Caroline extended the second stack to her. “Take them. Take them up to your room and read them.”
Marielle reached for them, her hands shaking a little. “Are you saying no one even knows about these letters except you?”
“And now you. I want you to go upstairs and read them.”
Marielle sat staring at the letters in her hands, unable to move, overcome by what she held. “Why are you doing this?” She looked up at Caroline.
“You need to know the truth.”
Marielle slowly rose to her feet. “What about the studio?”
Caroline closed the lid to the trunk and stood up. “I’ll take care of cleaning out the studio. I’d like to do it alone, actually. It would mean a lot to me if I could.”
“Adelaide will wonder why I’m not helping you when I said I would.”
“I’ll tell my mother I sent you away so that I could wrestle with my old ghosts in the studio alone. She’ll understand that.” Caroline handed Marielle the cloth that had been around the letters. “Do not show the letters to Adelaide just yet. I want to talk to you when you’re finished reading them. And then I have something I need for you to do. After that, I will show them to her myself. I promise.”
Marielle wrapped the cloth around the letters and said nothing. She thought of Sara’s journals hidden in her room, more words unseen and hidden. Holly Oak was a veritable depository for buried truth. She looked at Caroline. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her that she, like Caroline, had also found something a young author had hidden from view, when it suddenly occurred to her she hadn’t considered that the studio would soon be empty and she hadn’t made a decision about the journals. It was too late to put them back.
“Go on,” Caroline said. “If my mother is awake, she will wonder where we are.”
Marielle tucked the bundle under her arm and headed for the cellar stairs. As she climbed them she decided that when she was done reading Susannah’s letters, she’d show the journals to Caroline. It seemed to be a good day for the unveiling of secrets.
She’d let Caroline decide what should be done with them.
Behind her she heard the click of a light switch and Caroline on the stairs behind her. Marielle emerged into the warm air of a July morning. Low-lying clouds were giving way to a sticky sun. Caroline clambered out after her, and she closed the cellar doors.
“Carson will wonder why you broke the lock,” Marielle said, looking at the shattered hinges.
Caroline started to walk away. “Carson shouldn’t worry about what doesn’t belong to him. Come find me when you’re done.”
Marielle watched as Caroline strode purposefully across the patio and then to the old slaves’ quarters. She pushed the bundle of letters farther under her arm, walked to the kitchen door, and opened it quietly. The house was still bathed in quiet. She stepped into the main part of the house, listening for sounds of movement on the stairs or in the parlor. She heard nothing. Hopefully Adelaide was still in her bedroom and Marielle could make it upstairs with her package, unseen.
Marielle walked across the entry and took the stairs quickly, pausing only a second to look at young Susannah as she turned at the landing. She made her way to her bedroom, Susannah’s bedroom, and closed the door quietly.
She stood for a moment, her back against the closed door. She closed her eyes and felt the wood against her back, solid and true. Marielle’s earlier curiosity about the letters should have made her feel eager now that she held them—and others—in her hands. But as she opened her eyes, she felt like she was about to sit down and have an intimate conversation with the very ghost everyone at Holly Oak seemed to fear, in one way or another. And yet she was not afraid.
Marielle walked slowly to the bed and spread out the letters that had been mailed, making sure they were in order by postmark. The other letters she hoped were dated inside. She kicked off her wet shoes, pulled the band from her ponytail, climbed onto her bed, and arranged the pillows to support her in a sitting position. Then she reached for the first letter, opened it carefully, and began to read.
The Letter
12 April 1860
Holly Oak, Fredericksburg, Virginia
Dear Eleanor,
Thank you, dear cousin, for the lovely parasol you sent for my birthday. It is the loveliest shade of rose, and I am very grateful to you for sending it. Such a happy color. I have not thought of happy things in such a long time, but the moment I opened your parcel, I imagined myself walking down the streets of Paris like we’ve always dreamed about, and this thought made me smile. Thank you, thank you, dearest cousin.
