Our Own Country: A Novel (The Midwife Series) (25 page)

Cassie considered my question. Then she replied, “You gon’ let out your gowns before you choke dat babe to death.”

I had meant my question in a far broader sense, and Cassie knew it. But her sensible answer made me smile. She really did seem to know most everything, and this thought comforted me so well that I slept soundly beside her and did not wake till dawn.

Part III

30

AS OUR CARRIAGE MADE ITS WAY THROUGH
Cambridge and down the Watertown road, we saw that many of the lawns had grown to seed, and there was a raw openness where ancient trees had once stood. Front doors, stolidly locked when we left Cambridge, were now thrown open to the elements. Windows through which girls such as myself had once primly gazed had been smashed to bits or removed, their muntins melted for bullets. British officers in their red coats strolled up and down the road in groups or pairs as if they were victors, not prisoners.

Some things, however, were much as they ever were: The daffodils had flowered; bits of their dried yellow flowers clung to pale-green stems. Beds trumpeted forth the call of red and yellow tulips, and here and there flourished a rogue swathe of Dutch ones, brightly striated in red and green. We also heard the snipping-scissor sound of Mr. Cardinal and saw his brilliant-scarlet body flit through the elms, which made me think of Maria.

As the carriage came to rest at last before our house, Cassie and I stared at it in amazement. At first, we were loath to enter, but Mama, eager to get Papa into bed, said, “Oh, let us descend!”

We had fully expected our home to have been sacked by Washington’s troops. We had expected to lay our eyes upon bare floor where Turkey carpets once had been, and dust where oak chests had stood. But we had not expected blood. Old, brown blood. Everywhere. And gore. Dried, crusted bits of human flesh, stuck to brown remnants of jackets. Stained, bloody, straw pallets strewn everywhere in the front parlor. Abandoned buckets of rusty, foul water . . . I turned to face the street and breathed fresh air, to avoid puking.

“But what has happened?” my mother cried. She peered inside the house but did not enter, then backed slowly away. “We cannot stay here. Mr. Boylston!” She returned to the carriage, to her old consolation of Papa. But the man who could always be relied upon to help us was no more. This man, small and shrunken, wrapped in a blanket, was white and panicky, and could not move without help. Perspiration rained from his forehead.

In the absence of servants, we did what was needed. I inhaled the fresh air from the open doorway one last time. Then, taking Cassie’s arm, I ran with her past the tragic hospital remains, up the staircase to our chambers. The furniture, save one large highboy and the poster beds, was gone, as was every scrap of linen. Cassie descended to the cellar, where we had stored our crates and provisions: furniture, linens and bolsters, sacks of grain, jugs of cider, wine, and other provisions—they were gone, too. When she returned, Cassie merely blinked against the light and slowly shook her head.

Well, what would it serve to grieve the loss of our worldly possessions? We did not share the news with my parents, however, thinking to spare them the shock. It would come soon enough.

With the help of Jupiter, who would return to Portsmouth the following day, and Juno, our old stableboy, now a hale young man, we were soon able to locate the few bed linens we had brought with us from Portsmouth. We made Papa’s bed, and Juno and Cassie helped him up the stairs and into it. I was able to clean my room sufficiently so that I could remove my stays and lie, breathless and despairing, upon the bare pallet.

The following morning, I found Juno, Jupiter, and Cassie all on their hands and knees, scrubbing the parlor floor. I had slept late, despite having scratchy nibs of feathers pricking me throughout the night, for I had no great wish to wake.

Mama stood over them, pointing to areas of the parlor they had missed. When she saw me she cried, “Oh, Eliza—there you are. At
last
. Observe how slowly they go at it—yo
u’d
think they were obliged to clean a palace.”

“Well, it would go more quickly if they had help,” I retorted. Then I got down on my hands and knees and helped the slaves to clean the gore. Several times I nearly puked and needed to cover my mouth as my stomach endeavored to heave its contents through this opening. Finally Cassie stood up and said, “Dat’s enough, Mees Eliza. We can do ’eet. Go and have some breakfast.”

But what would that be? There was no grain, no eggs. Not even a stray chicken strut through our fields. Mama, fortunately, had a bit of coin, and she sent Cassie off to market with instructions to procure what she could with it.

At around eleven, Cassie returned from market looking not very satisfied and muttering something about “dose teeves.” But she had managed to procure some coffee, milk, and eggs, and so she prepared a pot of coffee and some eggs for me. She then returned to the task of cleaning. Jupiter and Juno threw open the windows and aired the house out, and together we finally managed to remove all signs of the hospital from our living areas. Jupiter and Juno were then consigned to cart the refuse away—somewhere, anywhere. With all this heroically accomplished, Cassie sat down directly on the floor and placed her head in her hands. I knelt by her side on the floor, which now smelled pungently of vinegar. Mama looked about for somewhere to sit as if we had committed a severe breach of etiquette. Then, having nowhere to sit herself, she sat down beside us and cried.

