“I may not have a choice.”
George turned back to Mason. “Does fighting continue?”
“The British moved to Concord to find our stores of ammunition, but found little, though they did destroy what was left behind. Boston is amass with red coats, and the countryside has reacted en masse. It is said twenty thousand colonials have camped across the river from Boston, all angry and ready to fight.”
George let out a puff of air. “Twenty thousand?”
“Ready or not, it has begun.”
“We may have twenty thousand men, but twenty thousand men who know how to be soldiers? I doubt it.” George turned his head to gaze over the expanse of our dear plantation. The place was a hive of busyness with people going about their work, ignorant of the chaos happening up north. Would the fighting reach Virginia? Perhaps the proper question was when would it reach Virginia?
“Gage has ordered John Hancock—the richest man in America—arrested. As with Samuel Adams—a cousin of John.”
“They have not—”
“Not yet,” Mason said. “And if the good general thinks by arresting two he can arrest the fervor of America, he is sorely mistaken.”
George nodded and I could tell by the furrow in his brow his mind raced. “The second Continental Congress is scheduled to commence in three weeks.”
“A good thing,” Mason said. “Though when the schedule was set, I am certain you had no thought as to the perfection of its timing.”
“There were many things beyond our thoughts.”
Things that now would never be beyond our thoughts.
*****
“I am not convinced of this, Martha.”
George stood before me, trying on his striking red, white, and blue militia uniform. He looked as stunning in it now as he had twenty years before. At age forty-three he was still a handsome man, perhaps more handsome.
I brushed dust from his sleeve. I, too, was not convinced—of much of anything during these trying times. But I felt the need to be supportive. “The Congress is looking to appoint a commander over all the colonial forces, George. As much as I wish I could state otherwise, I know you are that man. Wearing your uniform, your hat, carrying your sword in its scabbard . . . riding in upon your horse . . . there will be no one who can look at another man and think he would be a more suitable commander.”
“It is more than appearance, my dear. There are qualifications.”
I shook my head, confused about his sudden reservations. How had our conversation veered from George convincing me of the possibility of his appointment, to my convincing him? “You have worked a lifetime for this, George. The British ignored your talents and never granted you equal status. Is it not time you made them regret their slight?”
“I am over it, Martha.”
“Well, I am not!”
He looked surprised at my vehemence. I was surprised myself. I moved close and hooked my fingers in the coat as it met across his chest. “If I allowed myself to think only of myself, then I would tell you to remove the coat and lock the bedroom door so you would never leave me. But since I believe in our Cause and believe with my entire being you are the man to lead us toward victory, then I must . . .” My voice broke and I looked away from his eyes. “Then I must—however reluctantly—relinquish you to others, to the greater good.”
He pulled me close. “You are good, dearest. There is no better woman, nor more supportive wife.”
Guilt forbade me from raising my face to look at him. For beyond the essence of my support I was a realist. If others saw only the man George had become, I had known him when he was fresh from the French war—a defeated man with nary a victory to brag upon. I had seen him as an ambitious man who needed funds to further his dream of a great plantation. I knew he had risen above both disabilities by marrying me and gaining the Custis social standing along with my wealth. And thinking of the future instead of the past, I also knew we were sorely in debt. Though Lund was a good manager, there was a lesser chance of rising above our challenges under his tutelage rather than my husband’s.
But . . . but . . . George did not need to be reminded of such issues. He was going to do this. He had to do this. And so, I had to support him.
I spoke into the wool of his coat. “You must know that e’en if I were not your wife, I would choose you to be the commander.”
He held me closer still and we stood as such until our breaths in and out found rhythm. To send him away, knowing I was sending him into battle, into danger . . . for I knew by his stories he was not a general to sit in safety and watch. As he was a plantation owner who toiled in field and foundry, so I knew he would be a general who would fight with his men, and as such . . .
I pushed away from him to ask a question. “Who are the other men in contention?”
“John Hancock is under consideration. With his riches gained through shipping, added to his experience in the forefront of the issues that have plagued Massachusetts . . .”
“But?”
“But he is a politician and has no military background.”
“A necessary qualification, I would think.”
“There is one military man whose name has been mentioned. Charles Lee. He was a British soldier under Braddock and Gage against the French and also commended himself in Europe before coming back to the colonies a few years ago and joining our Cause. He has the most experience . . .”
“But?”
“These next may sound trifling, but I assure you they are not. He is careless in hygiene and dress, and is abrasive in manner. Plus, he is known to use the foulest of language with a thick British accent, both of which may rub the American-born militia wrongly. And, as he was once a British soldier . . .”
I understood the implication and had a new thought. “Perhaps it was Providence you were never offered a commission with the British army. Surely that position would taint your qualifications as it now taints Mr. Lee’s.”
