“What is it, Clay?”
Clay studied his mother carefully, thankful for her strength. He said slowly, “You both know that mistakes are made in battles and afterwards. That sometimes men are reported killed…and later they turn up alive.”
Thomas and Susanna stared at him in disbelief. Thomas looked very frail, and now he licked his dry lips. “Son—?”
“Is it Burke?” Susanna asked when her husband could not finish.
“Yes. He’s alive.” He came to them as they rose to their feet, their eyes filled with amazement. “Wait, there’s more.”
They listened as he related carefully how Burke had been found and warned them, “He’s very ill and may die. We’ve got to be ready for that. And even if he lives, he’s under a cloud of suspicion. He’ll have to have a trial and prove his innocence.”
Susanna listened to Clay, and then she went to her husband. Putting her arms around him, she whispered, “God has given our son back, Tom!”
Clay looked apprehensively at his father and was amazed to see a strength in Thomas Rocklin’s face that he had never seen there before. He had been a weak man in his youth, but now he said firmly, “God didn’t send my son back to die, Susanna. He’ll live! I believe it with all my heart!”
The three of them held each other, and then Thomas drew back. “Go bring your brother in, Clay.” When Clay quickly left the room, Thomas turned to his wife. “Susanna, I’ve not been a strong man in the past, but I swear to you—I’ll die before I let our boy go!”
Susanna Rocklin had waited for this moment for years! Now she moved to her husband, folded her arms around him, and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Tom!”
They kissed, stood silent for a brief moment, then moved out to see the son they had given up for dead.
CHAPTER 18
“I REMEMBER YOU!”
For three days Burke lingered between life and death in the master bedroom at Gracefield. Sometimes he would throw himself wildly about on the bed and had to be restrained. In his delirium he cried out, but usually his nurses could make little of his incoherent babblings.
At other times he would sink into a coma, his lank body so still that the only sign of life was a faint, ragged breathing. More than once Thomas and Susanna came to peer at his sallow face, fearing that he had slipped away.
Strangely enough, it was Thomas who never lost faith. For years it had been Susanna who had been the strength of Gracefield, but during those long hours and days when their son lay gasping for breath, it was the father who stood against the grim specter of death that lurked in the room.
Dorrie, the brown slave who had ruled Gracefield with her mistress for years, spoke of this to her husband. Zander, at the age of sixty-two, looked the same as he did when he’d become the body servant of Thomas Rocklin years earlier—except that he was now white-haired and slightly overweight. On this day he had come into the kitchen to sit down on a high stool beside his wife, who was making biscuits.
“I’se scared Marse Burke ain’t goin’ ta make it,” he muttered, shaking his head sadly.
Dorrie glared at him, snapping, “Whut you know ‘bout it? You started doctorin’ folks?”
Her remark angered Zander. He pushed his lips out in a mulish, angry fashion, snapping, “I knows what I knows, don’t I? And I tells you dis, woman, if Marse Thomas don’t watch out, he’s goin’ ta kill his ownself takin’ care of that boy!”
His remark caught at Dorrie, bringing a thoughtful look into her brown eyes. She picked up a rolling pin and began flattening the lump of dough thoughtfully. She rolled it out, picked up an empty jar, and began cutting circles in the mass. When Zander reached over, picked up a fragment of the remains, and stuffed it into his mouth, she said out of habit, “Leave that alone.” After a moment, she sat down beside Zander and said slowly, “It’s de first time dat man’s ever showed backbone, ain’t it, now?”
Zander chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of dough, reached for another, then nodded. “Reckon so.” A look of pride came to his eyes, and he said softly, “Marse Thomas—he’s got to be a right good man in his last days. Miz Susanna, she’s plumb proud of him fo’ de first time.”
Dorrie said in a low tone, “If he kill himself takin’ care of dat boy…well, there’s worse ways fo’ a man to die.”
