“Servants?” gasped Elizabeth. “Caleb, we cannot have servants, we are servants?”
“Not any longer. This is America, we are the upper class and we need servants to tend us. We've acres and acres, wife. Surely, you do not expect my brother and me to till the land and bring in the harvest. Besides, they did not have a pair of shoes between them. What were we to do, turn them out?”
Elizabeth studied Caleb's earnestness. “I'd not like seeing them turned out, but promise me this, Caleb Carson. Promise me there are no bells at Mahala.”
“Uriah has already seen to removing them.”
“Good.”
Caleb took back his wife's hand. “My dear, they are wondrous people. The youngest is called Adam. He is five and will be a fit playmate for John. Lyndel is the eldest girl. She is sixteen and between, are six other children. Peter and Sarah are husband and wife, as are James and Grace. Grace is...”
Mary looked through the open air slit in the wooden cabin. It was then she got her first glimpse of Mahala. Soon, she was ushered off the barge onto the dock. Candles were lit inside and smoke rose from hearths on each end, but Mahala looked dark and forbidding. The grounds were filled with trash, boards covered several windows, and the shutters had not been repaired.
Suddenly, she felt a small hand in hers. When she looked down, a little boy's big brown eyes smiled up at her. His clothing were tattered but clean, he wore new shoes and his face shined in the sunlight.
“I am to escort you, Mum. The other Mister Carson has said.” Adam quickly dropped her hand, bowed, and reached for her hand again.
Mary smiled, “Are you to be my friend as well?”
Adam wrinkled his brow and cocked his head to one side.
“You see, I am quite newly arrived in America and in need of friends. Can you be persuaded?”
Adam looked at Caleb. When Caleb nodded, the boy grinned. “Come on! My mother has made special for your dinner and I am hungry.”
Obediently, Mary followed. As soon as she set foot on the verandah, the double doors opened. Just inside stood the rest of the servants. The room had been cleared of trash. The pictures were gone, the floor was scrubbed and the stairs had been repaired. Still, a large pile of broken furniture sat along one wall and Uriah was nowhere in sight.
Caleb closed the door behind him and set John down. “Allow me to introduce...”
Mary and Elizabeth ignored him. Instead, they walked right past the servants to the foot of the statue. Slowly, Elizabeth strolled completely around it. She examined it from top to bottom then noticed the hastily pinned sheet around its midriff. “Is it naked?”
“As naked as naked can be,” young Adam answered.
Mary had forgotten he was holding her hand. “I see.”
“'Tis the Baron. He's gone back to England, praise the Lord, and should he ever comes back, the other Mister Carson has pledged to run him off the place.”
“You did not like the Baron?”
“No, Mum. He was a frightful, confounded, bloody...”
Sarah grabbed his shoulders from behind, “Adam, you have said quite enough. Come away.”
Adam shrugged and obeyed. “Yes, Mama.” But not long after, he looked back and winked at Mary.
“Would you like to see the music room?” asked Caleb. He opened the door closest to the front of the house and waited for them to join him. Unlike the assembly room, it had not been cleaned. He shoved a pile of newspapers out of the way with his foot and with high expectations, he turned to see Mary's face. “I hope you will find this room pleasing, Uriah speaks well of your talents.”
“Does he now? He does not care to welcome me, but he speaks well of my talents?”
“Mary, please, do not place the blame on me. I've not the slightest notion why he is not here.”
Mary hung her head. “You are right, Caleb. The fault is not yours and in time, I will learn to love this room.”
“That is what I think. The window faces east and once the glass arrives, you will have a splendid view of the river.”
Mary lifted her skirt above the rubble and made her way to the harpsichord. She blew a puff of dust away, and then pressed down on a key. But the sound was a dull thud. She came around, lifted the lid over the padded hammers and fixed the brace. Slowly, she reached in and withdrew an empty wine decanter, “Aunt Charlotte's, no doubt.”
Caleb rolled his eyes and opened the door to an adjoining room.
Elizabeth's eyes instantly lit up. Against every wall stood shelves filled with books. “Never have I seen so many. Oh Caleb, now I am even happier.”
