Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray

by Dorothy Love

She took a crumpled paper from her pocket and handed it to me. “You read a lot better than I do.”

  “You tore this out of Miss Mary’s New York newspapers?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a old one I found in the bin behind the stables. Miss Mary won’t be looking for it no more.”

  I took the paper to the window and held it up to the gray winter light.

  Mrs. Bird—female physician where can be obtained Dr. Vandenburg’s Female Renovating Pills from Germany. An effectual remedy of suppression and all cases where nature has stopped from any cause whatsoever. Sold only at Mrs. Birds, 83 Duane St near Broadway.

  Rose said, “I don’t know that long word starts with a R. Or the one starts with a S. But it supposed to help if your nature has stopped. I know that much.”

  I didn’t know what they meant either. I hadn’t ever seen them in the Bible or my poetry book. “Does not matter what they mean,” I said, “since the only place to get the pills is all the way up in New York.”

  “You got to get me some before Missus sees my belly getting bigger.”

  “You are the one who has been up to New York. All the time bragging about it.”

  “I was mostly in the country. Miss Mary took Kitty with her when she went to town. I don’t know nothing about New York.”

  “Well, I surely don’t either. And how do you think I can get there, Rose? Just jump on a train and ride it clear to Broadway Street?”

  “You Miss Mary’s pet. I bet she would let you go.”

  “And what reason would I give?”

  “Ain’t Cassie living up there now? You could say you want to go visit her.”

  “It’s not that easy. Miss Mary says New York is a dangerous place. People going every which way. Besides, I don’t want to lie to her.”

  Despite her fever, Rose jumped up and snatched the paper from my hands. “Never mind. I’ll think of something else.”

  If looks could kill, the one she gave me just then would have struck me dead.

  “One day you gone wake up, Selina Norris, and figure out what a fool you been all your life.”

  I left her there and went back to the house. The children were asleep or working on their lessons. I told Kitty that Rose was sick and I needed help beating the rugs. We hauled them outside and took the carpet beaters to them, dust flying up around us in a thick gray cloud.

  The next day Rose came back to work in the house like nothing had happened. I studied her to see if I could tell she still had a baby coming, but she looked like always to me. She tried to stay out of the sight of Miss Mary and Missus, and she wouldn’t speak to me except when she had to.

  Rose never had been my best friend, but I felt sorry for her. I knew what it felt like to feel strong about something and not be able to do much about it. But then it was December. There was the usual Christmas preparations at the house, and I couldn’t think of anything except that I was about to marry Thornton Gray.

  Mister Custis came home from his trip just before my big day. He was in a terrible mood when I took Missus her tea tray that afternoon. I overheard him complaining that the price of wheat and corn was less than it had been, and he might have to think of some way to make up the money he borrowed to cover his debts. He was in such a dark mood I was afraid Miss Mary might just send the word to the reverend not to come, but the preacher showed up on the day he was supposed to.

  Missus had given me a bolt of light blue material for a new dress, and Mauma helped me sew it up. I still had the piece of lace Thornton had given me that long time ago. We put it on the cuffs, and Mauma sewed a ruffle on the bottom of the skirt.

  Thornton wore a blue shirt and gray trousers, and he looked better than I had ever seen him. He smiled at me and held out his hand, and a joy that broke like morning came over me then.

  The house was decorated for Christmas with greens and candles and a big ball of mistletoe in the archway. The parlor was too small to hold everyone from the quarters, so there was only me and Thornton and the Custis family, Mauma and Daddy, and my brother and sister.

  The preacher stood with his back to the fireplace and talked about how Jesus had showed up at a wedding in Cana to bless the couple and pour the wine. He said God looked favorably on couples who married in His sight. Then he said to Thornton, “Do you wish to wed this woman in the sight of God and these witnesses?”

  Thornton grinned at me. “I sure do, sir.”

  “And, Selina Norris, is it your wish to marry this man and to live with him under God’s holy covenants as long as you both shall live?”

