“Well?” Mother demanded, setting her book aside.
Therese had expected to feel anxious in this moment, but instead her heart filled with a sense of rightness, of purpose. A person either lived by their beliefs or they didn’t. She was going to live by hers, even if Mother would not. She lowered the letter to her lap and then slid around on the piano bench to meet her mother’s eyes.
“Are you absolutely certain you won’t free Grandfather’s slaves?” she asked, intentionally using the term her mother always tried to avoid.
Anger flashed in the woman’s eyes. “What did I tell you? The matter is closed for discussion! Do not bring it up again.” With an exasperated sigh, she returned her attention to her book.
“Yes or no, Mother. Are you going to free them?”
The woman froze, her features growing hard and cold. “Not at this time, no.”
Therese nodded. She took in a deep breath, held it, and then slowly blew it out. When she spoke, she could hear the sadness within her resolve. “Then I’m leaving. I’m sorry, but I simply cannot go against Father’s wishes or my own beliefs. I won’t stay here.”
Mother leaped up, the book tumbling to the ground. “What? You’re not going back to the cottage. I absolutely forbid it!”
“I’m not going to the cottage,” Therese replied calmly. She stood as well, still clutching the letter, her hands at her sides. “I’m taking a job as a governess. I’m going to Richmond to work and live.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Therese
Over the next several days, letters passed between Mr. Galloway and Therese that secured the position. Then, as Therese organized her few teaching materials and packed to go to Richmond, she slipped Father’s carte de visite into one of her books. She couldn’t help but admit to herself that Mother was becoming more and more helpless as Aggie and Vera began to see to her needs. Disgusted by her mother’s behavior, Therese began avoiding her as much as possible.
However, there was one good moment that mother and daughter shared as they looked through the family tintypes and daguerreotypes. There was the image of Mother and Father taken in a studio, one of Warner when he finished his studies, one of Therese taken in front of the main building at Box Tree Male Academy. In it, she was wearing her favorite dress at the time, yellow with white lace cuffs and pink flowers appliqued at the waist.
Saturday morning, Mother insisted that Badan drive Therese into Richmond instead of her taking the train. Therese hoped Mother would ride along, but she said she had a headache and needed to rest. The day had dawned extra warm for mid-September. Mother wrote Badan a pass, while Therese marveled at how quickly she’d resumed her role as mistress, even though it had been twenty-three years. By the time Therese descended the stairs, Mother had retreated back into the house. Badan took Therese’s book bag and her clothes bag, while Auntie Vera told her she’d look after Mother. Aggie stood by the buggy, and without Mother watching, Therese gave her a hug.
“Go on,” Aggie said. “I know how much you like Richmond. You’re going to have a fine time.”
Therese let go of her friend. “You take care of yourself.”
“Oh, we’ll be just fine.” Aggie smiled. “We have the chickens, a couple of hogs left to butcher, and a garden full of vegetables, not to mention all the apples to put up. You let us know if you need any food, and Badan will bring some in.”
Therese hesitated to say anything, but because Mother refused to fire Mr. Porter, she asked, “Do you feel safe here? Has anyone tried to hurt you?”
Her friend shook her head, but Therese wasn’t convinced. “Aggie?”
Auntie Vera stepped forward and patted Therese’s back. “No need to worry about anything except those little girls waiting for you. Now get going.”
Therese told the two women goodbye. As the buggy drove away from River Pines, Therese glanced back over her shoulder. Aggie and Auntie Vera stood side by side in the driveway, watching her leave. Mother stood on the front porch, all alone. Therese was surprised she was waving goodbye at all. As Badan directed the horses onto the road, Mother stepped back into the house.
A couple of leaves fluttered down to the ground, but it would be a few weeks before any changed color. Thankfully, it hadn’t rained, and the road was dry and passable, although a cloud of dust swirled behind them.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Richmond and the rolling hills ahead, it was nearly noon. Soon they passed through a checkpoint manned by Confederate soldiers. Badan showed his pass from Mother, and Therese explained why she was headed into the city, holding out the letter from Mr. Galloway. A soldier waved them on, and in a cloud of dust along the dirt street, they continued forward. Soon they passed houses and shops and tenement buildings.
The row house the Galloways lived in was on Grace Street, not far from downtown. Therese was familiar with the neighborhood. She and her classmates had often walked along the tree-lined street.
When Badan found the address and stopped, Therese leaned back against the seat for a moment and took in the view. There were linden trees growing in front of the brick building. A wrought iron fence surrounded the property. No children were visible, but perhaps they were inside for their dinner.
Badan helped Therese down and then retrieved her bags for her. She led the way to the door and knocked. When no one answered, she knocked again. Finally, it swung open, and a girl of about nine stood before her.
“I’m Miss Therese Jennings. Is your father home?”
The girl shook her head.
“Your mother?”
“She’s resting.”
“Would you please tell her that I’m here?”
The girl nodded and shut the door. A few minutes later she returned with a woman who appeared to be around thirty. Therese towered over her. “Oh, dear,” the woman said. “Charles told me you’d be coming, but I completely forgot. Please come in.” She wore a housedress, and strands of hair had fallen from the bun at the nape of her neck.
