The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

We went into the house, and I managed to wash my hands and change into a clean pinafore without notice. We filed into the dining room. Father held Mother’s chair, and we all sat down. SanJuanna came in and waited by the sideboard to serve. My father began the blessing, and we all bowed our heads.

“Heavenly Father, we thank thee for—”

Hic.

This was a quiet one, and it might have escaped notice except for my rotten brothers. Travis and Lamar rustled and stirred, and Jim Bowie peeked at me over the steeple of his hands. Mother flashed them a look, and they subsided.

“—for the bounty of thy worldly harvest and for this food, which—”

Hic.

My brothers tittered.

“Calpurnia. Boys. Stop it,” hissed Mother.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” I said in a small voice. I knew another one was aborning deep within me, and there wasn’t much I could do about it, but nevertheless, I held my breath and struggled mightily.

“—which nourishes us through the grace of Our Lord—”

Up it came, a giant one this time.

HIC.

Oh, how my brothers fell about the place. Granddaddy stared at the ceiling with interest.

“—Jesus Christ!” said Father, in confusion.

Mother threw her napkin on the table. “That’s it!” she cried. “What on earth has gotten into you? Were you raised in a barn? Go to your room at once. And the rest of you will control yourselves, or you will follow her upstairs. I’ve never heard of such dreadful behavior during grace. And in my own family yet!”

I wanted to explain that I couldn’t help it, I hadn’t done it on purpose, but that would mean revealing Granddaddy’s and my secret, and I would die broken and twisted on the rack before telling. As I got up from the table, Granddaddy studied the chandelier and smoothed his mustache with his forefinger.

I passed behind Mother’s chair, and she said, “What is that smell?”

“Peppermint,” I mumbled and kept moving. I felt funny and in sudden need of a nap. I trudged up the stairs and could hear Father starting the blessing again from scratch. I shut myself in my room and climbed into my tall brass bed.

I must have fallen asleep because I woke myself up some time later with a loud snore. The sun had set, and I could hear my younger brothers preparing for bed, so I reckoned it to be eight o’clock or so. The fire in my gut had eased somewhat. I sat up and realized I was starving. I had one more hour until my bedtime. Could I make it to the larder without being seen by Mother? It would be tricky.

A soft tap at the door interrupted my planning. Was it Mother come to berate me, or Harry come to rescue me? Neither. It was Travis, the ten-year-old, clutching one of his new litter of kittens, all of which he’d named after gunslingers, outlaws, and others of low repute. “Look,” he whispered as he shoved the furry creature into my hands, “I brought you Jesse James. He’s my best one. He’ll be good company for you.” Then he skedaddled down the hall, not wanting to be caught talking to the condemned prisoner.

Jesse James was some comfort, at least. I took him back to bed, and he purred under my chin and kneaded my shoulder. Just as I dozed off, there was another knock. This time it was Granddaddy, looking solemn. He stood in the doorway, holding a couple of thick books.

“A little something for you to read,” he said, “in your exile.”

“Thank you,” I said, and shut the door as he headed off to his own room. Why was he bringing me books at a time like this? I was too hungry and vexed to read, although the first one, Great Expectations, looked promising. The second one, Principles of Southern Agrarian Economy, did not. But it felt strangely unbooklike in my hands. It turned out to be not a book at all but a wooden box trickily carved and painted to look like a calfbound volume. Strange. I fiddled with it and found the catch and the box opened. Inside was a waxed paper parcel containing a thick roast beef sandwich. I took the sandwich and Great Expectations and sank into my bed with the utmost feeling of luxuriousness. Ahhh. Bed, book, kitten, sandwich. All one needed in life, really.

Half an hour later, Father tapped on the door, calling quietly, “Callie?” I wanted to be left alone with Pip, so I shoved the book under the covers with Jesse James, who mewed in protest. I turned to the wall and pretended to be asleep. Father came in. After a moment, he left, but not before blowing out my lamp, which irritated me no end, as I was not allowed to keep matches in our bedrooms. There was nothing else to do but go to sleep. Besides, the next day brought my piano lesson, and it was always a good idea to be rested and in top form so as not to provoke Miss Brown.

I lay there contemplating my day as I drifted off. My throat still burned, but I was filled with gratification that with all those brothers, I was the first to imbibe. I think. Later I found out that Mother’s health tonic, her Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound for Women, was nearly 20 percent alcohol.