Dear George, Dear Mary

by Mary Calvi

  She never asked why there had not been word from him, why he had not returned for her.

  Many questions he wanted to ask her. Why hadn’t she waited for him? Why hadn’t she responded to his letters? He wanted to ask her all of it, but his love was in his arms, and if this was the last time he would be with her, he would not let conversation interrupt. Heat reached every inch of his body. Her tears flowed. She never moved from within his arms.

  He held her closer, as if he understood. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was protected. She would keep it that way. Keep him away from the cursed.

  He breathed in her breath. He knew from her tears. She didn’t have to explain. The enemy had won.

  * * *

  NIGHT TURNED TO dawn.

  She had fallen asleep in his arms. The last small flame was burning out in the hearth. George rose and gently placed his precious onto the sofa and covered her in a quilt. He walked over to the fireplace, placed white birch logs into it, and waited to be assured the glow did not go dark. From his pocket, he removed a small box. He set the gift on the table before her.

  He left this place.

  Neither a sad ending nor a happy ending would come to pass.

  For them, there was no ending.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Prophecy

  I have always considered Marriage as the most interesting event of ones life. The foundation of happiness or misery.

  —GEORGE WASHINGTON

  YONKERS-ON-HUDSON

  She chose to wear Mama’s dress. Mary laid her hands on the simple mull fabric with a color on the verge of ivory. Embroidered flowers decorated the base. The neckline was square. The sleeves came out full, then sat tight at the elbow. She tied her hair simply and placed it behind her shoulders. She wore no crown on her head or decorative around her neck.

  Brilliance described everything else around her. Three sleighing parties carried her and her bridal attendants up Albany Road to the manor. Mary resided with her dearest cousin for the days leading up to this one. Bells jingled all the way from Van Cortlandt Manor. The sun was shining. The weather was brisk, requiring a heavy cape of white satin lined in fur.

  Eva sat up close to Mary in the open sleigh. “At any time, my hand will be ready to whisk you away from this.” Eva placed her gloved hand atop Mary’s.

  Mary kept seeing him in the crowd, though it wasn’t him; it couldn’t be. She glanced at the people moving about and thought she saw George. Auburn hair falling past the shoulders of a tall man standing on a corner with his back to her. The sleigh kept going. The same vision flashed before her eyes. Auburn hair. Tall. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

  What else could she have done on the morning after that night? Run after him? She certainly thought about it. Where would she have gone to find him? He left without saying good-bye, left without even a note of farewell. He didn’t want her. She could understand why. But the way she felt falling into a dreamy sleep in his arms, she would never forget, like being wrapped in a cloud of warm sunshine, and, of course, there was the kiss.…

  Mrs. George Washington. It was not to be.

  She wondered how she had come to this place in life.

  “She comes! Here comes the bride!” Loud cheers erupted as the sleigh, with an immensely-sized red ribbon at the front and horses in red velvet furnishings, rushed past the townspeople, who ran toward the street to wave to her. Auburn hair in the crowd. She needed to stop looking.

  The bells of St. John’s Church chimed. She smiled as she looked to the bell tower. Eric Arthur Angevine pulled the ropes wildly, jumping and waving his arms to her. Mary nearly cried when she saw him. My prayers are answered, she thought. Be the light. Keep George away from the cursed. Keep him protected. Blessed. Yes. She knew she was blessed this day. Why, then, was such heaviness weighing on her heart?

  The colony’s great social event was planned by Frederick and Susannah. Every leading family would be in attendance, as well as the elite members of the British Army. Her brother and sister thought of everything. Garlands made up of flowers of the Holy Night wrapped around lanterns. White bunting hung from cottage windows. The white blanket of snow at the front path of Philipse Manor was cleared, replaced with crimson-colored carpeting to welcome her and the guests into the manor.

  Mary had no role in the preparations for this day, except for one demand: Townspeople would have a seat at the banquet. “Guests, high and low” is how Captain Morris put it when speaking of them. The “low” should be seated at a separate feast, he said. She disapproved of this sort of talk, so he agreed to end it. Everyone would be invited to one space.

  A hush fell over the crowd as the sleigh carrying Mary arrived. The only sounds were precious squeaks from the lively Lulu. Her crown of forget-me-nots went crooked on her head as she ran in her tilted way to Mary. Ginger ringlets fell down over her freckled face, covering one of her bright green eyes. She looked as darling as a flower girl could in her tiny gown of crimson velvet.

  “Do you like me dress?” She spun around and buried her face into the base of the wedding gown. Mary crouched down to hug her tight and straighten the headdress that was askew.

  “Today, Lulu, you look like a princess.”

  Lulu did her best at a curtsy. “I’m ’posed to walk through the people, but I’m not very good at walking, Miss Polly.”

