A skeptical expression must have crossed her face,nthough, because Billy looked at her imploringly and said innthe most earnest tone: “Oh, it’s true, I assure you it is. Youncan ask Julie or Annie or my mother. They’ll tell you it’sngospel truth.” Lydie realized then that she must keep hernemotions out of her face, that Billy Harper always forgot thatnhis family was sealed away in time past and that he was annorphan in a world of strangers.nHe forgot himself so thoroughly when he spoke that hisnunhappy situation appeared to escape his memory. Yetnsomething was troubling him. As the day went by he grewnrestless and his soft volubility began to lapse. Toward the endnof the second week not even questions about Cleopatrancould alleviate his distractedness.nOn Monday of the third week he spoke his mind. “Iknownyou-all want to hear about the war,” he said glumly. “And Inknow that’s what I’m supposed to be telling you. It’s just thatnI can’t bear to open up those wounds again. I guess I’dnbetter try, though, since that’s what I’m sent here to do.”n”You’re not supposed to do anything that you don’t wantnto do,” Harry said. “We haven’t been notified that you arenrequired to talk about the war. In fact, we haven’t beennnotified of anything much. I wish I could get a phone callnthrough to those History folks.”n”That’s right,” Lydie said. “I’m Hred of hearing aboutnthat ugly old war. I’d much rather hear about your mothernand sisters and the farm.”nLooking at the people who werenobviously not sims, he saw written onntheir faces weariness, exasperation, sorrow,nhorror, guilt, and cruel determination —nall the feelings he and Lydie hadnexperienced for the past weeks.nAll their reassurances could not lighten Billy’s darkenednspirits. The more they spoke soothing words, the gloomiernhe became, and they could see that he was steeling himselfnto broach the subject and they became anxious about him,nfor his nervousness increased as his determination grew.nWhen he began to talk, after supper on his thirdnWednesday, he was obviously desperate. His hands tremblednand he kept his eyes trained on the beige patch of livingnroom carpet in front of his armchair and he spoke in a lownmutter. His sentences were jumbled and hard to understand.nHe was sweating.n”There were onlookers up on the ridges,” he said. “Wenwere down in the bottom fields there at Manassas whennMcDowell brought his troops around. We could see themnup there, the spectators, I mean, and I borrowed Jed’s glassnand took a look and they were drinking wine and laughingnand there were ladies in their carriages, and younguns too,nsetting off firecrackers. So when I handed him his glass backnI said, ‘I don’t believe it’s going to be a fight, not with thenhigh society people looking on; I expect that McDowell andn22/CHRONICLESnnnGeneral Bee will pariey.’ And he said, ‘No, it’ll be a fight,nBilly. Can’t neither side back off now, we’re in too close toneach other. McDowell will have to fight here right outside ofnWashington because Lincoln hisself might be up there on anhilltop watching.’ But I didn’t believe him. I never thoughtnwe’d fight that day.”nHe paused and licked his lips and asked for a glass ofnwater. Lydie brought it from the kitchen, ice cubes tinkling,nand told the private with meaningful tenderness that he didnnot need to continue his story.nHarper took the glass and sipped, appearing not to hearnher words. He kept his eyes downcast and began again. “Atnnine in the morning it was already warm and we knew we’dnbe feeling the heat and then with no warning it started up.nSergeant Roper hadn’t no more than told us to bracenourselves because there appeared to be more Yankees herenthan ants in an anthill when we saw gunsmoke off to our left,na little decline there, and heard the shots and in that verynfirst volley Jed fell down with a ball in the middle of hisnchest, but before he hit the ground took another one in hisnshoulder that near about tore his left arm off. I didn’t have anleast idea any of them was close enough to get a shot at us. Inlaid down by Jed and took him in my arms but couldn’t donnothing and they made me let him lay and start fighting.”nHis face had been flushed and sweaty but now wasnsugar-white and drenched. His eyes wore dark circles andnwhen he raised them for the first time, caught up as he wasnin his memories, he seemed not to see Lydie or Harry ornanything around him. He was sweating so profusely hisnuniform was darkening — that was what Lydie thought atnfirst, but then she rose to clutch Harry’s arm. Blood wasndripping from Harper’s sleeve over his wrist and onto thenrug.n”So I got on one knee to see what I could and brought mynrifle up, but I didn’t know what to do. I could tell they werenall around us because my comrades were firing at them innevery direction but I couldn’t spot anything, so much smokenand dust. I saw some muzzle blazes on my right and thoughtnI might shoot, but then maybe that was one of our lines overnthere. I was a pretty good marksman to go a-hunting, but inna batde I couldn’t figure where to aim.”nHis voice had sunk almost to a whisper and his tunic andnthe chair he sat in were soaking with blood. Harry rememberednthat it would be pig blood and not human, but he wasnhorrified all the same — more disturbed, perhaps, than if itnhad been Harper’s own blood. He looked quickly at Lydienand then rushed to her aid. He knew now what Billy Harpernhad meant when he said that to talk about the war openednold wounds.nHe took his wife by the arm and drew her toward thenbedroom. She went along without a murmur, her facendrawn and blanched. He could feel her whole bodyntrembling. He helped her to lie down and told her to keepnstill, not to move; he would take care of everything, he said.nIt was going to be all right.nBut when he returned to the living room Harper wasnlying face down on the floor. He had tumbled out of hisnchair and lay motionless in a thick smelly puddle of brownishnblood. Harry knelt to examine him, and it was obvious thatnhe was gone, literally drained of life.nHarry telephoned for an ambulance and sat down ton