They sat together, these two who had no interest in the war—at least not in its political implications. Abraham Lincoln could issue a dozen papers declaring them free, but they were so bound to the Rocklins that they would die before abandoning them. It was true that there was much cruelty in slavery, but the love and devotion shared between these slaves and the Rocklins went beyond institutions, and as they thought of their future, they never once thought of anything but being part of the house of Rocklin.
Nearby in the sick man’s room, the subjects of their conversation were sitting quietly, watching Burke’s pale face.
“His fever’s gone down,” Susanna said. She stood beside her son, her hand resting lightly on his broad forehead. Her eyes dwelt on the wan features; then she looked across at her husband.
“Thomas, go get some rest,” she begged. “You have to save your strength.”
Thomas was slumped on a small sofa, watching the pair. His flesh had fallen away from his bones, made slack by the sickness that had come to him months ago. Only traces of his good looks remained now, and his once-proud eyes had faded and were sunken into cavernous sockets. His hands were skeleton thin and trembled where they lay loosely clasped in his lap.
But a light came to brighten his eyes, and he shook his head. “I’m all right, Susanna. But you need to get some sleep.”
Susanna went to him, sat down beside him, and took his hand. “I’ll go presently,” she said quietly.
Her gesture pleased him, and he turned to examine her. He was so weak that his voice was a mere whisper as he said, “You’re still the best-looking woman I know.”
Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked them away. “You must want something, paying compliments like that! What is it now?”
He smiled at her, then looked back at Burke. “He’s better. He’s going to make it.”
“Yes. God is good.”
They sat together, closer in spirit, they both knew, than they had been since their youth. The future looked grim indeed, for the war cast its gloom over the entire land. But Susanna was thankful, for she knew that her husband had become a man she could be proud of—something many women never had! They spoke softly, letting the long silences run on, content to be together, and each of them prayed for this broken son and for the other members of their family.
Once after a long silence, Thomas turned to face her, and she saw tears in his eyes. He was not a crying man, she knew, and she whispered, “What is it, Tom?”
“I feel that we’re going to see God do a mighty work with Burke,” he said, nodding. “Just now, Susanna, God dropped that into my spirit. It was as if He said, ‘You will see this son redeemed.’” Wonder was on his face, for it was the first time he’d ever had such a thing happen. “Can it be God speaking to an old reprobate like me, Susanna?”
“You are God’s own child, Tom,” she said at once, and a great love rushed inside her spirit, so that she reached for him and pulled his head close to her breast so that he could not see her tears. “I’m so proud of you, my dear!” she whispered.
Susanna was alone with Burke when he regained consciousness. She had finally persuaded Thomas to go to his room and rest, and she had gone for a quick meal, which Dorrie had prepared.
“Lemme sit wif him,” Dorrie urged. “You done wore yo’self out.”
Susanna smiled tiredly but shook her head. “No, you’ve got everything else to take care of, Dorrie. I’ll be fine.” She patted Dorrie’s shoulder fondly, then returned to the sick man’s side.
Her bones ached from the long vigil, but after she checked Burke, she curled up on the narrow couch that occupied space along the wall. Her eyelids drooped, and for five minute
s she fought sleep but soon succumbed.
She awoke with a start and sat up. Her muscles were so stiff that she knew she’d been asleep for some time—but something had awakened her.… She looked at Burke, alarm running along her nerves. Standing quickly, she went to him at once. Picking up a cloth, she dipped it into the basin of water on the nightstand, wrung it out, then began to clean his face.
As soon as the cloth touched his face, his eyes opened, and Susanna cried out, “Burke!” When he stared at her unblinkingly, she placed her hand on his cheek, pleading, “Do you know me, son?”
Burke’s eyes were clear, but she could see only a faint response. He tried to speak, but only a croak emerged. “Water—!”
Susanna quickly poured cool water from the pitcher into a glass, then helped him raise his head. As she placed the water to his lips, he gulped thirstily, bumping the glass in his eagerness so that the water ran down onto his chest.
“Careful,” Susanna said. “Drink more slowly.” She held his head until he’d finished the glass, then nodded. “You can have more soon.” Replacing the glass, she bent over him with a tremulous smile. “You’ve been very sick,” she said. “How do you feel?”