George considered this a moment. “All things do happen for a reason.”
Generally, I agreed with him, though I still saw no reason in the deaths of so many of my loved ones. I pushed such painful thoughts into the room of my memories that I kept locked but for private, pensive visits.
I smiled at my husband, who was very much with me in the here and now. “You, my dear George, a true gentleman from Virginia, are an amiable contrast to the officers who have already been involved in skirmishes in New England.”
“My Virginia roots, coupled with the support of other strong Virginia men like Henry, Jefferson, and the rest, and the abundant resources of Virginia . . .”
“And your qualifications as a businessman, a man who knows the necessity of details and economics and organization. And your knowledge of how a British soldier fights and ways to counter it. Not many men have such complete intelligence at their disposal.”
George laughed softly. “My, my, I am quite the perfect candidate.”
I pushed against his chest. “You are! Was it not Adams who stated that no one looks more the general than yourself?”
George glanced in the mirror. “Looks will not win a battle.” He removed his coat. “How can I ever turn this band of citizens into real soldiers? The pockets of England are deep and the pockets of the colonies are empty. England can put hundreds of ships to sea and we have no navy. They can hire mercenary soldiers from other countries. We have no allies. We are alone, with few funds, no training and—”
“One glorious Cause.”
He folded the coat and set it over the top of a chair. “But is that enough?”
Perhaps as a good wife, I should have said, Of course it is, but I could not alter the honesty that had held our union together for sixteen years. “Is it enough? We shall see.”
“If another man comes forward as the leader, I
will happily relinquish the chance,” he said.
“There is no other man.”
He bit his lower lip, staring at the blue uniform. “That is what I fear the most.”
*****
With George away, Jacky and Eleanor often came to visit me at Mount Vernon. There was nothing that made me happier, especially now that Eleanor was with child. She was five months along, and though happy with the state, did not feel well. I was more than willing to offer her encouragement and comfort as I could.
“Some tea, Eleanor?” I asked. “It might ease the inner churnings.”
She lay stretched across the settee, one hand thrown upon her forehead and the other protecting her womb. “Anything,” she said. “I am willing to try anything.”
I sent for some tea and returned to my chair by the fireplace, though no fire was needed in the early summer warmth. Instead, a breeze blew into the room off the Potomac. Occasionally I smelled honeysuckle or lilacs as the breeze filtered past plantings on its way through the window.
Jacky read a copy of the Virginia Gazette. Usually an avid reader of the news—since George was living in the heart of it—I had not had time to keep abreast. It had been three days since I had received a letter from my husband.
Suddenly Jacky exclaimed, “He got it! Poppa got it!”
“Got what?” Eleanor asked.
My chest tightened beneath my corset. “They made him commander?”
“They did!” Jacky lifted the paper and read aloud: “‘The representative from Virginia, Mr. Washington, stood before the Congress and outlined the traits he deemed necessary toward the position of commander of all the American army. Never once did he state he possessed these qualities, but it was by near unanimous acclaim he was appointed to the post himself. John Adams, a representative from Massachusetts, stated, “There is something charming to me in the conduct of Washington. A gentleman of one of the first fortunes upon the continent, leaving his delicious retirement, his family and friends, sacrificing his ease and hazarding all in the Cause of his country.” Upon accepting the position Washington said, “I this day declare with the utmost sincerity that I do not think myself equal to the command I am honoured with.” As a native son, we applaud General Washington’s appointment.’” Jacky put the paper down. “General Washington? From colonel to general?”
“A commander must be a general,” I said, though the title also held me in awe.
“Is there more said?” Eleanor asked.
Jacky went back to the paper. “Let us see . . . yes, here . . . Oh my.” He looked up at me. “Mother, it says Poppa will accept no pay, only expenses, no matter how long the war might last.”
I nodded.
“You knew about this?”
“Your father and I discuss everything—as should you and Eleanor.”
“But no pay? What if the war continues for an extensive length of time?”
“Surely it will not.”
“But what if it does?”
I felt the slightest inner pull. “Then he will abide by those conditions. A man of honour does not renege on what he has promised. Besides, because we have much we have a responsibility to give much. ‘For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.’”
Jacky shook his head. “How am I ever going to be such a man as Poppa?”
“There is only one George Washington.” I leaned toward my son and put a hand upon his knee. “You are not to be him, dear Jacky, but you. Be the best John Parke Custis you can be.”
“You are a good man,” Eleanor told him. “And the best of husbands.”
“As you will be the best of fathers,” I added.
Jacky’s face was still troubled. “I was not the best of sons.”
I could not buoy him with false accolades. “The past has offered many trials. But the future . . . from this day forward strive to do your best in all things. No one—not e’en your father or I—could ask for more than that.”
He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it.