  “One step after another. You will get there when you are meant to arrive.”

  * * *

  THE BRIDAL ATTENDANTS led the way, each appearing exquisite in their deep crimson gowns and white gloves. Lulu followed them into the manor, carrying a basket of sunflower petals that she had been instructed to throw as she walked down the aisle. It seemed she didn’t make it a step into the room before darting back outside to Mary with a nervous expression upon her face.

  “I forgot what I’m ’posed to do.”

  Mary got down next to her small friend and spoke to her. “Let a petal land everywhere you take a step. It will show me the way.” Mary gently tapped Lulu’s nose with her finger and kissed her freckled forehead. “Be brave, little one.”

  With that, the girl gave her a lopsided curtsy, turned around, stood as tall as her little body would allow, and began to walk into the manor with a drag on the right. She turned to toss single petals at the spots where her steps had been. She started before she entered the front door.

  A hand signaled for Mary to enter the foyer. She breathed in and closed her eyes. She took one last fresh breath before stepping inside. She worried the smell of the crowd would cause her usual fainting feeling. Susannah, in a golden gown and with burgundy flowers elegantly placed in her hair, met her at the doorway.

  Susannah looked at her with a lovely smile. “You look beautiful, my sister.” She handed her a bundle of white, red, and yellow flowers tied with a red satin ribbon. “The stephanotis for good luck. The amaryllis for worth beyond beauty. The goldfields for strength. The ivy for fidelity. These are for you to carry.”

  “Down the aisle?”

  “If your day becomes overwhelming, remember to breathe in the bloom.”

  “Susannah, thank you. I’ve been nothing more than a burden to you.”

  “You are my sister and that’s the most special gift of all.”

  Frederick, who was wearing his jeweled deer badge, offered her his arm. He began his walk. She didn’t move. He gave her the most bewildered look.

  “I cannot go farther,” she said to him.

  “Polly, hundreds of the highest-ranking citizens have converged on our home.”

  ’Twas true, the parlor was so full, there wasn’t an inch for another person.

  “Life brings us many predicaments, Polly—”

  “I am stuck.”

  “Today yours is to get to the front of this aisle.”

  Mary lifted her dress to reveal her pale blue shoe. “No, truly. I am stuck.” The heel was caught between two floorboards. She twisted it several times but failed to find its release.

  Frederi
ck called the footmen to assist. They got down to free her shoe, one of them lying on the ground. Mary covered her face in disbelief. They finally yanked hard, and the shoe came free.

  The walk continued. The guests were staring. Frederick led her forward. She tried not to look at the crowd, instead breathing in the fragrance of her flowers. Ahead of her, at the front of the aisle, was a maroon canopy emblazoned with the crest of the Philipse family, the gold lion emerging from the coronet. The bridal altar was adorned by a tall arch of deep red and bright yellow flowers.

  And there, awaiting her, was Captain Morris. Mary never saw so many teeth before; his mouth was spread out so wide. He was fancifully dressed in a most spirited ensemble. Sparkling golden metallic thread ran in a bright zigzag pattern along the edges of his red wool coat, lace exploding from his arms and neck. Were those golden yellow shoes he was wearing? It looked as if he had grown right out of her bouquet.

  The rector of Trinity Church, the Reverend Henry Barclay, officiated the service. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony, which is an honourable estate, instituted of God, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church: which holy state Christ adorned and beautified with his presence and first miracle that he wrought in Cana of Galilee, and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men, and therefore is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discretely, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.”

  The chill first started in her feet and slowly ran up her body. She watched the minister continue to speak. Fog wrapped its ugly hand around her. The words did not have clarity. She heard the words beasts and fear. All else was fuzzy.

  The minister continued: “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you do know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it.”

  Mary looked back to the foyer. Was that auburn hair? Hard to tell, since there were so many guards blocking the entryway to the parlor. Besides, she couldn’t see clearly. She squinted to get a better view.

  “Into this holy estate Mary Eliza Philipse and Roger Morris come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

  She felt all eyes on her at this very moment; even the captain stared at her as if words would escape her mouth. If she wanted to say something, the Reverend Barclay allowed only seconds before moving on.

  He turned to the groom. “Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Morris practically sang out his response, loudly exclaiming, “I will!”

  The Reverend Barclay turned to Mary. She looked down.

  “Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  The fog got thicker. Her head grew hot. She felt as if she might faint right there in front of the hundreds of guests. Darkness enveloped her. Wet darkness. Breathe, child. Breathe. She looked around. Where was he? Where was Captain Garvan when she needed him? He hadn’t passed the manor in his sailing ship in longer than she could remember. She needed to escape from this place. She was confused. She glanced over at her brother. With a miffed expression on his face, he appeared as if he was about to scold her. He looked so old and silly with a peruke on his head. She let out a giggle.

