Darkest Hour (Cutler 5)

"I need you to help me with this, Lillian," he said. He pulled the covers back and started to lift his nightshirt. "Come on now," he said. "I don't think you'll be surprised by what you see."

I couldn't help but be embarrassed about it. Papa was naked underneath his shirt. I helped him lift the dirty one off, trying not to look, but except for the pictures I had seen in his books downstairs, I had never seen a man's naked form before and I couldn't help but be a bit curious. He caught my glance and stared at me a moment.

"That's the way the good Lord made us, Lillian," he said in a strange, soft voice. I felt the heat rise into my neck and face and started to turn away to reach for his clean nightshirt, but he seized my arm so hard, I nearly screamed. "Take a good look, Lillian. You gonna see it again and again, for I want you to give me my sponge baths, understand."

"Yes, Papa," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Papa reached over to pour himself some bourbon. He swallowed about two fingers of it quickly and then nodded toward the clean nightshirt.

"Okay, help me put that on," he said. I did so. After that, Papa sat back in his clean bed and looked a lot more comfortable.

"You can work on those papers now, Lillian," he said. He nodded toward them and the desk. I scooped them up quickly and went to the desk. I didn't realize how much my body was trembling until I started to jot down some numbers. My fingers shook so hard, I had to wait. When I turned, I caught Papa looking at me. He had lit one of his cigars and poured himself some more bourbon.

A half hour later, he fell asleep and snored. I put all the totals down neatly in his books next to the proper categories and then rose slowly and tiptoed toward the door. I heard him moan and waited, but he didn't open his eyes.

He was still sleeping when I brought up his lunch. I waited at his bedside until his eyes snapped open. He looked confused for a moment and then pulled himself up, groaning.

"If you want, Papa," I said. "I'll feed this to you."

He stared at me a moment and then nodded. I spooned the hot soup to him and he took it like a baby. I even wiped his lips with the napkin. Then I buttered his bread and poured him his coffee. He ate and drank silently, staring strangely at me all the while.

"I've been thinking," he said. "It's too much trouble for me to go shouting every time I need something, especially if I need it in the middle of the night."

I waited, not understanding.

"I want you to sleep in here with me," he said. "Until I'm able to get around myself," he added quickly.

"Sleep here, Papa?"

"Yeah," he said. "You can make a bed out of that settee there. Go on, see to it," he ordered. I rose slowly, amazed. "I looked over the paperwork you did, Lillian. It's real good, real good."

"Thank you, Papa." I started away, my mind full of muddled thoughts.

"And Lillian," Papa said when I reached the door.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Tonight, after dinner, you'll give me my first sponge bath," he said. Then he poured himself another bourbon and lit a cigar.

I left, not sure whether I should be sad or happy about the turn of events. I no longer trusted fate and thought destiny was an i

mp that toyed with my heart and soul.

11

PAPA'S NURSE

After dinner that night, I read Papa his newspaper. He sat up smoking his cigar and sipping his bourbon as I read, and every once in a while he would make a comment about this or that, cursing a senator or a governor, complaining about another country or another state. He hated Wall Street and at one point ranted and raved about the power of a small group of Northern businessmen who were strangling the country and especially strangling the farmers. The angrier he got, the more bourbon he drank.

When he had had enough news, he declared it was time I gave him his sponge bath. I filled a large basin with warm water, got a cake of soap and a sponge and returned. He had already managed to pull off his nightshirt.

"All right, Lillian," he warned. "Try not to splash the water all over the bed sheets."

"Yes, Papa." I wasn't sure where or how to begin. He lowered himself to his pillow, put his arms down his sides, and closed his eyes. He had the blanket up to his waist. I started on his arms and shoulders.

"You can rub a little harder, Lillian. I'm not made of delicate china," he said.

"Yes, Papa." I did his shoulders and his chest, washing and rinsing in small circles. When I reached his stomach, Papa lowered his blanket a little.

"You'll have to lower it the rest of the way, Lillian. It's too difficult for me to do."