“It will pass,” Mary mumbled, following Elizabeth into the book room. Wearily, she glanced at a cobweb in the corner. She ran her finger through the thick dust on the roll-top desk, wrinkled her nose, and looked around for something to wipe it on. With the tip of her other finger, she lifted the cover of a book. She made her fingerprint several times on the page, then let the leather cover fall back. A small cloud of dust erupted and Mary narrowed her eyes.
THE HOUR WAS LATE AND everyone had gone to bed, yet Mary still stood alone in the dark staring out the window of John's well cleaned bed chamber. She heard her husband's footsteps in the assembly room first, and then listened as he climbed the stairs. She took a deep breath and brushed the hair from her face, but she didn't turn toward him when he opened the door.
Her beauty took his breath away. Uriah set his candle down and watched her for a moment. At length, he leaned down to gently touch the hair on his sleeping son's head. “How does he do?”
She kept her gaze out the window. Beyond the leafless treetops, she could see lanterns on barges drifting down the river and the dim light in the window of a house far away. “He is well. He does not wake in the night as he did before.”
“Good. Our chamber is the one next to his.”
“Fine.” She brushed past him and walked out. She waited on the balcony while he closed John's door, opened the next and stood aside. She quickly glanced around. It was a clean, large room with a tall chest of drawers at one end and a four poster bed at the other. In the middle sat a small round table with two chairs. A landscape painting was the only wall decoration and on the floor laid a pale yellow rug.
Uriah set the candle down on the table and pulled out one of the chairs. “Sit, Mary, I wish to have a word with you.”
Mary did not move. Once more her eyes passed over the objects in the room. Atop the chest of drawers lay the scarf she had embroidered. A small dressing table, complete with mirror and cushioned stool, sat near a boarded window. On the stool lay the clean nightdress Sarah had unpacked for her earlier. The second window still had glass panes.
“Mary, I have missed you,” he said finally.
“I see. Is that why you saw fit to be gone when I arrived?”
Uriah left the chair he held for her. He walked to the other side of the room, leaned against the wall and watched her. “I have missed you, Mary. I miss you still.”
“Splendid, now you talk in riddles. Can we simply go to bed? I am tired.”
“No we cannot, not until we have settled it.”
“You have already settled everything? You brought us to America, you took this house, filthy though it may be, and I am to sleep in the bed you made ready. I would like choosing my own bedchamber. I would like choosing anything at all.”
“Fine, but not until morning.”
In a huff, she plopped down in the chair and pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. “Fine.” She glanced at him, but only briefly. Then she fixed her eyes downward and waited, but he did not speak. Annoyed, she raised her voice, “Well, get on with it.”
Cautiously, he took the chair opposite her. Again, he watched her face, allowing the seconds to endlessly drag on. At last, he began, “You are wrong, Mary, I do love you.”
“Splendid, now can I go to bed?”
“No!” Instantly, he regretted his abruptness. He closed his hopeful eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I had h
oped you would allow me to explain. Please?”
She eyed him with disdain, then looked away and shrugged.
He took a deep breath and went on, “As I was saying, I do love you. I have loved you since we were children, though I hardly understood it at the time. In the years of our separation, my heart ached for you. I was lacking, inconsolable, and driven to find you. Yet when I did find you, you were unthinkably happy.” He paused, but Mary did not look at him. “At first, I was furious. How dare you be happy? Did you not share my pain and my rage? Did you not long for me as I longed for you? I had found you ... but I could not bear your happiness. So, I merely watched.”
“You watched me?”
“Aye, for two years.”
Mary was furious, “Two years? You left me to wonder about you for two whole years?”
“I convinced myself you did not care. How could you and still exhibit laughter? I had not laughed since that day. I needed you desperately, but you did not need me. The first year, I came but twice, yet I thought of you every day ... every minute of every day, until I could bear it no longer. After that, I found myself near you as often as possible. From behind trees, I savored your smile. Just around the corner, I relished the sound of your voice. And once, in the night, I knelt beside your bed as you slept. I loved you, Mary ... truly loved you...long before I became server to Lady Phillips.”
