by Cathy Gohlke
“But it did! They let it happen, and they didn’t do anything to stop it!” I wanted to shame someone for the shame I’d long felt, the shame everyone in our families had pretended to sweep under the rug.
She lifted her chin and spoke quietly, “That isn’t true. Papa did something. He left. He never touched Cousin Caroline, and he went away. He went to war.”
“He’d have gone to war anyway, Emily!” I wouldn’t let her idealize Cousin Albert, not in this. “His beloved ‘country’ was at war. His South—his way of life—the threat of losing his precious power over other people—his slavery!” I poured every ounce of venom into my words. “You can’t justify what they did! You can’t make a saint out of him!”
Tears welled in Emily’s eyes. “I don’t make a saint of him. I don’t justify his love for her. But I’ve forgiven my father—my father, who is dead!” She took several deep, shuddering breaths. “And your mother. I’ve forgiven your mother for coming back to us, for putting them both in temptation’s way, whether or not she knew what she was doing.” Emily looked up. “I’ve prayed for you and Cousin Charles, every day.”
“And that should make everything all right.” I sneered, hating myself, but set on hurting someone. Emily would do.
“I had no idea if your parents had a falling out or came to some arrangement or what. But I couldn’t imagine you losing your mother. I knew it would be like me losing Papa.”
I turned away. I didn’t want her sympathy. It made it too hard to hate her, and in that moment I needed to hate her—as if her telling the truth laid the fault at her door—at someone’s door—someone I could see and yell at. Someone alive and sane I could blame, could hurt for all the hurt and craziness—if only for a minute. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to pull out my own hair. Crazily, I also wanted to hold her. I wanted her to run into my arms and comfort me. But I did none of those things. The room had shadowed, and I could no longer see her face clearly. “Well,” I whispered sarcastically, “it seems we’ve lost both of them.”
“You’ll need to forgive her, Robert,” Emily whispered back.
“Forgive her? You’ve just told me that my mother is crazy and before that she—”
“If you don’t forgive her it will eat you alive. I know. Forgive her, for yourself.”
“Is she sorry? Has she ever been sorry?”
“Your father forgave her.”
“He doesn’t even know!” How could Emily lie to me like that?
“He knows.”
I’d had enough. I began to wonder if Emily’s mind was as warped as Ma’s. I reached for my jacket, ready to head out the door. It didn’t matter where I went, but I wouldn’t stay in that dark room. I needed air.
Emily blocked the door.
“Out of my way, Emily. Get out of my way.” I didn’t touch her, and I measured my words.
“He came to Ashland. Cousin Charles came to Ashland.”
I stopped cold. “What?”
“He came to Ashland to convince Cousin Caroline to go home, to Maryland.”
“When?” I didn’t believe her.
“Two winters past. Late January—maybe early February.”
I stopped. The time would fit with Pa’s leaving. “What happened?” I challenged.
Emily braced herself. “She wouldn’t go. She refused. She told him she’d chosen—differently.” I looked away, my fists clenching, unclenching, clenching.
“She doesn’t know her mind, Robert. She’s fickle as a child is fickle, from one day to the next. Realities change for her. Sometimes she plays a role so convincingly for weeks that we all begin to believe that is her true self. Then one day, it is all suddenly different, and she cannot understand why we don’t see as she sees, why we can’t conjure the very memories she has created in her fancy.” Emily moved closer. “It is as though a war rages inside her—one we can’t see, but one she is losing… a little more each day.”
A bold little knock came at the door. Emily opened it to a saucer-eyed, gap-toothed colored boy in a nightshirt trailing the floor, five times too big for him. “Henry? What are you doing out of bed?”
“I heard you talking, Miz Emily. I want you to tell me a story.”
“I’ve already told you a story, Henry, and you are supposed to be asleep, aren’t you?”
Henry nodded but reached his hand up to Emily, giving her a smile only a crusted heart could resist. Emily pressed her hands to her hips and feigned impatience but broke into a tired smile. He giggled as she shook her head, swooped him into a bear hug, then hoisted him in her arms.
