Northern Light

by Annette O'Hare

  Margaret wanted to cry, realizing that even the little ones knew Elizabeth was in a very bad way. She placed the flowers around the small bowl of fish stew she had set out on a tray, thinking the beautiful yellow and orange colors might be just the thing to bring a little cheer to Elizabeth’s heart. She sat at the kitchen table waiting for the kettle to boil for tea. It was the perfect opportunity to talk to God.

  “Father God, I thank You for giving Your Son to die for us and for His glorious resurrection. Lord, please forgive me for my bitterness toward You after Thomas left. I know You don’t promise us happiness in this world and to think You blessed me with having the chance to have loved and to have been loved by two wonderful, godly men—I never deserved that, Father. It’s taken me a while, but I realize now that You were always in control. And this whole thing with Thomas probably came about so that Elizabeth’s sickness could be revealed to us. Father, please forgive me for not trusting You fully. I’m not bitter anymore, and I’m ready to cast all my cares on You, because You’re the only One who knows what’s best for me…and Thomas. But, Lord, if it be in Your will, please let him come back to me.” The teakettle whistle began to blow. She quickly ended their talk. “In Jesus’s name, amen.” Margaret picked up the tray of food and took it to the bedroom.

  Elizabeth was asleep. Of late she slept more hours than she was awake.

  “Happy Easter Sunday, Elizabeth. Jesus is risen.” Margaret smiled because she didn’t want anything to cause Elizabeth to feel any more sadness. It wasn’t easy being cheerful when her heart was heavy for both Elizabeth and Thomas.

  The room they shared had once smelled of rose water and talcum powder, but now smelled of urine and body odor. No matter how many times Mama cleaned, the smell wouldn’t go away. The mattress was ruined.

  Margaret and June moved into the front bedroom where Thomas had stayed. It was the only thing they could do to get away from the foul smell and woeful sounds their sister made all hours of the night.

  Elizabeth stirred but didn’t get up.

  Margaret set the tray on the bureau and went to her bedside. “Come on, Elizabeth, it’s time to wake up and have some food. You need to keep up your strength.”

  Elizabeth rolled over onto her back. She’d been crying. The once-chubby girl had wasted away to nothing.

  Margaret physically lifted her sister to a sitting position in the bed.

  Elizabeth trembled.

  Margaret took a shawl from the bottom bureau drawer and draped it around her shoulders. “There, that should keep you nice and warm. Now stay right there while I get your food.” She placed the tray over Elizabeth’s lap, but her sister made no move to feed herself. Instead, she stared at Margaret with her sorrowful eyes.

  “Come on now, eat up,” Margaret said.

  “How can you be so kind to me when I did everything I could think of to ruin your life and your life with Thomas?” Elizabeth’s voice cracked as she spoke through dry and chapped lips.

  “I don’t know. I probably couldn’t have if it weren’t for the love of Jesus. I was so angry and hurt, but I talked to God about it. And finally, those feelings went away. But it took a while.” She scooped up some broth and held it to Elizabeth’s mouth.

  “You know, Elizabeth, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And when you think about the Negro people and how much forgiveness they will have to muster up if they ever gain their freedom from slavery, then me forgiving you, my own flesh and blood, doesn’t seem like that big a deal really.”

  Elizabeth grabbed Margaret’s arm and pulled her close. She seemed to be crying but no tears flowed. “Can you please find it in your heart to forgive me, Margaret? I know what I did was wrong. I’m sorry. But…but.” The words left her.

  Margaret stroked some hair away from Elizabeth’s face. “I accept your apology, but I already forgave you a long time ago. I couldn’t go on like that.” She put her hand on Elizabeth’s frail arm. “You’re my sister, and I love you.” She picked up the teacup and gave Elizabeth a drink. “Besides, I tried my best to stay mad at you, but I just couldn’t do it.” Margaret smiled at her, but Elizabeth didn’t smile back.

  “I need to tell you something, Margaret.”

  “Wh-what is it?”

