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weak. She said he was growing whiskers, and couldn’t wait to start practicing shooting with his left hand.
    I keep thinking he can’t really be dead, because I didn’t get to see him. This has to be a mistake.
    The last time I saw him was Christmas, my first grown-up ball. Payne was in his VMA uniform and danced with me, the first time we’d danced together except in classes as children. He said, “Good Lord, Susie, you’re getting all grown up.” I wanted to say the same about him. When he left for the Academy he and I were the same height—I was fourteen, he sixteen. At Christmas he was taller than me.
    Regal (my middle brother) met me at the depot this afternoon. He said Payne died oh so quickly. “Damn it, he was on the mend. God damn f—n’ doctors.” Regal always has to blame somebody for things that just happen. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen, to seeing him cry.
    The fences haven’t been fixed at Bayberry, nor the woodpile re-stocked. There are hardly any cows or pigs left, and the hen-runs are mostly empty. Payne’s coffin is in our parlor, the windows all curtained. Before I could step through the door from the hall Pa came out of his office, seized me in his arms: “This place is not the same, Babygirl, since you’ve been gone!” Henriette came running down the stairs saying how I must go up and take care of poor Julia, who had wept herself sick.
    That’s where I am now. I’ve been here all evening, altering mourning clothes for us both and trying to make sense of Henriette’s bookkeeping. All Julia can say, over and over, is, “What will I do if Tom should be killed, too? How could God let this happen?” It was hard not to cry, being here in this room again, where Payne would lie at the foot of the bed listening to me tell stories.
F RIDAY , N OVEMBER 8
E VENING
    Oh, Cora. I don’t even know how to write this. I am so sorry.
    When it came time to wash and dress and ride with Payne’s casket into town, all Julia could do was cling to me and cry, “I can’t, I can’t! And I won’t let you leave me.” Henriette said, “She’ll make herself ill, poor darling!” (Julia is expecting in the spring.) “Besides, someone must stay here to make sure the food is laid out ready for company afterwards.” And Pa said, “That’s my good girl! I knew we could depend on you, Susie!” It’s what he always says.
    So I stayed. I tell myself it doesn’t really matter. Payne and I said our farewells last Christmas, when he got on the train to go back to Virginia. Anyway, that isn’t really Payne in that coffin, any more than Payne was the arm they cut off. The least I can do for him is make sure everyone has a clean house to come to after his funeral.
    I asked Colfax our butler and Mammy Iris, could I maybe ride into town and at least see the procession to the grave? But they said no, there’s bush-whackers in the woods, even this close to town. Two of Regal’s men—he’s a captain in the Secesh militia—rode behind the buggy back from town yesterday. Then Mammy Iris said, “If it’s Mr. Emory you’re hopin’ to see, Miss Susie, he’ll be here after the funeral’s done.” And for just one second I felt so happy, that your Emory would bring me a letter from you. Then it came to me what it means that he’s
here
, in Tennessee, instead of in Kentucky where all the Unionists are escaping to. I felt exactly like someone had slammed me up against the wall, and I guess I just stared at them both like an idiot.
    Your husband’s been staying in town with Mrs. Johnson. He stopped here Monday, to ask Julia if he could take any messages from her to Tom, whose regiment he’ll be joining, and stayed in town because of our poor Payne. Emory was one of the first to arrive, riding Charley Johnson’s horse. He wore one of Charley’s coats, too, since he didn’t bring a black one of his own. For a minute we justlooked at each other on the front step. Then I said, “I can’t say it’s good to