Dear George, Dear Mary

by Mary Calvi

  The dance exhilarated the guests, which is what Tenoe told her he expected. He urged her to allow him to try something new and attractive. This was one of the dances he suggested. “Every dancing master wishes to have the honor of promulgating that which is unique,” he had told her. “If appreciated by guests, a dance becomes copied time and time again, and that is what we strive for.” It seemed he was correct, as the ladies stood anxiously awaiting their item to be chosen.

  Mary made sure the men turned their heads aside as their hand reached in. Mercer got a bit of ink on his when he chose Bernadette’s item. George, she approached last.

  Only a leaf was left. George inspected the hat thoroughly, which made her laugh. He placed it into his hand and reached out for hers as the dancing master called out the allemande. Mary tried to remember each of the steps of the Baroque dance as the orchestra played Bach’s Magnificat in D Major. She relaxed as she stood near George. As the two danced, the leaf remained in his hand until it settled between their palms as they whirled about the room. Their bodies approached each other’s ever so closely.

  * * *

  WHEREVER SHE MOVED, a trace of wildflowers trailed behind her, calling him to follow. It seemed there could have been no others in attendance, for the heiress occupied his attention completely. They danced the English minuet with its sink and rise steps in the form of a bourée and a half coupé. George knew this version, distinct from the other forms of this dance. He enjoyed watching redness appear on the heiress’s cheeks when she circled instead of stepped. He wondered if she had any idea how prettily she moved, even when she made a misstep.

  His enjoyment was ne’er interrupted. The hours passed in delight. The courante, the sarabande, the gigue, and half a score of additional minuets were danced between the two, followed by country dances. Even after the clock struck midnight, their feet remained on the floor, each dance taking them into and out of each other’s touch.

  “The Serpent will now be danced,” announced Tenoe. “Colonel Washington, will you lead the way?”

  George nodded to him. “Will you kindly follow me, Mary Eliza Philipse?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Colonel.” Such a gaiety appeared in her countenance.

  He strolled with her to the corner of the room, gently set his hands on her bare shoulders. Her skin was smoother than he ever thought skin could be. He slowly turned her toward the wall. He lined the other women behind her, leaving space between each one. The gentlemen, formed into a loose chain, moved quickly between the ladies in a serpent’s pattern until he reached Mary. A clap of Tenoe’s hands had each of the men dance with the lady closest to him.

  George knew the heiress must have had numerous offers from these men. He noticed Sheriff Delancey twice had the pleasure of dancing with her, but now he seemed much chagrined. George heard the displeased sheriff growl within close proximity to him as they were lined up in the chain. “Is there not a time this dancing master gives us a chance to dance with her for longer than a refrain?”

  “Does the left cheek dimple?” asked a man with hair that flared out like a bell, who was standing with Delancey. “I must know the answer to a question so simple.”

  To this, George moved his thoughts to her dimple. Does her left cheek dimple as well as the right? he wondered.

  The final dance was upon them. George asked Mary Eliza to join him for one last minuet as the instrumentalists played Vivaldi’s “Spring” from The Four Seasons with vigor.

  * * *

  AFTER BEING ENCHANTED by him all evening, Mary surmised she knew what passion must feel like. His polite manner, handsome air, and cheerful demeanor—she had never seen this before in a man, or maybe had never noticed. It seemed he was ever grateful for the chance to dance with her. If only he knew how very grateful she was to dance with him, the charming prince, her charming. If the night could have gone any better, she did not know how.

  She leaned into him and whispered, “Your feet have not left this dance floor.” She let her hands fall upon his ever so lightly.

  “I’m honored to have shared this night with you. I am hopeful I may be blessed to increase our friendship.”

  Mary curtsied to her hero of the South as the song came to an end.

  Hurriedly, Frederick stepped toward her. “Polly, may I have your attention for a moment?” The two walked toward the doorway. “Jones Irwin is at the door. I told the guards to have him return tomorrow, but he has shown us a letter written by you that required his arrival here at this time.”

