Dawson's Fall

by Roxana Robinson

  Que j’aime la plus belle

  Et sois le plus vaillant.

  Leaving for Syria

  The young and handsome Dunois

  Prays to the Virgin Mary

  To bless his exploits.

  Please, immortal Queen,

  He said as he was leaving,

  Let me love the most beautiful woman

  And be the most valiant man.

  It was sentimental, but the melody lifted it into poignancy. As she sang Sarah’s parents appeared in the doorway, with Lydia. Her mother said she was going upstairs; Lydia was going home. Her father stood behind them, his face troubled. When they were gone Sarah began singing again. She heard Hal’s voice in her mind. When she reached the end of the verse she heard her mother begin to scream.

  She thought of her father’s troubled face: he must be ill. She threw down the guitar and ran after them. Halfway up the stairs she heard her mother’s voice again. This time it was a low keening, a sound so dark and frightening Sarah turned and fled downstairs and out the front door. In the street she heard herself calling Gibbes, though he was gone.

  Lydia came running after her, catching her by the arm. “Zadie, I’ll tell you,” she said, but Sarah pulled away.

  “Father,” Sarah called, and ran back inside. She started up the stairs again, Lydia behind her.

  “Let me tell you,” Lydia said, but Sarah wouldn’t stop. She ran down the hall and burst into her parents’ bedroom. It looked lit by lightning. Her mother lay on her back on the floor. Her father knelt over her, holding her hands. Her mother’s face was white. As Sarah came in her mother looked up.

  “Hal is dead,” she cried, in a strange low voice. “You loved him, Sarah.”

  Sarah laughed. “No, he’s not,” she said. “Father, tell her he’s not.”

  For a moment her father didn’t look up. When he raised his face it was glistening. “It’s true, my darling. Our Harry’s dead.”

  It was the sheen on his cheek that made her know it. Everything inside her stopped—her heart, her blood, her brain—before that vast green wave, rising up and breaking over her, so high that she couldn’t turn from it; there was nowhere to turn.

  * * *

  A FAMILY’S DECLINE can be slow and imperceptible or sudden and precipitous. It was Hal’s death which taught the Morgans that what they had always taken for granted was not theirs. They did not possess it. Fortune, healthy children, a stable life. Whatever you have you think is yours. You believe you’re entitled to it. But you will come to learn that you are entitled to nothing.

  * * *

  WHEN THE DARKNESS left her Sarah could see the room again. Her mother was still keening, low and terrible. Her eyes were shut. Sarah knelt beside her and tried to draw her mother up, but her mother wouldn’t move. Sarah hardly knew what she was doing; later she was downstairs. People came to the door. Sarah saw their faces but could make no sense of what they said. She was in the street again, running to find Miriam, at Lilly’s. People were there, too, in the parlor. They were silent, with stricken faces. They all seemed strangers. When she found Miriam she put her arms around her, asking and telling. They couldn’t make sense of it. They went upstairs. Lilly had fainted when she’d heard and had been put to bed. When they came in she was sitting up, but when she saw them she fainted again, dropping against the pillow as though she had no bones.

  None of them could make sense of it. None of them could understand how they could be alive and in the same world with this great smothering void.

  4.

  1862. Baton Rouge

  SARAH MORGAN’S DIARY

  January 26, 1862

  Three months ago today, how hard it would have been to believe, if any one had fortold what my situation was to be in three short weeks from then! Even as late as the eighth of November, what would have been my horror if I had known that in six days more, father would be laid by Harry’s side! That evening he looked so well and was so cheerful, and felt better than he had been for two weeks; I little thought of what was coming. How well I remember that same day, at our reading club at Mrs Brunot’s, I stopped reading to tell the girls of the desk father had that morning given me, and I went on to talk of his care and love, for my comfort and me, until—I don’t know why, unless it was the premonition of his coming death—I lost all control, and burst out crying, though I tried to laugh it off. At that hour, one week after, I was standing at the head of his grave, looking down at his coffin with dry eyes.