I do not feel any different today at sixteen than I did yesterday at fifteen even though my grandmother and grandfather made a fuss over me at breakfast. We ate outdoors in the garden, which Grandfather loves to do and Grandmother does not. A fly rested upon my juice glass for only a moment, but she insisted Tessie throw it out and bring me a fresh glass at once. I could see in Tessie’s eyes that she’d gladly drink that juice—it was only a fly, only for a second—and I wanted to tell her she could have it, but Grandmother doesn’t like it when I talk to Tessie, so I didn’t. My grandparents gave me a lovely hat that came all the way from New Orleans. And an amethyst brooch.
Mama came out onto the garden, but it was almost as if the April beauty was too much for her. She merely kissed me on my cheek. Then she went up to her room, and I did not see her again until nightfall, when she bade me good night after supper and disappeared upstairs. I wanted to ask her again when we shall be able to come to see you, as she promised we would, but I can never seem to gather up enough courage to ask her.
We have been here in Fredericksburg for three months. Sometimes it seems like we only just arrived and will soon be going back to Washington after a lovely visit and Papa will be waiting for us. Sometimes it seems like we’ve always been here and I have been missing him in silence for years and years. Grandmother doesn’t want to talk about my papa because she says it is too hard for Mama to hear me mention him.
Holly Oak is a pretty house on a lovely street in town, and it has many rooms, six of which are bedrooms; I have probably told you that before. You can see a bit of the Rappahannock River from my bedroom window and the steeples of the churches from the third floor. I am sleeping in the corner bedroom, where there is a lovely curve in the wall like a bell. I feel a little like I am in a room for a princess with that round wall on one side. There is a lovely garden on the south side of the house with roses and tulip trees and hedges of forsythia. And many trees. Grandmother said when my mother was my age she would have garden parties and there would be dancing and all kinds of cakes and young men in suits. I have not made very many new friends yet. Grandmother says she wishes she could’ve had a birthday party for me but that would’ve been too much for Mama. Mama isn’t ready for parties yet. Not even ones that aren’t for her.
Aunt Eliza is coming home from Philadelphia next month. She has been going to a tailoring school there. Or something like that. I am not sure I understand why she is there. Grandmother knows how to sew. She taught my mother to sew, and she is teaching me. Why could she not also teach Eliza? I asked Mama this. She took a long time answering, as if she had to remember she has a sister named Eliza. Mama said sometimes a person with a will like Eliza’s needs to be taught by someone other than her mother. Eliza is only seven years older than me. And she is not yet married, which is very strange because she is very pretty. Last summer, when we were all here together, Papa said something about how pretty she was and how she must have her pick of beaus. She just frowned at him as though he had told her she was plain and lucky if any old goat would have her.
Grandfather spends most of his time at the farm with the sheep or at the mill. My grandparents own a woolen mill; did you know that? And Grandmother has a little haberdashery here in town. It was her father’s store. It smells like my Papa in there with all the men’s hats and gloves and scarves. Mother worked there when she was my age. I want to wo
rk there too. Grandmother said perhaps in the fall, after the summer months. Perhaps after I have come back from visiting you in Maine!
I miss you, Eleanor. And Cousin John. And Aunt and Uncle. And Grandmother Towsley. And do you have any news of Will? Is he well? Do you ever get letters from John? I hear cadets at West Point do not have time to write letters home. I do hope that is not true.
Yours most lovingly,
Susannah Towsley
20 September 1860
Holly Oak, Fredericksburg, Virginia
Dearest Eleanor,
It is with great sadness that I tell you we shall not be coming to Maine after all. The summer has ended, and Mama will not speak of us coming to visit. She speaks of nothing. Grandmother told me it would be too hard for her to visit my Papa’s family so soon after his death and to kindly leave her to her grief. You cannot rush a widow’s grief. She said someday I will understand this. I said, what if I am never a widow? She asked me if I wished to marry someday, and I said yes, of course I wish to be married someday. And she said if a woman marries, she will be widow. She is destined to be a widow. The husband always dies first.