  “This is correct.”

  “Polly, it is four o’clock in the morning.”

  “Precisely. A payment is required of you, Frederick. I shall meet you in the library.” She moved quickly out of the banquet hall, through the foyers, into the parlor, through a doorway and into the library, where she had placed the paperwork inside a closet on the north side of the room. She had been careful with the document and had made sure to have a quill at the ready on the desk.

  A man of medium height with a bald, heavy head, and swollen eyelids, walked in the room alongside Frederick with a look of ire upon his shriveled face. A grimace spoiled the verbal greeting he gave Mary. As Mary placed down the papers, she spoke into Frederick’s ear: “I expect the full amount.”

  Frederick read the contract. He cast a stern glance at her.

  Mary heard a huff from Irwin before she left them alone. She headed into the ballroom,

  She passed George and kindly nodded, but at this moment she could not give him any more of her time. She asked Tenoe for his assistance in the parlor. As they neared the library together, loud voices could be heard. Angevine, who had been guarding the door, opened it to allow the dancing master to enter.

  With arms crossed, Mary paced. Her finger went into the air, calculating the numbers again. She hoped she had tallied the amount correctly. She was quite anxious to see if her ruse had worked. She instructed Angevine to open the door a bit as she put her ear close to it.

  “Mr. Michael Tenoe, the Philipse family has fulfilled your obligations in total,” she heard Frederick announce. “This day, I can say, you are a free man.”

  Not a word came from Tenoe in response. A pause followed. She could hear footsteps briskly moving closer to her. The double doors swiftly opened as Sir Tenoe rushed out. He stopped in front of her. In that very spot, he fell to his knees.

  “You have given me life!” Tenoe reached out for Mary’s hands. “You have given me life!” Without any ability to control his emotion, Mary bent down to meet him and soon was also on her knees, embracing him. “Miss Philipse,” he cried out. “I am forever in your debt!”

  Teardrops flowed down his scarred cheek.

  She cried, too. A healing rain to her soul.

  Be the light, Mary Eliza.

  Yes, Papa.

  Part II

  The Courtship

  Chapter Eight

  An Heiress’s Prayer

  For be assured a sensible woman can never be happy with a fool.

  —GEORGE WASHINGTON

  The chain hanging from Mary’s arm tugged a bit, leaving an indented mark upon her skin. She paid no mind to that, for she adored what it held. Connected to the silver links was a small psalmbook covered in blue velvet and smelling of dried flowers. Lady Joanna had carried it with her to services every Sunday. Few possessions did Mary treasure as much as this one. Today she let it dangle as she set herself upon the dark wood kneeling board inside St. John’s Church. Although the years had passed, the memories, the moments she had shared with her mother, she kept close to her heart. Mary closed her eyes to remember her mother’s lyrical voice. “Every daughter is her own kind of flower,” Mama used to say. “What kind of flower am I?” she remembered asking her.

  The reverend’s prayer broke her thoughts: “‘For before the harvest, as soon as the bud blossoms/And the flower becomes a ripening grape,/Then He will cut off the sprigs with pruning knives/And remove and cut away the spreading branches/They will be left
together for mountain birds of prey,/And for the beasts of the earth;/And the birds of prey will spend the summer feeding on them,/And all the beasts of the earth will spend harvest time on them.’”

  Light came through the stained-glass windows, bathing the altar in a prismatic glow. Mary beheld the lofty space. The Philipse siblings built this church. Each of them offered ideas for its interior. Frederick asked that vast semicircle arches be designed at the entrance between the large wooden Ionic columns to welcome visitors. Mary suggested the chamber organ with tall pipes and huge bellows; she loved the heavenly sounds that came from it. Susannah was quite specific that carvings of angels must be holding painted flowers to help introduce the altar’s grandeur.

