Twenty-Nine, Revelation (part two)

Twenty-Nine

28 May 1824  Evening

I am writing again this evening.  Writing calms me.  I will continue where I left off.

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I arrived at home, out of breath, and stopped short of the door. I bent over, gasping for air, and realized that my feet were bleeding. Never mind that now. I had to gather my thoughts, but I couldn't.

Sweat mixed with dirt dripped from my forehead and nose; the lingering scent of pine needles clung to my hair, now a mass of tangles down to my waist. I leaned against the front door and considered what I should do. I entered into the darkened center hallway within, full of confusion.

The bitter, pungent smell of chicory emanated from a pot hanging on a iron hook above the smoldering coals. I took the poker and stoked the embers, adding a split pine log in the hope of a quick return to flame. Soon, the fire returned, but as the log had been damp, musty smoke engulfed the room, burning my eyes and causing me to cough.  I went back outside and sat on the stoop to think.

What did this all mean?

Before I could figure this out, Doc Thompson arrived with TJ riding up right behind.  They tethered their horses to the peach tree and brushed by me.  No time for introductions. Doc appeared exhausted; no doubt the storm caused many injuries that he has been attending to, and then he was required to ride the eleven miles to our house.  He likely has had little sleep in the past several days.

I re-entered the smoky, but bearable downstairs hallway and waited for what seemed an interminable amount of time.  Muffled voices, then footsteps paced the floor.  I assumed those were Mother's given the lighter step.

Doc and TJ came back down the steps past me, TJ giving his goodbye, while the weary doc mounted his horse and rode on.

TJ turned to me, told me that doc said that Father had a cracked rib, as thought, but that this would eventually heal.  But, and here TJ paused.  But, he said, Father has consumption.  He may not live long, anywhere from a few weeks to maybe as long as a  year or two.

This I was not prepared for, even though Father's cough has been getting worse.  Immediately, I became concerned for all of us who have been around Father, one way another.  TJ shared this concern, especially since he has been living with Father for several years.

We went outside to sit on the stoop.

There is so much that is not known or understood about this disease, he said.  That the disease does not yet seem to have been spread is a good thing.  Perhaps we are all immune.  Or, more likely, perhaps we do not yet have visible symptoms.  TJ looked very worried.

TJ, this is all the more reason that you need to get away, I said. 

He turned to me, and continued, with a growing bitterness that I have never witnessed in him.  TJ has always been the rock in our family, the one  who always was responsible, the one who did things without complaint.

You don't know, he said. 

He looked away for a moment, then faced me, his eyes squinting with rage, his fists clenched.

He continued, his voice low, but seething.

All these years.  All these years, he repeated.  I have been dutiful, I have not complained, I have not said anything. 

I was six.  Six! when I had to go with Father.  You and the girls were the lucky ones, being able to stay with Mother.  And I don't think Father even wanted us boys.  But he was able to take us because that is what the law says he can do.

Warner and Daniel escaped soon enough from his tyranny, although, to them, Father was not all that bad.

TJ began weeping, putting his head in his hands, hiding his eyes.  His shoulders shook.  I sat, dumbfounded.  I had always thought that TJ was on Father's side, would always defend him.  But then I realized that TJ never talked about Father.  He just went about, tending to business, rarely saying anything at all.

TJ finally looked at me, eyes red.  You know what? he said.  I finally feel free of all this.  I no longer will have anything to do with him.  You and Mother figure it out.  I'm done.

With that, he went to his horse, mounted, and left.

So much was happening in so short a time.  It was hard to understand everything right then.  I went inside, took my place at the table with my back to the hearth, for I was shivering now.  It was still warm outside, but I was freezing.  I got out this journal, and I have been writing for hours.  Thinking, crying, and writing.