Therese curtsied and introduced herself.
“I figured,” the woman said.
Therese took her bags from Badan and thanked him. “Be careful,” she said. He had his pass and all should be well, but there was always the chance that someone would try to steal the horses or make some other sort of mischief.
Badan dipped his head toward her and headed back to the buggy.
The house was dimly lit and fairly cool. “Cook is just finishing up our dinner,” the woman said. “One of our maids recently ran away, so we’re scrambling to get everything done.”
Because Therese couldn’t respond in sympathy, she didn’t respond at all. She hoped the slave made it to safety.
Her new employer didn’t seem to notice. “However, the remaining maid is very competent—with both the house and helping me care for the children too, plus the girls are finally of an age where they’re quite reasonable and helpful themselves.” She stopped and faced Therese. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Delpha Galloway. I’m glad you’re here.”
Therese smiled. She liked the woman.
“Our last governess missed home and up and left.” She continued on down the hall, past the door to a parlor. “I don’t blame her. I miss home too. I didn’t think I would as much as I do. It’s cooler here than in Louisiana, and this is the heart of everything that’s happening, but I haven’t felt myself at all. Home is a good place to be.”
Therese didn’t contradict the woman, but right now she was happy not to be at the cottage or at River Pines.
“The girls are Eleanor, Lydia, and Florence. Eleanor is who answered the door. Charles keeps hoping for a boy, but I keep telling him not to.”
Therese’s face grew warm. It appeared as if the woman could be expecting, but Therese wasn’t sure. Again, she didn’t respond.
“Cook came from Louisiana with us, and so did our maids, both the one who ran and the one who stayed. We were renting out our stable boy to Tredegar Iron Works. He ran too.” She stopped, too
k a breath, and then continued. “Your room is ready. It’s in the attic.” She turned into the dining room, which had a large oak table—functional but not fancy. It was set with plain white dishes. All three girls sat on the far side of it.
“Girls,” Mrs. Galloway said, “this is Miss Jennings, your new governess.”
Eleanor nodded and smiled just a little. Lydia pursed her lips. Florence stared straight ahead. They were stair steps of one another with their big brown eyes and dark braided hair.
“I’m afraid we’re having porridge for our dinner today,” Mrs. Galloway said. “And for supper too. Isn’t that right, girls?”
They all nodded.
“It’s been hard to get meat and produce, but Cook has managed to get us some for tomorrow. We’ll have a Sunday dinner. But some days it’s just porridge.”
Therese said that was fine. She’d had plenty of meals like that while living in the cottage.
“As far as your duties, your primary one will be teaching the girls, of course. On occasion we may need your help during the evenings or on Saturdays, but otherwise that time will be your own, as will Sundays after church.”
“Thank you,” Therese said, curtsying. “I’ll do my best to serve your family well.”
“No doubt,” Mrs. Galloway said, and then she smiled. She turned toward her oldest daughter. “Eleanor, show Miss Jennings to her room.” Mrs. Galloway turned toward Therese. “I hope it will be all right.”
“It’ll be fine.”
She followed Eleanor up the stairs to the second floor and then on up to the attic. There was a narrow cot, a bureau, a washstand with a pitcher and basin, and a small desk. It was warm now, though Therese imagined it would be cold in the winter, but it was more than adequate. She thanked Eleanor and sent her back downstairs, washed up quickly, and then joined the girls in the dining room. They ate their porridge slowly. As Therese ate hers, she decided she’d ask Mother in the letter she would write tonight if Badan could bring a box of apples and other produce in for the Galloways sometime soon. She knew, after the harvest, that Mother would be required to give a substantial amount of food to the army to help feed the troops, but she hoped there would be enough left over to be generous in other ways.
The rest of the day went well, with Therese settling into her room and then spending time with the girls in the parlor, evaluating their reading skills with her McGuffey’s primer. Eight-year-old Eleanor did quite well, but six-year-old Lydia barely knew how to read at all, and five-year-old Florence could only identify some of her letters. Mr. Galloway came home late, after the girls were in bed. He introduced himself to Therese, thanked her for coming to Richmond, and then slipped down the hall toward the kitchen, probably to get a bowl of porridge.
The next day she walked to St. Paul’s Church with the family. The two older girls skipped ahead, but Florence stayed back and took Therese’s hand. Mr. and Mrs. Galloway walked slowly, a few steps behind. Mr. Galloway was short like his wife, but quieter. He seemed like a gentle soul, although preoccupied.
Therese had attended St. Paul’s as a student. The congregation, of course, was much bigger than back home, and the Greek Revival–style building was much more ornate with its columns, stained glass windows, and balconies than the simple church where she’d grown up.
The sermon was more ornate as well, flowery in speech if eloquent and intelligent. Therese spotted Polly a few pews ahead of her and wondered if this was the priest she was friends with, the one she’d gone to Manakin Episcopal to pick up some books for.
After the service, Therese found Polly. The first thing her friend said was that she’d had a letter from her younger brother, Lance. “He’s in a prisoner of war camp. He said they’re being treated well, though.”