“Henry, this is Robert.” She turned to face me. “Robert, this is Henry. You’ll both get better acquainted tomorrow.” Henry gave me a shy wave, and I nodded back, not wanting to be interrupted but taken with the little boy. “I’ll be right back, Robert,” Emily said over her shoulder, and they were gone, whispering, giggling, up the stairs.
I shook my head to think Emily’d taken in war orphans on top of Ma and everything else. And then I thought again of what Emily’d said about Ma’s inner war. I knew about that. She’d waged that war for as long as I could remember. I’d never understood it, only knew it kept her apart from Pa and me—even when we lived under the same roof.
When Emily came back I’d gotten hold of myself, spoke quietly, knew she meant to help. I asked, “What did Pa say?”
Emily pushed stray wisps of hair back and stepped away from the door. “He tried to reason with her, at first. But she was certain he was trying to steal her away. She fought him, like a tigress.” She crossed to a chair near the settee and sat, looking suddenly weary. “She was cruel to him, Robert. She’d conjured a demon in her brain that did not exist, and she believed he embodied it. The things she said to him …” She shook her head at the memory. “How I pitied him.”
I remembered the spring before Ma’d left us, the angry things she’d said to Pa, even then. Things that made no sense to me. I’d sometimes wondered if Pa had hurt her in some way, if he’d carved some breach between them. I’d even blamed him for her leaving for a time. But it wasn’t Pa. I knew that even then. Yet it was all beyond my ken. How could there not be a reason—anyone to blame?
“Early in the war, she caught the fever for the ‘Glorious Cause,’” Emily continued. “For a time it seemed like true patriotism. But when Papa left, she pined unreasonably, inconsolably for him. She believed herself a seventeen-year-old belle who’d given her colors to a gallant knight of the Confederacy.” Emily shook her head. “Papa did not encourage that, Robert. Cousin Caroline created her own world. Her world, her kingdom, was Ashland—until Papa left. She was so distraught I dared not tell her when word came that Papa had died. And then Uncle Marcus died. She could no longer pretend. There was nothing left, no gentleman to play her roles before.”
“Is that why you left Mitchell House, why you brought Ma here?”
A bell rang from the kitchen. Emily didn’t answer but stood, and smoothed her skirt. “That’s Ruby—calling us to supper.” She searched my face. “Are you ready? Are you ready to see your mother?”
Twenty-Nine
I’m so glad you’ve come, Lt. Glover.” Ma flashed a smile across the table, for all the world the smile of a young girl. “It’s become entirely too predictable, all these women at the table. It is high time we enjoyed the company of a gentleman caller.”
Emily nudged me but spoke up, giving me time. “I’m sure our guest is tired from his journey, Cousin Caroline—and famished. Are you not?” She turned to me.
“Yes. I am—hungry—and tired, I mean.”
“Well, you eat up, Mista Rrr—you eat all you can hold,” Ruby broke in.
“Ruby! Our guest’s name is Lt. Glover,” Ma scolded. “You must remember that!”
“Yes, Miz Caroline.” Ruby nodded, looking at me, waiting.
How could I play this part? How could it be good for Ma to have us all kowtow to such crazy notions? Starved as I was, I nearly lost my appetite and choked on what I force
d into my mouth. I couldn’t take my eyes off Ma. I’d waited four years to see her, be with her. And now she sat across the table, flashing smiles I might have hoped for from Emily. Emily didn’t smile. She looked tired, as if she’d long carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. And I guessed she had. When I looked at Ma I feared for Pa. What had this done to him? Emily’d said that he forgave Ma—that he forgave Cousin Albert. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it.
“And what are your plans during your stay in our fair city, Lt. Glover?” Ma asked brightly.
“My plans? Oh, I…” And then I realized this might be my chance with Ma, to persuade her. “I came to offer my services to you—to all of you ladies. I was hoping you’d allow me to escort you to—to escort you North.”
“North?” Ma paled. “Surely you don’t suggest we abandon our home!” I could see Ma’s tenor creep toward a fearful edge. I could see Emily tense across the table.
“It’s just a suggestion, Cousin Caroline,” Emily soothed. “And most gracious.” She nodded to me. “But travel is far too dangerous just now. We’re safer here, I believe… for the moment.”
