by Ann Rinaldi
"But when it was over, we found that nothing had changed. Sometimes we try to relive those times. Like recently, when you saw me and your mother kissing. Many an innocent kiss was exchanged at Valley Forge in the threat of the loss of the war, which would mean the hanging of all of us officers at the hands of the British. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's all our kiss was recently, Cornelia. I venerate your father too much to let it have been anything else. I would never violate his trust. As to your question, am I your father, by the gods, you honor me. Come here." He reached out his arms.
I went to him and he took me onto his lap. Pa would never do such. Pa had too much decorum.
"I shall love your mother for all of my life," he said.
I wept in his arms.
"You should be punished for even asking such a question," he told me. "If it is true or not. For hurting all concerned. You deserve to be punished, and so I shall punish you by never answering. You are a spoiled little girl, Cornelia, spoiled as the last apple on the tree."
He held me tight. He did all the things a father should do. He stroked my hair, he kissed my ear, and when he stood me on my feet in front of him again, he put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a little shake and frowned and said, "Don't tell your parents we even had this conversation. And don't let me catch you treating them shabbily because of what Martha told you, or you'll feel my hand, sharp, where you sit down!"
I decided he could likely be my father.
It confused me further. I did not want him to be. I wanted my own pa.
I determined, standing there in front of him, that what I had achieved this night was getting to know him better. I had learned that I respected him, that he was a man of good parts, that if I found out that yes, he was my father, I would be able to accept it.
But not without dying considerably much inside first. Because I wanted to keep my own pa. I loved him precious more. I was not willing to surrender him unless I had proof, and even then it would destroy my soul to give him up.
And certainly I was not going to let Martha allow me to do that without a fight.
No, I needed the truth.
And I would get it. From the one person who had started all this disharmony.
Eulinda.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I DETERMINED THE next morning, with a sense of purpose that I had not felt in a long time, to approach Eulinda immediately after breakfast.
Of course, I gave no hint of my plan to anyone. I told them I was going directly to see Jenny, our dressmaker, for a fitting of a new dress she was making for me.
Conveniently, Jenny's room was in a private wing downstairs, where Eulinda's quarters were situated. If Martha suspected anything, she gave no sign of it. But she did accost me at the door that led to the steps downstairs.
Smiling. Martha never smiled at me like that unless she was involved in some trickery. "You never asked about Pa's and my ride the morning they left," she said to me.
I would not so much as give her the satisfaction of curiosity in my eyes. I shrugged, trying to show indifference.
"We talked," she told me blissfully. "It was so nice to get Pa away from the noise and chatter of all you younger children. We had a long conversation. We talked about everything."
My throat tightened. What did she mean by everything ?
Did she mean what I thought she meant? Or did she just want me to think so?
"You'd be surprised how understanding Pa can be sometimes," she said. "I hope I have inherited all his good qualities." Then she smiled and walked away.
***
I NEVER LIKED EULINDA. I suspect it was because she always tried to keep a protective circle around Mama when she was in her presence. She kept a distance between us children and our mother, like a guard, always asking us what we wanted when we came into the room where Mama was.
"She's resting," she would say when she opened the door of Mama's bedroom. Or, "She's reading, and she does not wish to be disturbed. Is it really important that you bother her now?" Half the time, I think Mama was not even aware of this.
Eulinda's English was perfect. I think it was one of the reasons Pa kept her around. Pa was very taken with proper speech, and he would stand for no less from us. If we complained to him about how Eulinda tried to keep us out of Mama's way, he did nothing about it.
"Your mother does need her rest," he would say.
Eulinda would report to him if we sassed her, and Pa would make us apologize to her. Imagine such! Apologizing to a Negro! But we had to do it. Because Pa said that Eulinda had a history that went all the way back to Cambridge with him and Mama. Furthermore, she had been at Mama's side for those two days when I was born.
