"Oh, no, no, my child," I said reassuringly, trying to soothe and calm him. "No, no; don't be such a little coward, dear. If he is one of your brother George's friends he is mine, too, and he would not hurt me. I am not in the least afraid, and I will go down at once and see him."
"Please don't go, sister, you might be killed and I promised brother George to take care of you."
"That's a sweet boy; take care of the baby," I said and, kissing them both, closed the door behind me.
As I entered the parlor a tall, thin gentleman with the sweetest of smiles and the kindest of voices, dressed in the uniform of a United States surgeon, arose and said as he bowed, holding his hat against his breast, thus avoiding offering me his hand:
"My name is George Suckley, madam. I am one of George Pickett's friends, although, as soldiers, we have been enemies in the field for more than three years. That, however, does not interfere with us when we are not on duty. I have heard that you southern women are very bitter, and I did not know how you, his wife—you are Pickett's wife, are you not, madam?—would take a visit from me, but I came, nevertheless. Knowing and loving George Pickett as I do, I knew he would appreciate my motive in coming."
"Your name is a very familiar one, Dr. Suckley," I said. "I have often heard the General speak of you, and recall many stories of your adventures—your love for bugs and beetles, for all natural history, in fact." I wished him to know that I remembered him and had not mistaken him for another, and also that I had reason to wonder at seeing him in his present position. "He spoke of your having been with him at Fort Bellingham Bay, and knowing how you felt when he left the old army, he wondered at your remaining and going to the front."
"I am a surgeon in Grant's army," said Dr. Suckley, proudly, ignoring and, by his manner, almost resenting my reference to his former sympathy with the South. "I love Pickett, and came, as he would have come had our positions been reversed, to see his wife and offer her my services."
I thanked this kind-hearted gentleman and distinguished officer, but was too bitter to accept the smallest courtesy at his hands, even in my husband's name and offered for love's sake—so bitter that suffering was preferable to such obligation. He bowed and was going, when I said:
"Doctor, is there any news of the army?—ours, I mean."
"The war is over, madam. You have my address, if you should change your mind and will show me how I can serve you."