Therese squeezed Polly’s hand. At least he was alive.
She then introduced the Galloways to Polly. After she greeted each one, she asked Therese if she wanted to go to the hospital with her that afternoon.
Therese was startled at the suggestion, but then she realized that she did want to go, that she would like very much to help in any way she could. She turned toward Mr. Galloway and asked him if that would be all right. Before he could answer, Mrs. Galloway said, “Of course. By all means, please do. I tried to volunteer a few times, but I don’t have the stamina for it right now. Your volunteering would be a boon to all of us.”
Mr. Galloway nodded in agreement.
“I’ll come by for you at two,” Polly said. “It will only take us a short time to walk there. You’ll be home by a little after eight this evening.”
It would be dark by then, but Therese trusted Polly. She couldn’t say that she looked forward to working in the hospital, but she did feel it was her duty. Caring for Father had been hard, and she was known for her sensitivity. She hoped she’d be strong enough to do the job that needed to be done for the soldiers.
“Nurses are to wear dark colors and dress modestly, of course. Make sure to wear something old.”
Therese nodded.
“And no hoops,” Polly said.
Therese hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense.
“And make sure you can push the sleeves of your dress up,” Polly added. “Things can get messy. We used to have sleeve covers to put on, but they all wore out. Now we just have aprons that protect our dresses, somewhat.”
Therese winced a little, realizing tending wounded soldiers could be quite a bit different than caring for Father.
Later that afternoon, Polly led the way along the Virginia Capitol building and up Ninth Street and then to Tenth. Therese relished being in Richmond again, even though it had obviously changed since her school days. Many of the homes and buildings she passed appeared shabbier and needed to be painted and spruced up. And she’d heard there was more public drunkenness, bar brawls, and violence. But there was also an air of excitement. Soldiers marched by on the other side of the street. Important-looking men dashed into buildings. And women, doing their best to dress fashionably with the resources they had, bustled about. Therese could easily imagine the intrigue that could be going on, even now.
“Have you read Rose O’Neal Greenhow’s memoir?” Therese asked her friend.
“Oh, goodness,” Polly answered. “I haven’t had time to read since I started volunteering at the hospital. Besides, isn’t that all… well, rather sensationalized?”
Therese nodded and then grinned. “But terribly interesting, nevertheless.” Taking her friend’s arm, she said, “She did her spying up in Washington, but,” she lowered her voice, “it’s so easy to imagine what might be going on here in Richmond as well, as far as spies and secret messages and that sort of thing. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Things seem pretty boring here to me.” She smiled. “I don’t hear of anything exciting, at least not as exciting as the injuries and diseases we take care of at the hospital.”
Therese was a little disappointed. She imagined tunnels under businesses and houses that led down to the river, where spies could easily escape. And their old school, now a hospital, would be perfect for some sort of clandestine activity, she was sure, considering the number of people who came and went.
Polly pointed ahead. “Here we are.” Halfway up the block was the former Women’s Institute, four-stories high with two towers on either side of the front entrance and two on either side of the back exit too, which led to the loading docks, kitchen, gardens, and stable. A brick wall surrounded the property. It still looked like the school she and Polly had attended except for the wagon that pulled around to the back, filled with injured soldiers, perhaps from the Petersburg area. Therese shivered, even though the afternoon was warm.
They hurried up the stairs and through the heavy wooden doors into the foyer. The smell was the first thing Therese noticed. The iron odor of blood. Less noticeable was a hint of lye soap and what she guessed was chloroform. It was much different than the scent of polished floors that she remembered from her school days in the building
.
Therese’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light as Polly directed her to hang the light shawl she’d brought for the walk home in the closet to the right. Beyond it were two offices.
“We’ll be giving sponge baths first and then serving supper,” Polly said.
Therese nodded. That sounded manageable.
A woman walked by with a hamper filled with linens.
“The laundry is out back, just as it always was, along with the kitchen,” Polly explained. “And, of course, the baking room is in the basement.”
Therese could imagine all the people and jobs it took to keep a hospital working. Much like a school—but even more so.
“As far as the patients, most are enlisted soldiers from North Carolina or officers from Virginia, but of course there’s a sampling of soldiers from all over who have ended up here for one reason or another. Many of them have lost arms or legs, and lots of them have suppurating wounds. Healing often takes much longer than expected and sometimes doesn’t happen at all. Some have been here for months and months, while others expire the day they arrive. We can’t always predict who will make it and who won’t. The injured are mostly on the second floor, while the sick—typhoid, diphtheria, measles, chicken pox, all of that—are on the third floor. Some of the high-ranking officers are in smaller rooms scattered throughout the building. We’ll be working exclusively on the second floor. If the wounds bother you at first, know you’re not alone. Just do your best, and in time you’ll adjust.”
“All right.” Therese offered up a prayer for strength. She’d be mortified to embarrass a soldier due to her own weakness.
Polly led the way to the first office, where a woman, who was probably nearing fifty, sat behind a desk. Her gray hair was pulled back into an austere bun, and she wore a plain brown dress. Polly introduced Therese and then said, “This is Matron Webb.” Polly smiled. “She’s in charge.”
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