Doves Migration

by Linda Daly

  Dear Michael and Sarah, I hope this letter finds you in good health. I’m certain that you are aware of how this small town of ours is under Reconstruction and all the ramifications that goes along with such acts.

  Not one for small talk, I will come directly to why I felt compelled to write today… . Smiling, she realized her old friend wrote as he would an article for his newspaper, reporting the news. Without saying so directly, she could tell that his concern over “Reconstruction” was foremost on his mind. She had heard Michael speak with his father of this often in the past few weeks and understood that the taxation already had begun for the education of all children, including Negroes, through a public school that was now mandatory.

  Sarah didn’t need to be told just how this tax would affect people from her hometown, knowing only too well how grave a situation this actually was. Such radical changes so quickly after the war could only add dissension among the already tense situation. Remembering how only a few years ago, such actions as teaching slaves to read and write was considered a crime, Sarah was certain Fairfax was no place to be right now.

  How on earth could that be of any use? No wonder there is tension in the south. She thought while placing the letter in her lap. Doesn’t Congress realize what the south needs now is for their lives to be restored with necessities like food and clothing for their families; certainly not the burden to educate their former slaves? We were better off before the war!

  Feeling disheartened, Sarah picked up the letter again and scanned to where she had left off … Michael, have you heard of a group, called the “White Camellia”? This group founded in Tennessee, proclaims to recapture the comradeship and excitement of the war, be that as it may. Are you aware that Thomas has been asked to be the head of this secret social club for his district? His title is the ‘Grand Poppa’!

  Hmm, White Camellia … Sarah paused, thinking about this new society. How lovely this group sounds. I’m sure Thomas will do splendidly being such a natural leader! Eagerly she read on.

  “Did you also know that Thomas has hired an old army buddy and his wife to help out around Doves

  Landing? Such a shame that Mammy has gone to live with Jessie. The old boardinghouse doesn’t seem the same any longer.

  What? Sarah’s heart pounding in her chest, she quickly reread his last line then shook her head. Mammy gone from Doves Landing? How can that be? Needing more of an explanation to why Mammy Tess would move from the only home she had ever known, Sarah quickly read more of the letter.

  Under the circumstances it is probably best for her, besides since Clarisa is not well, I’m sure Jessie could use some help.

  Fondest Regards,

  V. Wiley Sarah quickly turned the single sheet over to see if something was written on the backside then searched the floor to see if a sheet had fallen. Realizing there was no other, she reread his letter again. Puzzled, she wondered had her friend gone daft? What was he talking about, she asked herself, The best under the circumstances. What circumstance? Rereading the short letter yet again, Sarah was even more confused, seeing nothing out of the ordinary that could explain such actions from her beloved Mammy leaving her home like that. And what was wrong with Clarisa? Hadn’t Irma just said she and Jessie were expecting? Surely, Verus wouldn’t refer to being in the family way as ill?

  The sound of horse hooves echoing from the silent street below distracted Sarah from the concerns of those back home in Fairfax. Oh please God, let it be Tad, she prayed. Pulling herself from the chair, she stood motionless, afraid to breathe as the carriage came to a halt. It is him. Thank goodness! She sighed, hastily tucking away the correspondence.

  From the study, hearing the carriage come to a stop, Michael lunged to the door overwrought with anger, concern, and self-pity for not being a better father to his son. As Tad‘s footsteps approached, it was apparent to Michael, who was standing in the doorway, that his son was intoxicated, by his unsteady steps. Seeing his father through his drunkenness, Tad attempted to tidy up by struggling to put his shirt back into his trousers. Weaving back and forth, he brushed his hair off his bloody face and smiled.

  “Father, how good of you to wait up for me. It wasn’t neces … sary though!”

  “Tad, you’ve been in a fight, and you’re drunk! I’d say it was quite necessary! Here, let me help you, son,” Michael said, concerned while walking toward the young man, offering him his hand. The emotional turmoil that he had felt waiting for his son these past several hours dissipated as concern for his son’s safety became foremost on Michael’s mind.