  When we came home from reading, we found father with a severe attack of Asthma, but he had it so often, that we thought this too would pass off … but it was not to be; he never again drew a free breath. At night, he grew so much worse, that Dr Woods was sent for at his request, as Dr Enders could not be found. O how hard I prayed God that he might be relieved! It seemed as though my prayer was answered, and for an hour and a half, he seemed to suffer less … About nine at night, he told me to go to Lilly, and let Charlie stay with him all night. I kissed him good night as he sat in his arm chair under the chandelier in the parlor, and went away confident that I would find him well in the morning.

  I woke … early the 9th, but dreaded to move for fear that something, which I vaguely felt hovering over me should be true, but Lilly called to me to dress quickly and go home with her, for father had been insensible ever since I had left. At the corner, as we were hurrying here, we met Dr Enders, who laid his hand on Lilly’s arm and said “If you go to see your father, you must be prepared for what ever may happen.” I waited long enough to hear her ask if he was dying, and his answer “I believe so” and then I was off, and never knew how I reached the parlor.

  Father was lying on matresses on the left of the mantle as I entered, or rather he was sitting up, propped with pillows, for he was too sick to be carried up stairs. His hands were moving as though he were writing, and his eyes, though staring, had not a ray of light in them. Dr Woods, Miriam and mother were supporting him, and someone told me he had not an hour to live. I went to my room then, and asked God to spare him a little while longer; it was dreadful to have him go without a goodbye, our dear father we all loved so. When I came down, I felt he would not die just yet. He was still the same, and until two, we watched for some change. Then he began to expectorate, and Dr Woods told me if he could throw off the phlegm from his lungs, his reason would return.

  It was a sad way of keeping Brother’s birthday, sitting by what was to be father’s death bed. But he grew better towards evening, and they said he was perfectly conscious, and almost out of danger. Mother did not believe them; she said if he was conscious he would want to know what he was doing on the floor in the parlor instead of being in his bed. He seemed to know that he had not full possession of his reason for once when I was sitting by him he asked for his spectacles; I brought them and he said “Where is my paper, dear?” I told him he had not been reading, and he gave me back his spectacles saying “Take them, darling; my mind wanders.”

  That was Saturday; but Sunday, he was much better, and perfectly himself, as I knew the moment I entered the room, for he put out his hand and said “How is my little daughter today?” We thought him out of danger now, for he talked with every one, and seemed almost well. About twelve, Brother and Jimmy came from New Orleans, for we had telegraphed the day before for them. Jimmy had a violent chill a few moments after he came in, and as I was the least fatigued, I undertook to nurse him. After I got him to lie down on our bed, I had to sit by him the greater part of the time and soothe his head when the fever came on, and hold his hand. He is the most affectionate boy I ever saw. All the time he was sick, he could not rest unless he had his arms around somebody’s neck, or somebody’s hand in his. I sat by him until night, only looking in the parlor every hour or so to see how father was, and then Miriam and I changed patients; she laid down by Jimmy and went asleep, and I went down to sit up all night with father.

  I found him still better, and talking of law business with Brother, so I read until Brot
her went over to Gibbes’ house, where his bed had been prepared. As soon as he had gone, father was seized with Pleurisy, and suffered dreadfully until the next morning. Dr Woods, mother and I sat up with him, the former trying every thing to relieve him. He was very kind to father; as tender with him as though he was a woman; and half the time, would anticipate me when I would get up to put a wet cloth on father’s head, and lay it as tenderly on his forehead as though he were his son. I shall always remember him gratefully for that. Father would beg me to go to bed; he was afraid it would make me sick he said; he was always so uneasy about me, my dear father! O father! how your little daughter misses you now! It was almost four when I at last consented to lie down in the dining room but I soon fell asleep, and knew nothing more until sunrise when they told me that father had suffered a great deal after I left.

  * * *

  … When the Dr pronounced father out of danger, Brother decided to go home … Brother’s good bye was “The Doctor says you will be all right in a day or two; good bye, Pa,” as he leaned over him. Father followed him with his eyes to the door, and he never saw him again.