  “There’s something wrong with me.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t understand it, but when I close my eyes, I see the most horrible images in my mind. I feel so hopeless. It’s like…it’s like I’ve wandered into an old, dark, abandoned house, and I can’t find my way out. And sometimes I don’t even have the will to go on living anymore, and I think about ways to…to…” She fell silent.

  Margaret felt her stomach tighten. “Oh, you don’t mean that, Elizabeth. You have your whole life ahead of you. Things will get better, I promise. When the war is over, things will go back to the way they were. We can start over. Everything will be all right. You just wait and see.”

  Elizabeth lifted the tray of food from her lap. With hands that shook, she handed it back to Margaret. Warm soup and tea spilled everywhere, even on the bedclothes.

  “Elizabeth, be careful.”

  Elizabeth rolled over, turned her back to Margaret, and pulled the quilt over her head.

  Margaret rose from the bed with the tray. She left the room and shut the door with her foot. Leaning against the door, her body shook as she fought back tears. Oh, Father God, it’s Easter Sunday and Christians all over the world are celebrating Your Son’s glorious resurrection. Tears flowed down her cheeks and neck. But not even the risen Savior can bring happiness to the heart of our poor Elizabeth.

  27

  Margaret placed Elizabeth’s food tray, toppled soup and all, on the kitchen counter and went outside.

  Mama and Papa sat on the front porch in rocking chairs. They seemed to enjoy the beauty that April had ushered in to the peninsula. Papa puffed on his pipe and Mama braided colorful strips of old rags, sheets, and clothing together for the rug she was making.

  June and Jeremiah were all smiles, chasing a pair of baby ducks around the yard.

  Necie brought the little birds by earlier that morning. “They gonna make a fine roast,-duck dinner someday. If you ever get them away from those chil’ren, that is!” She threw back her head and gave a hearty laugh. Necie had been coming by to check on Elizabeth since Elizabeth had stopped going over to the Langley place. Sometimes Necie sat with Elizabeth, not saying a word, just patting her back and singing in a soft voice.

  Margaret had no idea where the ducks came from, but everyone was very thankful for the gift.

  Mama had asked Necie not to mention Elizabeth’s illness to anyone else on the peninsula.

  Margaret had told Necie the truth on one of her now-frequent trips to visit her at the Stoltzes’ place. The slave girl didn’t care in the least that Elizabeth was having mental issues. She simply accepted it and spent time soothing her friend.

  Margaret took a seat in the rocking chair next to Papa. The sweet aroma of his pipe tobacco swirled through the air.

  June instructed Jeremiah how to sit on the ground with his legs spread wide apart. She sat opposite him, touching her feet to his, making a small containment area for the baby ducks. Their hysterical laughter was an indication that the duck feathers must tickle their legs.

  “Look at those two filthy kids, Jeb.” Mama tore a rag in two for the next section of the rug. “It all seems so long ago.”

  “What seems so long ago, Mama?” Margaret leaned forward in her chair to look at her.

  “Oh, I was reminiscing with Papa about our Easter celebrations back in New Orleans. How we would all dress up in our finery for church.” Mama’s gaze wandered off to a place where memories lived. “And I can just taste all the wonderful food we had…the roasted ham hock and enough vegetables for an army. Goodness, we would just now be sitting down to our glorious meal.”

  “Well, those days are over, Mama.” Margaret regretted her cynical tone as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  “
I know, but I can dream, can’t I? Besides, Papa’s Bible reading was as good as any Easter service we’ve ever attended.”

  Papa coughed and blew out a long stream of smoke. “Well, I don’t know about all that.”

  “Oh, Papa, you did a great job.” Margaret patted his knee. A long sigh escaped. “I fixed a tray and took it in to Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you, dear. Did she eat anything?” Mama asked.

  “Not much to speak of…but she talked to me this time.”

  Papa sat up. “Really now? What did she say?”

  “She apologized…and begged for my forgiveness. I told her I already forgave her some time ago.”

  “Well, that’s some progress at least.” Mama wove the piece of torn cloth into the section she braided. “Now if she would just get up and join the family again…”

  “Mama, Elizabeth isn’t getting better. If anything, she’s worse than before when she was causing so much trouble.”

