The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

“What about the telegram?”

“What about it?”

“Well . . .” Viola pounded on the gong. The sound was intrusive, hateful.

“Do you have any questions about it?” he asked.

“No,” I said slowly, “I guess not.”

“Were you ever in any doubt?”

“I suppose not, but—”

“There are so many things to learn, you see, and so little time is given us. I am old. I thought I would die before it happened.”

I stood up and went to him. I tried to hand him the telegram, but he said, “You keep it. Press it in your Notebook.”

I pocketed it and put my arms around him. He slipped his arm around me and kissed me, and we leaned together awhile until the inevitable knock came at the door.

I HAD EXPECTED a celebration. I had expected streamers and cake and confetti. I had expected our family to hoist us on their shoulders and carry us aloft in triumph. But Granddaddy never said a word all through dinner, and I spent the meal feeling lifeless. What was wrong with me? Why did I feel so flat on what should have been the happiest day of my life, and my grandfather’s life?

Mother glanced at Granddaddy all through dinner and smiled and nodded encouragement at him whenever he looked up, giving him every opportunity to explain the once-in-a-lifetime communication, but instead he chose to apply himself to his plate. Generalized rustling and surreptitious glances from my brothers indicated that they knew something was afoot.

We ate our dinner. It wasn’t until SanJuanna was clearing the dessert course that Granddaddy went to the sideboard and poured himself a generous measure of port. He held his glass aloft until the table quieted and all eyes were on him. The port caught the light from the chandelier and splashed a ruby wave across his beard.

He looked like he was about to address us, but then he turned and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and called out for Viola to come into the dining room. She hurried in, wiping her hands on her apron, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Ladies”—he bowed—“gentlemen, I propose a toast. Something rather wonderful has happened. Today I received a telegram from Washington. It came from the Smithsonian Institution, informing me, and Calpurnia, that we have discovered a new species of vetch. A previously unknown specimen. It is henceforth to be called Vicia tateii.”

Father said, “Well done!”

Mother studied Granddaddy with a puzzled expression, and then turned her gaze to me.

Harry said, “Grandfather, you’ve put our name down in history.”

“Did you win a prize, Callie?” said Jim Bowie. “What did you win?”

“We won a place in the science books,” I said.

“What books? What does that mean? Will we get to see them?”

“You will one day, J.B.”

Father started clapping and the others followed with applause and hoorays. Here is what I had been waiting for, and it did make me feel more cheerful, although not as much as you’d think.

Father joined Granddaddy at the sideboard, poured himself a good dose of port, and said, “Margaret, will you join us?”

Mother scrutinized me.

“Margaret?”

“Oh,” she said, and turned to Father. “Perhaps a small one, Alfred, seeing as it’s a special occasion.”

Granddaddy said, “Viola, won’t you have a glass?”

Viola glanced at Mother and then said, “No, no, Mr. Tate, I couldn’t—”

He ignored her and shoved a glass into her hands and then another into SanJuanna’s hands—she looked like she would faint. They all stood and raised their glasses. We imitated them with glasses of milk.

Father spoke. “To our good health, to our continuing prosperity and, on this grand occasion, to Grandfather and his scientific endeavors. I must admit that there were times when I wondered about the way you spend your time, but you have proven it to be all worth the while. We are a proud family tonight!”

Harry started up a chorus of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and then led them all in giving three cheers.

“Let’s not forget Calpurnia,” said Harry, “with her Notebook. I claim some credit for your accomplishments, pet, for having given it to you. Well done.”

Another cheer, this time aimed at me. I had to smile at their bright, excited faces.

“It’s true,” said Granddaddy, raising his glass in my direction. “None of this would have happened without the help of my only grandchild, Calpurnia.” He drank serenely.

His only grandchild! There was stunned silence from my brothers, followed by a rising swell of muttering and hissing.

“Pardon me,” said Granddaddy, catching his mistake and bowing. “I meant, of course, my only granddaughter.” He calmly drank and then sat down. My brothers were in a snit, but I didn’t care. My heart pumped gladness through my veins. I was all to him, wasn’t I? And he was all to me.

CHAPTER 27

NEW YEAR’S EVE