Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray

by Dorothy Love

  Robert materialized in the doorway, and Papa hurried over to greet him. “Lieutenant. Welcome home.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Robert shook Papa’s hand.

  “My wife keeps me apprised of the doings at Fort Monroe through Mary’s letters,” my father said, “but I am very eager to hear from your own lips how your projects are going. None were hampered by that unfortunate Nat Turner business, I hope.”

  “Colonel Eustis issued an order that restricted us some, but we managed to keep going until the winter weather closed in.” Robert crossed the room to warm his hands before the fire. “How did the apple orchard fare this year?”

  “The crop was not as ample as it should have been. I suspect quite a few bushels fell into the wrong hands.” Papa sighed. “It’s unfortunate that this Turner affair has fanned the flames of discontent among some of the Negroes. Though not as bad here as in other places, or so I am told. However, my dear boy, it’s Christmas, and I do not wish to mar the occasion with such gloomy talk.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “There is time for a walk about the grounds before supper, if you’d like.”

  I knew Papa wanted time alone with Robert, so I did not invite myself along. They collected their coats and hats and went out. I returned to the parlor, where Mother still sat at her knitting.

  “There you are, child. Robert grew restless, and I sent him off to find you. Did I hear the menfolk leaving?”

  “Yes. I think they want to talk politics out of my hearing.”

  “I’m glad we have some time alone.” Her knitting needles caught and reflected the firelight. “You know you can tell me anything that is weighing on your heart.”

  “I do know that, Mother.”

  “Somehow I got the feeling you were holding back in your letters.”

  “That’s because Robert likes to add his own postscripts to them.”

  “Keeping secrets from one’s spouse is a bad practice.” Something flickered in her eyes. Some unspoken truth lingered in the air, as unmistakable as the scent of honeysuckle. “Suppose you tell me what has you so concerned.”

  “I want my husband to give more consideration to spiritual matters.” I sat down and poured myself more tea. “That was the subject of our first quarrel, in fact.”

  Mother unwound more yarn. “You must be patient. Let him come to it in his own way.”

  “I’m trying to. But Robert has a will of iron. The more I push, the more he resists.”

  “You too have a will of your own. You always have.” Mother finished off another row and set aside her knitting. “I have some news that I hope will please you.”

  “Oh?” I set down my cup.

  “I have decided to bring Selina Norris in to train as a housekeeper.”

  “She’s awfully young.”

  “But she is biddable and eager to learn. She must be trained to do something useful, and I have abandoned any hope of turning her into a fine seamstress.”

  “Have you told her?”

  “Not yet. I thought you might like to do it. She has always been your favorite.”

  “I don’t think she will object, so long as she is allowed to continue her lessons.”

  “She belongs to us, Mary. She is hardly in a position to object to anything. Especially after that dreadful Nat Turner episode.”

  “Papa was just saying that some bondsmen have become restless and discontented lately. It seems prudent to allow them as much self-determination as possible.”

  “Perhaps.” Mother rose. “I should speak with George about our dinner. Would you like to rest awhile?”

  “I am tired.”

  “I’ll send Rose up to help you.”

  “I can manage. She can unpack for me later.”

  “Don’t worry so much about Cousin Robert. He is the dearest man I know, and I have every confidence he will do everything in his power to assure your happiness.”

  I went up to my room. Our room now. Robert’s and mine. Rose had seen to the fire, and the room was warm and glowing with soft light. I looked out the window past the winter-drab garden to the far hills where Father and Robert walked side by side, their hands clasped behind their backs. I shucked out of my dress and crawled beneath the covers.

  I was home.

  Christmas Eve had arrived cold and damp. Father brought in the remnant of last year’s Yule log with which to start this year’s fire. After supper we gathered in the parlor to prepare presents and hang our stockings, none of us wanting the evening to end.

  Now the first gray light of Christmas morning stole into the room. Beside me in the feather bed Robert was still asleep. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Christmas gift!”

  He came awake and took me into his arms. “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Lee.”

  “Quit stalling.” I planted a kiss on his cheek. “I called Christmas gift first, so now you have to give me something.”

  “All right.” He drew me closer and nuzzled my neck. One hand brushed my bare thigh. “How about—”

  I swatted him away. “Shh. My parents are downstairs.”

  He laughed. “They know we’re married.”

  “The servants will be awake soon. You know how they like to catch us out for their presents.”

  “All right. If nothing else will do. Look inside my travel satchel.” I tumbled from the bed to retrieve his leather traveling bag. Inside was a small flat package wrapped in red paper. I opened it to find a pair of garnet earbobs set in gold.

  “Robert! They are exquisite.” I leaned into the mirror to try them on. “They are beautiful, but . . . can we afford them?”

  “I saved up to buy them. I thought you ought to have something special for our first Christmas together. Something you can pass on to a daughter someday.” He waggled his brows at me. “A child of our own, who will make her appearance sooner rather than later, is my dearest hope.”

  I chose not to reply, as the idea of motherhood was still too new and strange. I retrieved his present from its hiding place. He sat up in bed, his dark hair falling over his forehead, and untied the green ribbon. “Is this what I think it is? Is this President Washington’s silver?”

