The Sword by Gilbert Morris Page B

was quickly coming to life.



CHAPTER SIX

    T o Flora, Richmond was dirty, noisy, and crowded. Men from all over Virginia were hurrying to the capital to enlist in the hundreds of companies that were putting out the call. The streets teemed with rough men, and the shops were always crowded and couldn’t keep stocked.
    Flora didn’t have any friends in the city. The Stuarts had been in Richmond for only three days when she fell ill.
    Their son, Philip St. George Cooke Stuart, had been born the previous June and was almost a year old. Little Flora was not quite four.
    Flora bent over Philip’s crib, and a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She felt her way to the sofa and fell on it. For a moment, she tried to properly sit up, but she felt so weak that she finally just lay down on it.
    Philip fussed for a few minutes, but then he grew silent again and Flora was glad he had gone back to sleep. Little Flora was on her bed in the single bedroom, napping. Wearily Flora closed her eyes to rest, though she could never fall asleep during the day when she was alone with both of the children.
    Ruby had refused to leave Fort Leavenworth, for she had a new man and she had sworn that they were to be married. Flora missed her terribly.
    She fought the feelings of bitterness that she felt because of the war that had brought her husband to this place. She was cooped up in a tiny house in a strange city with two small children, and she had barely seen Jeb since they had arrived. Drawing a deep shaking breath, Flora thought,
And this is only the beginning. He’ll leave any day, and I won’t know when he’ll ever come back. I won’t know if he’s well or if he …
    She left the thought unfinished. But Flora was quite sure she would feel this same dread, for the war’s duration, as a burden on her heart. She knew this, but she fought hard not to dwell on it.
    After a while, the dizziness subsided and Flora got up and went to Philip’s crib. He was still asleep, and no sound came from Little Flora in the bedroom. She thought of Jeb, of how God had been so good to her in her marriage. She was to this day still desperately in love with Jeb Stuart. She knew every angle and bone of his body. She knew every inflection of his voice. Her eyes knew in detail every inch of that cherished face. With the single-mindedness only found in women so desperately in love did she think of him.
    As she made her slow way into the kitchen, she prayed. Lord Jesus, I need Your strength, and I need Your help. Please send someone to help me, Lord, someone who can help me with the children … someone who can be my friend.
    And Lord, watch over Jeb, always.

    Jeb dismounted and went into the house. He called out, “Flora!” and heard her answer faintly from the bedroom.
    He found her lying on the bed, covered with two thick quilts in spite of the heat. She was pale and had purple shadows under her eyes.
    “Flora, my darling, what’s wrong?”
    “I’m—I guess I’m just tired,” she replied weakly.
    He laid his big hand on her forehead, his touch as delicate as a woman’s. “No, you’re ill. You’re feverish. How long have you been sick?” Jeb had been gone for a day and a night, working with his new recruits, doing the mounds of paperwork required for a unit commander, meeting with his new officers.
    Flora relented and said, “I started feeling a little unwell yesterday. I got up early and took care of the children, but I thought that I would just lie down and rest for a little while.”
    Jeb said grimly, “This won’t do, Flora. I’m going to find someone to stay with you.”
    “Who?” Flora asked. “And however can you find a woman, just like that? You’re so busy you don’t have time for such things.”
    Jeb was stricken. The melancholy in his wife’s voice and her words wounded him as surely as if he had been stabbed. He had a tender heart as far as his wife and children were