that seems so impersonal...”
Weir was silent for a moment, then said, “In my study, Grimes, that footlocker with my ribbons and citations and things?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Take the flag as it is, leave it folded and place it on top of that locker. All those things really belong together.”
“I’ll do that, sir.”
“And, Grimes, something’s bothering me. Not today necessarily, but in a day or two, ask that head nurse when Caidin can leave the hospital. She doesn’t have her own people there in Chicago and I’d like her to come to the farm to recuperate. Find out if she’ll do that. It means you’d have to drive up and get her. And be sure that Sergeant Gordon knows she’s with us.”
“I’ll check it out, general. And I’ll pick her up if that’s how it works out. Where shall we put her? Should I get things ready in Mark’s old room?”
“No,” Weir said. “It just wasn’t that way with them, Grimes, at least not for a long time.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Put her in the room next to you, John, that’s best. Somewhere you can watch out for her. That young lady was on her way to be with Mark when she was attacked. I never quite believed the random mugger theory, too much of a coincidence for me.”
The Greenbrier stables had brought round a dun mare and tethered her to an iron jockey in front of the guest cottage. Weir mounted the horse and moved out, savoring the warmth of the animal’s flanks and the movement of its muscles between his thighs.
He guided the mare along the trails for several miles and then, pulling the reins up short, struck off through the woods, keeping an eye on the shafts of the rising sun where it touched the treetops. The general could sense the increasing elevation and feel the morning air, cool and thinning in his nostrils.