The pact was sealed. I prayed my son would rise to the challenge.
*****
I walked in the garden, choosing flowers to grace the rooms of our guests. For even though George was not home, visitors still arrived. I wondered if he had asked every acquaintance ever known if they would visit me, to keep me company.
Actually . . . I appreciated the diversion.
I stooped to cut some roses when—
“Mamma!”
Jacky ran down the path into the garden. He stopped before me, his face flushed, strands of hair pulled out of his tie. He reminded me of a twelve-year-old boy, not a man of twenty. Only the smile on his face prevented me from expecting news of an emergency. “My, my, son. What brings you here so flustered?”
He brushed the strands of hair back upon his head and took a much-needed breath. “I wish to join the army and fight with Poppa and the others.”
A thorn pricked my finger. The pain told me this moment was real.
“You are not a soldier, Jacky.”
“Most of the men aren’t soldiers, Mamma. Poppa is making them into soldiers.” He straightened and lifted his chin. “I wish to fight for the Cause.”
I felt my head start to shake no, but stopped in time. This was not a request for another piece of cake or to go to Alexandria on a lark. This was my son, asking permission to risk his life for a cause our family believed just and right. And yet . . . though Jacky used to play soldier, he had not the temperament of a good one—at least in my mind. But was my mind skewed because I did not wish him to fight, to risk, to leave?
“You have a child on the way, Jacky. Your wife is having a hard time of it. She needs you.”
“She has you. She has her parents and many sisters.”
This time I allowed my head to shake no. “She needs you here, not hundreds of miles away—in danger.”
“Poppa is hundreds of miles away—in danger.”
“Yes, but—”
“You need him, but you let him go.”
I risked causing offense to make my point. “He is one man over many. No one else can do the job he does.”
“And I would be a lowly soldier, one of the masses. I know that. I could accept that. I do not ask for special privilege but to do my duty as a citizen. Didn’t Patrick Henry say, ‘I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!’?”
Yes. He had.
All my life I had longed for my son to become a good man of honour, and now, here he was, standing before me, asking to act upon that honour. My thoughts raced with an answer that would satisfy both our needs and inclinations. “I admire your desire to help, Jacky. As would your father. However, considering the delicate situation with Eleanor I would like to offer you the alternative of staying put until—if—the fighting comes closer. Certainly if Virginia herself is threatened, then you may, and should, consider joining the forces to defend her.” I began to reach forward to touch his face, but pulled my hand back, not wanting to demean his brave offer with feminine touch. “Will you do that for me, Jacky? For Eleanor?”
He let out a puff of air. His shoulders slumped. “I suppose.” He looked at me once more, his eyes sad. “I just want to help, Mamma. I just want to make Poppa proud of me.”
Forgetting restraint I pulled him into a motherly embrace. “He is, dear one. He already is.”
*****
Letters. I had to be content with letters.
After the May meeting of the Second Continental Congress, George did not have time to come home. His services as General Washington were needed immediately in Boston, where the British still held sway.
A myriad of letters from George were received by me as well as family members—most of which were shared with me in an attemp
t to stem the sorrow of our separation. My sister Nancy and brother-in-law Burwell Bassett came for a visit, and Burwell offered his letter from George:
It is an honour I wished to avoid, as well from an unwillingness to quit the peaceful enjoyment of my family as from a thorough conviction of my own incapacity and want of experience.
And Jacky shared with me a letter in which George said,
My great concern upon this occasion is the thought of leaving your mother under the uneasiness which I fear this affair will throw her into. I therefore hope, expect, and indeed have no doubt, of your using every means in your power to keep up her spirits, by doing everything in your power to promote her quiet. I have, I must confess, very uneasy feelings on her account, but as it has been a kind of unavoidable necessity which has led me into this appointment, I shall more readily hope that success will attend it.
George, George. Ever thoughtful of my condition when he was the one with whom worry belonged.
I sat at my desk and read the latest letter he had sent to me. Reread it as I would most likely do many times hence.
You may believe me, my dearest, when I assure you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment I have used every endeavour in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the Family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too far great for my capacity and that I should enjoy more real happiness and felicity in one month with you, at home, than I have the most distant prospect of reaping abroad, if my stay was to be seven times seven years. I shall rely therefore, confidently, on that Providence which has heretofore preserved, & been bountiful to me, not doubting but that I shall return safe to you in the fall—I shall feel no pain from the toil, or the danger of the campaign—my unhappiness will flow, from the uneasiness I know you will feel at being left alone—I therefore beg of you to summon your whole fortitude & resolution, and pass your time as agreeably as possible—nothing will give me so much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hear it from your own pen.
I looked nearby at the page that was blank and ready for a reply. I then went back to his letter . . .
Washington's Lady Page 21
