Susanna did not argue. There was time for that later—and long after Thomas went to sleep, she lay awake, her hot tears falling to her pillow. My son is home! her heart said over and over. Thank God! My son is home!
Susanna Rocklin was the pillar that held Gracefield together. She was at work by candlelight and sometimes in the dead of night smoothing out troubles, watching the baking, the sewing, the soap and candle making, the births and deaths in slaves’ cabins. Her manner was gracious, and she seldom raised her voice to a servant. She knew her Bible and trusted God. She was a woman of charm and grace, with inner strength of tempered steel.
Now she was faced with a monumental task—to prepare the way for Clay’s return to Gracefield. Thomas should have been the one to do this, but he withdrew from the matter, saying, “You’ll have to tell Ellen and the children.” So she had, and Ellen had stared at her as if she had announced that the world was going to blow up. “Clay? Coming here? No, Susanna, I won’t have it!”
However, when Ellen discovered that Clay had come up with the money to save Gracefield—and thus preserve the comforts of her life that went with it—she submitted. “He needn’t think I’ll take him back! But he owes it to you and Thomas and to the children to help.”
“He’ll come to supper tonight,” Susanna said. “Do you want me to tell the children?”
“Oh yes, Susanna! I’m too nervous—and you know how to handle them!”
“I’ll send him to see you first, Ellen,” Susanna said. “Try to work things out with him.”
So it went, with Susanna’s deft hand guiding them all. She spoke to the children, together at first, then separately. They were astonished, angry—and tremendously curious. “Give him a chance,” Susanna told each of them. “He’s probably more nervous than any of you.”
When Clay came at five, Susanna met him at the door. No one else was there, and she held up her arms. He crushed her in a strong embrace, and the tears came to his eyes. He didn’t try to hide them when he drew back, and she whispered as she wiped them away, “Welcome home, my own dear son!”
“Mother—!” was all Clay could say, and then she said, “It will be hard tonight. They’ll all want their little bit of revenge. But you can stand it, Clay. Now go to Ellen.”
His audience with Ellen was short but far from sweet. She was not the woman he remembered at all; the years had not been kind to her. She was overweight, the slim curves he remembered now being hidden beneath pampered flesh. She still would be considered attractive to men, but there was a predatory look about her that he did not admire. At once he said, “Ellen, there’s no point in my making apologies, but let me say I’m deeply grieved at the sorrow I’ve brought you.”
She stared at him, then snapped, “You needn’t think I’ll have you back, Clay, so you can stop begging …!”
The rest of the interview consisted of her telling him what a rotter he was, then listing the things he would have to do if he were permitted to stay on. He listened without comment, wondering at the changes in her. Finally he said, “You won’t be troubled by me, Ellen. I’ll be busy with the work here.”
Downstairs, the children gathered in the dining room, all of them trying to talk at once. Dent said loudly, “Well, I must say he’s got brass! Stay away from us for years, then come breezing in as if nothing had happened!” He was angry and intended to give no quarter to his father.
David shook his head, saying moderately, “Dent, let’s hear what he has to say. He may have had more problems than we know.”
Lowell scowled, then muttered, “It’s rotten! Why did he have to come home?”
Rena was so tense that her voice was strained. All her life she had dreamed of a father, which meant she had learned to resent Clay for not being there. Now she was like a cocked pistol, just waiting for her chance to tell the man who had robbed her of what every girl should have exactly what she thought of him.
But when she looked up and saw her father enter with their mother, she could not say a word. She had been only a baby when he had left, and the pictures she had seen were suddenly worthless. Clay stepped to the table, and he looked first at her. He’s so handsome, was Rena’s first thought. He was tall and very strong, with hair black as a crow’s wing and a pair of eyes that seemed to see right into her. She stared back at him, and he smiled. Then she dropped her head, unable to meet his gaze. But as he took his eyes from her, she watched him avidly.
