The Family Greene (14 page)

The whole room was, to me, sacred, nothing less.

Within minutes, Dr. Brickell came. He was white-haired and plump. He had hurried to us and was wiping the sweat from his brow. Immediately, he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, bowed to Mama, nodded to me, shook hands with General Wayne, and went right to Pa's side.

Pa woke, but he still could not speak. I saw panic in his eyes, but the doctor becalmed him.

Dr. Brickell drew some blood from Pa. I could not see the whole business because the doctor's body shielded the procedure, but I did not want to see it. Next he gave Pa some medicine.

I just sat there, quiet and not moving. I think they all forgot about me, and I was just as glad, for surely Mama would have sent me from the room had she noticed me.

Then Dr. Brickell told General Wayne and Mama that he wanted a consultant. "I would like to send for Dr. Donald MacLeod," he suggested. "I wish to confer with him."

So a servant was summoned and an urgent note sent to Dr. MacLeod. General Wayne told me to show Dr. Brickell the way to the kitchen and have Alexis serve him some refreshments, and while I was there to bring up a tray with two coffees, one for him and one for Mama.

I did my task without mishap. Now Pa was lying awake. I appealed with my eyes to General Wayne when I handed him his coffee. And he understood immediately what it was that I wanted.

He nodded yes, set down his cup, took me by the hand, and led me around the bed to Pa's side. "Just one minute, no more," he whispered as he leaned over Pa with me a moment.

One minute!
What could I say in one minute? I needed a week! A lifetime! And even then I did not think I could make the words work to tell Pa what I needed to say.

Why, the words had not been
invented
yet that would cover what feelings I had.

Where to start? No matter what I said, I knew that I would spend the rest of my life amending my words, knowing I hadn't said it right, wishing I had another chance.

"Pa," I whispered. "Pa?"

Had he even heard me? I took his hand.

His eyes blinked.

"It's Cornelia, Pa. I want to tell you something. Can you hear me?"

His eyes blinked again.

My heart raced.
He could hear me. And he wanted to let me know.

Now, Cornelia, say it. What?
I asked myself.
The only thing there is to say, idiot, the only thing that matters.

"I love you, Pa. I just wanted to let you know. And you have always been a good pa. That's what I wanted to say."

General Wayne was coming around from the other side of the bed, where he'd been sitting next to Mama. He was coming to get me.

I clung to Pa's hand because I knew, inside me where you know such things, that this was the last chance I'd have to hold his hand.

Then General Wayne was standing next to me, his huge, gentle presence hovering over me, his left arm around my shoulder, his right hand over mine, removing it from Pa's.

"That's good, Cornelia," he said. "You did good. Now why don't you come along and let him rest, eh?"

And gently, he kissed the side of my face.

He hadn't shaved yet this morning, and he was always clean-shaven. I felt the fuzz of his unshaven face against mine.

I went with him, away from Pa, who had already closed his eyes. I went back to my chair in the corner.

G
ENERAL WAYNE THEN
told me to go downstairs and get something to eat because I looked pale.

Alexis gave me some turkey soup and some fresh-made bread and butter.

I love Pa so,
I thought.
What will I do if he dies? What will this place be without him?

But suppose he is not my pa?
I minded that while I spooned the soup into my mouth.
It makes no nevermind,
I decided.
For all intents and purposes he is my pa. So why does it concern me, then, what Martha said?

Because,
I told myself,
it just does. Oh, it does not matter as far as loving him. But somehow I must persist in the knowing Because in the end, for some reason that rattles my very brain and soul, it does matter.

Alexis asked me if I wanted apple or cherry pie for dessert. I liked both, but I chose apple. Did that mean that I liked cherry less?

If it turned out that General Wayne was my father, did that mean I had to love Pa less? How could I?

It wasn't fair to ask that of me.

I liked General Wayne. I had come to like him more and more of late. If it turned out that he was my father, did that mean I had to hate him for it?

It wasn't fair to ask that of me, either.

I finished my apple pie and started upstairs. I would have cherry tonight at supper, I decided.