  Of course, there was the family’s other house of worship, which sat twelve miles north of the manor, at the place where the Pocantico River flowed into the Hudson. “The oldest ecclesiastical edifice in all of the New York Colony” is how Papa used to describe it. As a girl, Mary would clutch his hand tightly as he provided tours to guests. In 1697, her great-grandfather laid the pulpit with his own hands. The first Frederick’s initials were engraved into it. And Mary always admired the shape of the little chapel with its gambrel roof that spread out at the bottom. The words Si Deus Pro Nobis, Quis Contra Nos? could be found etched inside a bell in the belfry. It meant “If God be for us, who can be against us?” Papa showed this to her to help her find strength.

  Mary adored the small church. As she grew older, though, her deep devotion could not help her overcome the hollowness she felt each Lord’s Day, for next to the chapel was the ground where they buried her mother, her father, and her sister Margaret. It was her brother who made the decision to build a new church, a grander one, that would allow Mary to worship free of heartache bathed in silent tears.

  As she knelt this day, she opened to the back of the book, placed her hand on the pressed forget-me-not painted pale blue, and privately prayed:

  Lord, I am shattered and I am frayed,

  I pray what’s dead inside me can breathe again,

  I pray to know when my struggle will cease,

  I pray to know when my spirit can rise from the ashes,

  Use me, Lord, to be a beacon in the darkness,

  Let me, Lord, be the light.

  Mary leaned forward to gaze across the aisle past Susannah and Beverley. George was there. Even kneeling, he could almost look Frederick, standing, in the eye.

  “Polly, Polly.” Susannah tugged at her sleeve. “We must go. The service has concluded.”

  Ariose singers raised their voices in song from under the cupola. Mary closed the psalmbook and adjusted the clasp, careful to keep the delicate flowers secure.

  Following Susannah and Beverley, Mary, dressed in a deep red woolen cape, made her way down the long aisle and out the front door and onto the stone path. With one hand, Mary placed the hood over her head as she stood by her sister, who was complimenting ladies on the majestic costumes they had worn to the ball. She hardly heard the words, for she felt George’s eyes fixed on her. She clutched her hands inside a red feathered muff as she turned toward him. George stood at a distance, with a backdrop of the church’s elegant stone facade, appearing like nobility. She peeked around, thinking he must be staring at someone else. A state of uncertainty about his intentions remained, for they had not even bid each other good night.

  Susannah disturbed her moment. “I have a word to tell you. Something that I have not heard from my true, since he forbade me to utter a breath about the conversation.”

  “Regarding the colonel?”

  “Yes, my dear Polly, about your George.”

  Your George. Susannah’s reference ushered in that same tingle that she had experienced the night before. Just as her sister was to reveal information that Mary desperately wanted to hear, a man startled her.

  “Such a radiant day is before us, Miss Polly.” Sheriff Delancey’s belly strained against the buttons of his tight vest.

  “Mr. Delancey, a good day to you.” She hoped the conversation would be short.

  His chin rose a bit higher as he spoke, looking down his nose to address her. “If I may, in correction, I carry the rank of captain.” He grabbed hold of one of the many medals he was wearing—there were far too many around his neck. “Upon my return from private studies abroad at Eton, then in Cambridge at my father’s alma mater, as you know, Corpus Christi College, I was admitted to the esteemed Lincoln’s Inn.” He showed her another medal. “Following my studies of law there, the army saw fit to have me named to the prestigious position of captain.” He lifted a different medal. “And, of course, the assignment of sheriff of our town was inevitable.”

  Mary wondered when this conversation would end.

  He continued after a brief pause. “And I’m sure you are well apprised that my father has granted a charter for the creation of a fine institution. King’s College is the name.”

  “I’ve read the news.” She was thrilled to hear of the new institution being formed; however, she needed to turn away from him or else be fixated by his one raised eyebrow. She wondered if it was permanently lifted, or was it voluntary, like a pretentious move of some sort? Did he think it made him appear more refined?

