Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray (10 page)

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.

1835

F
orever 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?”

“No. He is well, and as busy as ever.”

“We ought to get started soon. I'll send Kitty up later to pack a bag for you.”

“I won't leave without my children.”

I did not doubt that Eleanor would look after them, but my heart ached at the prospect of parting for who knew how long. I worried that if I did not recover they would not even remember me.

At last Mother relented and sent Kitty to pack their things. Mother helped me dress, but I was so weak with fever and rattled with chills that she didn't bother with my hair. Daniel came upstairs and carried me down to the carriage.

The ten-mile journey to Ravensworth seemed endless. The road rose and dipped, the carriage was cramped and drafty. The children grew tired and restless. Mee woke and began to fuss, and nothing Kitty or Nurse could do would comfort her. We arrived late in the afternoon. I was given a room at the front of the house overlooking Aunt Maria's garden, but I was too weak and too disheartened by Robert's scolding letter to enjoy the view of the summer roses blooming there.

The next day I woke to stiffness and searing pains in my legs. My fever had not yet broken. To my family I confided my fear that I would die. To my husband I said nothing.

A doctor opined that I was in the early stages of rheumatism, which did not explain the recurrent fever nor the painful abscesses that had developed on my thighs. He prescribed warm
ointments for the abscesses and continued bed rest—as if I had not spent the past three months resting to no avail.

My birthday came and went without much fanfare. I missed my husband, and in the deepest, loneliest hours of the night I lay awake, fearful that this birthday might well be my last.

Then one afternoon in early October, I watched from the window as a horse and rider thundered onto the road. Even from far away I knew it was Robert. No one else sat a horse quite the way he did.

He had been away for five months, but I was too weak to get out of bed to greet him. I had been feverish for days. I hadn't had a decent bath in weeks. I smelled of sweat and ointment, and my hair was in knots. Such was my appearance when Robert rushed into my room. He blanched when he saw me.

“Dear Mary.” He crossed the room and drew a chair next to my bed. “I got home this morning and your father said you all were here.” His voice broke. “I had no idea you were so ill. You never said a word.”

“I did not wish to become an
aggravation
, nor to encourage you in the dereliction of your duty merely because I am at death's door.”

He had the grace to blush. “I never would have lectured you so had I known how sick you are. And I missed your birthday too. I have not been the husband you deserve, Molly.”

“Have you seen the children?”

“Not yet. They are still asleep.” He got up and began to pace. “What do the doctors say?”

I gave him the report.

“Can you travel? I want to take you home. Consult with a different doctor. I cannot accept that you will not get well.”

Robert was an engineer. His job was solving problems, and he saw my illness as another challenge to be worked out in a methodical and orderly fashion. He consulted with my mother. Our children and servants were readied for travel. In short order he called for a wagon, onto which he loaded my bed, and we traveled home.

The new doctor tried purifying my blood by the application of leeches and by placing heated glass cups on my skin. He prescribed other treatments too unpleasant to recount, yet by mid-November I was still barely well enough to take light nourishment while sitting up in bed.

Then my fever broke, and Robert brought in our children. Mee was nearly four months old, and I had scarcely seen her in that time. Robert placed her in my arms and she looked up at me, so solemn and curious, as if to ask where I had been.

Boo climbed onto my bed with the new top his father had brought for him. “Look, Mama. It spins fast.”

“My goodness, it certainly does. Did you say thank you to Papa for such a fine present?”

“Yes, Mama.” Boo patted my sleeve. “I was scared when you were sick. I didn't cry very much, though. But Mee did. Mee cries all the time.”

“You were very brave, dearest. I'm proud of you.”

“I know it. You should get up so we can go play in the garden.”

“Careful, Boo,” Robert said. “We mustn't tire your mother overmuch.”

Boo held his toy to his chest. “When will it be Christmas?”

The mere thought of the holiday that required so much effort
left me feeling exhausted. For Boo's sake I tried to eat more, in hopes of regaining my strength in time for the festivities. But that year I passed the holiday tucked into Papa's chair, too listless to do more than attempt a few bites of the Christmas feast.

Too, the prospect of yet another separation from Robert when I was still so unwell filled me with dread. Robert's old boss at Fortress Monroe had left the army, and I hoped that Captain Talcott would encourage my husband to follow suit. The children were growing so fast. They needed their father. I needed him too.

But I would never give voice to my feelings. Robert's commitment to duty above all else ran bone-deep in him. I knew what he wanted and what he required of me, and I would not disappoint him.

Our rector at Christ Church prevailed upon Mother to invite one of the seminary students to give the Sunday evening chapel service at Arlington. I was in my bedroom dressing for the occasion when Selina peeked in. At twelve years of age she was on the cusp of womanhood, a sturdy and dependable young girl with a sense of humor she usually kept hidden.

“You going to preaching, Miss Mary?”

I took a second pair of woolen stockings from my bureau. “I can't very well require others to brave the cold while I sit in comfort beside the fire.” I bent to pull on my stocking and winced as rheumatic pain seized me.

Selina stepped into the room. “You need help?”

As annoying as it was to admit it, I did need help, and I sat back on the edge of the bed. Selina knelt in front of me and rolled my stocking.

“If you're asking me, you ought to stay inside tonight. You
know it's gone be cold as the grave in the chapel. Hold your foot up.”