by Jane Peart
But even though her mind confirmed this truth, deep within her was resentment. Through the pure weight of force of the North's victory, the Merediths were in a position to do more for this dearly beloved child so much a part of her he might have been born to her.
John Meredith led Jonathan back, and they stood before her, hand-in-hand.
"Well, I think it's time to go now," John Meredith said. "We have a train to catch. Say good-bye to your Aunt Garnet now, Jonathan."
Garnet folded Jonathan into her arms, struggling against the dreadful ache in her throat as she nestled her face into the thick dark curls, feeling the warmth of his small, sturdy body against her breast, the scent of his fresh-washed hair, the starchy smell of his shirt collar, and newness of his cotton suit. She kissed his cheek, then cupping his rosy little face in both her hands, she looked long into those beautiful brown eyes now dancing with excitement.
"We're going on the cars, Auntie 'Net!" he exclaimed.
"I know, Jonathan!" Garnet replied, holding herself rigidly so as not to give way to the crowding tears.
She stood watching them, the tall man and the little boy, as they walked away from her, her hands clenched so tightly she felt her nails bite into the soft flesh of her palms. Just before they went down the steps, Jonathan turned and waved once—then he was gone.
Garnet had been back at Montclair less than a week when she faced another parting. Dove was taking Druscilla and going to Savannah.
"Maybe I'll be back, Garnet," Dove told her. "It's just that I haven't seen my relatives there since . . . since I lost Leighton . . . since the war," she sighed. "Montclair doesn't really seem my home any more. It never really did. Mr. Montrose had promised Lee property of our own, you know, but now—" She shrugged. "The only real family I have is in Savannah, although there's not much there, either."
"There's my mother here," Garnet reminded her. She had come to love her cousin who was also her sister-in-law dearly, and little Dru.
"Cousin Kate is wonderful and I love her, but she has all she can manage herself now with Rod still recovering from his wounds and sickness, and that big place—" Dove paused and her delicate face took on a look of determination as she said, "I've got to find my own way, learn to support myself and my daughter." She turned to Garnet and in her eyes Garnet saw a new strength. "We women of the South are survivors, Garnet. We've come through all this with more courage than anyone ever gave us credit for, but we have to find new ways of dealing with things as they are now."
Before Dove left, she hugged Garnet and said tremulously with tears brightening her eyes, "I may be back, Garnet. Let's not say good-bye!" She smiled.
After they were gone, Montclair seemed achingly empty, filled with the ghosts of the children who used to make the house ring with happy voices, laughter, and the sound of running feet.
With Dove's going, Garnet had to fight a paralyzing apathy. She knew what Dove had said about their being survivors was true and she felt she should be getting on with her own life. But what could she do? The Montroses depended on her more and more. There was no one else to take over the responsibility of the house, the few remaining servants, to try to direct what little farming was being done now.
It seemed ironic that she should be the one who at long last was Mistress of Montclair. But how different from the way she had once dreamed it would be.
Then she received another unexpected jolt, another parting.
Garnet was sitting at the window of her room, staring vacantly out past the orchards to the river, when a tap at her half-open door made her turn to see Tilda standing there.
She was neatly dressed in gray cotton, a shawl around her shoulders. Instead of a bandana tied around her head, she wore a broad-brimmed straw hat. In one hand she had a large cloth-covered bundle, tied and knotted; in the other, a lidded split-oak basket.
"What is it, Tilda?" Garnet asked.
"Miss Garnet, I jes'—kin I speak to you fo' a minute, ma'am?" The tone of voice was hesitant.
"Of course, Tilda, come on in," A queer little tingle of awareness tensed Garnet for the encounter.
Tilda set down her bundle and basket, advancing into the room, both her hands twisted nervously in front of her.
"I jes' came to say I wuz goin'."
"Going where, Tilda?"
"Goin' No'th, ma'am. My Jeems is in Philadelphia since he went dere afta de war, and he done sent fo' me to come. Sent me the carfare to take the train." Tilda lifted her head proudly.
"To Philadelphia!" exclaimed Garnet. "You don't want to go way up there where you don't know anybody, do you? Philadelphia's a big city. Does Jeems have a place for you to live? What will you do there?"
Tilda shook her head. "I doan' know fo' sho', Miss Garnet. I jes' knows I has to go. We is free now, Miss Garnet. I neber been nowhere 'cepn on dis here plantation. I wuz born here, lived here all my life. I gots to have ma chanct. My chillen has got to hab deres. I mean fo' them to grow up free."
Garnet stared at the black woman she had come to know, come to depend on through all that had happened in the last four years. She felt compassion, knowing Tilda did not realize what might lie ahead of her once she left Montclair. At the same time she had to admit she felt a stirring of resentment as well. Tilda was leaving, and that meant she would not be here when Garnet needed her. But who could blame her?I'd leave if I could, Garnet sighed.
"Well, Tilda, all I can say is I hope you know what you're doing. I'd like to give you something to help you on your way, but I don't have any money." She threw out her hands, palms up.
"I knows, Miz Garnet. Jeems sent me 'nuf fo' the trip." She did not add it was United States Government money. All the paper money the Montroses had now was the worthless Confederate issue.