Thomas and Susanna entered but did not sit down. They were all standing, and Clay said at once, “I know you’re all embarrassed. Not so much as I am, though.” He met Denton’s hard gaze, then said, “Long ago I forfeited the right to be called your father. So the one thing you don’t have to fear is that I’ve come back to make all sorts of demands on you. Your grandparents and your mother have done all the hard work of raising you, and I didn’t come to take over.”
“Well then, why did you come?” Dent demanded, his face pale.
“That’s a good question, Dent.”
Suddenly David asked, “How did you know he’s Dent? Maybe I’m Dent.”
“No, you’re David.” Clay smiled briefly, then added, “Dent was always the one to attack. And you were always the quiet one.” Then he said, “I’ve come back to serve my father. You know, I suppose, that things haven’t been going well with most plantations. My father has had to bear all the burden since I ran out on him. Now I want to do what I can to help him make it through this crisis.” He stopped then and looked straight at his father. “Your grandfather is master here—of all of us, but especially of me.”
Susanna touched Thomas’s arm, and he said hurriedly, “Now that’s the way it is. So let’s have something to eat.” Truthfully the words of his son had struck him hard, as had the look in Clay’s eyes. Can he possibly mean all that? Thomas asked himself as he sat down. A faint flicker of hope ran through him as he looked at Clay, and he saw that Susanna had tears in her eyes.
The mood, of course, was strained. Clay said nothing at first, but when David said, “You’ve been outdoors a great deal, sir,” he opened up. He told them about the schooner—omitting the fact that she was a slave ship—and told a story about a storm off the coast of Chile. He was a good storyteller, always had been, and despite their suspicion, the children listened avidly.
When the meal was over, they were all glad of it. Clay made no attempt to go to any of them, but as they stood up, he said, “It’s late for me to say this, but if I can help any of you in any way, it would be my privilege.” Then he turned and left the room.
“Where’s he going to stay?” Rena asked.
“In the summerhouse,” Susanna answered.
Rena said stubbornly, “He’s not my father, Grandmother! Not my real father!”
Susanna bent down and took Rena’s face between her hands. “He’ll be what you let him be, my dear. If you’ll let him, he’ll be a father to you. If you won’t—there’s nothing he can do about it.”
Tears rose in Rena’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She was confused and angry. “I don’t need him. I don’t!”
When she ran through the door, Susanna went to stand in front of Thomas. She leaned against him, weak from the tension that had built up. “It’s not going to be easy, Tom!”
“We’ll see. I don’t think he’s changed, Susanna. He’s weak, as he always was. Oh, he’s a charmer. I’ll give him that! But he’s not solid!” Then Thomas straightened his back, and sadness touched his eyes. “He gets that from me, my dear!” he said, then left the room at a fast walk.
CHAPTER 17
THE OLD MAID
Will, shoot! What’s he want to come back for, anyway?”
It was early, and Rena was in the yard looking for bantam eggs. The miniature chickens were allowed to roam free and found strange and bizarre places to deposit their eggs. The tiny eggs were delicacies that Thomas loved, and he assigned Rena the chore of finding them. Usually she liked hunting them. “It’s like an Easter egg hunt every day,” she co
nfided to Susanna.
But today a cross frown marred the smooth perfection of the girl’s brow, and she shoved Buck away roughly. The big dog ignored her and pushed his huge head close to lick her on the face. He was a formidable animal, a deerhound of almost mythological fame, but he was devoted to Rena, who treated him as if he had two legs instead of four. Her grandparents had found it deliciously funny, coming upon them playing when Rena was only four years old. She had dressed him in one of her father’s old shirts, and the two of them were sitting at her small table having tea!
Rena had no close girlfriends. Her cousin Rachel Franklin lived close by, but Rachel was seventeen, and between that age and Rena’s thirteen years a great gulf is fixed! Rena played with the slave children, but they had their work. Besides, it was becoming clear to Rena that an even greater gulf existed between herself and Maisie, the slave girl of her own age who had been brought into the house to learn the mysteries of being a lady’s maid. Rena was close to her brother Lowell, but he was a boy, and that was another gulf.