  “Mary…” A voice, she could hear a voice. “Mary, are you well?” Captain Morris whispered.

  “I am,” she replied.

  “O Eternal God,” continued the minister, “Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life; Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy Name, that they, living faithfully together, may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, whereof this Ring given and received is a token and pledge, and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  He joined their right hands together.

  Clouds filled every space between her ears. She breathed in the bloom. Mary noticed a wedding ring on her finger. She wasn’t sure how it got there.

  “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

  * * *

  TEMPERANCE AND FRANÇOIS combined their talents for the grandest of feasts, although Mrs. Roger Morris didn’t eat a thing. She remained by her husband’s side and greeted every person in the manor, even the “humbler folk,” as he called them. She didn’t correct him; there would be other times for that. The festivities included fine music and a bit of dancing where people could find the room. The crowd was deep. She couldn’t even smell them today, for she held the flowers near her nose the entire night. She was glad everyone was with her, joining in the wedding feast. Eric Arthur, wearing pants tightly cinched about his waist, danced encircled by a group of young belles. J.E. held his glass of ale. Rosie’s smile never left her face. Her hair was in a beautiful coiffure for the occasion and she held Lulu’s hands to “dance fancy,” as the little girl described it. The mother and daughter never looked so pretty and aglow.

  Before Mary stepped one foot into the dancing circle in the parlor by the foyer, the top half of the grand front door swung open. A howling gust swished through the room, coating the guests in winter’s chill.

  The music stopped.

  Stillness hovered over the crowd.

  Captain Morris raced over to the door to shut it. The wind buffeted him. An echo murmured through the crowd. Startled, Mary froze.

  The bottom half of the door flew open, nearly striking him.

  “Fear not,” the captain yelled over the bold gust of air.

  Mary didn’t believe it. She knew too well that once a door to darkness is opened, it cannot be closed.

  A haunting shadow covered the door.

  “’Tis the devil!” Rosie shrieked.

  A large hand stopped the door from closing. A tall man, so tall, with the fur of a fox atop his head, met the ceiling. A grave expression marked his countenance. His face was covered in paint, like a native warrior ready for battle. His hair, black as night, fell long over the scarlet-colored blanket draped around him.

  The crowd stared upon this mystery of a man.

  The light of the candelabra struck him, casting a long shadow now onto the manor’s floor. The man made no movement. His hair lifted with the wind. He didn’t speak. His eyes looked straight ahead with an expression on his face that looked as if he would slay any man who came near him. None did.

  In a deep, coarse voice, prophecy spoke: “Your possessions shall pass from you when the Eagle shall despoil the Lion of his mane.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Awakening

  … the World has no business to know the object of my Love …

  —GEORGE WASHINGTON

  MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA

  The ink flowed. Word after word poured onto the paper, relieving the burden on George’s soul. He wrote what was a simple fact, an obvious one to anyone who knew him intimately. His true feelings were as fervent as ever and not in doubt. His honest confession he laid out to a receiver who would never expose it. He trusted Sally and her husband, George William. They were lifelong friends. They had written to him many times on the subject. Now he responded, first wi
th a letter to George William.

  In the other letter, the one to Sally, he released his heart’s despair on paper:

  ’Tis true, I profess myself a Votary to Love—I acknowledge that a Lady is in the Case—and further I confess, that this Lady is known to you.

  I feel the force of her amiable beauties in the recollection of a thousand tender passages that I coud wish to obliterate, till I am bid to revive them. —but experience alas! sadly reminds me how Impossible this is.—and evinces an Opinion which I have long entertaind, that there is a Destiny, which has the Sovereign controul of our Actions—not to be resisted by the strongest efforts of Human Nature.

  You have drawn me my dear Madam, or rather have I drawn myself, into an honest confession of a Simple Fact—misconstrue not my meaning—’tis obvious—doubt it not, nor expose it—the World has no business to know the object of my Love, declard in this manner to you—when I want to conceal it—One thing, above all things in this World I wish to know, and only one person of your Acquaintance can solve me that, or guess my meaning. —but adieu to this, till happier times, if I ever shall see them.—the hours at present are melancholy dull. —neither the rugged Toils of War, nor the gentler conflict of A—B—s is in my choice.—I dare believe you are as happy as you say—I wish I was happy also—

  George signed his name after a word of closing and neatly folded the letter. As he placed the letters to husband and wife together in the same packet, he became distracted by the thumping of a wagon’s wheels as they rumbled over the cobblestone path. He’d been staying at the Mount Vernon estate of his late brother, Lawrence, since leaving New York. Lawrence’s widow had found another to love. So here George remained alone in this expanse of a house. He had hoped there’d be someone to share it with. It was not to be.