  I wasn’t sure what a holy covenant was, but it sounded like a good thing so I said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well. Then you are wed and may God bless you.”

  That was it. Thornton kissed me in front of everybody for the first time.

  In the dining room we had cake, and punch served in the bowl with the painting of the ship in the bottom. Missus invited the preacher to have some refreshments, but he took off like he couldn’t get away from us fast enough. I wondered what she had told him in her letter that made him change his mind. When I told Thornton the preacher was coming to marry us after all, he said Missus must have sent some money for the church along with her note. I never did ask about that.

  After the cake was gone, we thanked Missus and Miss Mary for the fine wedding. Missus just nodded her head, but Miss Mary squeezed my hands and said, “You are welcome, Mrs. Gray.”

  It was the first time I ever heard my new name and it sounded strange and wonderful in my ears. Thornton helped me on with my coat and held my hand as we walked down to our cabin. People had brought presents the same as for Rose and Randall. There were candles and jams and a new quilt. But no baby cradle. Old Judah made jack bags for us, filled with basil to bring us money, cinnamon for love, and rosemary for protection.

  Two days after Christmas, I wrapped up a slice of mince pie to take to Rose. It was her favorite, and I felt bad that I wasn’t able to help her get the pills from New York. Every time we crossed paths I could see the fear and desperation boiling up inside her.

  It was freezing cold and slap-up dark by the time I finished my work at the house. I hurried along the path to Rose’s cabin, the bare trees above me creaking in the wind. Yellow light from her window spilled into the darkness.

  I was about to knock on the door when I heard a strange hum coming from the inside. I cupped my hands and peered through the crack in the door. Rose and Randall had tied blue ribbons around their heads and were walking in a circle around a water bucket and a candle set in the middle of the floor. Casting some kind of a spell, it looked like.

  “Be it day or be it night / Keep us safely from their sight. / Fire and water, moon and sun / Shield us till the journey’s done.”

  I turned around and ran home to Thornton.

  “What’s got into you, Selina?” He got up from his chair as I ran inside, my heart jumping out of my chest.

  I set the mince pie on the table and told him what I’d seen.

  He pulled me close. “Sweetheart, whatever Rose does is on her head, not yours.”

  “I suppose so. But it was scary all the same.”

  Maybe it was the endless talk about abolition and Liberia and running away that in the deepest part of the night made me feel like something dark and deadly was about to swoop down and swallow us. But wrapped in Thornton’s arms I felt safe, a wren in its nest.

  Thornton said, “Missus Gray, you know what I’m thinking?”

  “I never know what’s going on in that head of yours, Mister Gray.”

  He laughed. “I’m thinking we ought to eat that piece of pie.”

  He got a fork and we shared the pie, sitting side by side listening to the night wind and an owl hooting from somewhere far away.

  The next morning Rose and Randall were gone.

  25 | MARY

  Shortly after Rose and Randall disappeared, a new year began. Robert was still in Mexico, having assisted General Scott in the taking of the
capital. Robert’s letters were entertaining and terrifying, one missive describing the delights of Mexican chocolate and the strangeness of black-eyed senoritas who wore no stockings, the next recounting a close call with a band of enemy soldiers that had obliged him to hide for hours beneath a rotted log while mosquitoes feasted on his flesh. He described reconnaissance missions accomplished in the dead of night and the horror of bodies littering the battlefield after the Battle of Vera Cruz.

  No longer only an engineer, he had become a skilled warrior who had tasted the smoke and blood, the noise and fear of the battlefield. Now he knew the thrill of danger, the challenge of outthinking and outmaneuvering the enemy. I worried that in his pursuit of excellence on the battlefield he had pushed himself far beyond the bounds of prudence, and that his return to the more mundane duties of diverting rivers and constructing fortifications would only increase his discontent with military life.

