will be in use… and he will be gone. Which in no way keeps you two ladies from
praying for his safety. Maureen, you can tell him so in a letter.’
‘But I don’t know how to write to him!’
`Use your head, daughter. You know at least three ways.’
`Doctor Johnson, please.’ Mother then said gently, to me, `Judge Sperling will
know.’
‘Judge Sperling. Oh!’
`Yes, dear. Judge Sperling always knows where each of us is.’
A few minutes later we all kissed Tom goodbye, and Father also, while we were about
it, although he was coming back… and, so he assured us, it was extremely likely
that Tom would be back – sworn in, then told what day to return for duty, as it was
most unlikely that the state militia could accept a thousand or more new bodies all
on the same day.
They drove off. Beth was crying quietly. Lucille was not – I don’t think she
understood any of it – but was solemn and round-eyed. Mother did not cry and neither
did I… not then. But Mother went upstairs and closed her door… and so did I. I
now had a room to myself, ever since Agnes married, so I threw the latch and lay
down and let myself cry.
I tried to tell myself that I was crying over my brother, Thomas. But I knew better;
it was Mr Smith who was causing that ache in my heart.
I wished, with all my soul, that I had not caused him to use a French purse in
making love to me a week earlier. I had been tempted – I knew, I was certain, that
it would be ever so much nicer just to forget that rubber sheath and be bare to him,
inside and out.
But I had told Father solemnly that I would always use a sheath… until the day
when, after sober discussion with the man concerned, I omitted it for the purpose of
becoming pregnant… under a mutual firm intention of marrying if we succeeded.
And now he was going off to war… and I might never see, him again.
I dried my eyes and got up and took down a little volume: of verse, Professor
Palgrave’s ‘Golden Treasury’. Mother had given it to me on my twelfth birthday, and
it had been given to her on her twelfth birthday, in 1866.
Professor Palgrave had found two hundred and eighty-eight lyrics which were fine
enough, in his exquisite taste, for his treasury. That day I wanted just one:
Richard Lovelace’s To Lucasta, On Going To The Wars’:
– I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Page 46
Heinlein, Robert A – To Sail Beyond the Sunset.txt
Loved I not Honour more.
Then I cried some more, and after a while I slept. When I woke up, I got up and did
not let myself cry again. Instead I slipped a note under Mother’s door, telling her
that I would get supper for all of us by myself… and she could have supper in bed
if it pleased her to do so.
She let me cook supper but she came down and presided and, for the first time, Frank
seated Mother and sat opposite her. She looked at me. ‘Maureen, will you return
thanks?’
`Yes, Mother. Dear Lord, we thank nee for that which we are about to partake. Please
bless this food to our use and bless all our brothers and sisters in Jesus
everywhere, both known to us and unknown.’ I gulped and added, `And on this day we
ask a special blessing for our beloved brother, Thomas Jefferson, and for all other
young men who have gone to serve our beloved country.’ (Et je prie que le bon Dieu
garde bien mon ami!) ‘In Jesus Name. Amen.’
`Amen,’ Mother said firmly. ‘Franklin, will you carve?’
Father and Tom returned the next day, late in the afternoon.
Beth and Lucille threw themselves on Tom and Father, and I wanted to, but could not,
as I was carrying George and he had picked that moment to wet a nappy. But I just
held him and let him wait, so that I wouldn’t miss any news – a spare nappy under