Burke blinked at her, then began to struggle into a sitting position. She helped him, placing a pillow behind his back. He licked his lips, then nodded. “I feel better, but I’m so thirsty.”
Susanna filled the glass and handed it to him. “You’ve had pneumonia, Burke. And a very high fever.”
He took the glass and drank it more slowly. “That tastes good,” he whispered. He handed the glass back, and the act seemed to have tired him. He rested his head on the pillow for a moment, closing his eyes.
Susanna asked, “Will you be all right for a minute? I want to get Tom.”
His brow wrinkled, but he nodded and she left the room. She went to her bedroom and awakened Thomas. He blinked as she told him the good news; then he got out of bed hurriedly. Pulling on an old robe and a pair of slippers, he accompanied her down the stairs. When he entered the room where Burke sat upright against the pillows, his eyes brightened and he went at once to the bedside.
“Burke, my son,” he said, his voice husky with emotion, “I was never so happy!” He bent over and put his arms around Burke, holding him close, then drew back and cleared his throat. “Now—,” he said, striving for a normal voice. “Do you feel like talking?”
Burke was confused. He had only vague memories of the past, dreams mixing with some sort of foggy reality. He felt terribly weak, and the two people who stood looking down at him made his confusion worse.
“I—guess so,” he muttered. Looking around the room, he saw nothing that looked familiar. “Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re home, Burke. You’re at Gracefield.” Susanna had been watching Burke’s eyes, and the vacant expression troubled her. She said quickly, “You’ve been so sick it’s confused you.”
Thomas nodded. “You don’t need to talk much, son, but just tell us where you’ve been. We thought you were killed at Manassas.” His son’s dark eyes turned to gaze at him, and the expression in them somehow filled him with apprehension. “What is it, Burke? What’s happened to you?”
Burke felt as though his head was spinning, and he tried desperately to find some sense in what they were saying. He looked at Thomas silently, then shook his head. “I—I can’t remember this place.” He licked his lips, then added, “I know I should remember you—but it’s all out of focus.”
“You—you don’t remember me?” Thomas stammered. He turned to exchange glances with Susanna, then shook his head. This was much worse than he had thought. He said quickly, “You’re just tired, Burke. And a high fever like you’ve had, why, it can mess up a man’s mind.”
“Your father’s right, son,” Susanna said, nodding gently. “You’ll feel better soon.”
Your father!
Burke blinked as he took in the words. He stared at the two older people, and then a memory came to him—or an image, at least. He stared at the woman and remembered telling someone how clearly he’d seen her in some kind of a dream. She was the same, and he tried to pull his thoughts together.
“I…remember you!” he said to Susanna. “But…I’ve been in a hospital for a long time.”
“A hospital?” Thomas asked, his brow wrinkling as he tried to piece this all together. “Where was this, Burke?”
Burke—that’s my name!
“Why, in Washington,” he said slowly. And as he lay there, memories came of that time. “I was hurt—but I got well.”
“You were in a prison?” Thomas probed.
“No, it was a hospital,” Burke answered. He stared hard at the man, then knew he had to tell them the truth. “My wounds healed, but my mind wasn’t right. I couldn’t remember who I was. Not even my name.” He shook his head, adding, “You say I’m your son, but I can’t remember you.”
A silence fell on the room, and Burke felt sorry for both of them. He was very tired, his eyelids heavy. “I wish—,” he said fuzzily, “that I could remember—”
He drifted off, his head falling to one side. Susanna at once laid him down in the bed, then stood staring down at him. “I never heard of such a thing, Tom,” she said slowly. “But it explains some things.”
“I guess he was mistaken for one of the Yankee soldiers,” Thomas said slowly. “And the man we buried—he got hold of Burke’s ring before he was killed.” He looked down at the pallid face on the pillow. “We’ve got our son back, Susanna—but not all of him.” He shook his thin shoulders in a gesture of determination, then took her hand, saying, “God is in this. We’ll not doubt, and one day we’ll have all of him!”