So none of us had ever had the mettle to stand up to Eulinda, and she knew it. And when Mama was not about, she bullied us. She scolded, and bossed us around, something I knew neither Mama nor Pa would abide. But none of us wished to make trouble.
Once when my brother George was made to apologize for sassing her, he got back at her. He hid her favorite shawl. She obsessed over that shawl. It was red with threads of gold running through it. Mama said she'd had it since Valley Forge, and she swore it brought her good luck. She'd wrapped Mama in it when Mama was in labor with me. Shortly after, I was born.
It was sacred to her, that shawl. And George crept downstairs and into her quarters, took it, and hid it. Though he full well knew that if Pa found out he'd likely be punished severely. Not beaten, no. Pa never beat any of us.
Well, you would think the British had come back and attacked us again, the way Eulinda took on about missing that shawl. The whole household was in an uproar. Every room had to be searched. George even helped with the search.
I shivered in my laced-up boots for George. Where has he hidden it? How can he act so becalmed, so genuinely concerned? Especially when Eulinda pronounced that she knew it had been stolen and cursed the one who had stolen it with the most vicious curse she had.
For she believed in that sort of nonsense. She believed in and practiced black magic. Pa and Mama knew it but did not concern themselves with it as long as she did not do it in front of anyone in the family and kept her doings to herself.
After two days, George spirited the benighted shawl out from wherever he had hidden it, and Eulinda discovered it back in her room again. Soon the incident was forgotten.
George would never tell me where he'd hidden it. But my admiration for him increased. And I knew from that time on that my brother had talents and mental strengths and abilities that others had not discovered in him yet. And that he was afraid of nothing.
I tried to summon forth such attributes as I went down the stairs to Eulinda's apartment.
I knocked on the door. From within I heard her soft voice bidding me enter. I went in.
She was kneeling over her traveling chest, the very one she'd come with from Cambridge so many years ago. She was folding clothing and putting it inside the chest. She barely favored me with a glance.
Since Mama and Pa had been away, she'd not come out of her apartment at all. Her duties in the household did not go beyond seeing to the care and comfort of Mama.
"Why do you bother me?" she asked. She did not concern herself with politeness.
"I need to ask you a question."
"Ask, then, and be gone. I have no duties with you."
I sat down, uninvited, on a chair and got right to the matter. "You told Martha that General Wayne is my father," I said.
She went on folding clothes and putting them into the chest. But she stopped for a moment then and reached for the infamous shawl and put it around her shoulders, as if for protection.
"And so? If I did?"
"Is it true?"
She ceased with her folding. Then she held out one hand. I did not know for a moment why. Then I did.
Money. She wanted money. And if I had any, she would tell me things.
If I did not, she would say naught.
&nb
sp; "I have no money," I said.
Her face was stoic, her amber eyes dead. "Then I have nothing to say."
"Do you know what you have done? To me? And possibly to my family? Don't you care?"
"Your family has everything," she said. "I have nothing. You girls have the whole future. I never had a future. What difference does it make who your father is? Your future lies waiting no matter what. I never had that possibility."
She turned from me and went about packing the trunk again.
"My mama and pa have been good to you," I reminded her. "My pa pays you wages. He doesn't treat you like a slave. And I never hurt you, have I?"
"You go now," she ordered. "Leave me be, unless you have guineas to give me for my trip home, like your sister Martha does. You don't know what I have had stolen from me since I've been living here. I might as well be a slave."
"I'm sorry for that," I said, "I honestly am. But why make me suffer?"
"Go now," she insisted, "or I will tell your father you sassed me bad, and he will believe me and you will be punished. Go!"
I went. There was no use. She would not talk.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WHEN MAMA and Pa got home, we were so excited that we jumped all over them. Alexis, our cook, had planned a special supper. Pa's favorite: chops and mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. But Pa did not join in the conversation at table and he scarce ate. Halfway through supper he complained of a headache.
