Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

but because he would require special attention and needed the added room, he was placed in the bedroom beside his and Mamma's rooms.
    I stood by Mamma, who stood there twisting her silk handkerchief and saying over and over, "Oh my, what will we do, what will we do?"
    "He'll be in some pain for a while," the doctor told all of us, "and he needs to be kept quiet. I'll stop by from time to time to look in on him."
    Mamma quickly retreated to her suite and Emily went in to see to Papa.
    I couldn't imagine Papa confined to a bed. Sure enough, when he awoke and realized all that had occurred, he roared with anger. Tottie and Vera were loath to go in with his trays of food. The first time Tottie brought a tray, he threw it at the door and she had to clean up the mess. I was sure he and Emily would find a way to blame the accident on me, so I remained in my room, just trembling in anticipation.
    One afternoon, two days after the accident, Emily came to me. I had eaten my lunch and returned to my room to read my assigned sections of the Bible. Emily hoisted her shoulders sharply, looking like a metal rod had been slipped down her spine. She smirked and pursed her lips, tightening her thin face.
    "Papa wants to see you," she said. "Right now."
    "Papa?" My heart began to thump. What new penance would he impose on me as a result of what had happened to him?
    "March yourself right in there," she ordered.
    I rose slowly and, head down, I walked past her and down the corridor. When I got to the doors of Papa's room, 1 looked back and saw Emily glaring at me. I knocked on his door and waited.
    "Come on in here," he shouted.
    I opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, which had been turned into a hospital room for him. On the table beside the bed were his bedpan and his urine bottle. His breakfast tray was on the bed table. He was sitting up, his back against two large fluffy pillows. The quilt was over his legs and torso, but his cast poked out on the end and side. There were papers and books beside him on the bed.
    Papa's hair fell wildly over his forehead. He wore a nightshirt, open at the collar. He looked unshaven, his eyes bleary, but when I entered, he sat up straighter.
    "Well, come on in here. Don't stand there like some little idiot," he snapped.
    I walked to the bed..
    "How do you feel, Papa?" I asked. "Terrible—how'd you expect I'd feel?"
    "I'm sorry, Papa."
    "Everyone's sorry, but I'm the one laid up in this bed with all that's got to be done." He studied me harder, his eyes moving from my legs up slowly. "You've been doin' real well with your penance, Lillian. Even Emily's got to admit that," he said.
    "I'm trying, Papa."
    "Good," he said. "Anyway, this accident has put me in a pickle and I'm surrounded by incompetents, plus your Mamma is of absolutely no value in times like these. She doesn't even poke her head in to see if I'm alive or dead."
    "Oh, I'm sure she's . . ."
    "I don't care about that now, Lillian. I'm probably better off she doesn't come around. She'd only upset me more. What I've decided is you're going to be the one to take care of me and help me with my work," he declared quickly. I looked up, surprised.
    "Me, Papa?"
    "Yeah, you. Think of it as just another part of your penance. For all I know . . . the way Emily goes on, it might just be. But that's not important now. What's important," he said, looking at me sharply again, "is I get good care and I have someone I can trust to do what has to be done. Emily's busy with her religious studies and besides," he said, lowering his voice, "you were always better at ciphering. I've got these figures to do," he said, seizing a handful of papers. "And my mind's like a sieve. Nothing stays in it long. I want you to add up the totals and do my books, understand. You'll figure it out quickly, I'm sure."
    "Me, Papa?" I repeated. His eyes widened.
    "Yes, you. Who in tarnation do you think I've been talking about all this time here? Now then," he continued, "I want you to bring up my food. I'll tell you what I want and you'll tell Vera, understand. You come in here every morning and empty my waste and you keep this room clean.
    "At night," he said in a softer voice, "you come in and read me the papers and some Bible. You listening to me, Lillian?"
    "Yes, Papa," I said quickly.
    "Good. All right. First take this breakfast tray down. After that, come up here and change my linen. I feel like I've been sleeping in my own sweat for days. I need a clean night shirt,