Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray (9 page)

A few minutes later we were home. Leaving Daniel to deal with the trunks, Robert and I went to the door. Old Peter greeted us warmly and waved us inside. Mother rushed over, wearing a new green dress and the gentle, sweet smile that had sustained me all my life, but she seemed much older than when I had left her only six months earlier. Her skin bore deeper wrinkles, and there was a tiredness in her eyes.

She clasped my hands and kissed my cheeks. “Mary Anna. You're home. And dear Robert. How are you, Cousin?”

“Never better.” Robert shucked out of his coat and handed it to Peter. “Marriage to your daughter agrees with me.”

Daniel came in, staggering beneath the weight of our bags. Mother sent him up to the room where Robert and I had spent our first nights as husband and wife. I pulled off my coat and gloves, and we went into the parlor where a fire blazed. Mother motioned
us to sit before the fire and poured from my great-grandmother's teapot. “Your papa has been waiting most impatiently for your arrival.”

“Where is he anyway?” I looked around at the banks of ivy, holly, and myrtle decorating the mantel. A ball of mistletoe hung suspended from a red satin ribbon, just where I expected to find it. “I see he had the greens brought in.”

“Yes. We had a long spell of wet weather earlier, and he wanted to take advantage of a dry day to get it all cut and arranged.” Mother poured herself some tea. “He is in his study at the moment, wrestling with some verse or the other. I should let him know you've arrived.”

“Stay by the fire, Mother. I know the way to the study.”

Robert stood as I did. “Take your time, Molly. I'm happy to keep Mother company while you and your papa catch up on the news.”

I went down the hall to Papa's study and knocked once.

“Come in.”

He looked up from his desk. “Ah. Mary Anna.”

“I am home, Papa.”

“So you are. Come let me look at you.” He stood and twirled me around. “None the worse for your six months at Fortress Monroe without your papa.”

“And you are none the worse either.” I kissed his cheek and noticed a rip in the seam of his shirt. Smudges of ink and cat hair covered the knees of his trousers. Those who criticized my lack of attention to fashion and tidiness might well look to my father for blame. But I found his rumpled appearance endearing. He was a man of many interests and gifts, too busy with his artistic pursuits to give much thought to his wardrobe. The walls of
his study were lined with pictures and illustrations done by his own hand. The bookshelves held copies of his original plays and musical compositions.

I loved his lively mind, his lack of pretension, and the absolute self-possession with which he moved through our cloistered little world. “Mother wrote to me that
The Rail Road
was well received.”

“It was indeed a successful little play. I hope to mount a production in Philadelphia next year. I am much encouraged to begin work on another very soon.”

I noticed a large canvas propped against the far wall. “And what is this?”

“A new painting for the Washington centennial next year.”

I studied the outline of the large figure dominating the canvas. “Mother said you are composing a new verse for that occasion as well.”

“That is my intent, but I confess I have not progressed very far.”

“May I read it?”

“I have spent the morning wrestling with words, and all I have to show for it is the title.”

He handed me a sheet of paper written in his curlicued hand.
Lines written for the Centennial Anniversary of the Birth of George Washington Feb 22, 1832. By George Washington Parke Custis of Arlington.

“I'm certain it will be wonderful, Papa, and a fitting tribute to your stepgrandfather.”

He set aside his paper. “After I'm gone you must look to the preservation of all things Washington.”

“I will do my best.”

“They are very dear to this family, but they belong to our country too, Mary Anna. No one must be allowed to forget him.”

Robert materialized in the doorway, and Papa hurried over to greet him. “Lieutenant. Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Father.” Robert shook Papa's hand.

“My wife keeps me apprised of the doings at Fort Monroe through Mary's letters,” my father said, “but I am very eager to hear from your own lips how your projects are going. None were hampered by that unfortunate Nat Turner business, I hope.”

“Colonel Eustis issued an order that restricted us some, but we managed to keep going until the winter weather closed in.” Robert crossed the room to warm his hands before the fire. “How did the apple orchard fare this year?”

