nodded silently. We went into Pa's study.
David closed the door, expecting anything. I got right to it.
"When you go down to see Mr. Cameron, you're going to find a note on his lapel," I told him.
He scowled. "Explain."
"His son wrote it and left it for his pa."
He nodded his head slowly, his eyes narrowing. David was nothing if not wise. "His pa was sleeping and he did not wake him," he said dully.
"Yes."
He cursed. Nobody could curse like David. It was never in anger, always done softly and carefully, almost like a prayer. I think God must have taken it as one, becauseâand I hope this is not blasphemyâGod's name was somehow always in it.
Silence between us for a moment while I waited to see where he was going to lay blame. Likely on me.
I was right. "You were there with him."
"Yes."
"You gave him the paper and pencil for the note?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't
you
wake Mr. Cameron?"
I'd asked myself that a hundred times since Michael had left. I'd asked myself in my sleep. "I don't know, David. I thought about it, but I didn't know if I had the right to."
"The
right? The right?
You had the
obligation!
That man's father is in our house. We are caring for him. And that is part of caring for him. Seeing after his interests. God, Tacy, don't you have any sense at all? I thought that sooner or later you'd acquire some, unselfconsciously, at least, just absorb it like a flower absorbs the sun!"
I started to choke back tears.
"No crying. I won't have it! Come along with me."
I ceased crying before it even started. The tears were scared out of me. I followed him out of Pa's study, down the hall, and past Mama and Josie, then down the cellar stairs. There we found Mr. Cameron, still sleeping. We stood over him just half a second.
Then David reached down and gently took the note from him.
"David, no!" I whispered.
His scowl was so fierce that all it needed was black powder to wound me in the head.
He gave the note to me. "Don't read it," he directed. "Rip it up."
"But, David, we have no right!"
"We have no right to let him have it and break his heart. Or maybe kill him on the spot. Now rip it up."
I did so. Then he took the pieces and, for good measure, threw them in the fire that burned in the cellar hearth.
"Tell this to nobody," he said.
I could not believe what we had just done. What I had just done at his bidding. Of course, I had no choice: I
had
to do his bidding. I had to obey him. Mama herself had told me that.
But how, how could he have been so certain that he was right? How could he always be so sure of his own rightness and never question himself? Never waver for a moment to see the other person's side of it? Not even for a God-given little minute? Myself, somehow, despite my young years, I always knew there was another side to everything, and that was what frightened me in this world. The other side of things, and the fact that I might not see them.
But not my brother Davidâoh, no. He knew all and he saw all, God help him.
I personally was acquainted with people who prayed to be like David, and likely would never make it. Was it a blessing in the end to be like him? Or was it a curse? Only God knew, I decided. All I knew was that it must be a terrible burden.
We went upstairs and David told Josie to fix supper for Mr. Cameron, to bring it down and wake him up to eat.
Without looking at me, he said. "Come and talk to me sometime when you acquire some sense."
It was worse than being slapped.
By now, Yankee officers were taking their lives in their hands to ride through the street and yell, "Women and children to the cellars! The Rebs are going to shell the town!"
So David helped me and Josie bring mattresses and pillows and blankets down to the cellar. Josie, who lived with her own mother a block away, usually went home at night, but this night David asked her to stay. He was fearful to let her go.
We slept in the cellar that night, all of us except David. I don't know where he slept
David closed the door, expecting anything. I got right to it.
"When you go down to see Mr. Cameron, you're going to find a note on his lapel," I told him.
He scowled. "Explain."
"His son wrote it and left it for his pa."
He nodded his head slowly, his eyes narrowing. David was nothing if not wise. "His pa was sleeping and he did not wake him," he said dully.
"Yes."
He cursed. Nobody could curse like David. It was never in anger, always done softly and carefully, almost like a prayer. I think God must have taken it as one, becauseâand I hope this is not blasphemyâGod's name was somehow always in it.
Silence between us for a moment while I waited to see where he was going to lay blame. Likely on me.
I was right. "You were there with him."
"Yes."
"You gave him the paper and pencil for the note?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't
you
wake Mr. Cameron?"
I'd asked myself that a hundred times since Michael had left. I'd asked myself in my sleep. "I don't know, David. I thought about it, but I didn't know if I had the right to."
"The
right? The right?
You had the
obligation!
That man's father is in our house. We are caring for him. And that is part of caring for him. Seeing after his interests. God, Tacy, don't you have any sense at all? I thought that sooner or later you'd acquire some, unselfconsciously, at least, just absorb it like a flower absorbs the sun!"
I started to choke back tears.
"No crying. I won't have it! Come along with me."
I ceased crying before it even started. The tears were scared out of me. I followed him out of Pa's study, down the hall, and past Mama and Josie, then down the cellar stairs. There we found Mr. Cameron, still sleeping. We stood over him just half a second.
Then David reached down and gently took the note from him.
"David, no!" I whispered.
His scowl was so fierce that all it needed was black powder to wound me in the head.
He gave the note to me. "Don't read it," he directed. "Rip it up."
"But, David, we have no right!"
"We have no right to let him have it and break his heart. Or maybe kill him on the spot. Now rip it up."
I did so. Then he took the pieces and, for good measure, threw them in the fire that burned in the cellar hearth.
"Tell this to nobody," he said.
I could not believe what we had just done. What I had just done at his bidding. Of course, I had no choice: I
had
to do his bidding. I had to obey him. Mama herself had told me that.
But how, how could he have been so certain that he was right? How could he always be so sure of his own rightness and never question himself? Never waver for a moment to see the other person's side of it? Not even for a God-given little minute? Myself, somehow, despite my young years, I always knew there was another side to everything, and that was what frightened me in this world. The other side of things, and the fact that I might not see them.
But not my brother Davidâoh, no. He knew all and he saw all, God help him.
I personally was acquainted with people who prayed to be like David, and likely would never make it. Was it a blessing in the end to be like him? Or was it a curse? Only God knew, I decided. All I knew was that it must be a terrible burden.
We went upstairs and David told Josie to fix supper for Mr. Cameron, to bring it down and wake him up to eat.
Without looking at me, he said. "Come and talk to me sometime when you acquire some sense."
It was worse than being slapped.
By now, Yankee officers were taking their lives in their hands to ride through the street and yell, "Women and children to the cellars! The Rebs are going to shell the town!"
So David helped me and Josie bring mattresses and pillows and blankets down to the cellar. Josie, who lived with her own mother a block away, usually went home at night, but this night David asked her to stay. He was fearful to let her go.
We slept in the cellar that night, all of us except David. I don't know where he slept
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