father isn't Patrick Henry. You don't know how lucky you are. Evelyn's father is in debt. Like so many other families in Virginia who insist on growing tobacco. Pa long since gave it up for growing wheat and grains."
"I'll tell them you said that." She was uncontrollable.
"You dare!" I whirled on her. I grabbed her arm hard and shook her. "And you are not to say a word about her niece Sarah and Jonathan Snead. Do you hear?"
"I might as well not even go, if I can't talk."
But she heard. I scared her to death, poor child.
"Can I go and see Mama?" Her voice got plaintive. And her face lost its sharp angles and resumed the round innocence of childish need.
"No, she's resting. We can pay her a visit later. Go clean up. Then to the books. I must see to Edward."
Chapter Eight
"T HE ROOM FOR your mother is finished, love," MyJohn said. "Why don't you come down and see it?"
It was two days later. I was reading the
Gazette.
Whereas Martha Beasley, my wife, has absented herself from me and goes about scandalizing my character and threatening that she or some of her associates will swear away my life; and as I am of the opinion that she has lost her senses: These are therefore to forward all persons from harboring or trusting her on my account, for I will not pay any debt she shall contract, from the date hereof. Signed, William Beasley.
"Patsy?"
I read the words over and over. Then I dropped the paper and picked up the dress I was making for Anne.
"I'm studying on whether to put some lace at the sleeves of Anne's gown. What do you think? She'll likely be the only little girl there without it."
"You must abide by your pa's resolutions," MyJohn said.
"Anne hates it that Pa won't let her wear silk."
"At her age hate comes easily. And doesn't last. What were you reading in the paper?"
"I was just realizing how many notices there are about women running off from their husbands. Mayhap if Mama had run off, you wouldn't have to be building a room for her now."
"Patsy, don't," he pleaded.
"I'm just saying that with these women, running off might be to save their sanity."
"The room is ready for your mama," he said again.
Why is it that when men don't wish to face something they wash it over and pretend it does not exist? I looked down at my stitching.
"You and I are responsible for the younger children," he reminded me. "This is the only way, Patsy."
"I'll be along in a minute," I said.
***
I 'D ALWAYS KNOWN the ceiling was low, but why did it seem so much lower now?
"Pegg put up the curtains," MyJohn offered. He was trying so hard to please me.
They were homespun. And all the hammering I'd heard had been for the new heart-pine floor, which was now covered with animal skins. The wide hearth had always been there, of course. But now a brass kettle hung on a polished crane. There was a heavy oak table. The walls gleamed with whiteness. There was one of Mama's favorite rocking chairs, a clothespress, and a bed with one of her favorite quilts on it.
John and MyJohn stood looking at me, waiting.
"It's beautiful."
"She can come down this very day," MyJohn said.
"Not yet, MyJohn," I said. "She's been quiet and good. Not yet. She needs more time."
"You mean you do."
"All right, yes. I do. I have to become accustomed to this."
He sighed. "I suppose it is accorded to man born of woman to wait," he said.
"Don't blaspheme," I told him. When everything about the whole business was a blasphemy, anyway.
***
O VER THE NEXT two days I readied clothes for Anne and William to go to the Hoopers'.
And still Mama did not go to the cellar.
MyJohn was patient with me. He waited.
I told him it was better to do it when the children were away. John would see them to the Hoopers' safely. Into a basket I put preserved jellies, pickles, and some pastries. One did not arrive to be a guest at a plantation without bringing along gifts.
Into Anne and William I put the fear of God.
For two days I lectured them on manners. Still, when the
"I'll tell them you said that." She was uncontrollable.
"You dare!" I whirled on her. I grabbed her arm hard and shook her. "And you are not to say a word about her niece Sarah and Jonathan Snead. Do you hear?"
"I might as well not even go, if I can't talk."
But she heard. I scared her to death, poor child.
"Can I go and see Mama?" Her voice got plaintive. And her face lost its sharp angles and resumed the round innocence of childish need.
"No, she's resting. We can pay her a visit later. Go clean up. Then to the books. I must see to Edward."
Chapter Eight
"T HE ROOM FOR your mother is finished, love," MyJohn said. "Why don't you come down and see it?"
It was two days later. I was reading the
Gazette.
Whereas Martha Beasley, my wife, has absented herself from me and goes about scandalizing my character and threatening that she or some of her associates will swear away my life; and as I am of the opinion that she has lost her senses: These are therefore to forward all persons from harboring or trusting her on my account, for I will not pay any debt she shall contract, from the date hereof. Signed, William Beasley.
"Patsy?"
I read the words over and over. Then I dropped the paper and picked up the dress I was making for Anne.
"I'm studying on whether to put some lace at the sleeves of Anne's gown. What do you think? She'll likely be the only little girl there without it."
"You must abide by your pa's resolutions," MyJohn said.
"Anne hates it that Pa won't let her wear silk."
"At her age hate comes easily. And doesn't last. What were you reading in the paper?"
"I was just realizing how many notices there are about women running off from their husbands. Mayhap if Mama had run off, you wouldn't have to be building a room for her now."
"Patsy, don't," he pleaded.
"I'm just saying that with these women, running off might be to save their sanity."
"The room is ready for your mama," he said again.
Why is it that when men don't wish to face something they wash it over and pretend it does not exist? I looked down at my stitching.
"You and I are responsible for the younger children," he reminded me. "This is the only way, Patsy."
"I'll be along in a minute," I said.
***
I 'D ALWAYS KNOWN the ceiling was low, but why did it seem so much lower now?
"Pegg put up the curtains," MyJohn offered. He was trying so hard to please me.
They were homespun. And all the hammering I'd heard had been for the new heart-pine floor, which was now covered with animal skins. The wide hearth had always been there, of course. But now a brass kettle hung on a polished crane. There was a heavy oak table. The walls gleamed with whiteness. There was one of Mama's favorite rocking chairs, a clothespress, and a bed with one of her favorite quilts on it.
John and MyJohn stood looking at me, waiting.
"It's beautiful."
"She can come down this very day," MyJohn said.
"Not yet, MyJohn," I said. "She's been quiet and good. Not yet. She needs more time."
"You mean you do."
"All right, yes. I do. I have to become accustomed to this."
He sighed. "I suppose it is accorded to man born of woman to wait," he said.
"Don't blaspheme," I told him. When everything about the whole business was a blasphemy, anyway.
***
O VER THE NEXT two days I readied clothes for Anne and William to go to the Hoopers'.
And still Mama did not go to the cellar.
MyJohn was patient with me. He waited.
I told him it was better to do it when the children were away. John would see them to the Hoopers' safely. Into a basket I put preserved jellies, pickles, and some pastries. One did not arrive to be a guest at a plantation without bringing along gifts.
Into Anne and William I put the fear of God.
For two days I lectured them on manners. Still, when the
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