General Wayne, seeing something the rest of us did not, bade us children to lower our voices, to finish our dinners, and to leave the table.
Martha, of course, pouted. Our parents had brought us presents and had promised we could open them in the parlor as soon as the meal was finished.
"Can we open them now?" Martha asked on leaving.
Mama did not answer. Her eyes were fastened on Pa, who said his eyes hurt.
"It's that afternoon sun you insisted on walking in at the Gibbonses' plantation," Mama chided him. "I told you to wear a hat, and you wouldn't. Your chronic eye pain must be flaring up again, darling. Anthony, I think he should go to bed in a darkened room."
General Wayne stood up, taking charge. I ushered Nat and Louisa out of the dining room. Martha still stood there, waiting for an answer about her present.
George reached out and grabbed her arm. "Come on," he said. "Can't you see Pa is ailing?"
Martha pulled away from him. "Leave me be!"
"Martha!" General Wayne ordered sharply. "Go with your brother. Right now!"
Startled, Martha sassed him. "You can't talk to me like that."
Wayne took two steps toward her. I could not see the look on his face, but in an instant Martha decided to follow us into the front parlor.
General Wayne helped Pa upstairs. Mama followed. I heard his orders for a basin of cold water and soft cloths.
I saw Eulinda appear from downstairs, ghost-like, and follow Mama up.
A few minutes later, I heard General Wayne's voice from behind the closed door of Mama and Pa's chamber, ordering Eulinda out, then her soft footfalls, and the door that led to her suite of rooms downstairs slammed shut.
Phineas Miller read to us that evening in the back parlor. He read from Henry VIII, a pompous idiot-like selection, considering the ages of Louisa and Nat. Yale graduate, I thought, and wondered what General Wayne would have to say.
I held my younger brother and sister next to me on the Persian carpet as he read. An hour or so went by, but it seemed like three. I was in agony, wondering what was going on upstairs with Pa.
Soon both Louisa and Nat fell asleep, simply by virtue of the droning of Miller's voice, and when Emily, their nurse, peeked her head in the room and saw them sleeping, she picked up Louisa. George did likewise with Nat, and they carried them off to prepare them for bed.
Miller left for his own quarters, which were in the schoolhouse.
I fell asleep, too, curled up on the carpet in the parlor, until General Wayne came down and woke me. "Go to bed, Cornelia. Your father is asleep. Your mother, also."
I sat up. Martha, who was lying next to me, sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I hate you," she said to General Wayne.
"I marvel at the fact that you can find the energy to hate at a time like this," he told her mildly.
I stood up. "Is my pa going to be all right?" I asked.
Wayne's face was grave. "He still had his headache when he went off to sleep. Since my room is down the hall, I told your mother to wake me if there is an emergency during the night. If the headache persists tomorrow, I'll send for Dr. Brickell."
"You'll stay with us, then? And see this through?"
He put his hand on the back of my neck, drew me to him, and kissed my forehead. "Yes, I'll be here. He's my dear friend, and I'll be here for him. Now go to bed. Your mother will need you tomorrow."
Before I left the room, I heard Martha give a disdainful snort, saw General Wayne scowl at her, and say, "Mind yourself, young lady."
She gave another snort before she left the room.
***
I SCARCE SLEPT that night, worrying about Pa. Oh, I went off to sleep, but soon afterward woke with a start. A thought had seized me like a bear, and I was in its fierce grip and being shaken by it.
Martha told Pa what Eulinda had said. On their ride, the morning Mama and Pa left on their trip. And that is what she'd meant when she'd accosted me right before I went down to question Eulinda.
"You never asked about Pa's and my ride the morning they left."
And, "We had a long conversation. We talked about everything."
I sat up in bed. The thought had me shaking.
That is why Pa is sick now, I told myself. On that ride, Martha told Pa that General Wayne is my father! And Pa brooded on it on their trip. And now it is killing him!