  “King’s College, established to enlarge the mind, improve the understanding, polish the whole man, and qualify him to support the brightest characters in all the elevated stations of life. The first of such kind in all of New York. King George the Second has looked favorably upon our colony.”

  The eyebrow kept her focus.

  “Do you know what is now positioned next to the educational building?”

  It seemed he might go on forever.

  “The finest racetrack in the entire of America.” He answered his own question.

  Racetrack. Yes, she had heard this.

  “It is my understanding you have a fondness for horses.”

  “I ride a lovely horse, a fairly spirited one named Willoughby.”

  “A stable full of them are in my possession. They are English Thoroughbreds that I purchased, the first imported into our colony. You must get a glimpse of them, if your spirit will allow you to be among the crowds of New York City. I will have an invitation sent over to you for the inaugural Subscription Plate taking place on my track, the first horse race in the colony. I acquired a sporting taste for racing while overseas. I get such amusement from watching them run. They are fine specimens.”

  “Specimens?” She suddenly became miffed—both by his reference to horses and to her spirit. The Delanceys. She was sure they knew everything about her and her past.

  “The finest anywhere in our New York.”

  Mary could take no more of his puffery or his brow. She excused herself, moved away from him, and found Susannah, who was in deep conversation with Beverley. Mary lifted her face upward; a white snowflake landed gently on the tip of her nose, like a kiss from the sky.

  Susannah tapped her on the shoulder. “He’s asked Beverley for an extended stay.”

  “He?”

  “Your George will be staying another night at the manor and will then ride with us to New York for days more, and, Polly, he just asked Frederick to be granted a proposal to wait upon you. I hope you are not disagreeable to it, since I’ve already confirmed your agreement to such an interview. What type of tea should be served?”

  Mary had not gotten past the word proposal. It would be the first such interview she had granted in quite some time. “I am fond of ambrosia.” She could hardly even breathe.

  “The food of the gods. Ambrosia and equal parts nectar. That will do. And Polly, I suggested the interview be held this afternoon.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Interview

  I can’t say that ever in my Life I suffer’d so much Anxiety as I did in this affair.

  —GEORGE WASHINGTON

  George waited in the west parlor inside Philipse Manor. He held his black tricorn hat in his hand as he sat alone. He was offered a seat on a hand
-carved mahogany bench with a comfortable tapestry pouf. It faced the windowsill, which had a built-in long wooden bench and was also topped with a cushion. Through the opening of the sheer curtains, the sun’s rays hit him in the eyes.

  That anyone pictured him a suitable match for the heiress, he little anticipated. Doubt flooded his mind. Her attention to him the prior evening justly left him with a glimmer of optimism. She seemed to be fond of dancing with him, or was it just for display? This he had not ascertained. He knew for certain that Mary Eliza Philipse was beset with admiration from a great many men. This morning outside the church left him muddled, for her time was taken up by the sheriff, a man of significant wealth, who undoubtedly meant to seize her surrender.

  George was costumed in the most resplendent way he knew possible: a navy and bright red coat, red breeches, white silk stockings, and black shoes with large gold buckles. He was not comfortable in these clothes. The shirt fit tolerably well, yet he would have had the wristbands made narrower, the ruffles deeper by half an inch, and the collar larger by possibly three-quarters of an inch for proper bigness. Whether it was the measurement taken or the fault of the tailor’s hands in quick sewing, he did not know. Next time, he would get the measurement himself to be sure.

  He followed one of his rules of civility as he checked that he had not a speck of dust on him. Wear not your clothes foul, ripped, or dusty, but see they be brushed once every day at least and take heed that you approach not to any uncleanness.

  From the music room, a tune with sweet modulation was being played by a trio of instrumentalists. Its melody slowed into a feathery innocence.

  He rose as he heard soft footsteps upon the rug. Mary Eliza Philipse arrived in an ivory gown embroidered with cherry-colored flowers throughout. At the bottom of her sleeves hung long laced accents. Around her neck, she wore a thin black velvet ribbon.