The Disagreement by Nick Taylor

Author:Nick Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2008-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

39

I’VE SAID THAT I SOLICITED Lieutenant Stone’s advice on personal matters, and I’d like to recount one of those instances here. It was a Saturday afternoon in March, that time of year when the weather in Virginia is a roll of the dice from day to day: one week might be as warm as early summer, with forsythia buds notching the canes, and by the weekend the winter will have returned, scattering tiny yellow flowers on the snow. This was one of the warm spells, and the men who could walk were out in the hospital’s yard amusing themselves in the sun. Stone could walk, of course, but I specifically requested that he remain, knowing that we might have a few moments’ privacy to talk.

I had been troubled for a week by a letter from my father:

Son,

I have given you nothing if not the confidence to pursue what you desire in life, be it Doctoring or some other Profession. However, I do believe that the Family works as a kind of Trump Card in these matters—that is, in those Times when a man must rely on his heart’s Sensations to guide him through difficult straits. What I mean to say is simple, and here it is: my Fortunes (and by this I mean yours, and Mother’s and Parthenia’s) have turned ill. The Mill is nearly Failed—the slaves are mostly sold, the supplies of rough textile are all used up without any hope of another shipment, and (this is worst) our very position in the City has been ruined, with our own Neighbors and Friends turning their backs on us for some Reason.

Well—I know the Reason. It is your Cousin Sam. Why have I waited so long to tell you this? Your Cousin has made a Disgrace of us all. Naturally, I feel that I cannot blame any one but myself, as it was patent from Sam’s first day at the Mill that he was at best ill-suited for this type of work (or I daresay any Work), and that a more forceful proprietor than myself would have ousted the Fool before he had a chance to do any real damage. That would have meant closing the Mill, as I’m sure you realize I was in no health to return to work just then.

But, Father, you say, why did you not hire another man? (Forgive me for placing words in your mouth, John Alan, but I see your face before me as I write this, and it seems hardly a stretch to imagine what you must be thinking.) Well, that is a fine suggestion, I would answer—except that there is no one left to hire. All the able men are gone away to War or else (like you) gone to employ themselves more directly to the effort than as Foreman of a small Woolen Mill. What would I give for another man like Stokes? Ah—but what wouldn’t I?

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