She lowered her eyes again, but said nothing, so he continued, “I took you to wife too quickly. I did not...could not, allow you the opportunity of refusing. And in my haste, I neglected to consider your feelings. One day you were a lost little girl finally found, and the next, wife of a man you hardly knew. I took advantage, Mary.” He stood up, walked to the chest of drawers, and slowly turned to face her, “How you must have hated me that night.”
Her voice was barely audible, but she did whisper, “I did not hate you.”
“Perhaps not, but you did not love me. You felt nothing at all.” He bowed his head and tried not to look at her, “I had not considered how it would be if you did not love me. And when you showed no affection, I found myself lacking still. In London, I lay awake nights plotting what I could do to make you love me. I thought to bring you flowers, or to blatantly exhibit my passion, but I feared you might find my attempts childish. I began a thousand letters...only to throw them in the hearth.”
He paused again. Still, she did not respond. He took a long breath and let it out, “I cannot think how to persuade you. Shall I count the times I wanted desperately to flee London, to ride to you and take you in my arms? Would you believe me if I said I would have traded my life for your touch? I feared you, Mary. I feared your rejection more than death. When John was born, I could bear no more. I blatantly held you as I had dreamed of doing all those years. I kissed you passionately, but you seemed greatly troubled by it. I had gone too far. I had offended you, perhaps even provoked your hatred. So I took my leave as quickly as I could. And when I returned, I went to my son first, not because I loved him more...I feared him less.”
Yet still, she did not look at him. Instead, she got up and walked to the bed. She turned down the blankets and fluffed the pillows. Then she picked up the nightdress, walked back to the table and blew out the candle. “I am tired, husband.”
In the dark, he listened as she undressed, sat down on the bed and slipped her feet beneath the covers. He removed his jacket and laid it across the back of a chair. Then he pulled a night shirt out of the top drawer, changed into it, and eased into bed beside her. He could hear her breathe and feel her warmth, yet he did not reach out to her. He waited, staring into the darkness.
Her long auburn hair was spilled across her pillow and she too had her eyes wide open. Finally, she turned on her side to face him, “You loved me...all those years?”
“With every breath I took.”
“And you loved me more even than your son?”
“I could never love anyone more than you.”
Tears began to slide down her cheeks. Slowly, she put her hand on his chest, “I could never love anyone more than you, either.”
He slipped his arm around her and drew her to him. In the darkness of their first night at Mahala, he lowered his lips to hers and finally allowed his love to freely flow.
And Mary returned his exquisite passion with her own.
WHEN URIAH AWOKE, HE was alone in the bedchamber. At first, he was alarmed, and then he spotted a note leaning against the candelabra in the center of the table. “I love you,” it read.
“I do believe you do,” he grinned, climbing out of bed. Hurriedly, he dressed, stopping only briefly to watch a Virginia white-tailed deer through the window nibbling at the hay Caleb left on the frozen ground. “And you are magnificent as well.” He pulled his boots on, rushed out the door, and flew down the stairs. The assembly room was empty. He stopped to listen for sounds, and then opened the door to the book room.
Elizabeth spotted him first, “Oh, so there you are my dear brother-in-law.” Two servants and two mistresses wore scarves to protect their hair. Smidgens of dirt were smeared on their faces and each held a rag with which to dust books. “How kind of you to join us.”
Uriah ignored her. Instead, he walked to Mary, took her in his arms and lovingly kissed her. “And I you.”
Grace and Sarah giggled while Elizabeth rolled her eyes, “I suppose that display was for my benefit.”
“Not at all,” Uriah said. “I simply wish my wife to know, I love her madly. Today, I am the happiest man in the world.”
Elizabeth set her book down and put her hands on her hips. “Indeed? I was given to believe you were fraught with grief over the passing of our dear Aunt Charlotte.”
Uriah quickly lowered his eyes. He walked to the door, hesitated, and turned back to face Elizabeth. “The time for grief has ended. After all, I hardly remember her.”
