The Reckoning by Len Levinson Page A

Weexpected Bobby Lee to burn the capitol to the ground.”
    â€œToo bad he didn't,” she replied with a charming smile.
    He sliced thoughtfully into his roast beef. Burn the capitol to the ground? He realized that the beautiful lady sitting opposite him was something of a fanatic.
    On the other side of the table, Vanessa perceived his change of mood. I went too far that time, she admitted. He probably thinks I'm a diehard Confederate, and I am!
    Mr. Gibson realized that his dinner party was in danger of total disarray. “The war was hard on all of us,” he declared, “but it's no secret that we in the South suffered most, and some of those scars don't heal so quickly. Sherman's army was not exactly on a mission of Christian charity.”
    â€œThey were on a mission to break the will of the South,” Lieutenant Dawes replied. “Before people make war, perhaps they should ponder the consequences.” He turned to Vanessa, and their eyes met. “I value people who speak their minds, instead of making the requisite ‘nice’ remark. The Civil War has torn this nation apart, and not much good has come from it, except for the freeing of the slaves. But I hope we're not going to get into an argument about slavery. I'd much rather talk about something else, if you don't mind.”
    A bell rang in the general store, and Lieutenant Dawes instinctively reached for his Colt service revolver. Mr. Gibson wiped his mouth with his napkin, as he rose to his feet. “A customer.”

    He hurriedly departed the room, and a moment later his wife rose to her feet. “Let me clear the table.”
    She gathered the dishes, carried them to the kitchen, and disappeared. Vanessa and Lieutenant Dawes were left alone, and a few moments of awkward silence ensued. Vanessa was about to make a banal remark about the weather, when she heard the deep mellifluous voice of Lieutenant Dawes. “I suppose you don't like me very much, because of the uniform I wear. If I were you, I'd probably feel the same way.”
    The room fell silent again, and she realized that the next move was her's, as though they were playing chess. “You're wrong,” she replied, “I don't dislike you at all. And you're right, the war is over. It makes no sense to look back, but sometimes I can't help it. As Mr. Gibson said, the scars don't heal so easily.”
    â€œI understand,” he replied.
    She found his voice soothing. This is a sensitive man, yet he's also confident, strong, and steady as a mountain. “Something tells me that you'll go a long way in the army,” she said. “It's very easy to be with you.”
    â€œNice of you to say so. I, too, feel a certain affinity between us.”
    â€œWhy is it that a man like you has never married?”
    â€œThere aren't many available women in this part of Texas,” he explained.
    â€œBut surely some colonel's daughter or general's niece ...”
    â€œThe competition is fierce, and most of themcan do better than a mere First Lieutenant.”
    â€œBut what can a man's rank have to do with true love?”
    â€œEverything.”
    The customer shuffled a deck of cards at the round table in the general store. Illuminated by a coal oil lamp, he wore his curl-brimmed cowboy hat low over his eyes, shadowing most of his face, as he turned up the ace of spades.
    Gibson recognized him as one of the waddies from the Circle K. “What can I do fer you, Mr. Raybart?”
    â€œThree bags of tobacco,” said Jay Krenshaw's courier.
    Gibson moved to the shelves, to retrieve the merchandise. “Sounds like the bunkhouse ran out of smokes.”
    â€œThat's what happened all right.”
    Gibson dropped tobacco on the table, and accepted payment. “Ain't often that I see you boys in town during the week.”
    â€œWhiskey,” replied Raybart.
    Gibson returned to the counter, picked up a bottle of homemade white lightning, and