  “I can take care of myself. I always have… . Since when do you care anyway?” spat Tad indignantly.

  “Tad, I’ve always cared.”

  Trying to focus on his father, Tad asked, “Is this a slow month for current events? Or is it to show Sarah what a devoted husband and father you are?” Glancing about and seeing no one else in attendance, Tad defiantly pulled away from his father and rushed past him.

  Stepping inside the foyer, Tad proceeded to the stairwell where he dramatically waved his arm above his head. “Go to bed, Father. Tomorrow you can be the doting father in front of your new wife and I’ll be the grateful son. Now I’m far too tired.”

  “Tad, you can’t mean those cruel words. I’ve always thought you understood that it was my job that kept me away from you. How dare you insinuate my concern for you is an act simply for impressing Sarah! Every night this week I have agonized over where you have been and what it is that keeps you out all night. Son, please do not walk away while I’m talking to you. Let me see that cut over your eye.”

  Shaking his head, Tad stumbled up another stair. “Always the reporter, never the father. Am I now to be research for a character in your novel? The great man who has a drunk for a son.” Sarcastically he laughed aloud before continuing. “Father, you really must come up with better material than that if you intend to continue with the successful life you’ve built for yourself.” Obviously amused at his comments, he continued to snicker.

  “What did you say to me?” Michael snapped in retaliation.

  Not turning to acknowledge his father, ignoring Michael completely, Tad staggered up the next stair raising his foot far above the step trying to judge its distance.

  “Son, please. Why won’t you talk to me? We used to have such grand talks. Don’t you remember?”

  Tad’s back stiffened hearing Michael’s plea and he responded coldly, “I wanted to talk to you when I was ten, and when I was twelve. Even the last couple of years would have been nice.” His words trailed off as he stood weaving, holding onto the railing as the room began to whirl about him, never turning to face Michael. Taking in a deep breath, he got his bearings. “Now I don’t care to talk to you any longer. I’m a man now, so go find yourself an interesting story to write about rather than your drunken son. Maybe there’s another war going on … what? No war? Oh well Father, maybe next year.”

  Trying to find the words to help ease the pain his son felt and struggling with his own guilt, Michael pleaded with him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me, son. But you must have known I always loved you.”

  Tad jerked around. “Love? What do you know of love? You think writing me your letters, telling me of your great adventures is love? You loved your work. Not me! Why didn’t you quit your job when mother died? You did for Sarah. Why couldn’t you do it for me or for my mother when she was so ill?” he shouted while gripping onto the railing as his free arm flung across his chest.

  “Yes Father, I knew exactly how much you loved me. I grew up with no mother and a father who thought a week’s camping trip once a year was what I needed.” He glared down at Michael, the liquor giving him the courage to say the words that he had kept bottled up inside of him for so long.

  “I needed you! I wanted you! Even when I begged for you to stay with me, you left me alone.”

  “Son, you never begged me to stay with you …”

  “Every night I begged God to send
you home to me. If you were home where you belonged, you would have heard my prayers.” Never had Michael seen such hate in his son’s eyes before as they burrowed a hole through his tortured soul.

  “Dear God Tad … I’m so sorry. I had no idea. How can I ever make it up to you?”

  Turning on his heels Tad walked up the remainder of the steps leading to the second-story landing, standing erect and tall, no longer affected by the drink as he was earlier. Glaring down at Michael he said, “Father, I desire nothing from you—except an increase in my monthly allotment. My funds are rather low this month, and of course, money has never been an issue with you. I trust this will remain the same. As for trying to tell me what is best for my welfare, well, you have been replaced. In the event I require advice, my friends who have been here for me over the years will do nicely.”

  “What are you proposing, Tad? That I should hand over some money and pretend nothing is wrong here? These friends of yours, were they there for you tonight when you were hurt in a fight?”

