And he had to talk with James.
"Your father would paddle him good," Mama said.
I followed him down the hall. "Landon."
"Yes?"
"Pa wouldn't. He wouldn't paddle James. He never hit us."
His smile now was solemn. "I know, Claire Louise. I was once a little boy in this family, too, remember? Now don't worry yourself. I know what I'm about."
Chapter Ten
I think it is eighteen days now that we have lived in our cave.
I never thought I could learn to do this. I, who come from a bedroom with English wallpaper and Persian rugs.
I never thought I would see my mother do it. But she does. She has accommodated herself, like Lady Jane Grey did when she was sent to the Tower of London. That is how I see her when I come into the kitchen mornings, after we have spent the night with the thundering of the Parrott guns, the unrelenting fire of small arms, the shrill whistling of shells. Early this morning, though, what woke me was the cooing of swallows on our roof.
I found Mama at the table, dressed in her morning gown, sipping her tea, just as she'd be in her sun-filled dining room at home. Never mind that she is worried about the shortage of food, or if the mail will come through.
Does she think, even for a moment, of the pots of flowers she left on the front steps at home? Does she wonder if our house will be hit with cannon fire this day?
I do, though I do not mention such to her. I just sit down at the table with her and pour myself some tea.
But there is one good thing we have working in our favor. Unlike a lot of other caves around us, we have water. Pa made sure of that. Unfortunate others trudge, daily, with pails and buckets to the stream far below us to fetch water of an uncertain color and character, to wash with, cook with, and even drink. As at home, we have a cistern in the cellar of this cave, round and full of God's good rainwater. And we all, in turn, go down with a lantern and becalm ourselves and bathe with some of Mama's lavender soap from home.
This tub of water, which flows in and out, always fresh, is our gift from God.
I took a bath that very afternoon. I put on clean clothes and made my decision like a human being, not like a rat in captivity.
I would go to the hospital twice a week and write letters for the brave boys who needed them written. I felt good, making my decision.
But now there was another one to make. Something else was gnawing at my innards.
What to do about Robert.
For it was as clear to me as water in the cistern that I would have to do something. I could not leave it to Landon. He was too tied up with his honor codes, all twisted between his duty as a doctor and his duty as a soldier, to do anything.
Anybody who had honor like Landon had would always be in trouble.
So if something had to be done, I had to do it. Because he'd told me about it. He'd dragged me into it. And
anyway, he was too busy. He had to report to Milliken's Bend hospital soon. And then what? Leave Robert here with us?
Suppose the authorities traced Robert down? And found him hidden away with the mother of a son who was with the Union army?
No. The more I thought about it, the faster my imagination worked. That's what comes from reading too much Edgar Allen Poe.
And whatever I did, I had to do it soon. I was un-emcumbered by honor. My life wouldn't be ruined if I slipped Robert out of the scene.
It was still light when Landon left and about dusk when Mama called me aside. "Nobody knows but me and Easter and now you," she said.
Oh, good. More conspiracy. Just what I needed.
"The food is almost gone," she told me. "And I don't know what to do. I didn't want to tell Landon. He has enough on his mind. Mostly, it's you children I worry about. And Robert. He needs food if he's to get well. So I was thinking, Claire Louise, since the shelling has stopped for supper, can you take James and go on down by the creek and see if there are any blackberries left? I have enough meal for Easter to make some cornbread."
So
"Your father would paddle him good," Mama said.
I followed him down the hall. "Landon."
"Yes?"
"Pa wouldn't. He wouldn't paddle James. He never hit us."
His smile now was solemn. "I know, Claire Louise. I was once a little boy in this family, too, remember? Now don't worry yourself. I know what I'm about."
Chapter Ten
I think it is eighteen days now that we have lived in our cave.
I never thought I could learn to do this. I, who come from a bedroom with English wallpaper and Persian rugs.
I never thought I would see my mother do it. But she does. She has accommodated herself, like Lady Jane Grey did when she was sent to the Tower of London. That is how I see her when I come into the kitchen mornings, after we have spent the night with the thundering of the Parrott guns, the unrelenting fire of small arms, the shrill whistling of shells. Early this morning, though, what woke me was the cooing of swallows on our roof.
I found Mama at the table, dressed in her morning gown, sipping her tea, just as she'd be in her sun-filled dining room at home. Never mind that she is worried about the shortage of food, or if the mail will come through.
Does she think, even for a moment, of the pots of flowers she left on the front steps at home? Does she wonder if our house will be hit with cannon fire this day?
I do, though I do not mention such to her. I just sit down at the table with her and pour myself some tea.
But there is one good thing we have working in our favor. Unlike a lot of other caves around us, we have water. Pa made sure of that. Unfortunate others trudge, daily, with pails and buckets to the stream far below us to fetch water of an uncertain color and character, to wash with, cook with, and even drink. As at home, we have a cistern in the cellar of this cave, round and full of God's good rainwater. And we all, in turn, go down with a lantern and becalm ourselves and bathe with some of Mama's lavender soap from home.
This tub of water, which flows in and out, always fresh, is our gift from God.
I took a bath that very afternoon. I put on clean clothes and made my decision like a human being, not like a rat in captivity.
I would go to the hospital twice a week and write letters for the brave boys who needed them written. I felt good, making my decision.
But now there was another one to make. Something else was gnawing at my innards.
What to do about Robert.
For it was as clear to me as water in the cistern that I would have to do something. I could not leave it to Landon. He was too tied up with his honor codes, all twisted between his duty as a doctor and his duty as a soldier, to do anything.
Anybody who had honor like Landon had would always be in trouble.
So if something had to be done, I had to do it. Because he'd told me about it. He'd dragged me into it. And
anyway, he was too busy. He had to report to Milliken's Bend hospital soon. And then what? Leave Robert here with us?
Suppose the authorities traced Robert down? And found him hidden away with the mother of a son who was with the Union army?
No. The more I thought about it, the faster my imagination worked. That's what comes from reading too much Edgar Allen Poe.
And whatever I did, I had to do it soon. I was un-emcumbered by honor. My life wouldn't be ruined if I slipped Robert out of the scene.
It was still light when Landon left and about dusk when Mama called me aside. "Nobody knows but me and Easter and now you," she said.
Oh, good. More conspiracy. Just what I needed.
"The food is almost gone," she told me. "And I don't know what to do. I didn't want to tell Landon. He has enough on his mind. Mostly, it's you children I worry about. And Robert. He needs food if he's to get well. So I was thinking, Claire Louise, since the shelling has stopped for supper, can you take James and go on down by the creek and see if there are any blackberries left? I have enough meal for Easter to make some cornbread."
So
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