I do not believe her. But it would not have been polite to say so.
I would come on the train myself, but Grandmother and Grandfather both said it is too far for me to travel alone. There is too much happening between here and there. I asked if perhaps I could bring Tessie with me, and Grandfather said Tessie is an ignorant child and it was foolish to think a simple Negro could provide me protection on such a long trip. Tessie is not ignorant nor a child. She is three years older than I am and we’ve had many discussions in the garden when she is supposed to be merely seeing to my lemonade. Tessie’s mother and father live in North Carolina. So do her brothers. She hasn’t seen them since she was eleven, when Grandfather bought her and brought her here to Holly Oak. Yesterday I asked her why she hasn’t been to visit them, and she said, “When you’re a slave it’s best to reckon you have no family to visit. It’s best to reckon you have nothing.”
“Don’t you miss them?” I asked. And she looked away from me, toward the river. “Every day,” she said.
I told her that when I am older perhaps I could take her on the train to see her family. Surely when I am older my grandparents will let me travel with Tessie. I see Southern women traveling all the time with their Negro slaves. North Carolina isn’t that far. Aunt Eliza came out onto the garden at that very moment and told me, right in front of Tessie, that Grandfather would never let me take Tessie to see her family. I asked her why not? “Ask him yourself,” she said in that way she has. I can’t explain it. It is like she is being sweet and mean at the same time. But not mean to me, exactly. And not sweet to me either. You see? I cannot explain it.
Tessie turned and left us without a word, and I watched her walk down to the slaves’ quarters at the far end of the garden. She always says, “Will there be anything else, Miss Susannah?” when she leaves me, but she didn’t that time. I thought perhaps I’d made her sad, asking about her family. So then of course I felt sad. I asked Eliza if I should go after Tessie and apologize. “Apologize for what?” Eliza said to me. “I made her sad,” I answered. Then Eliza turned to go too. “You’re not the one who has made her sad. And your mother wants you.” She started to go back into house. I picked up my writing things to follow. “But if Grandfather hadn’t bought her, wouldn’t someone else have bought her?” I asked. And Eliza turned back to me, and her gaze on me was cool like a funeral mist falling on my skin. “Yes, Susannah, someone else would’ve.” Her skirts swished as she walked back into the house ahead of me.
Eliza disapproves of Grandfather having slaves. I look at Tessie, and I do not think I like it either. I wonder why he has them. There is no one here I can ask except Eliza and Tessie, and I do not possess the courage to ask either one that question. Not yet. There are other slaves here at Holly Oak. But I cannot ask them either. We have never had more than a couple of words pass between us. Perhaps I will ask Eliza later. Tomorrow maybe.
There is much in the newspapers these days of Southern states that wish to keep slaves and Northern abolitionists who wish to see the practice ended forever. Papa once told me that God would not have a man own another man as though he were a horse or a carriage, but he also told me that when I am at Holly Oak visiting my mama’s parents, I am to respect them and their way of life. I am not visiting Holly Oak now. I live here. Is this now my way of life?
I so wish Mama and I could come to Maine for the Christmas holidays as we did last year. Grandfather won’t consider it right now because he said there are too many things happening in the North that he doesn’t like. Political things. Sometimes he will have gentleman friends over to Holly Oak, and they will sit in the garden and smoke pipes and talk about all the things they do not like about Washington. I know they do not mean the city itself. They mean the government and who decides what the states can do and can’t. The women are never allowed to sit with them. Not that Mama nor I would want to. Mama certainly wouldn’t. Eliza wants to and they won’t let her. It makes her angry. She sits and listens at the open parlor window anyway.
I miss you all so very much. Shame on you for telling Will I asked about him! But I am glad he and John are well and have survived the first year at West Point. Perhaps at Christmastime, if Mama and I are there, they will come home on the train in their uniforms as they did last year, and this time we will recognize them!
