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But I knew things would never improve. Papa had lost interest in his own business affairs and spent most of his time gambling and drinking. He had aged years in months. Gray strands invaded his hair; his cheeks and chin drooped and there were dark circles and sacks under his eyes.
Gradually, he began to sell away most of the rich south field. The land he didn't sell he rented out, and remained satisfied with the piddling income that resulted. But he no sooner had some money in his hands than he rushed out to gamble it away at some card game.
Neither Emily nor I knew just how desperate things were until he returned home late one night after an evening of drinking and card playing and went into the den. Emily and I were both awakened by the sound of a pistol shot reverberating through the house. I felt my blood drain down into my feet. My heart began to pound. I sat up quickly and listened, but heard only deadly silence. I put on my robe and slippers and ran out of my room, meeting Emily in the hallway.
"What was that?" I asked.
"It came from downstairs," she said. Then she gave me one dark, foreboding look and we both descended the stairway, Emily carrying a candle because we had taken to keeping the downstairs dark after we had all retired for the evening.
Flickering light came from the open door. My heart thumping, I walked a few steps behind Emily and entered with her. There we found Papa slumped on the couch, his smoking pistol in hand. He wasn't dead nor was he wounded. He had tried to take his own life, but had lifted the barrel of the pistol from his temple at the last moment and shot the bullet into the far wall.
"What is it? What happened, Papa?" Emily demanded. "Why are you sitting there with that pistol?"
"I might as well be dead," he said. "As soon as I get the strength, I'm going to try again," he whined in a voice that sounded so unlike him, I had to look twice.
"No you won't," Emily snapped. She snatched the pistol from his hand. "Suicide is a sin. Thou shalt not kill."
He lifted his pathetic eyes at her. I never saw him so weak and defeated.
"You don't know what I've gone and done, Emily. You don't know."
"Then tell me," she said sharply.
"I gambled away The Meadows in a card game. I've lost my family heritage," he moaned. "To a man named Cutler. And he's not even a farmer. He runs a h
otel at the beach," he said disdainfully.
He looked up at me, and despite all he had done to me and to Mamma, I could only pity him.
"I've gone and done it now, Lillian," he said. "The man can turn us all out in the cold any time he wants."
All Emily could do was begin to mutter one of her prayers.
"That's ridiculous," I said. "Something as big and as important as The Meadows can't be lost in a card game. It just can't." Papa's eyes widened with surprise. "I'm sure we'll find a way to stop it from happening," I declared with so much certainty and authority that I even surprised myself. "Now go to sleep, Papa, and in the morning, with a clear head, you'll find a way to solve the problem."
Then I pivoted and left him sitting there, his mouth agape, not sure myself why it was suddenly so important to protect this degenerating, old Southern plantation that had been a prison as well as a home to me. One thing was for sure—it wasn't important because it was the home of the Booths.
Maybe it was important because it had been Henry's home, and Louella's and Eugenia's and Mamma's. Maybe it was important for itself, for the spring mornings full of chattering mockingbirds and blue jays, for the magnolia blossoms in the yard and the wisteria tumbling over the old verandas. Maybe it didn't deserve what was happening to it.
But I had no idea how to save it. I had no idea how to save myself.
14
THE PAST IS LOST AND THE FUTURE IS FOUND
During the next few days, Papa made no more mention of his loss of The Meadows in a single hand of poker. I thought perhaps he had pulled himself together and found a way to solve his problem. But one morning at breakfast, he cleared his throat, tugged on his mustache and announced, "Bill Cutler will be stopping by this afternoon to look over the house and property."
"Bill Cutler?" Emily asked, her eyebrows rising. She wasn't fond of us having visitors, especially if they were strangers.
"The man who won the plantation from me," Papa replied, nearly choking on his words. He shook his clenched fist in front of his face. "If I could only get a stake together, I could go back into a poker game and win the debt back as quickly as I lost it."
"Gambling is sinful," Emily pronounced with a dour expression.
"I know what's sinful and what ain't. It's sinful to lose my family plantation. That's what's sinful," Papa roared, but Emily didn't even wince. She didn't retreat an inch, nor did she change her condescending posture. In a battle of stares, Emily was unbeatable. Papa shifted his eyes away and chewed his food angrily.
"If this man lives in Virginia Beach, Papa, why would he want a plantation out here anyway?" I asked.
"To sell it off, you fool," he snapped.