Burke slept soundly for nearly twenty-four hours. It was a healthy sleep, and he awoke with his mind free from the dark specters of doubt and confusion. Bright sunlight flooded through the window across the room, falling in golden pools on the polished heartpine flooring, and for one fleeting moment he thought, I’ve seen this room.… I’ve been in it before now!
The door opened and a woman entered, her eyes meeting his at once. Again the memory he’d had of her touched his mind, then eluded him.
“You’re feeling much better, aren’t you?” she said, coming to put her hand on his brow. “No fever at all and your eyes are clear.” She poured him a drink of water, then when he had finished it, asked, “Are you hungry?”
The question stirred violent hunger pangs, and he blurted out, “I’m starved!”
Susanna laughed at his vehemence. “I’ll go fix your breakfast.”
“I want to get up,” Burke announced.
“Well, it’ll be good for you.” She produced a robe from the armoire, along with a pair of shoes. Throwing the cover back, she held the robe as he pushed his arms through, then pulled a chair from the wall so that it faced the window. She guided him into it and urged him to sit down, then slipped a pair of house shoes on his feet. “Now you sit right there until I get back with your breakfast,” she commanded.
“I’m weak as dishwater!” he countered. “Don’t guess I’ll get up and run around the room.”
After she left, he sat there staring out the window. Snow covered the broad grounds, reflecting the sun with bright crystal glints. He studied the wide, sweeping circular drive and the huge oaks that lined it and knew he’d seen it before. It was not a fully formed memory, but a thrill came as he realized that he knew exactly what the outside of the house looked like, though he was inside.
“Looks like I’ve come home,” he mused aloud. He thought of the couple, of their obvious love for him, and shook his head. “I’ve got little to bring to them. Mostly just a shell.”
But when the woman came back with a tray, he covered this feeling as he ate. “You don’t need to be a glutton, Burke,” Susanna admonished him. “You need lots of small meals, not a lot all at once.”
He nodded, then ate more slowly. When he was finished with the eggs, he spread blackberry jam on one of the thick biscui
ts and ate it in small bites. Then he drank the hot black coffee, sipping it slowly.
“My name is Burke,” he said. “Burke what?”
“Rocklin,” Susanna said quietly. “You have a fine family. Your father’s name is Thomas, and I’m Susanna.”
Burke sat in the warm sunbeams, listening as she gave him the details of his own identity. As she spoke, faint memories tugged at his mind, some of them stronger than others. She was a beautiful woman, he realized, and very strong. Finally she smiled, saying, “Well, that’s who you are, son. Do you remember any of it?”
Burke hesitated, then asked, “My father, he’s not well, is he?”
“No, Burke. He started failing about a year ago.”
“What is it?”
“His heart.” Susanna’s lips grew tight, and she dropped her eyes for a moment, staring at her hands. Then she lifted them, saying, “I must tell you something, Burke. Your coming home has done more for him than I can tell you. He’s been…noble!”
Burke could not think of how to answer. “I feel so strange,” he said with a shrug. “Like an impostor, I guess.” The sound of the door opening came to him, and he turned to see Thomas enter. “Come in, sir,” he said at once. “Sit down and help me finish these biscuits.”
Thomas came across the room, moving slowly with a sick man’s gait. His eyes searched Burke’s face, and what he saw brightened his own countenance. “Ah, you’re much better,” he said with satisfaction. “I think you’re out of danger.”
Burke waited until his father seated himself in a chair that Susanna moved from the wall, then said at once, “I want to tell you all I can remember about what’s happened to me.” He began from the time he came out of the coma in Armory Square Hospital, and the older people sat with their eyes riveted on his face. He spoke for a long time, leaving out little of the story. Finally he paused, took a deep breath, then shrugged his shoulders. “Before I was put in the army, I was starting to remember things. I think if I’d been able to stay on the farm with Grace, my memory would have come back in time.”
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