  “How can you say that? She sure isn’t bothering anybody now.”

  “Listen to me, Mama…Papa. Elizabeth said she doesn’t have the will to live anymore. Does that sound like she’s getting better?” Her voice began to quiver. “Do you hear what I’m saying? She feels so bad off that she wants to die.” She swiped away a tear rolling down her cheek and turned her full attention to Papa. “I beg of you, Papa, we’ve got to do something for her. You don’t want her ending up like Mr. Langley’s son, do you?”

  Mr. Langley’s son had taken a turn for the worse after Elizabeth stopped coming to care for him. She truly had been helping.

  Papa puffed on his pipe and looked off into thin air, perhaps thinking on how to answer her.

  Mama kept on working on her rug.

  “I believe it was last year some time I read an article in the Houston Telegraph. It could have been the year before, I don’t remember, but there was an article about a hospital that opened up in Austin a few years back that can help treat people with problems like Elizabeth. I think it was called the Texas Lunatic Asylum,” Papa said, his tone calm.

  Hope rose in Margaret’s heart. “Papa, if you think there’s any way they can help, then we have to take Elizabeth there. Please, Papa.”

  “Our daughter is not a lunatic, Jeb. She just needs some rest and she’ll be fine.” Mama dropped the piece of cloth she was working into the rug. She scowled at Papa.

  “Caroline, have you ever thought that if there had been a place like this for Cousin Emma, she might still be with us today?”

  “What else did the article say, Papa?”

  “Well, if I remember correctly, it said that the cure for this kind of illness is some kind of structured environment. I think they put the patients on some kind of daily routine where they have certain household chores and they can talk to doctors and other people who are in the same situation. I think it would be a good idea for Elizabeth so she can get her mind right again.”

  Mama dropped her handiwork on the porch and put her face in her hands, sobbing.

  “What is it, Mama?”

  “I know Elizabeth needs help…but.” Mama’s sobs took over.

  “But what, Mama?”

  “It’s just that if we send Elizabeth away, then everyone will know she’s crazy.”

  “What’s more important, Mama, being embarrassed about your daughter or her getting the help she needs before she does something to hurt herself?”

  Papa stood and walked to the edge of the porch. He tamped his pipe on the porch rail, sending a cloud of ashes floating into the wind. He turned toward them and leaned against the railing. “Caroline, you know Margaret’s right. Elizabeth is sick and nothing we’re doing is helping her one bit. She sits in that bed, day after day, refusing to eat or talk to us. Can’t you see she’s wasting away, honey?” He choked and turned his head. “If there’s anything we can do so she doesn’t end up like Emma, then I say we do it.”

  “So what do you think, Mama?” Margaret pleaded, hoping her mother would relent.

  Mama sniffed back tears. “Whatever Papa decides…that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Then that settles it,” Papa said. “I’ll plan to take Elizabeth to Austin. With all the comings and goings over at the fort, I’d like to go before the end of the month. Caroline, start thinking about what she will need to be gone for a month or more.”

  “A month…or more?” Mama’s face looked as if he’d said five years instead of one month. “But, Jeb, how will we ever pay for her to stay a whole month?”

  “I don’t know, but somehow God will provide. We’ve got to trust Him on this.”

  A heavy load seemed to lift from Margaret’s heart. Elizabeth was finally getting the help she needed. Now Margaret’s concern was Mama. She would have to help her mama to hold it together, at least long enough for Papa and Elizabeth to go on their way. Margaret could almost guarantee the next few weeks weren’t going to be easy.

  28

  A nice breeze blew in the front-room windows, bringing with it the scent of spring.

  Mama worked on sewing an extra dress for Elizabeth’s trip to Austin.

  Margaret mended a blanket for her.

  The weeks following Easter flew by without incident.

  Margaret spent most of her time spooning liquid into her sister’s mouth so she wouldn’t waste away. She also tried to keep Mama busy. The month of April was fading into history, and thankfully, the deep well of tears inside Mama seemed to have dried up. Margaret wondered if there would be more tears as the day of Elizabeth and Papa’s departure drew near.