Suddenly Garnet felt a desolate sensation to realize she might never see this strong, kind woman again, another link in the old life.
"I hate to see you leave, Tilda," she said at last.
'Well, Miss Garnet, Miss Rose taught us dat we is all equal in de Lawd's sight and now de law sez we free jes' lak ebryone else. 'Sides that, she taught me that iffen the Bible is right and we seek it, we shall know de truf and de truf shall set us free. I gotta seek it. Truf and freedom. Gotta find out if what de Yankees promised is de truf and black folks is free up No'th."
Garnet felt a tightness in her throat and chest. Tilda had been so faithful—like a rock when the children were so ill.
When Bryce had come home to die, she nursed him as tenderly as if he had been her own. Impulsively Garnet got to her feet and went over to where Tilda stood and embraced her.
As the two women clung to each other, black and white, their tears poured unchecked. They knew that neither time nor distance could sever the bond that united them. They had both been born and reared in Virginia, their roots went deep in the same soil; they had been through the desert of the war together, shared its suffering and its sorrows. Though mistress and slave, they were both women and they knew that in Jesus there is neither slave nor freeman, but only God's beloved children.
Part VII
—there will streams
in the desert....
They shall obtain joy and gladness,
and sorrow and sighing will flee away—
from Isaiah 3 5
Cameron Hall and Montclair
1868-1870
chapter
35
THE MONTHS AFTER Jonathan's departure with his uncle John Meredity, were drab and monotonous for Garnet. She missed the little boy dreadfully. He had been her joy and comfort. Now the pressure and responsibilities that were hers at Montclair became heavy indeed without the happiness his presence had provided.
That first winter after the war, hard times were widespread in the South, and Montclair did not escape any of them. Both the Cameron family and the Montroses struggled to adjust to how much life had changed. The once beautifully maintained houses and land were stark witnesses to the lack of money and labor to keep things up.
No place showed more the ravages of time and lack of help than Montclair. Everything looked run-down, it needed painting, the shutters sagged, mildew gathered around the base of the columns on the front porch, the roof leaked, the chimneys, glutted with resin and choked with rain-soaked leaves, caused the fireplaces to smoke, and ter set in. The black people who had remained were all older, and having been trained as house servants, were unwilling to do work relegated to field hands in the past.
Garnet had all this to cope with and Sara, too, who grew more difficult and dependent every day. She had never become accustomed to the loss of luxury and complained constantly. Mr. Montrose, since his return, seemed to live in a world of his own, struggling to accept the drastic alteration that defeat had brought to his personal life.
Fighting her own battle against depression and hopelessness, Garnet was relieved and delighted when Dove returned to Mayfield, bringing with her not only her welcome optimism to lift everyone's spirits but an idea as well.
Dove suggested that they open a school for young girls at Cameron Hall. Because it had been used briefly as Union headquarters when the Yankees temporarily occupied Mayfield, the mansion had not suffered the vandalism that so many other plantation homes in the area had sustained. With its spacious rooms and a half-dozen double bedrooms it would make a perfect boarding school.
Many wealthy Northerners, after the surrender, drawn by the milder Virginia climate, began flooding into the county to spend the winter. Most were families with children.
Dove pointed out that by combining their talents, the three of them could teach a variety of subjects, offering Yankee mothers a "finishing school" for their daughters in a refined Southern atmosphere.
Rod Cameron could be the equestrian instructor supplying horseback riding as an added incentive for socially ambitious mamas.
Kate immediately responded to the idea with enthusiasm, as did Garnet. They put a small advertisement in the local paper and then were amazed how quickly they began to receive applications. Within a year the school was thriving beyond their expectations—there was even a waiting list for admission.
On a bright day in June 1867 Garnet was getting dressed to ride over to Cameron Hall Academy's first graduation day program. In all the excitement of the school's success only she remembered that the date they had set also happened to be that of her tenth wedding anniversary.
Garnet still had lingering feelings of guilt about her marriage to Bryce, considering herself a failure as a wife. She hoped she had changed since then, and become a better person. She had tried, but she was well aware of her own faults. They seemed the same ones she had always had, only now she recognized them. She saw her own impatience and selfishness reflected in her mother-in-law, and frequently bit her tongue when dealing with Sara, where once she might have exploded in a fit of temper.
If not her character, her appearance had certainly changed, Garnet thought ruefully, looking at herself in the mirror. At twenty-eight, she was thin where she had once been slenderly curved; her burnished gold hair had darkened, but at least she had no gray hair yet, unlike poor Dove. And no wrinkles yet, either, she saw with some satisfaction.
She wished she had something better to wear to the ceremonies this afternoon than her twice-turned blue poplin. But there was hardly enough money for necessities let alone luxuries, like new dresses. But she needed something to give a touch of elegance, she decided. Maybe a lace collar or her grandmother's cameo brooch? She opened the bureau drawer to take out her small jewelry box. As she did, she saw under the pile of handkerchiefs, the edge of a small picture frame. It was a daguerreotype of Malcolm that she had had for years and kept hidden there. She had not looked at it in a long time.
