where he had placed it almost as an afterthought. Ruthie Langford had asked him to bring it so she could take a picture for the church bulletin, even though he had explained twice that the Army did not promote officers for the benefit of church photographs. Ruthie had responded that she would be the judge of what made a good church photograph.
Sergeant Calvin Hendry drove with the relaxed concentration of someone who genuinely liked driving. At thirty-one, he was much younger than Nathaniel, and he had served on the general's staff for three years. He had arranged his leave so he could travel south with Nathaniel, who had offered him the passenger seat and the use of the vehicle instead. Calvin insisted on driving, partly out of habit and partly because he did not like watching the general navigate unfamiliar traffic while trying to answer calls from relatives.
"You know you're allowed to sit back and let someone else do something for you, sir," Calvin said as the highway opened into a long straightaway. Nathaniel glanced at the speedometer, which rested just below the posted limit, and raised an eyebrow. "Apparently I'm also allowed to have my driving criticized by a sergeant on leave," he replied. Calvin smiled without taking his eyes from the road. "Only because I'm good at it. My aunt says God gave me two talents: driving and knowing when not to speak."
"Your aunt has been generous on the second point," Nathaniel said. They both laughed, and for a few miles the car held the comfortable silence of two men who had worked through too many tense mornings together to feel any need to fill every quiet space. Nathaniel lowered his window slightly, letting the humid air move through the cabin. The smell of pine resin brought back memories so sharply that he could almost hear his father's old pickup rattling over the same highway.
"Last time I drove toward Carthage without a return ticket, I was seventeen," he said. "I had a duffel bag with two shirts, a pair of dress shoes that pinched my feet, and forty dollars my father folded into a Bible." Calvin glanced at him briefly.
"Heading for the Army?" Nathaniel nodded. "Heading for a recruiting appointment in Atlanta, which was not quite the same thing. I thought if I got there early enough and shook the man's hand firmly enough, he might give me a future."
He remembered that morning with embarrassing clarity. Ruthie had stood beside the Greyhound bus holding a brown paper bag containing three sandwiches, two oranges, and a note he had pretended not to see her slip inside. His father, Thomas, had given him instructions about the bus transfer and then repeated them twice. At the last minute Thomas had gripped Nathaniel's shoulder and said, "Don't let anybody tell you where the ceiling is. You decide how high you can stand."