So that left Buck, and more and more she spent her time with him, roaming the fields, dabbling in the creek—even sneaking him into her room to spend the night whenever she could manage it. If the dog could have talked, he would have informed the adults of the house that Rena was in need of attention. He knew all there was to know about the child, for she had formed the habit of talking to Buck aloud—and she did so now as he nuzzled her neck.
“Get away, Buck!” she said crossly, pushing at him. But he weighed almost as much as she did, and it was like shoving a tree. She sighed and surrendered. Handing him the basket she had trained him to carry by the handle, she said, “Come on, let’s go down to the barn. I’ll bet we’ll find some eggs there.” She ran across the front yard, the big dog loping at her side easily, keeping the basket between his great jaws. When they got to the barn, she slowed down, probing here and there in her search for the tiny eggs, talking with the dog.
“He’s been here two weeks, Buck,” she said with a frown. “And nobody ever sees him. None of us, I mean.” She paused, picked up two eggs that were behind an old grindstone, and put them in the basket. “He stays with the slaves most of the time. Lowell said he likes them better than he does his own family. But I don’t care! Do you, Buck?”
Buck said, “Woof!”—which Rena took to mean he didn’t care either—and wagged his tail.
“I asked Dorrie why he didn’t eat with us, and she said he worked all the time, that he came in lots of times after we were all in bed, all dirty and tired. She said she saves him a plate from suppertime.” She paused long enough to go over the fence and scratch Delilah’s ears. The huge sow groaned happily, and Rena sat there, continuing her recitation. “I told Dorrie I didn’t like him and wished he’d never come home, and she said I was a fool! I told Grandmother on her, but do you think she whipped Dorrie? No, she took her part! Blamed old nigger!”
Buck caught the displeased tone in her voice and began to whine. “Oh, I’m not mad at you, Buck!” Rena laughed, throwing her arms around him. “It’s just that … everything’s changed!”
What Rena didn’t realize was that it was not the plantation or her relatives that had changed, but she herself. She longed for the simplicity of the past, when she had played with her dolls or with Buck and roamed Gracefield at her grandfather’s side. In those days she had given little thought to the world outside her own sphere. That had been a happy time for Rena. Her mother had been gone most of the time to Richmond, but Susanna had been always there—and Dorrie, who, in some ways, was closer than her own mother.
But changes in Rena’s body and in her emotions had come, and now she was confused and moody. Susanna and Dorrie had recognized her unhappiness but could do little to help her. Dorrie had spoken their mutual thoughts only once. She and Susanna had been shelling purple-hulled peas on the porch late one afternoon, and Rena had walked by, her head down, with Buck at her side.
“Chile misses havin’ a momma and daddy,” Dorrie had murmured. “Gonna be a hard time comin’ for her.”
Susanna had not commented, for she knew well enough that all of Clay’s children lived under a cloud. Their friends all had parents; but Ellen was no mother, and with the shadow over their father, all four of the children had grown thick shields around their hearts without knowing it. Dent bluffed it out, swaggering as a front, letting it be known that he didn’t have any concern about his parents. David tried to do the same but, being more sensitive, could not quite bring it off. Lowell was hard to read. He had the tough self-assurance of his great-grandfather Noah Rocklin, but Susanna saw the needs in the boy. It was Rena, though, who was the most vulnerable. Susanna had discovered the girl’s longing for a mother and father when she read stories to her, for Rena always loved those stories best that featured a child who had a father and mother who loved and were there.
The sun was rising quickly, peering at Rena over the top of the grove of water oaks where the summerhouse was located. Rena hesitated, then said, “Come on, Buck. We might as well go over to the grove. Some of these durned banty chickens may have found that place.”
None of the chickens ever had wandered as far away as the summerhouse, but Rena insisted to the dog that they might have, and Buck gave her no argument. The two of them walked across the lawn, and the shade was cool under the trees. A startled possum scurried away as the pair surprised him, which made Rena laugh with delight. “Did you see her babies, Buck? They were all hanging to her tail! They looked like little pink mice!”
