Twenty-Eight
Revelation
28 May 1829
In the consternation of yesterday's
events, I forgot that it was Sunday.
This usually is insignificant in our household, except that we avail
ourselves of going to Uncle's. I
previously had other plans in mind for that day, though, as I had intended to
go to the Methodist services at the Terrys.
Truthfully, I wanted again to attack the pianoforte with Beethoven's
"Moonlight Sonata", the piece I used to play years ago when I was
feeling melancholy. I had other things
on my mind yesterday, however, and the trip to the Terrys was forgotten.
I came home from my Great Walk just
before dark yesterday, well after supper, and I hungrily attacked the dried
bread that was left on the table. I also
found a peach, recently plucked from a tree planted just before our arrival in Alabama South Carolina
In my absence, Nan and Patsy had packed
some belongings in a trunk, Nan tearfully and
Patsy cheerfully, or so Mother told me late last night. Uncle was about to not only have his usual
Sunday visit, but it would be turning into quite the stay, I suspect. Mother did not go, but sent Thomas with the
wagon. I have not had the report of what
transpired, but Uncle must have agreed for the two sisters to stay, as the
girls were absent last evening and Thomas had returned.
Mother came down from the upstairs upon
hearing my presence, banging about, looking for food. She look more worried than angry, and for
that, I was thankful. She told me that
she knew my nature, and further knew that I would not be very agreeable to
Father being in the house. But it is an
accomplished fact. She then told me that
Father has taken a turn for the worse, and that she fears for him. I thought at first that this statement was a
play for my sympathy, in the hope that I would have pity in my heart. She need not have bothered, for pity I have
little of.
I soon realized, however, that she was
in earnest and her concern quite real.
She said that she was going to send for the doctor in Vernon
After my writing session at the table,
I turned into the bed in Mother's room, but absent Mother. She, true to what she had said, stayed at
Father's side, dozing from time to time.
The doors between our rooms remained open, and I awoke to see her in the
chair beside his bed, sometimes reaching over to feel his feverish
forehead. After my second writing
session last night, I finally fell into a deeper sleep.
At dawn this morning, TJ arose, not
needing to dress as he had no change of clothing with him. He will later see if he can find some among
the rubble that was Father's cabin (TJ having lived with father for several
years), but his first mission was to fetch a doctor. He grabbed the brown and white mare from the
barn whom we call Molly, and headed out in haste to fetch Dr. Robbins in Vernon
Mother was asleep, slumped over the
bed, head down, buried in the quilt. I
heard an occasional cough, Father having been propped up a bit. If he
lies propped up in the bed, his cough is better, but the pain is worse. Conversely,
when he lies flat, his cough is worse, but the pain is somewhat better.
As Mother slept, I heard father whispering,
loud enough for me to hear, "Susie" and something about "sister." I could not make it out. Was he calling for his sister whom he
mistakenly thought was Susie, or the other way around? As Mother stirred, awakening, I arose and
dressed and went downstairs.
With my sisters gone, the chore
of cooking falls squarely to me and Mother. This is an unfortunate turn of
events for those within my tumultuous household, for I certainly cannot prepare
anything apart from jam on bread. Perhaps "tumultuous" is an
overstatement, as I am the only inhabitant who appears to be disturbed by
Father's presence.
I was thus grateful for the warm
biscuits, brought up by Susie minutes ago, placed upon our table before she
quickly exited. I watched out the window as she scurried down the back path to
the slave quarters. She was wise to not
have simply left them on our doorstep, as Father's dog is ever present by the
door. I took three of the dozen or so,
wrapped in a warm towel, and considered whether I should leave the
residence. Perhaps it was stubbornness,
mixed with a bit of rebelliousness, that compelled me out the door.
Just before my long walk to the
river, I plucked several blackberries from the bushes at the forest edge. Juicy
and tangy, the flavor burst on my grateful tongue, for I have been quite hungry
as of late, given my forays hither and yon. I partook with due deliberation,
I considered the texture, rough
and seedy and slightly crunchy. It then occurred to me to pair them with the biscuits,
made with the addition of buttermilk and cornmeal. I slowly nibbled at this
joined concoction, enjoying each tiny bite. I rolled each portion around on my
tongue, tasting little pockets of salt that had not been stirred into the
biscuit dough properly. But this made for a delightful combination of sweetness
and salt, with a dash of sour from the occasional unripe berry. I headed down the path toward the river.
The twittering of the birds that
had started first as a small sound in the distance, was now quite the chattering
as I went along, barefoot. After my walk
yesterday, I found myself with blisters on the heels of my feet, and my shoes
almost ruined. I decided to venture out
without them. The forest floor was
covered with pine needles which made my little barefoot journey easier in a
way, although the occasional twig and thorn and rock reminded me that perhaps I
should have not been so hasty to have foregone the shoes.
The path from our house leads
perhaps two miles to the river, varying from deep forest to small clearings of
newer growth wood. Most of the trees are
pine, with the occasional oak and some other trees whose name I forget. The smell at this time of the day was
heavenly, the pine needles sending up a scent that permeated the entire forest. A flower or two on a vine here and there
poked their heads out and a very subtle, sweet vanilla scent wafted from them.
I have grown to love my walks to
the river. In the five years past, I
perhaps walked there once or twice a month, being much more inclined to stay
inside and write or read a book or daydream.
I have probably walked there more in the last two weeks than I have in
two months. A few more days of these
walks and it will be a habit.
I could see the river from about
thirty feet away when I chose to stop. I
did not want to have the sun on me as I had yesterday. I was a little red, and my skin felt tight,
hot, and dry; I was not going to repeat that mistake.
I found a large, smooth rock upon
which to sit, and gathering my skirts up a bit, sit I did. A mockingbird started its varying tune in the
distance, but it got closer and closer until I could see its grayish wings with
their stripes directly above me. I said
a little prayer to my grandmother, for I was superstitious enough to think that
whenever I saw what had been her favorite bird, that it was really she come to
look over me.
Sliding from the rock to the
forest floor, I carefully smoothed out a spot upon which to lie. I thought I'd be able to look up past the
treetops, up to blue patches of sky with marvelous tufts of white intermingled. I let down my hair, and loved that pine
needles found their way among the strands.
This way, I thought, I will have the scent with me for as long as I can.
Now this, I thought, is what God
truly is, or at least where he
is. All around us, alive and vibrant in
nature. I paused. While I be struck dead? Is this a sacrilegious thought? Since I really have no idea what religion
truly is, how would I know?
As I lay there, lost in thought,
I heard voices, occasionally laughing, and the tone going from low to high. I propped myself up on my elbows, but still
laying down for the most part. I tried
to see the source of the voices which seem to have stopped about fifty feet
away, advancing no further. And then,
one of the pair of them turned more toward my direction and there was
Susie. This got my curiosity, noting
that the other voice with the back to me belonged to a man, one with long black
hair, pulled back with a leather thong. I
recognized him as one of the natives who sometimes could be seen across the
river hunting or fishing.
The two embraced, and I was so
startled that I bolted upright, giving away my hiding place. Susie looked square at me, her gaze betraying
no fear or remorse, but perhaps more like defiance. This was a revelation, that Susie could have
a lover, and that he is a native. And
that he is not my father.
There. There it was.
The thought that I have had for years:
that Susie and Father were lovers.
I did not quite know what to
do. Should I pretend that I did not see
them? This would, of course, only be an
artifice, for truly I had seen them, of this there was no doubt in anyone's
mind. Should I approach, and say
something? This, I was unprepared to do
as I was without words.
So my third option, to leave, is
what I did. Up I got, brushed off as
much debris as I could, and headed back down the path toward home.
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