When I got back upstairs, Pa's head was considerably more swollen.

Dr. MacLeod came soon, and after he examined Pa, he and Dr. Brickell went into the hallway and paced up and down for a while, talking. When they came back into the room, Dr. MacLeod said he was going to do something called "blistering" of Pa's temples.

"Do you wish to stay, madam?" he asked Mama.

She said yes, she did.

He then looked toward me. "The little girl?" he asked. "I assume she's his daughter. Do you wish her to stay?"

General Wayne came over to stand beside me. "I'm in charge of her," he said. "She may stay if she wishes. Cornelia?" He looked at me.

I nodded my head yes.

"She's a strong child," he told MacLeod, "and she wishes to be with her father."

MacLeod nodded and went ahead with his work. Blood came with this blistering. General Wayne stood in front of me and said likely Pa did not feel the procedure.

He was, by now, in a stupor, General Wayne told me.

The doctors finished their work, gave General Wayne instructions, and went downstairs. There was, they told him, nothing more they could do.

Wayne nodded and saw them out. Then he came back and summoned a servant, who put Mama to bed in a room across the hall.

"My pa is going to die, isn't he?" I asked when General Wayne came back into the room.

He took off his jacket, which he had put on for appearances when the doctors came. He removed the black stock from around his neck.

"Yes," he said. He sat down in a chair, put his elbows on his knees, and cupped his chin in his hands. "I'm afraid so, Cornelia."

Pa's face and head were still swelling, now almost twice their normal size.

I did not want to give in to tears; General Wayne had told the doctors I was strong. I did not want to be a burden now, to make him sorry he had allowed me to stay. But neither did I understand why I had to be so strong. It was all too much for me, and when tears want to come, something just gives way inside you. You cannot stop tears.

I gulped. I choked.

He reached out his arms and I went to him. He drew me close. "It's all right, Cornelia," he said. "No one is about. You can cry."

I sobbed on his shoulder for a moment and he patted my head and said nothing. There was no need for words. The comfort he gave was sufficient. The man-smells of him were enough—strong soap and whatever he'd used to shave (for he must have washed and shaved and changed his shirt while I was eating). The cleanliness of the new shirt, like Pa's always smelt. I even smelled the polish that one of the man servants had used on his boots.

He wiped the tears from my face and gave me a wan smile.

"What will happen to us?" I asked.

"You will be fine," he assured me.

If he said it, it was sufficient. To ask for more at the moment, I knew, was childish, unfair. I nodded and stopped crying. "Why don't you let me get you something to eat, sir?" I asked.

"That would be nice, Cornelia. And some fresh coffee. Then you should go and take a nap. It's not a suggestion. It's an order."

I got up to leave the room. "I'll be back with some meat and bread and cheese," I said. "And some apple pie."

***

I
NAPPED
away that afternoon and woke to find Pa still comatose. Mama insisted that General Wayne nap, too, that she would sit with Pa, so he did, but only with the promise that she would wake him if Pa took a turn for the worse.

That was how we got through the rest of that day, the eighteenth of June, and the night that went with it. The house was very quiet. The servants carried through with the chores. Steps belowstairs were quiet footfalls.

General Wayne asked once to see the Negro overseer, Quentin, to ask if things were proceeding properly on the plantation. The man told him they were and that he was reporting to Mr. Miller.

"Who told you to report to him?" I heard General Wayne ask in a whispered tone out in the hall.

"The missus, sir," came the reply.

General Wayne said nothing except "All right, keep things in order." But I could tell he was displeased about it. That he did not like Phineas Miller was plain, but now I was mindful of more than the ordinary manhood distaste. I was sensible of something passing strange, something almost like jealousy.

What had General Wayne, a hero of the war, to be jealous of Phineas Miller about? There was only one concern. Mama.

Somehow we got through that night. I slept in a kind of a hazy dream in which unpleasant and frightening scenes kept flashing before me.

After midnight, when treacherous things happen, I heard whispered voices arguing. I got out of bed, opened my door but a trifle, and, without going into the hall, listened.

