What was this awful need of his mother’s to run down every achievement, every hope? But Patsy determinedly ignored the comment. “We shall have a fine time putting it to rights. Quite frankly I enjoy settling a new home very much. I’m quite happy that I’ll have the chance to help with Mount Vernon. It would be a disappointment if it were complete now.”
“Then there’ll be no disappointment!” Mrs. Washington looked at her new daughter-in-law speculatively. “Betty tells me you have two fine homes already.”
“The Custis homes are very pleasant.” Patsy seemed to suspect what was coming.
“Well, my son is fortunate. His father was always land-poor. Always buying, adding a piece here, a piece there. We’ve got enough, I used to say. There’s more to life than land.”
George rose quietly. “And land, properly tended, can give back tenfold everything that is either needed or wanted. Mother, I think we must start. We will be setting off early tomorrow morning.”
For a moment there was an unfathomable expression in her eyes, not tears, surely, but a touch of wistfulness, a yearning out. What did she want of him? Why could they not be closer? Why did he become withdrawn and formal in her presence? Why did she try forever and always to bait him? He bent down and touched her cheek with his lips.
In the carriage on the way back to Betty’s he turned to Patsy. “Well?” But she was lost in thought. How could he ever have become what he was in that household? she wondered. Where under the sun had he managed to develop leadership qualities, faith in his own judgment, ability to make decisions when no single aspect of his career, no single accomplishment was given praise?
Praise? His mother didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Tenderness? God help us all! Could Mary Washington always have been like that with her son? And yet it was so obvious that she did love him, was proud of him. Why, in heaven’s name, had she never let herself say so?
Patsy felt sudden compassion for the lonely boy who used to escape to Mount Vernon. She reached for his hand, pressed it between both of hers, and raised it to her lips. “My poor old man,” she murmured.
Her words shattered his feeling of depression. Suddenly he felt like a boy out of school. The visit he had feared was over. With infinite tenderness, infinite gratitude, he put his arms around Patsy and no longer noticed the bleak and depressing landscape of Ferry Farm.
April 7, 1759
AT FERRY FARM IT HAD SEEMED AS though winter was holding its tight grip on the land, but a few days later, as the carriage got near the Potomac country, spring seemed to line the road, to bid them welcome. Overnight the countryside became a riot of color; the grass lost its dry brown appearance and became a rich fertile green; the sun shone benevolently in the cloudless sky.
Everyone reacted to the excitement brought on by the nearness to Mount Vernon and the brilliant weather. Bishop muttered on every possible occasion, “Sure gonna be good to get home, Colonel, sure gonna be fine.”
The children kept putting their heads out the window of the coach to see the unfamiliar area. Jacky constantly called to George, “Are we almost there, Poppa?” and even gentle little Patsy bounced up and down on the carriage seat, ignoring her mother’s attempts to make her nap.
George found that he had to make a distinct effort to keep from galloping. As it was, every little while he would unconsciously press his knees into the side of his mount and the obedient animal would quicken his gait only to be immediately reined in.
Underneath his seemingly imperturbable calm, George was suffering the agonies of a housewife about to receive important company. Mentally he reviewed the layout of Mount Vernon. Was there anything he had forgotten? He’d sent a messenger on ahead with instructions to Alton to air the house, polish the furniture, and put up the beds. He’d also told the man to see about having food in for them.
The key was at Belvoir. Surely when Sally and George William knew he was coming, they’d ride over to check the house for him. He could count on them. He hadn’t seen Sally in months, not since his last quick trip to Mount Vernon before the wedding. Would Patsy like Sally and would the two women become friends? They were so different, but it was important that they establish a friendship. A great part of the joy of life at Mount Vernon was based in the close ties with his Potomac neighbors and the most important of these were the Fairfaxes.
Finally they were on his land. A gentle wind rustled the trees that were already beginning to line the path to Mount Vernon. George restrained the impulse to ride ahead; as anxious as he was to see if all was in readiness, he wanted to share that first moment with Patsy. He rode next to the coach as they rounded the bend and came in view of the house. It had a freshly painted look as it sparkled white over the green grass that sloped gently down to the Potomac. The windows gleamed like diamonds and George smiled proudly. Mount Vernon looked like a beautiful woman just beginning to dress for a ball and quite confident of the ultimate effect of her appearance.
He had neither doubt nor hesitation when he looked at Patsy, whose shining eyes and eager smile told him she understood.