The sight of the possum cheered her up, for she loved the wild things of the woods. She always had some pet or other in a cage made by Box. Once it was a baby raccoon, which grew up to be the worst pest on the place, getting into everything, its clever little hands able to open any door or lock! Once it was a fox, another time a yearling deer. She always cried when they returned to the wild, but forgot her grief promptly when another wild pet came along. And so the circle of certain loss would begin again.
When she got to the summerhouse, she was surprised to see that the yard had been cleared and that new paint had been applied to the small frame structure. Cautiously she approached the cabin almost on tiptoe, ready to wheel and flee if her father should suddenly appear. But when she got to the window and peered inside, she saw that no one was there. He could have been in the bedroom, of course, but she didn’t think so. Her eyes were caught by a stack of books that were strewn on the table helter-skelter. She loved books and tried to see the covers but could not. Temptation suddenly came, and she struggled with it dutifully—but the sight of the books was too much, and going to the door, she pushed it open and walked inside.
It was a favorite place for Rena. She and her brothers had used it for a playhouse for years, but the boys had outgrown it and Rena herself had not been here much since the previous fall. Carefully she advanced to the table and was delighted to see several magazines with pictures. She picked one up, gave a fearful look at the door, then, satisfied that there was no danger, began to look through the periodical. She was a great reader and soon was lost in the pictures—so lost that she came to herself with a start when Buck made a huffing sound. It was his way, she well knew, of announcing that someone was coming. In a sudden panic she threw the book down and dashed to the door, Buck right beside her.
Opening the door, she dashed outside—and ran smack into someone who said, “What the devil—!”
Rena in a blind panic bounced off the newcomer and gave a small cry of fear.
“Why—it’s Rena!” Clay looked down at her with startled eyes, but that was all he had time to do—for Buck had heard his beloved Rena cry for help, and he launched himself at the tall man with a terrifying snarl.
Clay had time only to push Rena to one side and get his hands up before the huge dog bit him in the chest, driving him backward. He stumbled, then sprawled to the ground and felt the fangs of the dog rip his hand. He caught the dog by the fur on each side of his head, but the animal was
so strong that it was all he could do to hang on. The two of them rolled over and over on the grass as Clay tried to get away, and he knew that sooner or later that dog would break his grip.
Rena had been shoved to one side, but when she caught her balance and saw Buck going for her father’s throat, she was petrified. She had seen Buck fight other dogs and knew that he was terrible when aroused. At once she threw herself at the pair, getting her arm around the dog’s neck and screaming, “Buck! Buck, don’t!”
The dog lifted his mighty head, and his terrifying snarls cut short. He twisted his head and saw Rena, whereupon he began to whine and try to get to her.
Cautiously Clay held on, but when he saw that the dog was no longer trying to tear his throat out, he released his grip. At once Buck turned to Rena, trying to lick her face, for she was crying in a hysterical manner. Clay looked down to see that his hand was deeply cut by the dog’s jaws and took out a handkerchief. Wrapping it around his hand, he said, “It’s all right, Rena.”
The girl looked up, tears running down her face. She couldn’t speak, so great was her fear, and Clay said, “It’s all right. I’m not hurt.”
Rena dashed the tears from her eyes, but then as she released Buck, who watched Clay with a steady gaze, she saw the crimson stain on his hand. “Oh, he bit you!”
“He got me a little, but it’ll be all right. I’d better clean it out, though.” He moved around the pair, keeping his eye on the dog, and entered the cabin. Going to a pitcher of water, he filled the basin and carefully unwrapped his hand. It was a deep gash, and the water was soon stained crimson. He reached for a bottle of weak lye solution that he had found in a box nailed to a wall. As he sat down and opened the bottle, he glanced up to see that Rena was standing at the door, uncertainty on her youthful face.
“That’s a good bodyguard you have there, Rena,” he said gently and smiled. Then as he took the lid from the bottle, he said, “Come on in. You can help me do the bandaging.”
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