  The greater part of the day I was busy with Jimmy who was still unable to leave his bed, but now and then I would steal down and comb father’s head with his little comb—the one I gave him when I was eleven years old, that he ever after used. Better and stronger he still grew, and O how happy I felt. Tuesday he was well enough to sit up in his large chair, and read … while I combed his silver hair. How little I realized what was so soon to happen! The next day I was sitting by Jimmy rubbing his hands, when Dr Woods came up to see him. He sat there a long while laughing with me, and I went down to see father with him. Charlie was hastily putting up a bedstead where the matresses had laid, to my great surprise, for I had hoped they would have been able to take father upstairs that day, he was so well. Instead of making any remark, I turned to father and told him some joke Dr Woods and I had just been laughing about. He smiled at me, but the gastly, wan look startled me; there was something in his face which had not been there an hour ago.

  A sick, deathly sensation crept over me. I heard him whisper—for he could never talk above a whisper after that Monday—I heard him whisper to Charlie to help Dr Woods lift him in his bed, and I could hear no more. I ran out of the room with that heart sick feeling. One week or ten days before when I expressed my fear that with his attack of Rheumatism he could not walk up stairs without pain, and had better have a bed brought down, he said to me “My dear, if they ever again make me a bed in the parlor, I shall give myself up for lost. I shall expect never to leave it again.” They were putting him in it then; what if his prediction should be realized?

  I fought against the idea, and tried to talk cheerfully to Jimmy, and had almost succeeded in persuading myself that I was foolishly uneasy when Miriam passed by and put a piece of paper in my hands. On it was “I do not think there is vitality sufficient to recover from this attack.” The words stamped themselves on my memory; they meant that we were soon to be fatherless; Dr Woods’ name was signed; he wanted us to be prepared. It was kindly meant, but how cold. They chilled me, those icy words.

  I heard Jimmy ask what was the matter, but I could not speak with that choaking ball in my throat, and that stiff tongue. I felt my way into the little end room, I could not see. And then I knelt and prayed the dear Lord to spare our father, if it might be, if he could be the same that he had always been. But if he was ever to suffer this worse than death again—if his great noble soul was to be weakened, or deprived of its strength on which we so much relied—for I remembered how terribly he had suffered—then, I said, let God take him now, that he may never know this pain again; father would not wish to live without that clear judgement and understanding that has placed him above other men. If God will spare him to us with renewed health, and unimpaired faculties, Well! If not—God grant us strength to bear it. But I could not bear it patiently; my heart failed me when I thought of father’s leaving me here; until then, I had hoped to die first. I gave [way to tears] in spite of my endeavor to be quiet, so I promised myself that this would be my day, since I could not conquer, but tomorrow should be Miriam’s and mother’s; I would be calm for their sake. And I kept that promise.

  Poor mother!… Wonderfully she bore up, never showing what she felt until he lay dying before her. Jimmy guessed what was to happen, and dressed himself and lay down on the sofa, where he could be near father in the parlor, and Miriam took turns in sitting on the bed near him, with me, brushing away the flies and combing his head. It was about four o’clock in the evening. Lilly and I were alone in the room with him, when he whispered something to us that we could not understand. He cast such an imploring look first at one, then the other, but Lilly put her ear to his lips, and said we had not heard. This time he whispered “Have I committed any mortal sin? I believe in the Resurrection and the Life.” Then he looked at each again for an answer, but Lilly cried and kissed him. Since he had been taken sick, every one had been coming to inquire about him, and even now they were still sending, and I had to leave the room to answer the same sad thing to each one—“very low.” And then I would have to stay away until I could wipe my eyes and be quiet enough to stand by him.

  Sunset came; all without was so quiet and calm; not a breath stirring. I walked up and down the balcony, where I could see him through the open windows. Within, it was more deathly calm than without. Though there were so many there, not a word was spoken, not a hand moved, and the gas, just lighted, was shining on the white coverlid that rose and fell at every painful breath, and father’s pale face and silvery hair looked so deathlike that [I thought] my heart would fail me. Several times during the day, I had caught sight of my self in the mirror, and hardly knowing the face that stared so despairingly back at mine, I would whisper “Hush!” to the quivering lips I saw, as though it were a living creature, and would say to the shadow reflected there “It means that tomorrow you will be an orphan,” and would vaguely wonder why it trembled so. I felt as sorry for that shadow as though it were living—and yet, I was not sorry for myself; I tried to forget my own identity.

