The Last Full Measure (7 page)

"Michael Cameron. Haven't seen my pa in ten years."

I opened the door and let him in. "He's down in the cellar," I said.

I warned him to be quiet under pain of banishment, that my mama was sleeping, and he obeyed. I led him downstairs to the cellar.

We found Mr. Cameron fast asleep on some straw in a corner, covered by a blanket, his empty dish from lunch and his drained-dry coffee cup next to him.

Michael Cameron just stood there, leaning on his rifle, staring at his father in silence. "Damn, he got old," he whispered.

"People do," I returned in my own whisper.

He nodded his head. He ran a hand over his face. He continued to stare.

"Don't you want to wake him and say hello?" I asked.

He didn't answer right off. When he did, he just shook his head no.

I could not believe it. I continued to look fixedly at the man as if he were demented.
You haven't seen your father in ten years and you go through the trouble to stop by and don't even want to wake him and say hello?

But I said nothing. What could I say?
And I thought my family was confused!

"You want, you can come back later," I told him in the same whispery voice.

"No, I gotta catch up with my unit. Tell me, you got any pencil and paper?"

"Sure." Quiet as I could be, I rummaged about. We had everything down here in the cellar, although I don't know why I accommodated him. I found paper and pencil and he held it against a box and wrote a quick note, then folded it in half and leaned over his father and tucked it in the lapel of his jacket.

Then he took one long last look and we went upstairs while Mr. Cameron went right on sleeping.

I offered Michael some leftover coffee. No, he said. Some bread and butter and ham? No. Some water, then? No. He was antsy; he had to go. He thanked me, and before I knew what was happening, he was gone out the back door.

I minded what he was about after he left.

He was afraid his father might wake while he was still here. And he would have to meet him. He wanted to be gone.

After he left, I thought about my own pa and wondered if I'd ever see him again.

I wondered how Michael Cameron could stand over his father and not want to wake him, to hug him. Whatever could have happened between them that, with his father so old and with such an awful war going on right outside our door, a war in which Michael might be shot to death just going down the street, he couldn't have woke his pa and hugged him?

I decided I knew nothing at all anymore. Nothing.

I threw myself down on the settle and cried into the pillows so Mama would not hear me. I stayed like that, face in the pillows, until David came home.

S
OMEONE WAS SHAKING
my shoulder, waking me.

"Tacy, Tacy, wake up. We have to eat supper."

Supper? Isn't it too late? What time is it?
I opened my eyes, expecting to see darkness, surprised to see light, but not surprised to hear the gunfire outside.

Mama was leaning over me. I smelled the supper, meat and onions. David stood behind her. He looked disheveled, and he was frowning.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing." I rubbed my eyes, trying to bring my senses forward. "I fell asleep."

"Josie said you fell asleep crying. What happened?" he asked again. "Who was that man who was here?"

There was nothing for it. I had to tell him. "Michael Cameron. Mr. Cameron's son."

Both his and Mama's eyes widened as we sat down at the table.

"You don't say." David rubbed his hands and reached for the wine bottle. "So he finally came to see his father. Well, what did Mr. Cameron have to say? Josie?" He looked up at her as she set a bowl of mashed potatoes down in front of him. "You brought him down his supper. Was he happy?"

Josie shook her head. "Didn't say a word, Mr. David. Not a word. Yes, I brought him down his supper, but he was still sleeping. Never saw a man sleep so much in all my born days."

David frowned. "He's all right, isn't he?"

She went back into the kitchen to fetch a bowl of beans. "He isn't dead, if that's what you mean." Josie was plainspoken. She wasted no words, and quite frankly it was refreshing. "I'll have another try at bringing him some supper soon."

She came back with the bowl of beans in one hand and a platter of meat in the other. As David stood to carve the meat, she took a moment to give me a meaningful look, and I met her eyes and blushed.