  “How dare you speak ill of my friends when they have stood by me. More than you ever have.”

  “I’m here for you now. Tad, I can’t just stand by and let you throw your life away.”

  “Father, tend to your own affairs and I shall do the same.” Giving his father an icy stare, he shouted, “Good night.”

  Michael, unable to respond or move, just watched as his son walked to his room, wanting to run to him and try to explain. Instead, he remained planted to the spot where he stood as if there were anchors at his feet holding him in place. “Oh God what have I done?” His voice trailed behind him as he returned to his chair in the library. “Forgive me, son, please forgive me.”

  Hearing the angry words of her stepson, Sarah wept silently for both Tad and Michael. Unsure exactly what she should do, she left her bedchamber and crept into the darkened hallway. Glancing at the closed door of her stepson’s room, she hesitated. I should go to him, the poor dear needs a mother figure now …

  Knowing Tad’s current frame of mind, she concluded he might consider this an invasion of his privacy so instead, Sarah slowly went down the stairs to find Michael. Silently she stood at the doorway to the library where she found him staring out the window into the darkened night. Seeing her reflection in the window Michael turned and sheepishly said, “Dearest, I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

  Realizing this could be the difference in their relationship, if she let him go through his pain and suffering alone without discussing together what had just taken place, Sarah decided to go to him. Offering her hand she said tenderly, “Come darling, let’s go to bed. Nothing can be done this evening. Perhaps tomorrow we can help our boy together.”

  “Oh Sarah, he hates me.”

  “No. He loves you. He is just filled with resentment. Give him time …”

  “Time? But what if my time has run out? What if I’m too late?”

  “It’s never too late, darling. You taught me that. Together we can help your son learn to forgive and forget the past. But first we must work on today, one step at a time.” Standing now and taking his wife in his arms, he pulled her closer to him.

  “Yes, but the step is mighty steep. I’m not sure how I can climb it.”

  “You’ll find a way. I have faith in you. Now come darling … you need some rest.”

  Taking her by the waist, he turned to go up the stairs with his wife. “How much did you hear this evening?” Michael’s voice sounded hoarse and shallow.

  “Everything. I wasn’t trying to pry or meddle, you must believe me.”

  “Oh I know … it’s just …”

  “Michael, please hear me out darling. Both you and your son are hurting very deeply, and have for quite sometime. The only way you can help Tad is to be open and honest with him and yourself. Before he can learn to forgive you for his pain, you must learn to forgive yourself. What has happened must remain in the past. Nothing you can do can ever change that. But you can change the future. You have a bright future with your son, if you both learn to let go of your pain. Tad must learn that parents make mistakes too. When he does, and he will, he will then learn to forgive and forget, and within time this will pass.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Michael turned to look at the closed door of his son’s room. “But where do I begin …”

  “Just be yourself, and don’t stop trying to be his father. You are a good and decent man whom I love very much. Show him your love and who you are. The rest will surely follow.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  Responding with a reassuring smile, she knew neither of them was fooled in believing it was going to be easy, especially after hearing the venom that Tad had spoken to his father.

  From inside Tad’s room, hearing the door shut to Sarah and Michael’s room, Miranda slowly walked away from Tad’s closed bedroom door.

  “They’ve gone to bed, Tad. Please let me help you,” she whispered, her chest pounding through her dressing gown, seeing him remove his bloodstained shirt and discarding it on the floor near his feet.

  “Leave me be!” he whispered hoarsely bending over to pull off his leather boots. “As kind as your offer is, I don’t need or want your help.”

  Timidly Miranda made her way across the dimly-lit room, painfully aware that if she were discovered in his bedchamber dressed in only a dressing gown, and he half-naked, her reputation would be destroyed.

  To add to her concerns, the gentle breeze that swept through his room from the open window near his bed caused her sheer gauze nightgown to hug her naked frame beneath the light material gown. Pausing at the foot of his bed, uncertain how she would make it past him without him noticing how skimpily she was dressed, seeing him bend over to remove his leather boots, Miranda swiftly tiptoed past him.