We had been back but a few days when a messenger arrived with an envelope for Papa. This was no farmhand, but introduced himself to Mama as the captain of a merchant ship moored in Boston. Neither Mama nor I knew what news he brought, but the man would hand over the envelope to no one but Papa. The captain stood nervously on the stoop awaiting entry, looking about him as if he might have been followed.

“Cassie!” Mama called, having opened the front door herself. “See if Mr. Boylston will receive this man.” Cassie made her way up the stairs and soon returned with a nod. Mama accompanied the captain up the stairs. She descended after about ten minutes, jubilantly waving a fan. When she came closer, I saw that the fan was made of pound sterling notes.

“Look, oh, look!” she cried. “Look what your most wonderful father has done!”

We kissed the money as if it were manna from Heaven. We would eat. Mama told me that Papa had liquidated near everything: ships, slaves, cane fields. This was all that remained of my father’s fortune. All of it, minus his debt, had shrunk down to a fan to wave the flies away.

31

“I MUST ’AVE OTHER STAYS,” CASSIE COMPLAINED
to me about a week after we had returned.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” I asked. All Cambridge had come to a halt, yet the life inside me took no note of it. Cassie had already let out my three remaining gowns. Were I to abandon the old stays, none of them would fit. But that was not what we truly argued about. She had wanted me to tell Mama the truth in the carriage on the way home from Portsmouth, where I would be protected by the presence of others. She was distressed that I had waited so long.

“Now you home,” Cassie remarked, “nobody see if she keel you.”

“Oh, she will not
keel
me,” I said. “Hurry up and tie my stays.”

Two more weeks passed, and I arrived at the point where I could no longer keep my secret. This time, Cassie shook her head and let the strings drop. “I can’t do ’em, Miss Eliza. Hercules heemself could not do dem.”

“I know I must tell them, Cassie. I don’t see how to avoid it.”

“You wait anudder week, you won’t have to tell dem. Dey’ll
know
.”

“I can’t tell Mama. I’ll speak to Papa first.”

She shrugged to say it hardly mattered.

Sunday morning, Mama went to visit a new friend, the Baroness von Riedesel. The baroness, wife of General Friedrich Adolf Riedesel, was taken prisoner after Burgoyne’s defeat at Saratoga. She, her husband, and their three children were now housed in John Sewell’s old house just down the street from us. I found a reason to stay behind. Cassie, knowing my intentions, had made Papa a particularly good breakfast: eggs, a piece of ham, and even a few bright-red tulip petals strewn about the tray. It was so pretty that he asked me, “Have I forgotten my own birthday?”

“No, Papa. It is a beautiful spring day, though.”

“Why did you not go to the baroness’s with Mama?”

“I told her I was unwell.”

“And are you?” Papa’s old shrewdness shone once more from his fevered eyes.

“No. I remained behind because I wished to speak with you.” I turned to the window. Sun streamed in, brightened by its reflection off of the river; a song sparrow warbled prettily. Cassie entered the chamber, propped Papa up on his pillows, and removed his tray. Then she left us alone and closed the door. Papa’s face was florid; I sat beside him and took his hand.

“My dear Eliza,” he said, “you’re my pride and joy. Yes, my one consolation in this cold, cruel world.”

How I nearly renounced my intentions then! After those loving words, how could I be the agent of such cruel pain?

“I love you so much, Papa. And I hope some day to redeem myself in your eyes. For I do still hope to live a good and useful life.”

“Redeem yourself?” he frowned. Such words were tolerated at meeting, but in truth Papa had little use for them elsewhere. “What need have you for redemption, in my eyes or anyone else’s?”

“Papa, there’s something I need to tell you. I dare not tell Mama. Not yet. I shall do whatever you say. I shall go away . . . Oh, God help me!” I buried my head in his breast, and he held me and felt my suffering.

“Papa.” All fell silent. “I’m with child.”

Papa inhaled, then exhaled, as if having received a physical blow. But he whispered merely, “Who? Who’s the scoundrel who has abused my daughter thus?”

Had I been a different sort of woman, I might have said it was a case of ravishment. But ravishment was something I knew and could never lie about.

“I love him, Papa. He’s a good man. And he loves me.”

“Then why not marry as soon as may be? That was very wrong, Eliza, but the remedy is easy enough.”

“We cannot marry. I wish we could.”

“And why not?”

“I cannot say, Papa.”

He cast about the room restlessly. His color rose; his breath became labored, and I suffered inwardly to see him so roused. I feared I would need to call for Cassie.

