Horrible Harvest

“The gift itself is for you, Horace. May I call you Horace?” Mr. Miller asked.

“Yes, of course, sir.” Daddy said as if he were but a child addressing an adult who held sway over him.

“Excellent – the book is for you.”

Momma read the cover aloud, “The Planter’s Northern Bride by Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz.”

“An outstanding book. An excellent rebuttal to that fable of trash by Harriet Beecher Stowe.”

Daddy fought to smile. His first thought must have been that he couldn’t leave but at a child’s level. He must have been high on fear that he’d be called on to engage in a discussion about literature and the like.

Momma stood speechless. She knew damn well Daddy couldn’t abide books in the house. They didn’t cause nothing but trouble. They encourage education, a state of betterment he could not have opposed more, especially for his farmhand boys.

Mrs. Miller groaned. “I told you it was an unfit gift, Cameron. You’ll have to excuse my husband, Mrs. Tennyson. His life entire is built around politics and convincing others he is right about how the world should be constructed.”

“You forget I suggested a bottle of Tennessee bourbon, did I not?” Mr. Miller answered.

“An even worse gift. We know not their position on temperance.”

Momma spoke up. “It is a fine gift. We love books, don’t we Horace?”

Daddy looked at her as if she’d just spoke in a foreign tongue. Finally, he said, “Yes, we do. Books are always a welcome sight. In fact, Grace was once a schoolteacher.”

Mrs. Miller gve a single excited clap. “How wonderful. A teacher. Around here?”

“No,” Momma answered. “Connecticut.”

“Oh, so, you aren’t a native to the Lowcountry.”

“No, I’m from Kentucky originally. My father moved the family to Connecticut to pursue a trade with Samuel Colt.”

“Colt,” Mr. Miller said, sounding sufficiently impressed. “A fine weapon.”

“Yes, sir,” Momma answered.

“And you, Mr. Tennyson?” Mrs. Miller said. “Are you from the Lowcountry?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was born here, but I let myself wonder the country before returning with Grace in tow. How ‘bout you folks, you’re from – Mobile, is it?”

“Goodness, no,” Mrs. Miller said, fanning herself as if the mere suggestion that she was from Mobile would make her faint away at any moment.

“Mrs. Miller and I are of diverse backgrounds. We will just say that. I count Mobile as my most treasured place of residence because it is where I found success in business.” Mr. Miller pulled his pocket watch out and examined the time. “Speaking of business, I’ve some I’d like to discuss with you, Horace.”

“Of course, sir.” Daddy looked around the tiny space for a place for him to invite Mr. Miller to sit.

Mr. Miller stepped forward and took charge. “Isabel, perhaps Mrs. Tennyson would give you and Kenneth a tour of the farm.”

Momma responded with a nervous, “Oh, yes, I’d be happy to. The boys will assist me.”

“I’d like to stay with Daddy,” Douglas said after clearing his throat.

“Actually,” Mr. Miller said. “The youngest one, Augustus. If he could stay, and the others leave us with some privacy, that would be my preference.”

“Yes, sir,” Daddy said. “That would be fine.”

“But I’m second in charge,” Douglas said. “I should be in on business talks.”

Daddy looked at him coolly. “That is the decision for the first in charge to make, and I’ve decided you are to escort Mrs. Miller and the boy on their tour of the farm.”

Douglas sneered and shot me the devil’s stare. He grabbed Charles by the shoulder and yanked him outside. Momma, Mrs. Miller, and Kenneth followed.

“Do raise the flag when you’re done, dear,” Mrs. Miller said on her way out.

“It won’t be long,” Mr. Miller said as he moved to the kitchen table and took the seat where Daddy sat during meals. Mr. Stockton, Daddy, and I sat shortly after.