Or Give Me Death (4 page)

As she poured coffee, the look in her amber eyes quickened. "I saw, last time she was here, that she was sad and distracted. Sometimes that happens to women after a baby."

"My mother is going mad, Clementina," I told her.

Nothing surprised her. "Last time, she told me how sorry she was that my husband had died. And how brave I was to take over the shop."

I nodded. "That's part of it. She speaks of the future. She says Ra is dead, too. She tried to drown little Edward. She tried to take off her clothes in the garden."

"Does your father know?"

"He says we must do something. He's thinking of putting her in the part of the jail that is for the sick of mind."

"You must not put her there, Patsy. The news yesterday was that a man from North Carolina came to claim a runaway slave in the jail. The slave had a broken leg and was covered with lice."

"But what to do, then?"

"Mr. Hay, who was once owner of the Raleigh Tavern, died of cancer in Prince Edward County, where he'd been staying with a Mrs. Woodson, who is famous for the cures she has discovered for various disorders. Her care is excellent."

"You mean we should send Mama away?"

"It would be better than Mr. Pelham's care."

"Pa would never allow it. He wants her near."

"What about the cellar in your home, then?"

I supposed that went with being a pushy woman. She didn't shilly-shally.

"Your mama showed the cellar to me once. I recollect it as being commodious and well lighted, with windows to let in the air."

"We have eight rooms belowstairs, yes," I said.

"Then that is the place for your mother. You must go and see this asylum today. Your intended is a good man. He'll convince your father it's no place for your mother. Then you must make your father think it is his idea to put her in the cellar."

"Oh, Clementina, thank you. I feel better already."

She walked me to the stairway. "You know which room it is. Oh yes, we've had heated arguments run in the paper with those who still import English goods. Now we're going to publish the names of locals who are still importing."

I gasped. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea, but wouldn't it cause trouble by making them uncomfortable?"

"It's my job to make certain people uncomfortable. Your neighbor Mrs. Hooper is on the list. I wanted to tell you before you saw it in the paper."

I hated Mrs. Hooper. She was a busybody, always poking her nose in where it didn't belong. She insisted her husband have the family crest painted on their carriage.

"Has anyone heard from Sarah Hallam and Jonathan?" I asked.

"No. That poor girl. If she came to me for help, I'd shelter them. If she comes to you, send her here, Patsy."

Sarah was the niece of Mrs. Hooper. She'd been raised by Mrs. Hooper and her husband, but fallen desperately smitten with Jonathan Snead. Mrs. Hooper had put a notice in the
Gazette,
telling all county clerks not to grant them a marriage license and advising all ministers not to pronounce the banns or to marry them. In the weeks since the announcement, Sarah and Jonathan had run off. Nobody knew where they were.

Clementina gave me a tin of tea for Mama. She kept tea on hand for those who needed it. She gave me a novel, too:
Gulliver's Travels.
"Read it to the little ones," she said.

I went upstairs to my room to change before meeting MyJohn.

***

"H
ERE'S OUR MOST
commodious accommodation, Mr. Fontaine. As you can see, it is clean and bright," Mr. Pelham said.

We were in the basement of the jail-asylum. Though the sun shone outside, here it was dim. Mr. Pelham carried a lantern.

We stood in the doorway of a dolorous-looking room that had one cot covered with ticking. Likely a straw mattress, I told myself. If that.

The rushes on the floor smelled sour. On the way down the stairs, I saw two rats darting about. The walls were brick. Some of the bricks were cracked in many places and dripping with water. And green furry stuff grew all over them.

But worst of all, iron rings were driven into one wall of the room.

"What are those rings for?" I asked.

"Why, Miss Henry, you understand," Mr. Pelham said softly, "betimes this room may have to house murderers, or runaway slaves, who must be contained."

From the room next door came a loud, cackling laugh. "'Betimes,' he says. Just yisterday they moved out a slave what run here from North Ca'lina. Full of lice he was, an' ravin' 'bout a broken leg."

"Who is that?" I asked.

Mr. Pelham shrugged. "Some unfortunate woman who's had brain fever for the last six months. Don't listen to her. We moved no runaway from here yesterday."

Well, I thought, so he lies, this man.

"She was a servant in Mr. Wythe's house and says she was driven out of there by a ghost," Mr. Pelham explained.