  It pleased me greatly to see how excited he was to own something that had belonged to a man he so revered.

  “Yes. I asked Father whether I might give you a single place setting. To take with you wherever you are posted. And if you decide to leave the army, it can always come home again.”

  He held the fork up to the light, his expression suddenly pensive. “I have thought about leaving the army, but military life is all I know.”

  “We have plenty of time to decide. For now, let’s enjoy Christmas.”

  We dressed and went downstairs to exchange gifts with Mother and Papa. There was the usual assortment of books and scarves and sweets. By seven o’clock the servants had gathered in the yard, calling out, “Christmas gift!” and we went out to greet them. Papa handed out loaves of sugar and bottles of vanilla, bolts of cloth, and pouches of tobacco.

  Selina rushed up and threw herself at my knees. “Christmas gift, Miss Mary!”

  I handed her the things I had chosen for her—a book of stories, a bag of candies, a length of pink ribbon.

  Her eyes lit up. “I was hoping for a new book. I already read everything Missus give me to read.”

  “I thought you would be pleased. And the pink ribbon matches your dress.”

  Selina nodded, her expression solemn. “About to outgrow this old dress, though. Mauma said I growed two inches this year.”

  “I thought you looked taller.”

  She laughed. “You don’t look taller. You look just the same.”

  Then Daniel’s young son ran to Robert. “Christmas gift!”

  Robert pretended to search his pockets. “Let me see, young fellow. I’m sure I put something for you somewhere. Oh, here it is. Do you know a boy who would like a silver whistle?”

  “Me!”

  Robert handed it over. “Try not to drive your father to
distraction with it.”

  The boy ran to find Daniel. The rest of the servants, old and young, mingled in the yard, exclaiming over their gifts and taking turns thanking us for their treasures.

  “Selina?” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I have some news for you.”

  She looked up, the expression on her round little face instantly wary. “Good news or bad news?”

  “Oh, I think it is very good news. Missus wants to teach you to look after the house.”

  “This house?”

  “Yes. She has chosen you because you are smart and helpful.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  Selina popped a piece of candy into her mouth and spoke around it. “Nothin’, Miss Mary. Whatever Missus want, I got to do.”

  “Well, you won’t have to stop your lessons, if that is your concern.”

  “I got to go.”

  Robert saw our exchange and watched her disappear around the corner of the house. “What was that about?”

  “Selina is not pleased about becoming a housekeeper.”

  “And you are unhappy because she is.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I love your tender heart, Mary. But she must learn to be useful.”

  “I don’t disagree. But—”

  “She is still a child. In time she will come to accept what is required of her. As we all must, black and white.”

  After Papa’s usual Christmas prayer, the servants dispersed. We went inside for our own morning prayers, followed by breakfast. Robert regaled my parents with stories of his exploits at West Point and at Cockspur Island. He was so entertaining that we tarried too long at table and were nearly late for church. And for once, the cause of our tardiness was not laid at my door.

  In the late afternoon Christmas dinner was served, the usual feast of turkey, vegetables, and cake. Afterward Papa retired to his writing and Mother to her knitting. Robert and I bundled into our coats and took a long walk in the Arlington wood, pausing to examine a wild holly bush bright with red berries and a shallow pond rimmed with a thin coating of ice. Wild creatures rustled in the undergrowth as we walked along. The faint shouts of children playing in the yard of the Syphax cottage echoed through the trees. Five years had passed since Papa had given Maria Syphax her freedom and seventeen acres of land. It had caused a commotion in the quarters and raised more than a few eyebrows, but I had given it little thought. Papa loved surprising others with his unexpected generosity. The children rounded the cottage and disappeared from view. Robert and I tramped on.

  A cardinal perched on a branch above us, a slash of crimson against the copper-colored leaves still clinging to the oak trees. A ribbon of song spilled into the cold air. It was a sweet time, passed without the need for words. It was enough simply to be together on such a blessed day, with our whole lives ahead of us.

  The new year arrived. Robert returned to his post at Fortress Monroe, but I stayed on at home to look after Mother, who had taken a chill and was too weak to oversee the house. One morning just after prayers I took her a tray of tea and toast and settled myself in the parlor to answer a letter from the Reverend Gurley.

  He was president of the Colonization Society and had taken a keen interest in the activities of our Washington City members. He had asked whether the ladies of our chapter might sponsor a parlor concert to raise money for passage of freedmen to Liberia. We must not let the loss of those unfortunates who perished from fever deter us from our mission of sponsoring new settlers, he wrote. I am most anxious that this early failure not doom our cause.

  I had just begun my reply when there came a tapping sound at the window. I looked up and recognized the face of the boy who had appeared at my schoolroom window back in the spring. I motioned him to come inside and went to the door to meet him.

  He shook the caked snow off his shoes and stood shivering on the porch, his teeth chattering.

  “My goodness. It’s William Burke, isn’t it?”

  “Yessum. William Custis Burke. We been belonging to the Custises for many a generation.”