It was General Wayne and Mama. They stood just outside Mama and Pa's chamber.

"You gave him charge of the
plantation
?" General Wayne asked, not believing it.

"I had to, Anthony. You are seeing to Nathanael. It is taking all your time. You can do no more. My God, you can't do it all."

"What does he know of managing a plantation?"

"He's been here for a year, talking and listening constantly to Nathanael."

"You could at least have done me the honor of
telling
me." General Wayne was angry. And I knew, only too well, how the tone of his voice alone could make you know you had sinned.

"I am sorry, Anthony. I meant to tell you. Please forgive me."

Mama was crying. They stood very close to each other. He, so tall, looked down at her. And she, with head bowed, leaned against his chest, begging forgiveness.

But General Wayne, who had told me that he would always suffer the misfortune of loving my mother, did not take her in his arms and comfort her or forgive her. Not then. Not with Pa dying just on the other side of the door.

I loved him then for that. Even if it turned out that he was my pa.

"All right, Caty," he said. "All right. I'm sorry I spoke harshly. Let's go back inside."

***

P
A DIED
the next morning, early.

It must have been just after five that General Wayne knocked on the door of my chamber and came in. I was snuggled under my sheet, for I had fallen asleep only as recently as when the clock struck two.

He stood, a ghostly figure, outside the mosquito netting. "Cornelia?"

"Yes, sir." But I knew what he wanted.

"Your father is near to passing, Cornelia. I'm sorry, child. You should come now. For some reason, he has started to talk."

I scrambled out of bed and reached for my robe and slippers, put them on, and followed him down the hall.

Mama sat weeping in a chair. Pa lay in the bed just as he'd been for the last day or so, head swelled, but his eyes were open and focused on some middle distance across the room.

He
was
talking, but it made no sense.

I stood a bit away from the bed, next to Wayne.

Pa's voice was lucid. "A thousand more soldiers, that's all we need!"

"We have them, sir," General Wayne replied.

Silence for a moment or two. Eerie silence. Then Pa spoke again.

"Colonel Rall is dying. Get Washington."

And once more from Wayne. "He's here, sir."

I tried to make a move toward Pa, but Wayne held me firm.

There was silence again while we waited to see what Pa would say next.

But he spoke no more.

Then he took his last breath and died.

His eyes were still open. General Wayne stepped forward and closed them.

Mama's weeping increased. General Wayne nudged me and I went to her, crying myself, and put my arms around her. She hugged me, hung on to me as if she were drowning and I was a piece of wood.

Alexis was there of a sudden with a cup of tea. How had she known? Had Wayne told her to be ready? The tea, I am sure, had something in it by orders of General Wayne, for he nodded approvingly. Mama accepted it gratefully, but her hands were shaking so that I had to take it from her and hold it to her lips so she could sip it.

Wayne was at Pa's desk in the corner, quill pen in hand, writing something. His hand was quivering.

When he finished, he brought the vellum over and showed it to Mama.

It was to Mr. James Jackson, a former colonel in the Georgia Dragoons.

I have often written you but never on so distressing an occasion. My dear friend General Greene is no more. He departed this morning at 6 o'clock a.m. He was great as a soldier, greater as a citizen, immaculate as a friend. His corpse will be at Major Pendleton's this night ... Pardon this scrawl; my feelings are but too much affected because I have seen a great and good man die.

Mama read it through, grasped Wayne's hand, nodded, and showed it to me. I read it and smiled at him and thanked him.

He sent it right out by servant to Mr. Jackson. On the envelope were the names of the men it must be delivered to. There was a whole list of names.

The other children were sent for. General Wayne gathered them around when they arrived home and told them of Pa's death and comforted them. Mama slept the afternoon away. Whatever had been in that tea had done the trick.

Mama was useless to us that day, so it was General Wayne who greeted the many friends who came to call, the men whose names had been on that envelope, and ushered them upstairs so they could prepare Pa's body and dress it in the uniform he had worn as a major general of the Continental Army.