save it, and the only problem I have is ... Not going off to fight. No true Southern male minds that. The only problem I have is that I don't know which I'm going off to doâkill it or save it. And that's what troubles me."
Silence. Everyone was moved.
Cicero inched closer to Teddy, sensing uneasiness. Teddy reached down and rubbed one of the dog's long reddish-brown ears. Cicero settled down.
Then Teddy spoke in a mild voice. "Well, I can't let my big brother outdo me. I've something to say, too, though it can't come up to what Louis said. What I'm about to tell you all is simple, and I'd like you all to keep it in mind in the days ahead. It's this:
This place where we all live is not a plantation. It's a homestead.
"
The force of it hit us in the face, in the stomach, and everywhere else you can be hit by words. After that, nobody knew what to do. Viola must have thought the same thing, too, because at that moment she got up, tears streaming down her face, and she hugged Teddy.
I got up, too. So did Carol and Louis. The only one who remained seated was Pa.
We all started hugging one another and saying wonderful things and making promises and giving one another advice to be followed until we were reunited with the boys again.
Surprisingly, Viola, who loved reading stories about knights and warriors, whose idol was Joan of Arc, said to Louis, "Don't be a hero, Louis" and then, "Teddy, you either, we'd rather have you back. We need you," and then, in turn, my brothers mouthed endearing things to us.
Then, gradually, we dispersed. Teddy and Louis still had to have their meeting this night. And Viola's beau, young Johnnie Cummack, who was also leaving tomorrow, was coming to call.
"Will you be all right on your own?" Viola asked me. "I'm going on the verandah to wait for Johnnie."
I said yes, though my headache was getting the upper hand.
"We have to retire to the library," Louis said. But before he and Teddy left the room, both turned to look at Viola.
"Remember," Teddy cautioned, "you bring him to the front parlor. And the door stays ajar."
Viola stamped a satin slipper on the floor. Louis smiled. "Sorry, sweetie. We know he's leaving tomorrow. But that's just
why
we want the door ajar."
Louis kissed her forehead and went out of the room with Teddy. Carol went into the back parlor to play the piano. Viola went out to the verandah, where enough torch lights were lighted to make even an innocent kiss county business.
I was the last to leave the dining room. And what I did, stealthily, was look at the card from Mother that Teddy had put on the buffet.
It was an insult of the highest order.
There was no sick friend. There was no goodbye to the boys.
It was a
carte de visite,
a calling card such as the one used when one came to call and, finding no one home, left the card announcing they had been there. There was nothing at all personal about it.
And likely Mother had had someone deliver it for her.
It was an insult to the occasion, and my brothers knew it.
***
Because I was feeling so terrible, because my head felt squeezed in a lead hat, I went directly to my room, closed the door, and sat on my bed. The lace summer spread had been folded back, and my dollsâMiranda, Suzy, Baby Cassie, Judy, the cornstalk doll that Viola had made for me, and Jemima, the pioneer dollâall sat on a pine chest. The windows were open and organdy curtains fluttered in the late-dusk breeze. The mosquito netting around the bed was arranged just right.
Night was coming. I heard the hoot of an owl, the last going-to-sleep sound of some birds, the barking of Teddy and Louis's hound dogs in the pen. Then the hoofbeats of a horse rapidly making its way down the tree-lined approach to the house. Viola's Johnnie.
I took off my shoes and my silken hose, my dress and petticoats. Standing in my chemise and pantalets, I looked in the standing mirror. I would
never
get bosoms like Viola. Once I had stuffed the top of my chemise