  Reaching the dry-sink in the corner of his bedchamber next to his bed, Miranda’s heart pounded as she nervously stood silently watching Tad’s reflection through the mirror hanging above the sink. With trembling hands, she began to pour water into the basin trying hard to avoid his eyes upon her.

  Discreetly she looked at his reflection in the mirror admiring his physique—his bare chest and broad shoulders—and caught herself just as the basin was on the verge of overflowing. Feeling the water on the tips of her fingers as they rested on the side of the basin, she nervously reached for a linen cloth hung on the rail of the sink. After submerging it into the cool water and sufficiently wringing it out and gathering inner strength, she turned to look at Tad.

  “If you need my help or not, I’m not leaving here until you let me look at that gash over your eye. So what is it going to be? Are you going to have another shouting match with me now, and alert everyone in the house that I’m parading around in my nightgown like some floozy?” she asked, in a hushed tone.

  Hearing Miranda refer to herself in such a manner produced an immediate smile across Tad’s lips. “Floozy? Why I don’t recall you ever saying such a colorful term before. Perhaps I should have disturbed your rest years ago to see the real you.”

  Ignoring his snide comment, Miranda walked over to where he sat on the edge of his bed, and hesitantly edged her way between his thighs to view his wounds. Whispering softly, she said, “Kindly bend your head and pull your hair from your face, Tad.”

  Intensely he gazed up at her while brushing his hands through his hair, tilting his head back as she had asked. Timidly, Miranda leaned closer to him, her eyes never wavering from his. Taking in a deep breath she softly whispered, “This might hurt a bit.”

  Hearing no response but feeling his breath quicken against her bare neck as their bodies became closer, Miranda examined the gash over his eye. “You look like you were kicked by a mule,” she whispered, while placing the linen cloth over his open cut and patting the dry blood caked around it.

  Wincing, Tad looked up at her while trying to balance himself on the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for her to steady himself. Glancing down at his hand on her waist sh
e barely heard him say, “I was. By that no good O’Flaherty!”

  Startled by his comment, she said, “What? Gilbert did this to you. But why?” Suddenly his nearness and his hand resting on her waist became secondary to the need of understanding what he meant by such a statement.

  “Let’s just say, a certain young lady provoked the mule in him to come out, or was it the donkey? Ass, mule they both look the same to me and have an equally bad temper from what I understand.”

  Hearing him joke so freely, especially over something so grave, Miranda paused and looked into his eyes. For a moment it was as if time stood still and she felt suddenly closer to Tad then she had ever felt before. Realizing for the first time that he used his quick wit to mask his pain, and aware that she was still holding his face in her hands, Miranda blushed and looked away.

  “Not that I doubt you Tad, but surely you aren’t suggesting that you and he fought on my account? I told you before, I only met him briefly this morning at the orphanage and then again this evening in the gardens. He means nothing at all to me.”

  Hearing her say that, he smiled at her and again the silence between them was deafening.

  “I’m glad to hear that. But considering you addressed him by his first name just now, and by his reaction this evening, I would definitely tend to believe apparently you weren’t the only one who resented me calling you, my dear.”

  Trying to appear calm, Miranda continued to wipe the blood from his face. With trembling hands, she brushed against his wound too closely, causing Tad to wince.

  “Again those two simple words have caused an adverse reaction. Remind me never to call you, my dear, again. Far too painful, to my liking,” he whispered.

  Not amused by his attempts of trying to be charming, the thought that perhaps it was Tad who sought out Gilbert out of jealousy, crept into her mind. Glancing down at him she couldn’t help but wonder if he was telling her the complete truth. Searching for a sign, she was awestruck at the warmth and sincerity in his eyes as he looked at her. Such truth she had never seen before, realizing that the man before her had learned to mask his anger and pain just as she had. Feeling for the first time that she truly understood Tad, Miranda smiled tenderly at him.