“I see. Tell me, from what did she die?”
“Well...uh...did Caleb not say?”
“Not that I recall. Did Caleb say, Mary?”
Mary quickly turned her back to her husband and reached for another book. “I do not believe he did.”
Uriah coughed to stall for time, “It was a grave illness. Where will I find my son?”
“In the play room, Sir,” Sarah answered.
“Thank you, Sarah. And just now, I am reminded. My wife does not fancy brown and the lot of you are in need of new clothing. Have you a particular color in mind?”
Sarah answered, “Anything but brown, Sir.”
“Good. I'm off to Richmond then. And Sarah, see that both Mrs. Carsons end their work by three. They are in need of rest.”
“Yes, Mister Carson. Three it is.”
With that, he winked at his wife and closed the door. Alone in the assembly room, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I should hang that brother of mine.”
MAHALA, 4 JANUARY, 1764
My Dearest Etta, Matthew, and Caroline,
How delighted we are to receive new window panes. We now boast of sunshine in all of Mahala's rooms. I am pleased to report the cleaning is complete and we enjoy more reading, sewing and excitement, while awaiting Sarah's new arrival.
Caleb never tires of the repairs and Uriah bestows on us more gifts than we have ever imagined. I dearly love the splendid grandfather clock he purchased for our assembly room. John thrives very well at Mahala and little Adam keeps him entertained. Elizabeth helps the other children with their studies and I must confess, I am greatly relieved. I feared the task might fall on me. My particular talents, we have yet to discover.
How you will laugh when I report our new acquaintance. Of a morning, we heard the ringing of bells and rushed outside to see. There, before our very eyes, sat Abraham Cook. Rather tall and sparse in his appearance, he had long brown hair and a beard which nearly touched the leather of his belt. He rode astride an unsightly mule he calls Helen, leading another named Tillie. It was to Tillie he tied the bells. She was piled high with wares to sell and atop the wares lay Mist
er Cook's bagpipes. And my dears...Mister Cook was fast asleep. The truth be told, I thought him dead. He awoke with such a start it frightened us all. And his fear increased when he found he had wondered on to the Baron's property. Shouting and kicking wildly, he determined to leave straight away. But Helen would not. She sat down instead and dumped poor Mister Cook on the ground. He was unharmed. He has come to call twice more, yet refuses to enter the house for fear the Baron lurks. And on his visit last, he was persuaded to play his pipes. How glorious it was to hear the pipes again.
My dearest Etta, we are in need of your wise counsel concerning the Baron's statue. Surely there is a proper way to cover his nakedness. Sarah and Grace stick out their tongues at it, and Lyndel refuses to look that direction altogether. Elizabeth planted vines around the base, but I fear it will take years to grow them long enough to cover his personals. Can you think of something?
We eagerly await word of you and send all our love,
Mary Carson
Post script: My darling Caroline, how grand love is in America.
A FEW MINUTES AFTER the Grandfather clock finished chiming the midnight hour, Caleb and Uriah quietly opened the study door. All was clear. Leaving the door slightly ajar, they crept across the dark assembly room to the base of the statue. Anxiously, Uriah glanced up at his bedchamber. The door was closed.
At the same time, Caleb examined a closed door in the opposite direction, “I thought Elizabeth would never tire.”
“So did I. Hold the vine.”
Caleb knelt down and moved Elizabeth's newly planted vine aside. He watched Uriah work the right foot of the statue lose and cringed at the scraping noise. Finally, it gave way.
Just as Uriah thought, the inside of the foot was hollow. He pulled a leather pouch filled with jewels from his pocket, stuffed it inside and replaced the foot.
Caleb released the vine and rearranged it over the crack. He dusted off his hands, led the way back to the study, and closed the door behind them.
Crouched behind the banister near John's room, Mary watched their every move. As soon as they were gone, she peeked in on John and then slipped back into her bedchamber. “How very deceptive they are.” She discarded her dressing robe, got back in bed, and pulled the covers up. “I wonder what else they hide from us.”
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