“Papa will come back,” said Rose, turning away from the pillow, even though it cost her great self-control not to go on looking at it.
“Dear, sweet girl,” Libbie said tenderly, “you are right to love your father. He was a great man in his way, but I am afraid he is not coming back.” While the main part of her words were compassionate and filled with understanding, her tongue stood very rigid at the word not, reducing everything else before it.
Rose was quiet through all this. When she thought it safe to do so, she simply left the room and went back downstairs, where she sat on the sofa perturbed, looking out the window toward the lake.
When she saw a pair of riders coming toward the house, though, she ran back upstairs, calling to her mother as she went. Her first thought was that it was her father returning, even if she dare not allow herself to say it, or even hope for it too much, but that is who she wanted it to be.
When the riders drew closer, she was glad she had not said anything, as she could see then it was not Caleum Merian but her uncle Eli and another man she did not recognize. Libbie, though, did not seem to be surprised by their visit when she came to answer the door, having changed into one of her old but still elegant dresses.
When Eli and his guest entered, the adults sat down. Rose could see immediately how happy her mother was, as Uncle Eli introduced his friend as a Mr. Paul Waylon from Chase. Libbie was always made happy to see her brother, but she was surprisingly demure toward the other man, especially as she usually held herself aloof from strangers.
After a pass of conversation that left all the adults laughing, Rose, who had been listening to them from a corner of the room and surmised they were plotting something against her father, went to the strange man and stood directly next to him, glaring coldly.
When he turned to her and remarked what a sweet child she was, then asked her name, she was seized by defiance and replied very evenly, “You are sitting in my father’s chair.”
“War is so difficult for young people.” Mr. Waylon smiled, looking at Eli and Libbie but unmoved by the girl’s outburst. “There is so much they cannot understand.”
“Rose, go upstairs this second,” Libbie told her daughter. “She is usually such a well-behaved child.”
“You mustn’t apologize,” Paul Waylon countered, continuing to smile indulgently. “It is all very natural.” He then turned to Eli. “I’m afraid I should be heading back now. I must attend to some business in town before the shops all close.”
“Well, it has been very nice visiting, Mr. Waylon,” Libbie told him pleasantly, though within she was seething at Rose for ruining the afternoon.
Instead of going on to the bedroom as she had been told, Rose hid on the stairs out of sight from the adults and continued to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Paul, you wouldn’t mind if I let you ride back alone, would you? My sister is a fine cook, and I think I’ll stay here for dinner.”
“Not at all. I will contact you tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Well, thank you for coming all this way. It was really a pleasure.”
“It was that, but entirely mine.”
The man could be heard taking his leave, and Eli and Libbie were left alone in the living room.
“He is from the best family of any Negro in the colony,” Eli said, pouring himself a drink from a decanter on a shelf, which had not been touched since Caleum Merian last opened it to offer spirits to his guests. “He can prove his blood too.”
“My husband was one of the finest men I ever knew — of any color,” Libbie countered, letting her feelings for Caleum show for the first time in many months.
“Yes, of course, Libbie, but please don’t behave like the rest of them in this house. You need a man to manage this place properly, and look after yours and your children’s interest. Mr. Waylon will do that, and he is also a gentleman, as you saw when the child behaved so hideously toward him. I think it would be a very successful match.”
“I know what’s in my interest, Eli,” she said. “That doesn’t mean you can sit there and insult my husband.”
“I did not mean to. I only meant Waylon is worthy of you, dear sister.”
At this Libbie softened again. “If he is interested, I will consider it seriously. Do you think it is too soon, though? That I shouldn’t wait longer?”
“The crops have to go in the ground every year, and every year be brought out. Your house has burned down and will not rebuild itself.”
“You are right, dear brother,” she asserted. “I suppose there are widows made every day.”
“You have suffered so much,” Eli said then, making a great show of his sympathy for what she had been through. “You deserve to be happy. You always deserved that.”
“I have been that before, Eli, but thank you,” Libbie answered. In the past she had thought her hardships only the wages for living, but she saw her brother might be right, and there was no need for her to suffer unduly or veil herself in black for the rest of her life. “You will let me know when you have a response from him.”
“I will,” Eli promised. “I cannot imagine it would be anything other than yes, though. After all, what man would not have you?”
On the upper stairs Rose took in all their conversation and grew scared. She strained not to betray herself. However, it was impossible for her to stop, and she flew from the stairwell, screaming, “My father, Caleum Merian, will be back soon!”
Even before her mother punished her, Rose knew she was powerless against what was happening. She went on in the face of their authority nonetheless, if only because she could not bear being silent with what it made her feel, or not defending herself as she had always been taught to do.
Libbie tried not to be angry at the child, knowing how she loved her own father, and how she herself had felt in the beginning. Even after Caleum enlisted for a second and longer tour after the first, she told herself it was in the service of something greater than they were and was an honor for all of them. She received him on breaks during the fighting with open arms and never mentioned the petty worries of her day-to-day life, reckoning that eventually all would be restored and better than before.
“We must master our destinies, all of us who can,” he said to her, before leaving the final time two years earlier. She wanted to believe him but soon knew better, as she came to feel her own destiny was being mastered by his needs and those of the war.
When he finally wrote to say he had decided not to enlist for a third term, she knew it must have weighed heavily on him, as he had taken to army life so well and risen to the point that he had distinguished himself beyond anyone else from Berkeley, and indeed to the point that his name was known beyond their own colony; and might even be known to history. It will be difficult for him to trade that for farm life again, she told herself, but we will make it through all the same.
She had not heard from him since that letter, however, and it was long past the time he should have returned. The last anyone could confirm was that his regiment had been at a battle in New York State, just before his enlistment was to end. Beyond that there were no reports. She waited daily for news and hoped each horse or wagon that came down their lane was her husband. Her heart would set to beating faster in her breast, until she could hear it in her ears as the rider approached — and showed himself to be other than Caleum. At night as well, those first weeks, she heard horse’s hooves beating toward Stonehouses that later proved to be phantom apparitions. Three months? Six? How many days of this before she admitted to herself she was widowed? How many more should be expected of her? The crops indeed did have to go in the ground soon, or else they would starve and the question answer itself.