“Besides,” Ma admonished, “we’re expecting guests any day now.”
“Guests?” Emily said with surprise.
“Of course! Oh, I heard you and Ruby talking, Emily. You thought I didn’t, but I listened at the door,” Ma quipped. “As a matter of fact, he’s a friend of yours, Charles—Will Sherman. You remember him from West Point, surely. He was a few years ahead of you, I believe. It’s delightful you’re here. He’ll be so pleased!”
“Gen. Sherman’s coming here?” I looked to Emily, but Ma cut in.
“Oh, is he a general already? My! My!” And then she flashed her coquettish smile. “Do you remember our dance last summer in Washington City?” Ma blushed. “Albert intended that Will overwhelm me just enough that I run, trembling, back into his arms and Mitchell House!” Ma laughed. “But, of course, all that backfired the moment he introduced me to you. You swept me away in your arms, and I never spoke again to Will the entire evening—or Albert, for that matter.” She tilted her head. “Do you remember?”
“It’s been a long time.” It was all I could think to say. Ma bristled, but smiled.
“I declare, Charles, this late unpleasantness has done strange things to us all. We women have continued to age-just a little, mind you, but you—you look even younger and more handsome, if that is possible, than that night we first danced.” Her smile faded, and her brow creased. She glanced around the table, as if seeing us all for the first time.
“Ruby,” she said, “you’ve positively aged. You look as old as Nanny Sara.” The crease deepened, and she picked at the brooch at her neck. She looked to Emily for reassurance. “It’s uncanny. We’re like twin sisters, Emily.”
Emily smiled. “Everything but the color of our eyes, Cousin.”
Ma relaxed, but the hair on the back of my neck prickled. “Where is Nanny Sara?” I wondered out loud.
“Why, in the kitchen, where she belongs!” Ma returned. I looked at Ruby, confused. Why would Ruby sit at the table while her mother cooked, especially at Nanny Sara’s age?
“Mama’s been feeling a little poorly. She’s resting just now,” Ruby answered, but she looked away.
Ma ignored her. “Aunt Charlotte should have joined us. She would have found your company refreshing, Charles.”
I looked at Emily, wondering for the first time where Grandaunt Charlotte was, why I hadn’t seen her. But Emily gave me a warning shake of her head, and I knew there was more I didn’t know.
“Has she retired already?” Ma asked. “She should be mindful of her guests. I hope you will forgive Aunt Charlotte’s negligence, Lt. Glover. She’s usually a gracious hostess.” Ma dabbed the edge of her napkin to the corner of her mouth. “Though she does hold some rather queer notions regarding our peculiar institution—a thing that has always rankled Papa.” She glanced meaningfully at Ruby. Then Ma whispered, but loud enough for all to hear, “It is why Papa forbids her name at home. She’s rather the family’s black sheep, you know.”
Ruby rose, as if on cue. “I believe it’s time for us to retire, Miz Caroline. We’ll all feel more rested in the morning.”
“Oh, must we?” Ma sighed. “This has been delightful.” She smiled, more contented than I’d ever seen her. “You will come again tomorrow, won’t you, Lt. Glover?”
I felt the heat creep up my neck. I stood to bow as Ma rose to leave the table. But when her dress brushed my sleeve I reached out to her. “Ma,” I whispered, begged. She froze, and her face blanched. Ruby guided her elbow toward the doorway. Emily touched my arm, urging me not to talk. I wouldn’t look at Emily but swallowed hard.
At the doorway Ma turned, a little off kilter, picking again at the brooch at her neck. “There is something about you I can’t quite place, Lt. Glover. Something …” She sighed. “Perhaps it will come to me.” Ruby pulled her through the doorway.
I wanted in the worst way to reach out to her, to hold her, to beg, “Ma, don’t you recognize me? Don’t you know who I am?” But Emily stood beside me, pulling me back. My throat tightened. My chest hurt.
“Don’t, Robert. She can’t help who she is. She can’t change what she has become,” Emily whispered. I couldn’t answer her, didn’t want her to touch me. I pulled away. “Robert—” she began.
“No. No, Emily. I can’t do this. I won’t accept this!” I stepped back.