  On a warm afternoon near the end of May, at the conclusion of lessons with the servants’ children, I taught them a new hymn called “Little Drops of Water.” After we had sung it twice, I released them to their chores in the vegetable garden and joined Mother in the parlor with my sewing. Annie and Agnes needed new dresses, and the baby was outgrowing her things too. Daughter came in and was plunking away on the piano she’d persuaded me to buy for her when Papa returned from Washington City.

  “The Mexican senate has finally ratified the Treaty of Guadalupe.” Papa waved his newspaper in the air. “It’s the talk of the city today.”

  “I suppose President Polk is crowing about his victory in this matter.” I took another spool of thread from my sewing basket.

  “He is indeed, and well he should. Between this treaty and our acquisition of the Oregon Territory, the United States of America is now doubled in size.”

  “I’m happy the war is ended, but I fail to understand why we could not have simply purchased the land in the first place and avoided war altogether. My children have suffered terribly without their papa.”

  Mother adjusted her spectacles. “And we have all been deprived of the comfort of Robert’s company.”

  “Indeed. But I expect this treaty means your vigil is at an end, Mary Anna, and Robert will be on his way home soon.” He chuckled. “No more black-eyed senoritas for him. The way he carries on with the ladies, you are lucky one of them didn’t steal him away.”

  “Carries on? You mean those harmless letters he sends to Markie and our friends? It is nothing he doesn’t freely share with me. He gives me no cause to doubt his affections or his fidelity.”

  “A truthful husband is a blessing beyond measure, is it not, Mr. Custis?” Mother looked up at Papa, her brows arched, and it seemed to me that the air suddenly thickened.

  “Indeed, indeed.” Papa patted his pockets and glanced around the room. “I seem to have misplaced my pipe.”

  “You left it in the dining room this morning,” Mother said, not missing a single stitch.

  “Ah. Thank you, my dear. I cannot think how I would get on in this life without you.”

  Mother continued her sewing.

  “Well, I want to get to my study,” Papa said. “On the way home this afternoon I thought of a wonderful line for the poem I’m working on. I ought to write it down before it slips my mind.” He left the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.

  “Mother?” I reached across to still her hands. “Is something wrong? Between you and Papa?”

  “Everything is as it has ever been, my child. Don’t let your father’s teasing spoil the happiness of this day. Your Robert is safe and coming home.”

  A week later Robert’s letter arrived announcing his departure from Mexico City. He was expected on the twenty-ninth of June, just a day before the seventeenth anniversary of our marriage. The entire household dressed up to await his arrival.

  Custis, nearly sixteen, was home from school. Daughter, my budding musician, was about to turn thirteen. Eleven-year-old Rooney and four-year-old Rob stood on one foot and then the other, and raced each other to the window each time we heard a sound in the yard. Annie and Agnes, nine and seven, sat primly on the settee in the parlor, holding hands. And Precious Life, who had been a newborn when Robert left, was now a beautiful dark-haired and mischievous two-year-old who had no memory of her father at all.

  Late in the afternoon, Rob ran to the window and shouted, “Mama! Somebody’s coming.”

  With Life in my arms I went to the window, expecting to see the carriage coming into view. But a horse and rider appeared on the road.

  “It’s Papa!” Rooney wrenched open the door and ran into the yard.

  Robert reined in and lifted Rooney into his arms. “Kiss your old papa, Roon!”

  He dismounted and the children swarmed their father, basking in his laughter and his generous embrace.

  “You are late, Papa,” Rooney said when the commotion subsided.

  “The train was late and I missed the carriage, so I borrowed this noble steed and rode home as fast as he could trot.”

  Robert handed off the reins and stepped onto the porch. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Twenty months in the Mexican sun had browned his skin and deepened the fine lines around his eyes. He had shaved off his side whiskers and his mustache, and there were tiny flecks of gray in his dark hair. Tall and impeccably dressed in his uniform, he had never looked more handsome. I had never loved him more.

  His eyes sought mine and held. He smiled, crossed the porch, and gathered me and the baby into his strong arms. “Dearest Mary” was all he said.

