The Lords of Discipline Read Online Free PDF

said. “Then we’ll go in and face the other men in my life.” Her eyes left mine and traveled up the brick, ficus-covered walls to the window, through which the bright, lovely petals of Mozart dropped into the garden. “You and I have never talked about Tradd. We’ve always had this silent acquiescence between us that there were things we both knew but never discussed. There have been far too many taboos between us, Will.”
    “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Abigail.”
    “What do the boys in the barracks really think about Tradd? I’d like the truth.”
    “They like him a lot. They think he’s a really good guy. They’re always talking about how well he’s fitted in since his plebe year.”
    “That sounds like what a courteous young man tells a mother to make her feel good about her son.”
    “You should feel good. And you should feel very proud,” I said, somewhat defensively. “He had a terrible time his plebe year. But that’s not unusual. I had a terrible time, too. But once you make it through that year at the Institute, they leave you pretty much alone. Tradd has adapted to the ways of the Corps. He’s a first lieutenant, Abigail. He’s doing a lot better than I am.”
    “Do they find him odd, Will? Do they find him effeminate?”
    “He’s an English major, Abigail!” I almost shouted. “An English major like me. The Corps thinks all English majors are queer as three-dollar bills. He’s gentle and unathletic. He has a high-pitched voice, plays the piano, and refuses to use foul language, which is the only way to make yourself clearly understood in the barracks. That causes people to talk, but it’s not important. It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve tried to get him to show more interest in girls to quiet some of the talk. But you know what he says to me?”
    “Of course not.”
    “He says that he goes out with girls at least as much as I do.”
    “And what do you say to that?”
    “I don’t say anything, because it’s true.”
    “Be patient about girls, Will,” Abigail said tenderly, touching my face with a large, hesitant hand. “Some fine girl will come along and appreciate you for all the right reasons. Young girls have an infinite capacity for being attracted to the wrong sort of men. I know about this. All about it.”
    “Commerce is a fine man, Abigail,” I said, uncomfortable with the sudden turn of the conversation. “He’s got one of those screwed-up Charleston first names, but so does Tradd. So does everybody in this sad, silly town.”
    “He was very handsome and charming and available when I met him. He was considerably older than I was, and there was as much pressure for him to get married as there was for me. I was gawky and big-footed and horse-faced and felt very lucky to get him. And we’ve made a life together, after a fashion. I think because he’s away from Charleston so much, we are able to enjoy each other’s company much of the time.”
    “Is that why you seem unhappy sometimes, Abigail? Because of your marriage?”
    “I’m not unhappy, Will. I want you to know that, and I want you to remember it. I have more to be thankful for than most people who inhabit the earth. I have a lovely home, and I’ve raised a fine and sensitive son. And I have a husband who loves me despite his eccentricities and my ample faults.”
    I loved the face of Abigail St. Croix as I often love the faces of men and women who have an unshakable faith in their own homeliness. On this overcast late afternoon, her face, in the green, leaf-filtered gauze of light, was both classic and frozen in its demeanor and repose. Her face had integrity, an undefilable resignation. If it was handsome, it was all a cold, sedate handsomeness that gave off a somewhat disturbing aura of wisdom and pain, of having lived deeply, suffered, rallied, despaired, laughed at her despair until the face that survived all these countless darkening moods and transfigurements was lined with discernment,