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soldiers began to crawl out of the sodden trenches, congregating together on the road and questioning the ragged refugees, who seemed anxious to stagger on toward the town. “What must we do now?” they kept saying.
    A newly appointed captain, formerly an officer on the
Virginia,
herded them back to their posts. “Our orders are to guard this town. The Federals may soon be coming after our president. We protect them until somebody tells us different.” He looked around at the men under his command. “Hawks! Bridgeford! Escort these fugitives into town and see that their news is reported to Admiral—er,
General
Semmes. Tell him that we await further orders.”
    Still dazed from this thunderbolt of news, Gabrielfelt himself stagger out of the ditch like a stunned ox. He felt Bridgeford’s hand steadying him as he teetered on the edge of the embankment. “Is the war over, Tom?” he whispered, blinking away the wetness from his eyelashes.
    â€œNot for us,” muttered Bridgeford.

“
I wish I was in the land of cotton.”
    â€” DANIEL D. EMMETT,
“Dixie”
CHAPTER 4

    THE FLIGHT TO Danville, Virginia, might have been relatively pleasant if it had started later in the day, and if they hadn’t had to change planes in Pittsburgh. Still, it was too much to ask for a direct flight to such a tiny place, Kimball supposed. The possibility of arriving by turnip truck had crossed his mind. He had read all of
The New York Times
with more than customary thoroughness and had given up trying to find something worth reading in the in-flight magazine when the pilot made the landing announcement. Mr. Huff, who had slept fitfully for most of the journey, was still stretched out in the adjoining seat, dreaming with an unpleasant expression that suggested that he was playing the villain in his own nightmare. Kimball hated to awaken the sleeping dragon, but it had to be done. With some misgivings he nudged Mr. Huff gently and whispered, “We’re coming into Danville, sir.”
    With reptilian alertness Huff opened his eyesand leaned over Kimball to peer out the window. “Call that an airport?” he growled.
    Kimball longed to point out that Mr. Huff’s own local airport, that of Westchester, New York, was about the size of a potting shed and contained tin-sheeted wooden baggage carousels that did not revolve, but he refrained from comment, rightly suspecting that the comparison would not be appreciated.
    They gathered up their briefcases and made their way down the commuter plane’s metal ladder onto the tarmac. A flight of steps took them inside the terminal to a small glassed waiting area, which was empty except for a blond young man, holding aloft a sign that read: I TOLD YOU SO . Nathan Kimball grinned, remembering Mr. Huff’s insistence on being met with a welcoming sign. “I think that must be the sellers’ attorney, Mr. MacPherson,” he said, nodding toward the sign.
    John Huff scowled at the placard. “Well, how was I to know?” he demanded of no one in particular. Then he seemed to make up his mind to be charming, because he thrust out his hand and assumed a brisk smile. “MacPherson! Good of you to meet us. When can we see the house?”
    A flurry of introductions later, Bill replied, “We’ve been asked to wait until two o’clock to view the house, so as not to disturb the owners. They’ll be out this afternoon, but I think that I can answer any questions you might have.” Heconsulted his watch. “It’s just on twelve now. Why don’t I give you a quick tour of the city. It’s a rather historic place, you know. And then we can get some lunch at Ashley’s Buffet.”
    â€œYes, I’m rather interested in history,” said John Huff. “I’ve heard of Danville.”
    â€œEverybody has, thanks to Johnny Cash,” said Bill. “I can show you where the train wreck