"Twas Anne Skipwith who drove me out," the voice continued. "She died birthing. She walks at midnight upstairs in Mr. Wythe's house."

"Quiet, you old biddie!" Mr. Pelham ordered. "Or I'll shackle you!"

"Her husband, Sir Peyton Skipwith, was carry'n on with her sister."

Mr. Pelham used his club to pound on the brick wall. The woman fell silent.

We'd seen enough. I tugged at MyJohn's sleeve.

"Yes, thank you," MyJohn said politely. "I shall report to Mr. Henry."

We started up the stairs. But first we passed the room next door. I looked in.

The woman's dress was in tatters. Her hair was loose and hung in disrepair to her shoulders. Her eyes glittered, with what? Madness? Or fever?

"Lice," she said, "the runaway had lice. Now I've got them in here with me."

We continued up the stairs.

She called after us. "There's a cold spot in the hallway in Mr. Wythe's house. It's where Mrs. Skipwith stands at midnight!"

Behind us Mr. Pelham said, in a pleading voice, "Mrs. Henry would receive the best of care. I'll remove the biddie next door."

Never was I so glad to get out into the sunlight! MyJohn lingered for a moment to speak to Mr. Pelham.

"Are you all right?" he asked as we drove away.

I told him I was. "Clementina told me about the runaway slave taken out yesterday, with lice and a broken leg."

He nodded, and we spoke no more about the place. It was too terrible to contemplate. There was no question in either of our minds of my mother going there. The understanding was like a warm blanket between us.

"I've got tickets for the theater," he said. "And then we'll have supper."

O
UR LONG, RECTANGULAR
house, known as Scotchtown, was shingled with cypress. Candles glowed in all the windows. Fire burned in iron-rimmed holders stuck in the ground at each side of the front steps, where John and Barley waited for us.

"I sense calamity," I told MyJohn as we drove up.

"You're getting like your sister Anne."

But I was right.

"Trouble," John said.

"What?" we both asked.

"Mama had some kind of fit this afternoon. Threw things around in the front parlor. Then went and did the same in their chamber. Kept at me to get Fa out of her sight. Said he was dead and come back to haunt her. I think she's sick, Patsy."

"God's shoe buckles," MyJohn said.

Young John looked near tears. "The place is a shambles, and she won't let the Negro servants near her. Says they're going to poison her. The children need you. So does Mama."

I ran inside, MyJohn behind me. In the wide center hall I peered into the front parlor. There I saw broken glass strewn on the floor—the chimney of the candleholder. Books and newspapers were thrown about, some fruit amongst them. The pianoforte bench was on its side. Two walnut chairs were overturned, the damask curtains half ripped from the windows, and crewelwork pillows tossed about.

"Is Mama all right?" I turned to John.

He shrugged. "Pa's with her."

"Go to the children, MyJohn, please. They take comfort from you. John, ask Silvy or Pegg to fetch some tea to Mama's chamber." I handed him the tin of tea that Clementina had given me.

"She won't let the Negroes near her," John said again.

"Do it!" Both my brother and MyJohn went off. The door to Mama's chamber was a bit open. From inside, candlelight cast Pa's long shadow. He was leaning over the bed. Mama was curled up on it, sobbing.

The room was strewn with every sort of object. Combs and brushes, Pa's boots and coats, the water pitcher and bowl lay broken. Water slopped on the floor, soaking a braided rug. Mama's clothes were half in and half out of the clothespress. The bed hangings were pulled down.

"Come now, Sarah. I'm here, love. Alive," Pa was saying gently. "Alive and come back to you. Please, Sarah, please."

"Pa?"

He looked up, saw me, and seemed relieved. "Patsy."

"What happened?"

"She woke from an afternoon nap and saw me and went into a rage. Said I'm dead and a ghost. Come soothe her, Patsy, I must see to the children."

"I sent MyJohn to talk to them. And Pegg's bringing Mama some tea."

Mama heard that and sat up. Her cap was off, her long dark hair disheveled, and in her eyes was a look that told me she was somewhere dark and frightening, and privy to secrets she could not tell.

"I won't have Pegg near me. She's been trying to poison me a little bit at a time. They do, you know." She gripped my hand. "It's why I'm ill. She's been slipping liquid mercury into my chocolate and coffee."