"Oh, Malcolm," she sighed, shaking her head. "Where are you? What has happened to you? Why don't you write?"
Studying the handsome face, it was as though she was gazing at a stranger, someone she had known ages ago. This must have been taken when he was still at Harvard. He seemed heartbreakingly young with clear, bright eyes, filled with ideals and dreams, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. It had been so long since she had seen him—Garnet could hardly remember how he moved or spoke or how he used to laugh at the things she said. He was part of the past of the passionate, foolish girl she had been. She remembered how sick with rage she had been when she first heard of his engagement to Rose Meredith, and how that rage had poisoned her life for so long. Now she felt another kind of rage as she gazed at Malcolm's picture. Why didn't he let them know where he was? She thought of Sara, slowly sinking into premature senility, mourning her two dead sons, grieving the loss of her favorite one, Malcolm. A cold dread overlapped Garnet's frustrated anger. Maybe Malcolm was dead, too. They had heard of the violence in the gold fields, of claim jumping or murders of miners who struck it rich then were never heard of again. Malcolm had gone to recoup his family's fortunes. But had he lost his life in the pursuit of such a far-fetched hope?
Garnet put the little picture back and shoved the drawer shut. Whatever had happened to Malcolm, she could not think about it now. Living in the past was a terrible trap. Garnet had seen too many people around here do that.
A soft tap came at the bedroom door, followed by Carrie's voice,
"You has company downstairs, Miss Garnet."
Garnet went over and opened the door, and Carrie handed her a small calling card on which was printed JEREMY DEVLIN. As she read the name, Garnet was puzzled. She knew no one with that name. He couldn't be from Mayfield, so who could this caller be?
Curious, she went down the curving stairway, her hand on the balustrade still scarred by Yankee saber marks from the day of that terrible raid on Montclair.
Through the open front door she saw the tall figure of a man, his back to her, standing at the edge of the veranda. There was something vaguely familiar about the set of his shoulders, the shape of his head, she thought, as she walked forward. Standing in the doorway, she asked,
"You wished to see me?"
At the sound of her voice the man turned around.
"Mrs. Montrose?" he bowed courteously. "Jeremy Devlin," he introduced himself although she was still holding his card in her hand. "I have taken the liberty of calling without first sending a note requesting permission. I hope you will forgive my presumption. However . . . I had to come."
Still mystified, Garnet asked, "I do not believe we have ever met, have we? Perhaps it is my mother-in-law or my sister-in-law you wished to see?" His identity was annoyingly elusive. Perhaps he was one of the high-spirited young officers she had danced with or flirted with in Richmond during that first winter of the War, in that brief season of gaiety and optimism and frivolity. And yet this man had a northern accent. Who could he be?
Suddenly memory assailed Garnet. Surely this mild-spoken, graciously mannered gentleman could not have been one of those rude invaders who had terrorized them during that ruthless raid! Then, in an instant, she knew who he was. The gallant officer who had volunteered to guard their house and property, who had returned Jonathan's pony! Of course, Major Jeremy Devlin.
Garnet shook her head. "It is you who must forgive me. We have never forgotten your kindness. It's just that—"
He held up one hand to halt her apology.
"Please! My coming like this might even have revived painful memories. For that I am truly sorry." He gestured with one hand to the flower-strewn yard. Spring had come late and so in June, Montclair was in full bloom, yellow daffodils and iris in a variety of blues, purples, and pale lavender spread a magnificent carpet of color, as well as the rhododendrons and azaleas. "I always remembered this place as being so beautiful. I had to come back and assure myself that it was still here, that it had not been destroyed—" An expression of concern cast a shadow on his handsome face, a catch in his voice made it falter.
"Somehow Montclair has managed to survive . . . even the Yankee army," Garnet replied, with an edge of bitterness in her tone. But her inborn good manners ca
used her to make a quick change of subject diverting it from that dangerous trend. "—although not too well, I'm afraid." "So much needs doing but there's no—" she stopped herself before she had said there's no money, no help, and no way to pay them could get help. She certainly did not want to flaunt their poverty in front of this obviously wealthy Yankee stranger. She asked quickly, "What brings you to Virginia now, Mr. Devlin? Not just curiosity surely?"
"Besides being haunted by a lovely Southern mansion? Yes, Mrs. Montrose, I confess there were extenuating reasons for my being in this part of the country just now. I accompanied my sister who has come to collect her daughter attending Cameron Hall Academy."
Garnet gave a little gasp. "Your niece attends Cameron Hall? What is her name?"
"Malissa Bennett."
"Malissa! A really delightful girl!" smiled Garnet.
It was Devlin's turn to look surprised.
"You know Malissa?" he asked.
Garnet nodded.
"In fact, she is one of my favorite students."
"Students?"
Garnet could not help laughing at Devlin's expression.
"Yes. You see, Mr. Devlin, my sister-in-law and I along with my mother, Mrs. Cameron, run the school at Cameron Hall, which was my childhood home."
"But I thought this . . . Montclair . . . was your home."
"It was, after my marriage and during the war. My husband's parents still live here."
"And your son . . . your little boy?" Devlin asked.