  They prayed daily for God to end the war or at the least provide abundant crops for their survival.

  The extra chores Margaret had taken on since Mama needed her more helped to keep her mind off Thomas. But the dreams usually came late in the night when she should have been sleeping. She floated on a cloud, wearing a long white dress. Thomas waited for her at an altar. He picked her up and carried her away in his strong arms. Oh, how she longed for his embrace. Then she would awaken, her cheeks burning as fire…her sheets wet with tears and sweat.

  During the day she dared not dwell on the things she’d dreamed about. When she wasn’t busy working, she sat with Papa, who kept a watchful eye on the activity at the fort and gave her daily updates on what he’d observed.

  “Have you noticed there hasn’t been a blockade runner pass through here in weeks?” He folded the newspaper he’d read more than once and dropped it on the floor.

  “Haven’t been able to get my hands on any new news lately either. Mr. Tillman at the dock seems to think something’s going on. He said it’s been a while since he’s seen any activity—Union or Confederate.”

  The news only made Margaret worry even more about Thomas’s safety. She’d given the situation over to the Lord so many times she’d lost count, and yet she still found no peace with it. Why couldn’t she have the faith she needed to get through times like this? “Have you already forgotten about that ship that ran aground only a week ago, Papa?”

  “Right. How could I forget…?”

  The front screen door swung open. June flew in; her eyes were as wide as a scared rabbit. Her chest heaved up and down.

  Mama looked up from her sewing. “Where’s Jeremiah?”

  June walked straight to Papa. “Me and Jer’miah was minding our own business, playing in the yard.”

  Papa took hold of her small hand. “All right, then why are you so out of breath?”

  “And why is your dress torn?” Mama asked.

  She took in a deep breath. “Well…like I said, me and Jer’miah was playing in the yard, collecting bugs. I borrowed a butter knife from the kitchen to dig in the dirt.”

  “June Marie, what have I told you about taking things from the kitchen to play with? Is Jeremiah all right? Is that how you cut your dress?”

  “I’m sorry, Mama, but we didn’t have nothing else to dig with. And don’t worry about Jer’miah. He’s fine. And no, I didn’t tear my dress on the knife.”<
br />
  “Then how did you tear your dress?”

  “I’m trying to get to that if you’ll just let me talk!”

  “Watch your tone, young lady,” Papa warned.

  “I’m sorry, Papa.”

  “You need to apologize to your mama.”

  She turned to Mama. “I’m sorry.”

  “Go on with your story,” Mama said.

  “OK, so me and Jer’miah was playing in the yard, collecting bugs.” June started over and continued with her story. “I found this really big beetle. His back was colored green and orange and yellow, and he was so shiny. Well, Jer’miah was scared silly, but not me. I took that butter knife and scooped him right into my jelly jar.”

  “You took one of my preserve jars too?” Mama asked, her tone ominous.

  June bowed her head and made a circle on the floor with her foot. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, June.”

  “Yep, Jer’miah’s outside looking at that bug right now. Oh, and about my dress. When I was putting it on this morning, my foot got hung in the hem and that’s how it tore.”

  “Young lady, you need to be more careful with your things. And you need to learn to keep your hands off my things.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will.” She leaned against Papa’s chair. “I thought y’all might want to know that there’s a man coming up toward the house, and he ain’t riding no donkey. He has an honest-to-goodness horse.”

  The three adults in the room sprang from their seats and headed for the door. Papa was the first outside, followed by Margaret and then Mama, who made a beeline for Jeremiah. She snatched him up off the ground and carried him onto the porch, the bug jar held tight in his hands.

  Fear washed over Margaret at the sight of the man’s Federal uniform, but if he was a one-man raiding party, he didn’t look as if he could do much damage.

  They had no time to hide even if they wanted to.

  He didn’t seem like a threat at all. His uniform was bright and clean and his horse was immaculately groomed. The horse trotted toward them. When he was less than a stone’s throw away, the man dismounted his horse. The beautiful brown stallion nickered and shook his head. The man patted his muzzle, took the reins, and led him toward the house.