The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

Granddaddy took me by the hand, and we began our struggle back to the entrance. The noise and the smoke and the press of people made me lightheaded and limpsy. I thought, Right, I’m going to see what it feels like to faint after all, but if I faint in here I’ll have to do it standing up because there’s nowhere to fall. That might be a first. At the moment when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, we pushed outside and stood panting in the fresh air.

I puffed, “You tried to buy the machine, didn’t you?”

“He would not sell at any price, and I don’t blame him,” he said. “We have to hurry home. I must write—no, telephone—the Duryea factory in Massachusetts and place an order at once. The internal combustion engine. Think of it! The power of four horses!”

“I don’t feel so well,” I said. “I think I’ll rest awhile. You go on ahead.”

Granddaddy peered at me, saying, “You look flushed. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“It’s the smoke. I’m fine,” I said feebly as the world went black and I pitched over backward.

Now, FAINTING. There’s a subject I’d always wondered about. The heroines in books seemed to faint a lot, swaying genteelly onto a handy padded couch or into the convenient arms of some concerned suitor. These heroines were always willowy and managed to land in graceful postures of repose, and were revived with the merest passing of a decorated flagon of smelling salts under their noses.

I, on the other hand, apparently went over like a felled ox and was lucky to land on the grass and avoid cracking my head open. What brought me to was not the whiff of smelling salts but a half bucket of cold water thrown in my face. I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky. A ring of faces peered down at me. How blue the sky is, I thought. And look, there goes a cirrus cloud, it looks like Bunny’s fur, and why are all my family staring at me like that, and which one of my stupid brothers is throwing water on me?

“Pet, pet, can you hear me?” Harry’s voice came from a long way off.

I located his face, which for some odd reason was undulating, and croaked, “Sure I can, Harry.”

Next to Harry I saw Fern Spitty. She was vibrating strangely, her enormous hat blocking out a good part of the horizon. And even though I had seen her half a dozen times before, I said dreamily, “Hello. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” For this I got another half bucket of water in the face.

All right, enough of that. I pushed myself up and shook water from my face like a wet dog and glared at the circle around me. Granddaddy took my wrist and felt my pulse. “Calpurnia,” he said, “what is the order of the spider commonly known as daddy longlegs?”

“Opiliones,” I said tartly.

“Very good,” he said. “I believe she is coming around.”

“Stop that water,” I said to the circle at large.

Next to Granddaddy were Travis and Sam Houston. I couldn’t see a bucket anywhere. No doubt one of them was holding it behind his back. Then of course there followed a big foofaraw about getting me to my feet and slapping the grass off me and getting me a lemonade and putting me into a borrowed gig to get me home. It wasn’t far, but no one would let me walk. Mother and Father weren’t to be found, so Harry drove, and Fern came along for the ride.

The fresh air blowing across my face as we trotted smartly home made me feel worlds better. The attention was welcome at first but then quickly became oppressive as I perked up.

Viola met us at the door, took one look at me, and said, “Lord, what now, Mister Harry?”

I didn’t think there was any need for her to take that tone, especially in front of a visitor.

“It’s nothing, Viola,” I said with great dignity. “I fainted, that’s all. You need not concern yourself with me.”

“She’s fine, Viola,” said Harry. “It was smoky and hot in the tent. Let us sit down. Miss Spitty, do you care for a cup of tea? Perhaps a glass of cold lemonade?”