“The crop was not as ample as it should have been. I suspect quite a few bushels fell into the wrong hands.” Papa sighed. “It's unfortunate that this Turner affair has fanned the flames of discontent among some of the Negroes. Though not as bad here as in other places, or so I am told. However, my dear boy, it's Christmas, and I do not wish to mar the occasion with such gloomy talk.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “There is time for a walk about the grounds before supper, if you'd like.”

I knew Papa wanted time alone with Robert, so I did not invite myself along. They collected their coats and hats and went out. I returned to the parlor, where Mother still sat at her knitting.

“There you are, child. Robert grew restless, and I sent him off to find you. Did I hear the menfolk leaving?”

“Yes. I think they want to talk politics out of my hearing.”

“I'm glad we have some time alone.” Her knitting needles
caught and reflected the firelight. “You know you can tell me anything that is weighing on your heart.”

“I do know that, Mother.”

“Somehow I got the feeling you were holding back in your letters.”

“That's because Robert likes to add his own postscripts to them.”

“Keeping secrets from one's spouse is a bad practice.” Something flickered in her eyes. Some unspoken truth lingered in the air, as unmistakable as the scent of honeysuckle. “Suppose you tell me what has you so concerned.”

“I want my husband to give more consideration to spiritual matters.” I sat down and poured myself more tea. “That was the subject of our first quarrel, in fact.”

Mother unwound more yarn. “You must be patient. Let him come to it in his own way.”

“I'm trying to. But Robert has a will of iron. The more I push, the more he resists.”

“You too have a will of your own. You always have.” Mother finished off another row and set aside her knitting. “I have some news that I hope will please you.”

“Oh?” I set down my cup.

“I have decided to bring Selina Norris in to train as a housekeeper.”

“She's awfully young.”

“But she is biddable and eager to learn. She must be trained to do something useful, and I have abandoned any hope of turning her into a fine seamstress.”

“Have you told her?”

“Not yet. I thought you might like to do it. She has always been your favorite.”

“I don't think she will object, so long as she is allowed to continue her lessons.”

“She belongs to us, Mary. She is hardly in a position to object to anything. Especially after that dreadful Nat Turner episode.”

“Papa was just saying that some bondsmen have become restless and discontented lately. It seems prudent to allow them as much self-determination as possible.”

“Perhaps.” Mother rose. “I should speak with George about our dinner. Would you like to rest awhile?”

“I am tired.”

“I'll send Rose up to help you.”

“I can manage. She can unpack for me later.”

“Don't worry so much about Cousin Robert. He is the dearest man I know, and I have every confidence he will do everything in his power to assure your happiness.”

I went up to my room. Our room now. Robert's and mine. Rose had seen to the fire, and the room was warm and glowing with soft light. I looked out the window past the winter-drab garden to the far hills where Father and Robert walked side by side, their hands clasped behind their backs. I shucked out of my dress and crawled beneath the covers.

I was home.

Christmas Eve had arrived cold and damp. Father brought in the remnant of last year's Yule log with which to start this year's fire. After supper we gathered in the parlor to prepare presents and hang our stockings, none of us wanting the evening to end.

Now the first gray light of Christmas morning stole into the room. Beside me in the feather bed Robert was still asleep. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Christmas gift!”

He came awake and took me into his arms. “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Lee.”

“Quit stalling.” I planted a kiss on his cheek. “I called Christmas gift first, so now you have to give me something.”

“All right.” He drew me closer and nuzzled my neck. One hand brushed my bare thigh. “How about—”

I swatted him away. “Shh. My parents are downstairs.”

He laughed. “They know we're married.”

“The servants will be awake soon. You know how they like to catch us out for their presents.”

“All right. If nothing else will do. Look inside my travel satchel.” I tumbled from the bed to retrieve his leather traveling bag. Inside was a small flat package wrapped in red paper. I opened it to find a pair of garnet earbobs set in gold.

“Robert! They are exquisite.” I leaned into the mirror to try them on. “They are beautiful, but . . . can we afford them?”