I knew what it was for.
If you're going to tell him what happened, don't do it till after supper. I don't want this excellent meal I cooked ruined. 'Cause I know your brother, and if you tell him, there'll be all kinds of hell to pay
.

That's what the look said. Josie knew all about what had transpired between me and Michael Cameron. She'd heard it all, hadn't she?

Then she went back into the kitchen to get the gravy and bread. And we ate.

As we ate, David told Mama that he was unable to locate Pa, that other doctors had told him Pa was working in a field hospital and told them that he'd never seen so many wounded.

"Some good news, though," he told us. "I ran into Mrs. Burns, coming home. She was returning from the courthouse. Come back from seeing her father. He was being treated there."

Mama's hand flew to her mouth. "He fought, then? He was wounded?"

David smiled. "With the One Hundred and Fiftieth Pennsylvania Volunteers. She said they called him 'Daddy' but he didn't care. He grabbed a musket off a wounded man and went at it. He shot a Confederate officer off his horse and they cheered him. He got hit with a bullet on his belt buckle and the shot doubled him over. Then he got hit on his ankle and a Confederate doctor treated him."

We listened, fascinated, and I was glad for Nancy. Maybe now her grandpa wouldn't be laughed at anymore.

There was chocolate cake for dessert. We lingered, in spite of the gunfire outside, over coffee and cake. I saw Mama tremble several times, saw David frown as if to say,
What's this? Is it finally getting the best of you, Mama? Should I have sent you away to your sister's in Philadelphia?

After dessert, as we stood, trying to determine if it was safe enough to spend the evening in the parlor or if we must go to the cellar, I told David I had to speak with him.

He understood the look on my face and nodded silently. We went into Pa's study.

David closed the door, expecting anything. I got right to it.

"When you go down to see Mr. Cameron, you're going to find a note on his lapel," I told him.

He scowled. "Explain."

"His son wrote it and left it for his pa."

He nodded his head slowly, his eyes narrowing. David was nothing if not wise. "His pa was sleeping and he did not wake him," he said dully.

"Yes."

He cursed. Nobody could curse like David. It was never in anger, always done softly and carefully, almost like a prayer. I think God must have taken it as one, because—and I hope this is not blasphemy—God's name was somehow always in it.

Silence between us for a moment while I waited to see where he was going to lay blame. Likely on me.

I was right. "You were there with him."

"Yes."

"You gave him the paper and pencil for the note?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't
you
wake Mr. Cameron?"

I'd asked myself that a hundred times since Michael had left. I'd asked myself in my sleep. "I don't know, David. I thought about it, but I didn't know if I had the right to."

"The
right? The right?
You had the
obligation!
That man's father is in our house. We are caring for him. And that is part of caring for him. Seeing after his interests. God, Tacy, don't you have any sense at all? I thought that sooner or later you'd acquire some, unselfconsciously, at least, just absorb it like a flower absorbs the sun!"

I started to choke back tears.

"No crying. I won't have it! Come along with me."

I ceased crying before it even started. The tears were scared out of me. I followed him out of Pa's study, down the hall, and past Mama and Josie, then down the cellar stairs. There we found Mr. Cameron, still sleeping. We stood over him just half a second.

Then David reached down and gently took the note from him.

"David, no!" I whispered.

His scowl was so fierce that all it needed was black powder to wound me in the head.

He gave the note to me. "Don't read it," he directed. "Rip it up."

"But, David, we have no right!"

"We have no right to let him have it and break his heart. Or maybe kill him on the spot. Now rip it up."

I did so. Then he took the pieces and, for good measure, threw them in the fire that burned in the cellar hearth.

"Tell this to nobody," he said.

I could not believe what we had just done. What I had just done at his bidding. Of course, I had no choice: I
had
to do his bidding. I had to obey him. Mama herself had told me that.

