“You know what hurt me the most about that letter from his colonel? He said Pa was like a father to his men, that no concern of theirs was too small for his attention.” George spun around to face Rose. “There was a time when I would have given everything I owned for five minutes of his attention.”
He still looked in her direction, but she could see his mind going back through the years, seeing himself as he used to be.
She kept folding clothes.
“There was a time when he took me everywhere. He taught me to ride and hunt. He would lay a welt across my back with his crop if I did anything wrong, but I worked myself to exhaustion to please him. It stopped one day, and from then on I ceased to exist. Somewhere I failed him.”
Rose felt herself shaking with rage that any man would beat his son for missing a shot or would turn his back on a son who adored him. If she could, she would have resurrected George’s father just to tell him how much she despised him.
She finished putting Monty’s clothes in neat stacks and moved to Tyler’s bed.
“When he wasn’t chasing other men’s wives, he was busy gambling away everything he’d inherited. Or he was drunk and getting into fights. It got to where people would turn their backs when they saw him coming.”
George fell silent for so long that Rose finished Tyler’s clothes and moved to Hen’s bed, but she didn’t break the silence. George was so deep in his memories that she doubted he was even aware of her presence.
“Tom Bland, one of Pa’s cousins, had the place next to ours. Tom had been Pa’s best friend since they were boys. He wasn’t married, and after a while he sort of adopted us. He used to help Ma out when Pa was away, or broke. He even took us boys under his wing, taking us on hunts, introducing us around, giving us advice. He used to send Madison money at school. You might say he was more our father than Pa. If we turned out right, it’s because of him.”
George surprised Rose by going to his bureau and taking out a picture in a heavy gilt frame. He handed it to her. It was a daguerreotype of a very ordinary looking man. Even with a heavy beard and mustache, Rose could see the kindness in the man’s eyes. She was surprised that George had a picture of Tom Bland. He didn’t have one of his mother or father.
“Pa took it into his head that Tom and Ma were cheating on him. When he couldn’t provoke Tom into a fight, he seduced his sister. Tom had stayed loyal to Pa through everything, but he couldn’t stomach that. He told Pa not to set foot on his property again or he’d have him whipped. Pa struck Tom and challenged him to a duel. Everybody tried to stop them, but Pa killed Tom thirty minutes later, right there on Tom’s front lawn, in front of his sister and mother.”
Rose handed the picture back to George. He looked at it a long while, bitterness gradually etching his face into sharp lines.
“Now do you understand why we hate him so?”
Rose nodded. At last she finally understood the terrible legacy of this evil man George must call father. She was so horrified she didn’t know what to say. Her heart went out to George. It was easier for the twins. They hated their father without feeling guilty, but George had loved him. He felt responsible for his father’s change. He wasn’t, of course, but how could she convince him?
She understood better why he didn’t want children, but she didn’t know whether he was more afraid he would be like his father or that his father’s blood would turn up in his sons and daughters. It was a cruel curse, especially for a man like George who took his responsibilities so seriously, who valued family above everything else.
She had to help free him from this yoke of misery, but she didn’t know if she had enough influence over him. In order to be free, George must come face-to-face with everything he most feared.
“You’re going to hate what I’m about to say,” Rose began, “but I think you ought to go to that parade in Austin.”
“No!” After the quiet manner in which he had told her about his father, she wasn’t prepared for the vehemence of his response.
“Not because of your father,” Rose hastened to add. “For yourself. If you don’t, you’ll feel guilty about it for the rest of your life.”
George looked at the picture again. “You’re wrong. I’d never forgive myself if I went.” He put the picture back in the bureau.
“You ought to do it for the grandchildren,” she said, ignoring his interruption. “Your father’s being a hero is something they can be proud of. You’ll be giving them something that was denied you.”
George looked on the verge of another outburst, but he controlled his anger. “Then let their fathers go.”