  “Well, come inside, William Custis Burke, before you catch your death of cold.”

  He came into the entry hall, uncertain of where to go next.

  “Is something wrong, William?”

  “No, Miss Mary.” He took a deep breath. “I came to ask you something. I was wondering if you might could teach me to read.”

  “All children here are welcome to learn. I must leave Arlington soon, but Missus will teach you whatever you wish to know.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t come for lessons with the others. Pap is against it.”

  “Your sisters attended lessons quite regularly before my marriage.”

  “Yessum, but he says it’s different for a boy. He says they’s places where a book is more dangerous to a Negro than a nest of rattlesnakes. He says I’m twelve now and too old to learn.”

  “That’s nonsense. One is never too old to learn.”

  “That’s what I told Pap, but he threatened to take a whip to me if I didn’t stop talking about it. So I ain’t said any more.” William shoved his hands into his pockets. “I already know all my letters, and I can make out a few words. My sisters write words in the dirt for me when Pap ain’t around.”

  My heart ached for the child. “We don’t have much time, but we can make a start. And I will speak to Lawrence. He reads very well. Perhaps he can help you after I’m gone.”

  A grin split his smooth brown face. “I sure would like that, Miss Mary.”

  “All right. I must finish writing some letters, and then I will send for you. Your pap need not be told the reason why.”

  We began that afternoon, just the two of us sitting side by side in the small room at the back of the house. While snow collected in the corners of the windows and the wind rattled the glass, William Custis Burke, age twelve, began to unravel the mystery of words and sentences and paragraphs.

  11 | MARY

  1835

  Forever after that sweltering July day when my second child was born, I would remember the scent of lime. A small dressing room off my bedroom at Arlington was converted to a birthing room, whitewashed and disinfected with lime. The window was open in the hope of catching a cooling breeze, and every breath of air stirred the faint acrid smell.

  Our firstborn, a son we named Custis, had arrived easily and without warning nearly three years earlier during our stay at Fortress Monroe. Robert nicknamed our little boy Boo and declared him the finest child in Virginia.

  But this second child, a girl, took her time in arriving. She was beautiful from the beginning, with a shock of fine brown hair and her father’s dark, expressive eyes.

  Since I had named Custis for my father, it seemed fitting that the first girl should bear my mother’s name. Now that there were three Marys residing at Arlington, I chose the nickname Mee for my new daughter.

  I wrote to Robert with the news of her arrival and awaited what I knew would be a joyous reply. But I soon developed a cold that worsened into an attack of fever so severe I could scarcely leave my bed. August and September passed in a blur of pain and misery made all the more unbearable by the steamy Arlington summer, Robert’s absence, and the necessity of keeping my children away from my sickroom.

  I couldn’t have said which was greater—the physical maladies or the pain of knowing I was failing in my responsibilities as a mother. Often in the evenings I could hear Boo crying for me and my mother’s soft voice as she tried to soothe and distract him. My daughter was growing and changing every day, and I was too ill to leave my bed. I wrote to Robert imploring him to come home.

  One morning, after yet another endless night, Mother announced that she was taking me to Aunt Maria’s at Ravensworth in hopes that the cooler, drier air might prove beneficial. I sipped the water she offered and propped myself onto my elbows in the bed. “It won’t help.”

  “It might not. But we must do something, Mary. For the baby’
s sake, as well as your own.”

  “Oh, Mother, how is she?”

  “Eleanor is looking after her. We’re warming cow’s milk for her until you are better.”

  I fell back onto the pillow. “I don’t want to leave my children. Where is Boo?”

  “Kitty and Eleanor are looking after him. I still cannot imagine why you came up with such a strange nickname for that sweet child.”

  “It was Robert’s doing.”

  “Speaking of whom, his letter came last evening.”

  “Last evening? And you are just now telling me about it?”

  “You were sleeping when Daniel returned from town. I thought it best to let you rest while you could.” She took it from her pocket. “I’ll leave you to enjoy it in private.”

  I broke the seal, my heart beating with the joy of seeing Robert’s careful script upon the page. But his message was not at all what I expected. He scolded me for asking him to return home, simply for the pure gratification of his personal feelings, as he so archly put it.

  Do you not think those feelings are enough of themselves to contend with, without other aggravations?

  I could have wept. I was an aggravation?

  I rather require to be strengthened and encouraged to the full performance of what I am called to execute, rather than excited to a dereliction which even our affection could not palliate, or our judgment excuse . . .

  I let the letter fall onto my lap and stared out the window. I had not expected such a lecture. Even in my febrile state I recognized that with this letter, something in our marriage had shifted, and my part in it had changed. I was never to need him, never to miss him, but only to encourage him in the work he had chosen, and to welcome him back into my heart and my home whenever he decided to appear. A profound feeling of loneliness swept over me. But I vowed never again to make such a request and risk becoming an aggravation to my husband.

  Mother returned with toast and tea and set the tray beside my bed. “Try to eat something.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “I thought Robert’s letter might cheer you, but you look quite undone.” She peered into my face. “Precious child, has something happened?”