Love to Aunt and Uncle and Grandmother Towsley,
Yours most sincerely,
Susannah Towsley
27 December 1860
Holly Oak, Fredericksburg, Virginia
Dearest Eleanor,
I trust you had a happy Christmas and that Cousin John made it safely home for the holidays. Thank you for the beautiful drawing. You have such talent! And Mama loves the scarf you made. Did you see Will? Is he well?
Christmas here at Holly Oak was very strange. We had a nice goose and presents and carols, but everyone’s thoughts were only on what South Carolina has done. And what it might mean for us.
I hardly know where to begin, dearest cousin. So much has happened since last I wrote you.
Grandfather is never home now, and when he is, he is always stomping about the house, angry. This morning he said what has happened with South Carolina is only the beginning. “The beginning of what?” I asked. He was talking to Grandmother, and he didn’t realize I was even in the room. I had just begun this letter to you. Mother was in the room with us too. But everyone always forgets when she is in the room. Sometimes even I do. Grandfather looked at me—stared at me—and it was a strange look. It was like, for a moment, I was not his granddaughter; I was someone else. Someone he didn’t like. Then he looked away and his face seemed sad.
“These are not good times,” he finally said. “These are hard times. What South Carolina has done, more states will do. Mark my words. More states will leave the Union.” And Grandmother told him to please hush. “No. I will not hush,” he said. “This is my home. This is Susannah’s home. We are Virginians.” He turned back to me, and it was as if he were waiting for me to say something. I could only stare at him. I didn’t know what it was he wanted me to say.
“Leave her out of it,” my mother said, and every head turned to her. She had barely said anything in days. She wasn’t looking at any of us. She was looking down at her hands, lying still in her lap. Then she stood and walked out of the room without another word. We all watched her go. As she neared the doorway to the parlor, I saw that Eliza was leaning on the door frame and had certainly heard everything.
No one said anything as Mama left. Grandmother excused herself to follow after her. Grandfather watched her leave too. His gaze rested on Eliza for just a moment and then again on me. Then he told us he was going to the mill. And he left.
Eliza was quiet for just a moment. Then she nodded toward this letter you are holding, Eleanor. “Writing to your cousin in Maine?” she asked. And I said y
es. Then she walked over to me, stood over me and the letter. “Your grandfather sometimes forgets that your papa and his family are from Maine and that you were born in Washington. And then on days like today he remembers.” She paused, as if she wanted those words to settle in on me.
“What is this the beginning of?” I asked her. “Why is Grandfather so angry?” And she said, “Nothing good will come from South Carolina leaving the Union, Susannah. And if the rest of the South follows suit, God only knows what will happen.” I asked her if all this was happening because the South wants to keep its slaves. And she said, “It’s because the South doesn’t want to be told by Northerners who don’t live here what to do or how to think. The slaves are objects of ideologies and philosophies, but they labor and sweat and die like slaves. How long do you really think we can pretend we don’t see that?” And then she left me too, and I now I am alone in the room.
I do not know what the New Year will bring, Eleanor. Say nothing to Grandmother or Cousin John of my concerns. And if you see Will before he and John return to West Point, tell him hello for me.
Yours always,
Susannah Towsley
12 April 1861
Holly Oak, Fredericksburg, Virginia
Dearest Eleanor,
Thank you for your letter and the lovely necklace you sent for my birthday. It was quiet this year. No one seemed to think it a remarkable occasion. Grandmother took me to Richmond to buy two new dresses, and we ate at a restaurant where the waitstaff brought me a little cake with tiny pink roses on top. But when we returned, it was like any other day. Mama sent for me after we arrived, and when I went into her room, she was still in her dressing gown. She kissed me on my cheek, whispered, “Happy Birthday,” and then pressed her grandmother’s diamond and pearl ear bobs into my hand. I’ve always loved them, but she just handed them to me like they had been mine all along and I’d been careless and left them in her room by mistake. I thanked her, and she nodded and turned away toward the window—the one that faces north.
A Sound Among the Trees Page 18