  Three years passed, and Robert was assigned to oversee the construction of Fort Carroll, near Baltimore. Anti-slavery sentiment in that city was running high, so I brought none of my servants with me when I took our younger children to join him there. Custis was at West Point. Daughter, as usual, was visiting relatives. Annie and Agnes were at home at Arlington with their grandparents, studying with their tutor, Miss Susan Poor. Only Rooney, Rob, and Life made the trip with us.

  Our home on Madison Avenue was a new redbrick row house built in the traditional style, with long windowless rooms arrayed along a central hall and doors leading to both front and back. There was a lovely garden and plenty of room for Grace Darling and for the pony, Santa Anna, that Robert had shipped directly to Maryland, much to our boys’ delight.

  On Sundays we took our children to church, after which there were afternoon games on the lawn with Robert happily entangled among his children, horses, cats, and dogs. I was content to sit in the sunshine with my books or with my little writing desk, penning letters to the various members of the Virginia legislature.

  The Colonization Society had long been in debt, and in order to continue its work we needed cash. Since Virginia had benefited handsomely from the labor of the enslaved for generations, we felt it was time to offer them a choice about their own futures. Though our legislature had joined several other states in appropriating funds for Liberia, the amount allocated was woefully inadequate. Now the task was to convince them of the need for more, despite the constant opposition from Mr. Garrison and the other abolitionists.

  One day in late spring Robert and I settled with our books beneath the shade of an old oak near my garden. The first of my tulips nodded in the slight breeze off the river, the new grass shining in the slanted light.

  Rooney rounded the house. “A letter for you, Mama.”

  “Thank you, child.” I broke the seal. “Where is your little brother?”

  “In the paddock with Santa Anna. But don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  He ran off, and I scanned the letter. “Oh dear.”

  “Bad news, Molly?” Robert looked up from his book, his finger marking his place.

  “Mother writes that Aunt Nelly has fallen ill.”

  “Can Mother tend to her? The girls will be perfectly fine at Arlington with Miss Poor and your father to look after them.”

  “I don’t think so. She has been ill all spring. And Aunt Nelly i
s past seventy and apt to need more care than Mother can manage even if she could withstand the trip to Audley.”

  He sighed. “I suppose you ought to go, then.”

  I set aside Mother’s letter. “The school term is nearly done. I may as well take the children home for the summer.”

  “If you must. But it will be too quiet here without you.” He rose and crossed to my chair, then bent to kiss the back of my neck. “Come back to me soon, Miss Molly.”

  I pressed his hand to my cheek. “Don’t I always?”

  I packed up the children and we made the short trip to Arlington. The girls smothered us with kisses and draped a necklace of jasmine blossoms around their baby sister’s neck.

  “We missed you something awful, Millet,” Agnes told her. “We’ve a wonderful surprise for you in the stables.”

  Life’s face lit up. “I love surprises. What is it?”

  “Come and see,” Annie said, taking her sister’s hand.

  “Kittens,” Mother whispered in my ear as the girls headed out the door. She looped her arm through mine. “Come inside. I’ve some exciting news of my own.”

  I followed her into the parlor, shedding my shawl and hat along the way.

  “Our plans for sending a new group of freedmen to Liberia are nearly complete.” Mother sank into her chair, and I saw how pale and worn she looked.

  “You are taking on too much, Mother.”

  “No more than usual. It is only that I am getting older. And I do want to see more families making a new start in freedom before I die.”

  I couldn’t imagine Arlington without Mother in it. “You won’t leave us for a long time yet.”

  “God will choose the time and place, as He always does.” She handed me a sheaf of papers. “I have written some letters that you must attend to if I am unable.”

  “It seems to me I ought to be here taking care of you instead of running off to Audley. Though of course someone must look after Aunt Nelly.”

  “I have plenty of people to look after my needs. But poor Eleanor is alone since Lorenzo died.”