“You cannot,” he concluded, “because he’s married. Damned scoundrel.”

I said nothing; it was a shortsighted lie, to be sure. Once they saw the babe, they might know something closer to the truth. Papa’s chest began to heave. His breath, it seemed, had left him. He asked for a dish of tea.

“Cassie!” I called. She must have been just outside the door, for she entered at once. “A dish of tea for Papa. He’s unwell.”

“I’m not unwell,” Papa rasped. “I’ll have the truth around here from now on. I am dying, and I shall soon be out of reach of the world’s slings and arrows.”

“Oh, Papa!” I reached for him, but he pushed me back and fell into a paroxysm of coughing. I fled to my chamber, while Cassie remained to care for him.

A few days passed with no indication that Papa had told my mother. Then, just as I began to think that all would be well, I woke one morning to find that my chamber door had been locked from without.
Perhaps the knob was stuck,
I thought. I turned it back and forth, but it would not budge. I called out for Mama, but beyond the door was only resolute silence. I called again and thought I heard her footsteps. “Oh, Mama!” I cried, but the footsteps continued on down the stairs. Was it possible she had purposely locked me in? At once, a powerful thirst came upon me. My teeth were foul; I needed to clean them, and to have my coffee. I called for Cassie, but she was below stairs preparing breakfast and could not hear me. I crawled back into bed and endeavored to calm myself. Cassie would soon come to release me.

I went to use the chamber pot but found it missing—what cruel trick was this? Cassie would not forget to return it, knowing how I rose five or six times a night to use it. Could Mama have gone mad and removed it on purpose? With mounting panic I finally threw my night shift upon the floor, squatted down like a cornered animal, and relieved myself upon it.
If this was Mama’s doing
, I thought,
I would never forgive her
.

I returned to bed naked and managed to sleep once more, having tucked the bolster snugly about me. I woke up several hours later. The sun had risen above my window and then passed beyond it. I tested the door: it was still locked. I knew now that I had been locked in on purpose. Had Mama finally lost her wits?

Several more hours passed. My room was in shadow. My mind and soul traveled like the sun through every stage of feeling: rage, fear, self-pity—until I reached a kind of resignation. If she wished me to die of thirst, so be it. I had heard tell of parents who had let their wayward daughters waste away in such a manner.

I peered out my window and considered jumping. But I dared not—surely I would break a leg. Mama’s rose garden lay beneath my window, too, and, naked as I was, I would be ravaged by thorns. I was lying limply on my side, hands tucked beneath my face, when Cassie entered my room. She stopped and looked at me uncomprehendingly.

“It’s past noon. Why you lie ’alf-dead like dat, Miss Eliza?”

“Why?” I sat up, exposing my swelling belly and breasts to Cassie. “I called and called! The door was locked from without! Oh, Cassie!” I rose from bed.

“Why you naked? Why your shift on da floor, Miss Eliza?”

“I . . . I had to relieve myself. There was no chamber pot! She locked me in, and I could not get out. I thought I should perish here.”

“Your mudder say you asleep,” Cassie replied dubiously.

“Asleep? Oh, Cassie—” I got up and ran to her.

“The door was not locked when I try ’eet.”

“Yes, yes it was! She must just now have opened it. Oh, I am parched . . . So, it wasn’t you who forgot to return the chamber pot?”

“No, miss,” Cassie said gravely, the truth finally dawning upon her. “I descend wit’ you.” And, not daring to remain alone in that chamber another moment and using the bolster to cover my nakedness, I descended to the kitchen with Cassie. There, I threw off the bolster and, standing quite naked, I instantly drank a mug of cider and cleaned my teeth with salt. Cassie loaned me one of her own clean shifts, which I donned, and then made me a plate of eggs.

“Your papa told her, and now she gone crazy.” Cassie nodded conclusively, handing me the plate.

I agreed. What’s more, I so dreaded seeing Mama that I didn’t leave Cassie’s side and resolved to sleep with her in the dairy.

Later that day, around two in the afternoon, I still had not moved from the kitchen when I needed to use the necessary. Without was a glorious afternoon. The tulips were all in bloom, and the salmon-colored quince blossoms had opened overnight. The maple trees’ leaves had unfurled their little green fingers, and though our garden and orchards had been much neglected, they had not been destroyed. With tending they might yet return to their former glory.

I returned to the kitchen. There, I found not Cassie but my mother, waiting for me. I remained in the doorway without taking another step. Where was Cassie? Mama looked me up and down, I in Cassie’s shift, as if I were an intruder.

“There you are,” she said. I began to speak, but she cut me off, her tone ominous. “You shall have a visitor tomorrow.” Mama left the kitchen, leaving me to wonder who was coming to visit, and whither they would take me.