I pushed aside the mosquito netting, got out of bed, and sat on the edge of it for a moment. Then I heard a noise. Or was it the slamming of my heart in my breast? In the middle of the night, I could not separate reality from fantasy.
So I walked across the hardwood floor in my bare feet and opened the door, not caring whether the noise was real or in my head. What difference did it make, anyway?
Turned out, it was real. As I peered down the hall, there was General Wayne, fully dressed except for his jacket and boots, going into Pa and Mama's room.
An emergency, then.
Fear took over my body, owned it. Was my pa dead? I crept, in my long, thin summer nightgown, down the hallway, to listen outside their door.
There were murmurings. Mama's voice. "But his forehead is swelling."
"Keep the cold cloths on it," from Wayne.
"Oh, Anthony, I'm so frightened."
"Do you want me to sit with you?"
"Oh, I couldn't impose on you like that."
"It isn't an imposition, Caty. You know that. Here, I'll help you keep a vigil till morning. Then we'll send for the doctor. Halt—what was that sound?"
I'd let out a sob. Oh, stupid me! In a moment the door of the room opened and he stood there in the darkened hall, a lantern in his hand.
"Who's there? Cornelia? Is that you? Come here."
I went to him, hesitantly.
He stood there, his white shirt open at the neck, his hair tousled. "What are you about, at this time of the morning?"
"I heard a noise. I was worried about my pa."
He nodded, studying my face. "What is bothering you, child?"
I stared at the tin grillwork of the lantern he held. "General Wayne, I fear Martha told my pa what Eulinda told her. And that's what's made him sick. He's dying of a broken heart. Oh, General Wayne, someone must talk to him about it."
"Go to bed, child. Your pa sleeps comfortably. Even if Martha told him, he trusts me. And your mother. Now it's your mother who concerns me at the moment. I must keep a vigil this night with her. Mayhap she'll fall asleep. She needs her sleep. Tomorrow we'll get the doctor. The best thing you can do for all concerned is go to bed. I may need
you in the morning."
"Yes, sir."
"Tomorrow, you can tell your pa what a good father he is. And how much you love him."
***
BUT IN THE MORNING Pa could not talk.
General Wayne had sent, at first light, for Dr. John Brickell and had Emily wake us all early. Before breakfast, he gathered Martha, Nat, Louisa, George, and myself around him in the front parlor.
He told us Pa could not speak for the moment, that the doctor was coming shortly, that as soon as he was finished talking we were to go, one by one, upstairs to see Pa, quietly. We were to smile, pick up his hand and kiss it, tell him we were well and behaving, and that this very morning after breakfast, George was taking us to the El-bridges', a neighboring plantation, so the house would be quiet and he could rest.
We were not to cry or cause him any concern. Did we understand?
We said we did. Then, one by one, the others started upstairs.
General Wayne put his hand on my shoulder and held me back. "You are to stay here, Cornelia," he said.
***
SO GEORGE, capable George, took the others to the Elbridges'.
It was Sunday morning, the eighteenth of June, one of those days God favors us with when He wants to show us how perfect the world can be. All is perfection in His creation, all of nature is in harmony. One dare not think a bad thought on a day like this.
But the moment I entered my pa's bedchamber I knew he was dying. He was lying motionless in the bed, eyes closed and breathing regularly, but his forehead was considerably swelled up.
My first thought was God, you must like to play cruel jokes.
Mama was there, of course, seeming smaller than herself in a harp-backed chair. She was wrapped in a blue silk robe. The same color blue formed circles under her eyes.
"Why haven't you gone to the Elbridges' with the others?" This was how she greeted me.
I did not answer, for I did not know why. General Wayne did, and I let him answer for me.
"I want her here," he told Mama. "I need someone to help, and she's the least trouble. Does as she's told. Keeps a still tongue in her head."
I saw Mama exchange a meaningful look with him, but I did not know what significance to put on it.
