An Acquaintance with Darkness - Ann Rinaldi [14]
They were. "Come and live with me, Emily," Uncle Valentine said finally.
Maude and Robert looked uncomfortable. So they know, I thought. "I've already promised the Surratts."
"Valentine isn't a bad person to live with," Robert said. "He coughs a lot, mornings, and comes in all hours of the night. He goes to the theater and bets on baseball games. But he isn't a bad person to live with."
"You should be with family," Uncle Valentine continued. "Isn't that right, Robert?"
"Absolutely. Everyone should be with family," Robert agreed.
"I don't think you should do this to me now, Uncle Valentine," I told him. "It isn't fair."
"You're right. The decision must be yours." He stood up. "I have appointments. But first I'll stop by Alexander and Brown, however, and make sure they are doing justice to your mother."
"No!" I said it sharply. My cup clattered in my saucer. "No, please, don't go there. Leave it be. The reverend is handling everything. Just leave her be. Don't touch her."
He was taken aback. So was everyone else. "She is my sister, Emily."
His voice. He could do things with it, enunciate the words so carefully, make them carry so much weight, aim them so accurately. I felt ashamed.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Valentine," I said. "Those are Mama's wishes. I must honor them."
"I understand," he said. But I could see he was hurt. He gripped the back of the chair, his knuckles very white. "I shall not touch her, Emily," he said. Then he looked at Robert. "Are you coming with me?"
"I'll be along later. I'll walk back," Robert told him.
Uncle Valentine's eyes went to Robert's leg. "With that limp you'll be telling stories about Fredericksburg all morning and come home with pockets stuffed with greenbacks."
"I'll fend them off," Robert said.
There was something between these two; I saw it then. Uncle Valentine had a fondness for Robert. I felt jealous. He hadn't used that indulgent tone with me. Likely Robert adored him. All Uncle Valentine's students did. They would march into hell itself for him, Mama had once told me.
And then she'd said something odd. "Some have," she'd said. I never asked what she'd meant. But there was something about Robert, something in the eyes that made you know he had been in hell. And if it was Fredericksburg or some other hell he'd marched into for Uncle Valentine, I didn't know. It didn't matter. He'd been there.
Uncle Valentine was leaving. There was something I should say to him, and I didn't know what it was. The powder was just taking effect and I felt woozy. Maude got up to clear the table, saying something about putting up more coffee, that people would be stopping in.
Robert was staring at me. "You've hurt him," he said. "He's a good man. He doesn't deserve to be hurt. He saved my life and my leg, do you know that?"
"I heard tell."
"They wanted to cut my leg off, were just about to, when he came along and said no, he could save it. The doctor who wanted to cut my leg off had been on his feet for thirty-six hours and didn't care. He just wanted to get me over and done with. He was waving his saw and screaming at Uncle Valentine. They near came to blows."
"I'm glad you have your leg," I said, "but I've made my plans."
"You're making a mistake. A big one." He got up and stood looking down at me. "He is a decent, dedicated man. Do you know how many times he's gone to the Sixth Street wharves when the boats docked bringing in the wounded after a battle?"
"No, but I suspect you're about to tell me."
"That's where I first saw him. Standing there with the hospital workers and other doctors, when they brought me in after Fredericksburg. It was nighttime. The members of the Sanitary Commission were holding torches. The horse-drawn ambulances were waiting. It was like a scene from a nightmare. But to us wounded, on deck, they were like angels, standing there in all the confusion, with boat whistles blowing and men groaning all around."
I let him talk. He had to.
"He tagged me immediately for Douglas