“I saved up to buy them. I thought you ought to have something special for our first Christmas together. Something you can pass on to a daughter someday.” He waggled his brows at me. “A child of our own, who will make her appearance sooner rather than later, is my dearest hope.”

I chose not to reply, as the idea of motherhood was still too new and strange. I retrieved his present from its hiding place. He sat up in bed, his dark hair falling over his forehead, and untied the green ribbon. “Is this what I think it is? Is this President Washington's silver?”

It pleased me greatly to see how excited he was to own something that had belonged to a man he so revered.

“Yes. I asked Father whether I might give you a single place setting. To take with you wherever you are posted. And if you decide to leave the army, it can always come home again.”

He held the fork up to the light, his expression suddenly pensive. “I have thought about leaving the army, but military life is all I know.”

“We have plenty of time to decide. For now, let's enjoy Christmas.”

We dressed and went downstairs to exchange gifts with Mother and Papa. There was the usual assortment of books and scarves and sweets. By seven o'clock the servants had gathered in the yard, calling out, “Christmas gift!” and we went out to greet them. Papa handed out loaves of sugar and bottles of vanilla, bolts of cloth, and pouches of tobacco.

Selina rushed up and threw herself at my knees. “Christmas gift, Miss Mary!”

I handed her the things I had chosen for her—a book of stories, a bag of candies, a length of pink ribbon.

Her eyes lit up. “I was hoping for a new book. I already read everything Missus give me to read.”

“I thought you would be pleased. And the pink ribbon matches your dress.”

Selina nodded, her expression solemn. “About to outgrow this old dress, though. Mauma said I growed two inches this year.”

“I thought you looked taller.”

She laughed. “You don't look taller. You look just the same.”

Then Daniel's young son ran to Robert. “Christmas gift!”

Robert pretended to search his pockets. “Let me see, young
fellow. I'm sure I put something for you somewhere. Oh, here it is. Do you know a boy who would like a silver whistle?”

“Me!”

Robert handed it over. “Try not to drive your father to distraction with it.”

The boy ran to find Daniel. The rest of the servants, old and young, mingled in the yard, exclaiming over their gifts and taking turns thanking us for their treasures.

“Selina?” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I have some news for you.”

She looked up, the expression on her round little face instantly wary. “Good news or bad news?”

“Oh, I think it is very good news. Missus wants to teach you to look after the house.”

“This house?”

“Yes. She has chosen you because you are smart and helpful.”

“Oh.”

“What's the matter?”

Selina popped a piece of candy into her mouth and spoke around it. “Nothin', Miss Mary. Whatever Missus want, I got to do.”

“Well, you won't have to stop your lessons, if that is your concern.”

“I got to go.”

Robert saw our exchange and watched her disappear around the corner of the house. “What was that about?”

“Selina is not pleased about becoming a housekeeper.”

“And you are unhappy because she is.”

“I suppose.”

“I love your tender heart, Mary. But she must learn to be useful.”

“I don't disagree. But—”

“She is still a child. In time she will come to accept what is required of her. As we all must, black and white.”

After Papa's usual Christmas prayer, the servants dispersed. We went inside for our own morning prayers, followed by breakfast. Robert regaled my parents with stories of his exploits at West Point and at Cockspur Island. He was so entertaining that we tarried too long at table and were nearly late for church. And for once, the cause of our tardiness was not laid at my door.

In the late afternoon Christmas dinner was served, the usual feast of turkey, vegetables, and cake. Afterward Papa retired to his writing and Mother to her knitting. Robert and I bundled into our coats and took a long walk in the Arlington wood, pausing to examine a wild holly bush bright with red berries and a shallow pond rimmed with a thin coating of ice. Wild creatures rustled in the undergrowth as we walked along. The faint shouts of children playing in the yard of the Syphax cottage echoed through the trees. Five years had passed since Papa had given Maria Syphax her freedom and seventeen acres of land. It had caused a commotion in the quarters and raised more than a few eyebrows, but I had given it little thought. Papa loved surprising others with his unexpected generosity. The children rounded the cottage and disappeared from view. Robert and I tramped on.