Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray (23 page)

“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 is 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.”

“What about Washington? He inherited everything. The least he can do is provide for his grandmother.”

“People don't always do as they should. And I am certain your aunt would much rather have you to nurse her than some stranger Washington might engage.”

“I was hoping to take Selina with me to Aunt Nelly's, but she can stay here to oversee the house.”

“Selina is not able to do much work herself these days.”

“I haven't had a letter from her in some time. Is she ill?”

“No. But another baby is on the way. I was certain she had written to you about it.”

I digested this bit of news. Selina and Thornton were already the parents of two girls, Emma and Annice.
We are both mothers now, Miss Mary
, she had written after the birth of the first one.

“Take Eliza,” Mother said. “I can spare her now that Life is older and her sisters are here to fuss over her.”

The next morning I set out for Audley. As the carriage wound slowly along the narrow roads and up into the cool foothills, Eliza kept up a steady stream of chatter, filling me in on all the gossip from the quarters. Ham was worried that all of his hair was falling out, and Judah had made a concoction of sage, whiskey, and quinine to pour over his head.

“It ain't helped none, though, that I can see, Miss. His head still shiny as a baby's bottom.” Eliza grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “Judah cured my canker sore, though. With blue violet tea.”

“Eliza, you know that my father pays the doctor to visit when anyone in the quarters gets sick. You are not required to rely upon Judah's home remedies.”

“George in the kitchen? He swears Judah's potions work better'n anything that doctor got. He had hisself a bad toothache awhile back, and her chickweed poultice fixed it right up.” Eliza looked up at me from beneath her red-checked bonnet. “You ever had any blue violet tea?”

“Never.”

“Well, let me tell you, Miss. It's awful slimy goin' down. But it do the trick.”

We stopped for the night and set out again at dawn. At last
we reached the road to Audley, and I willed Daniel to hurry. I was famished, and my hip ached after two days in the carriage.

Eliza peered out the window. “This your aunt's place?”

“Yes. The house is up ahead. We will be there soon.”

“What's the matter with her, anyway?” Eliza asked, frowning. “Whatever it be, you should of brought Judah. She cures everybody at Arlington.” She sighed. “Mostly, anyway. She couldn't cure Rose, though. But I don't reckon nobody got a cure for—uh-oh.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

“What was the matter with Rose?”

Two dogs ran into the road, barking and nipping at the horses. Daniel halted the carriage in Aunt Nelly's yard and jumped down to open the door. “We're here, Miss Mary. You go on in. I'll tote your trunks in for you.”

I went in to find Flora waiting in the parlor. She crossed the room and clasped my arm. “Oh, Miss Mary. I am so glad you got here. Miss Eleanor been so poorly all day. I been tryin' to do for her as best as I can, but she don't want to eat a bite or stir from her bed.”

“I'll go up to her now. Could you get my girl Eliza settled? And perhaps make some tea?”

“Yessum. I'll see to it.”

I climbed the stairs to Aunt Nelly's room. It was the largest bedroom at Audley, light and spacious with tall windows that framed a view of the distant mountains. But today the curtains were closed, the lamps unlit, and the air thick with the smells of illness and food left too long on the tray.

I went to the bed and bent over Aunt Nelly. “Auntie? It's Mary.”

She stirred and opened her eyes. “Mary dear. I was afraid you wouldn't come.”

“Of course I wanted to look after you.” I smoothed her damp gray tendrils off her forehead. “How long have you been like this?”

“I don't rightly remember. A few weeks, I suppose.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“Stomach ailments and old age. There is little to be done for the former, and nothing of course for the latter.”

“Flora tells me you are refusing to eat. This must not go on if you expect to recover.”

She sighed. “Sometimes I would rather go on to my heavenly reward. I am so alone here now without Lorenzo.”

“Wash doesn't visit?”

“Now and then, but he spends most of his time with the farm manager going over the books.”

“When was the last time you ate anything?”

“Last evening, perhaps. Everything I eat makes me deathly sick.”

“Well, I must find something you can tolerate. And you must get some fresh air.”

But she had fallen asleep, her mouth slack, her thin, veined hands folded on the counterpane.

I went downstairs.

“I put your things in the room where Flora showed me,” Daniel said. “Anything else you need, Miss Mary, before I head on back home?”

“No, nothing. Tell Mother I will write to her in a few days.”

“Yessum. I surely will.” He turned to Eliza. “You take care of Miss Mary.”

I went out to the kitchen to see what I could find for Aunt Nelly. A basket of root vegetables and half a roast chicken sat on
the table. I made soup, ladled it up, and took it upstairs on a tray along with a slice of toasted bread and some apple butter.

I parted the curtains and opened the window to let in the spring breeze. While the soup cooled, I helped Aunt Nelly to bathe and change into a clean nightshift. I brushed out her thin tufts of white hair and then drew my chair next to the bed.

“Eat this soup now, and no arguments.”

She ate a couple of spoonfuls. “Not bad for a woman who rarely cooks.”

“I have been doing all of the cooking these last few years. The people of Baltimore look most unfavorably on those who keep servants. Regardless of how well they are treated. The city is rife with abolitionists these days.”

“Yes, so said your dear mother in her letter. I imagine you feel the absence of your Selina most keenly.”

“She has become indispensible in so many ways. But she is expecting her third child later this year.”

“Is she? It seems only yesterday your mother wrote to me about her wedding.”

I noticed with some satisfaction that Aunt Nelly had almost finished her soup. Perhaps loneliness was the greatest of her ailments. “It will be four years this December since Selina's wedding.”

“Time goes by too fast, Mary Anna.” Aunt Nelly picked up her knife, but her hand shook.

“Here. Let me.” I spread some apple butter onto the bread. “Bon appétit.”