I knelt beside the bed. "No, Mama, Pegg would not do that."

She pulled away from me. "Nobody believes me," she said.

"All right, Mama. We believe you." I looked up at Pa, and he nodded in agreement. Anything to allay her fears.

"You weren't here," she moaned. "I looked for you."

"I went to Williamsburg with MyJohn."

"Williamsburg? How is Clementina doing since her husband died? She told me he left debts of more than fifteen hundred pounds."

"He didn't die, Mama. He's alive and well."

"Have the citizens attacked the Governor's Palace?"

She was so agitated! "Mama," I said, "nobody has died and nobody is attacking anybody." Just then Pegg appeared in the doorway with the tray of tea. Before Mama could see her, I quickly took the tray and motioned her away. Then I turned to Pa.

"I've got her some tea, Pa. I know you don't approve, but it will settle her."

He waved his hand, giving me permission.

"You've missed your tea, haven't you? Clementina Rind sent it."

"They've sided with the British, you know. The Negroes. They'll kill us in our beds. They are posted as guards outside the Governor's Palace! Oh, the tea smells wonderful."

She drank and closed her eyes. "I've missed my tea so." And while she drank, she spoke. "This place is haunted. And Chiswell's ghost isn't the only one. Indians raided it once. I hear their war cries at night. Indians are going to make war on the frontier soon again. You must write to Aunt Annie and Colonel Christian and tell them to come home."

Pa's sister, Aunt Annie, and her husband, Colonel Christian, who'd fought in the Seven Years War, lived over the mountains in Indian territory.

"The Indians are not attacking now, Mama."

"They will, they will. The stain of blood on the hall floor is not only from that duel. There is a curse on this place. I feel it." She looked up at Pa.

"It's the ghost of your pa again. He won't give me any peace."

"It's no ghost, Mama. It's really Pa."

"Tell his ghost I want to go back to Roundabout."

It was the last place they'd owned. In Louisa County.

"This is our home now, Sarah," he told her. "You love this place."

"Don't tell me what I love and what I don't love," she said. "The British will soon ride through this house. On horses."

Pa was pure shaken.

I got up and closed the door. "I'll give her some laudanum," I whispered. "Go see that Silvy gets the children ready for bed. MyJohn can stay the night, if needed. Ask him."

He nodded, got up, patted me on the shoulder, and whispered in my ear. "We must talk this night, Patsy. Come to the traveler's room after she goes to sleep. Bring MyJohn and your brother."

I said yes, I would.

***

F
OR A WILD
moment after
I
settled Mama down,
I
wondered: What if she is right? What if Pegg is poisoning her, little by little, with liquid mercury?

What about that group of slaves who'd poisoned several overseers in Fairfax County just a couple of years back?

And what about John Knox's people murdering him over in Stafford County? And Bowler Cock's Negroes fighting against whites in his barn two years past?

Then I thought, no. Pegg has been with us for years. I can't go down that hole with Mama. If I do, I'm as mad as she is.

But what if it is so?

I mopped up the floor where water had spilled. I straightened the bed hangings. I picked up the broken pieces of the pitcher and water bowl and tiptoed out to bring it to the kitchen. I crept back into Mama's room to set the rest of it straight.

She was sleeping.

Something was stirring in my mind. I could never forgive myself if Mama's words were true about Pegg poisoning her and I didn't heed them. So I decided to take some sips of the tea.

If there was liquid mercury in it, I'd become sick, but I wouldn't die.

It was the least I could do for Pa and the others.

I heard the children and MyJohn in the hall. He was ushering them into the outside kitchen for warm milk and cookies. Quickly I poured some tea from the pot into Mama's cup and put in some sugar. Then I raised the cup to my lips and sipped it.

It had no special taste. But such a small quantity of liquid mercury wouldn't.

I gulped the rest of it down. Lordy, I missed my tea! I might just have a real cup of it later on tonight. I deserved it, didn't I? Who but I was holding this family together?

Then I tidied myself to meet Pa and the others in the traveler's room.

***

"I
WANT TO
discuss what to do with your mother." Pa stood in front of the hearth, hands behind his back, like he was in the House of Burgesses. He looked wan. Lines were in his face I had never paid mind to before.