  O how still that room was, with the single sound of that dreadful breathing! It made the silence more intense. Among all those living souls, the noblest there was going: floating out to the Great Beyond. Our hearts sickened and turned cold, his never failed; he knew God was just, and he “Believed in the Resurrection and the Life.” It was about eight at night, when he beckoned to Jimmy, and drawing him near, he kissed him repeatedly and said “God bless you my boy! Good-night.” Poor little Jimmy burst into tears and ran out of the room. He watched him out, and after waiting awhile, and unable to talk, he put his arms around mother and kissed her good bye, then me, then Miriam. O dear father! can I ever forget that last good bye? It said everything that a last kiss can say; and when I turned away, I felt as though my last and best friend was gone.

  How kind Charlie was! All those days he never left his side for more than a moment or two, and only for one or two nights, when Cousin Will [Sarah’s cousin William Waller] or Dr Woods sat up with father did he leave him. No son could have been more devoted. I do not know what would have become of us, without Charlie.

  I had determined to sit up all night by father, but half an hour after he had kissed me good bye, they said I must go out while they changed his blisters. I waited with aunt Caro [the widow of Morris Morgan] and aunt Adèle [the widow of Henry Waller Fowler] in the dining room, but after a while … Charlie said I must go to bed; Lilly was lonesome up stairs, and the Doctors found father much better, they would call me if he needed me. I do not know how it happened, but presently I found myself lying on the bed near Lilly, and slept for some time, when Miriam woke me to say father was still better, and I must take my clothes off and go back to bed. I had not the energy to resist, and did as I was told, though every half hour I would wake up, to hear Charlie tell Lilly how father was, and directly fall asleep again. It was always “His pulse has gained�
� “He is stronger” “Dr Enders finds him much better,” until I persuaded myself that he would get well. I kept repeating “O live father! live for your children!” and would fall asleep praying that father might be spared.

  The last thing I heard, was that he was still better; it was then half past four. I fell into a heavy sleep, and did not wake until I felt someone trying to raise me up, and kissing me, to wake me. It must have been a few moments after seven then. I half way opened my eyes, and saw it was Tiche, but had not the energy to say anything, though I had not seen her for several weeks, she having come up from New Orleans while I was asleep. I heard her say “Run to Master,” and then she was gone.

  Half way dreaming, I got up, and slowly put on my shoes and stockings. Then I deliberately commenced to comb my hair, but just then, Margret came in and said “Never mind your hair; Master is dying; run!” In another instant, I was standing by him. I remember to have heard them carry Lilly out of the room, while she was crying; but I saw nothing until I reached his bed. Someone was holding mother, as she stood at the head, wringing her hands and afraid of touching him. Poor mother! how she was crying! Miriam had thrown herself by his side, on the other side of the bed, with her face buried in one of his pillows sobbing aloud, but no one was touching him. So I went to him as he lay on the edge of the bed, and put my left hand in his, while I laid my right on his fore head. The hand of death would not have been colder than mine; but I remembered my promise “To day is mine, tomorrow, Miriam’s and mother’s,” and did not shed a tear.

  Father lay motionless, save for that deep drawn breath, each of which seemed to be the last, with his eyes perfectly blue and unclouded fixed on the parlor door, as though waiting for some one to enter. Only four times can I distinctly remember having seen him breathe after I came in the room. What a long, long interval there was between each! It may have been only a few moments that I stood there, but to me it seemed hours. Presently I bent over him to see him breathe again, but mother cried “Shut his eyes!” and closed them with her own hands. I kissed him as he lay so motionless, and turned away, for I knew father was dead. Jimmy was crying aloud in a chair at the foot of the bed, but I dared not go to him; one word, one touch would have unnerved me, and I had my promise to keep. So I went to my room, and hurried on my clothes, for all this [happened] while I had been standing in my nightgown.