“It is the way things are,” she insisted. “Sometimes we have to surrender to what is, to accept things we cannot change.”
But I shook my head, and once I started shaking it I couldn’t stop. “Maybe you’ve accepted it. Maybe you’ve given up-surrendered—but I haven’t. I didn’t come all this way to play courtship to my mother! I can fix this. I know I can. I just need some time. She’ll remember me. She nearly did remember me. You saw her!”
Emily shook her head sadly. “You don’t understand.”
I shook mine harder.
“Robert, Grandaunt Charlotte died six weeks ago. We all attended her burial, even Cousin Caroline. You saw her tonight. She has completely blocked Aunt Charlotte’s death, the funeral, the burial—everything—from her memory, no matter that it just happened. She’s convinced herself that Aunt Charlotte is playing petulant and rude, not joining us at meals, convinced that she keeps to her room all hours of the day and night. There is no reasoning with her. Her reality is whatever she tells herself. You must come to grips with that!”
“But I’m her son, Emily! How can a mother forget that?”
“She wants to pretend that you are her suitor, Robert. She pretends that things are as they were when she was young. As far as she is concerned she never married, never bore a child, never witnessed a war, never saw her father die, never was attacked by—” Emily froze.
“Attacked? What do you mean?” Emily turned away, but I grabbed her shoulders and spun her back to face me. Anguish plagued her face. Fear shot through me. She tried to look away, but I shook her. I shook her, and I was not gentle. “What do you mean she wants to pretend that she was never attacked? Tell me. Tell me now!”
Emily fairly slumped beneath my hands. “I’m sorry, Emily—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—but what do you mean? What do you mean Ma was attacked?”
Emily groped for a chair. She leaned forward on the table, her head against her hands. I waited, but it was all I could do not to shake her again.
“After Uncle Marcus died. Jed Slocum—”
“Slocum attacked Ma?” I shouted.
My shout raised the ire in Emily. She sat up, swiped her eyes, and hissed. “Be quiet, Robert! I have not held this household together for four years so you can come and destroy it through your brutishness in one day.” She waited till I sat in the chair across from her.
“Tell me.” I kept my voice level.
“Uncle Marcus was sick a long time. As he declined—even before—especially after Papa left, Cousin C
aroline retreated into her fantasy world. None of us realized how far she had retreated.”
“But you saw,” I said.
“I noticed the changes because I was not with her all the time. Papa had insisted I enroll in the female academy in Salem while he was away. He felt I would be safer, and he didn’t want me to feel the burden of the plantation.”
I nodded. I knew that.
“I came home only some weekends and holidays. No one ever expected the war to drag on so, or that Papa—” Emily searched my eyes. “With Papa gone, and Uncle Marcus so ill, and Cousin Caroline—well, Mr. Slocum seemed to forget that he was only an overseer of field slaves. He took more and more upon himself—so much that he even seemed to believe Ash-land belonged to him.”
I tensed, but Emily shook her head, warning me not to interrupt.
“There was no one to stop him. He’d seen Cousin Charles come and go and Cousin Caroline remain. I don’t know what he heard or saw, but it was not hard to assume that their marriage had ended.”
I studied my hands. “Slocum was frightful in his sense of ownership and power. He grew ever more brutal to Ashland’s slaves, and of course he drank without caution, without consequences.” Emily locked her fingers, unlocked them, and locked them again.
“The evening Uncle Marcus died Nanny Sara sent a slave child running to Mitchell House. She begged Noah to ride to Salem for me. She was terribly frightened for Cousin Caroline. She had every reason to be frightened. We left straightaway and drove to Ashland that very night.” Emily hesitated.
“Go on.”
“When I arrived at Ashland the house was dark and empty, except for the parlor, where Nanny Sara and some of the slaves had washed and laid out Uncle Marcus. No one kept vigil—not even a slave, which seemed so odd. Then I remembered that Cousin Caroline had said Mr. Slocum ordered all the house slaves to sleep in the quarters. She’d not had the courage to oppose him, and Uncle Marcus was too sick.” Emily drew a deep breath. “Upstairs, I heard a muffled weeping. I took a candle from the parlor and made my way to Cousin Caroline’s room, believing she must be awake and upset.”