But how, how could he have been so certain that he was right? How could he always be so sure of his own rightness and never question himself? Never waver for a moment to see the other person's side of it? Not even for a God-given little minute? Myself, somehow, despite my young years, I always knew there was another side to everything, and that was what frightened me in this world. The other side of things, and the fact that I might not see them.

But not my brother David—oh, no. He knew all and he saw all, God help him.

I personally was acquainted with people who prayed to be like David, and likely would never make it. Was it a blessing in the end to be like him? Or was it a curse? Only God knew, I decided. All I knew was that it must be a terrible burden.

We went upstairs and David told Josie to fix supper for Mr. Cameron, to bring it down and wake him up to eat.

Without looking at me, he said. "Come and talk to me sometime when you acquire some sense."

It was worse than being slapped.

By now, Yankee officers were taking their lives in their hands to ride through the street and yell, "Women and children to the cellars! The Rebs are going to shell the town!"

So David helped me and Josie bring mattresses and pillows and blankets down to the cellar. Josie, who lived with her own mother a block away, usually went home at night, but this night David asked her to stay. He was fearful to let her go.

We slept in the cellar that night, all of us except David. I don't know where he slept or if he slept. He brought in extra straw from the barn to put beneath the mattresses, careful to keep it away from the hearth, warning us sternly not to put lanterns near the straw and supervising all around. Josie brought down a fresh pot of coffee and all that went with it. And soon we were comfortably ensconced in the cellar, if that word could be correctly applied to our situation, what with the constant explosion of shells going on outside.

I don't know if the correct word to describe the sound of the shells is
screaming
or
piercing
or
screeching
or
shrilling
, because just as they got done doing all that, they
exploded
and
burst
and
violated the night
and
tore
and
ripped
and
destroyed
and
ruined
everything I felt was
secure
and
safe
and
holy
and
sacred
inside me.

I lay there under my blanket, away from everyone else, trembling. The whole world was surely breaking in two, and it would never be whole again after this night. I felt the house shaking. I pulled my blanket over my head. Everybody in the room was quiet. All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional footsteps of David upstairs.

Then some time went by. I don't know how much, because the way things were, time could no longer be measured in the same manner. The dimensions of its value now must be the number of lives lost with each shell.

I heard David's footsteps coming down the stairs. I tried not to whimper. I did not want him to think I was a sissy-boots now, along with completely having no sense.

He was walking around, likely inspecting everything. I heard him pause, checking things. Oh, I wished he'd go away. I managed not to whimper, but I knew I was still trembling. Then I was mindful that he had stopped and was standing over me.

I pretended to be sleeping.

"Tacy?" his whisper came.

I tried to breathe easily.

I felt his hand at the edge of my blanket, cautiously pulling it down from my face. I did not open my eyes. Next I felt a kiss on the side of my face, so gentle it was like a butterfly had decided to land there for just a minute, then flew away.

My heart stopped. Hearts do that sometimes. Then he adjusted the blanket so it came to just below my chin and walked away, going back up the stairs.

I stopped trembling and fell asleep.

***

S
OMETIME DURING
the night, Marvelous came. She was there in the morning in a corner of the cellar, wrapped in a quilt, sitting up and grinning at me.

I had slept late in spite of everything, all the shelling, the noise, the crowds of Rebs in the street outside. Everybody else except Mr. Cameron was upstairs having breakfast. He was outside, having gone to the outhouse, accompanied there by David, Marvelous told me.

"Where did you come from?" I almost screamed it at her.

She came to kneel down beside me. "'Bout time you got up. I wanted to wake you, but that brother of yours said no, let her sleep. I came in the middle of the night. My daddy, he brought me. And David said yes, he'd keep me, and he brought me right down here. My mama, she wanted me to come. There be so many wounded in that church now, there be no place for me to sleep. And the Rebs, they're taking over the town."

"They are?"

"Yes, and my mama said, if they come into the church she'll fight them to the death, and so will the other women, before she'll go with them, but she doesn't want me in the middle of it. So she sent me here."