The house servants, starched and polished, immaculately dressed in the Washington livery, were waiting on the porch. Standing in front of them were Sally and George William. Their smiles were as joyful and radiant as he felt his own to be. Quickly he dismounted, opened the door of the carriage, and lifted Patsy down. The children tumbled out behind her as Bishop rushed to steady them.
“Welcome home, Colonel. Welcome home, Mrs. Washington.” A chorus of voices cried the greeting as the slaves who worked in the house bobbed into curtsies or bowed.
Sally and George William held back an instant, seeming to want them to have this first moment unshared. Then they hurried forward together. Sally’s kiss of greeting was a sisterly peck on his cheek and she immediately turned to Patsy. “We are so happy that you are here,” she said.
Patsy’s eyes held a hint of tears. “I have looked forward to meeting you both.”
George was aware that Sally looked more beautiful than ever, that, at twenty-nine, dignity and sophistication were fulfilling her girlish loveliness. The realization brought no regret and he was so proud of the way Patsy was handling this meeting. She looked serene and well-groomed as she greeted his friends and his servants, and showed no signs of being fatigued from the tiresome, dusty ride.
Sally said, “We’re going to join you in a few minutes but I’ve arranged for luncheon and do want to see that everything is ready. We’ll talk later.” Without giving them a chance to answer, she and George William slipped away to go to the kitchen house. With their exquisite tact the Fairfaxes were letting the Washingtons have their first moments in their home alone.
George was delighted to see that inside the house George William had faithfully tried to follow the many instructions that had been rushed to him. The furniture shone with the effort of high polishing. The floors had been sanded and the tester bedstead had been installed in the downstairs bedroom. He’d ordered the room painted and papered in blue and white and the effect was pleasing. As Jacky and little Patsy scampered up the stairs to investigate their new rooms, he showed Patsy through the house, flooding her with details about the changes he’d already made and how much more they would be doing.
She listened, asked questions, paused to delight over the new coverlet, the curtains, the view from the bedroom.
The table had been set for the meal and George was pleased to see that the new china and glasses had arrived. In a little while Sally and George William joined them. The four sat down at the table with the children. Sally had ordered the meal, but it was Patsy who rang the bell to indicate when more dishes were to be brought in and who directed that tea be served. It was Patsy who immediately became the hostess.
With half his mind George kept up an animated conversation with George William about the state of the plantation, asking his friend for any information about what matters needed attention first. But he was able to follow the womanly chatter
between Patsy and Sally. Patsy was telling Sally about the wedding and all the festivities in Williamsburg. He heard Patsy say that she had never enjoyed dancing very much until this season but George was such a superb partner that he made her feel quite graceful and accomplished. A wave of nostalgia swept over him as Sally said quietly, “Yes, I know.”
The children left the table early, but when the Fairfaxes were about to leave, they came back to say good-bye. Little Patsy had a delicate flush of color on her cheeks. She put her arm around her stepfather’s knee and George picked her up. “Tell us how you like your new home,” he instructed the little girl.
Jacky answered for her. “Oh, Poppa, we like it very much. And I heard Bishop say you’ll be riding before breakfast tomorrow morning to see all the fields. And I thought I could go with you and help.”
George William burst out laughing. “I haven’t heard a finer offer of assistance in all my days,” he said, tousling Jacky’s head. “And if you have any spare time, young man, perhaps you’ll lend me a hand over at Belvoir.”
There was a tinge of sadness in Sally’s voice as she said to the children, “When Poppa and Mamma come to visit, you must be sure to come, too. I have many toys at Belvoir for our nieces and nephews.”
George understood the meaning behind the sadness. There was little probability that after ten years of marriage Sally would ever have a child to grow up in Belvoir. She and George William had always seemed to have everything. Now, beginning his life in Mount Vernon as a married man, he had a feeling that the balance had shifted. The social life of the Potomac families would be centered here rather than at Belvoir. He would no longer be riding to the Fairfaxes’ to escape the loneliness of his home. Rather, these two beloved friends at the threshold of the end of youth would be coming here. Just as they had filled his needs for so long, he and Patsy might be able to help fill theirs.
He accompanied them outside and down the steps to where a groom was waiting with their horses. Quietly he lifted Sally onto hers.
“Thank you, young Washington,” she smiled, then said, “Oh, dear, I think I’d better not call you that anymore—now that you’re properly married and the head of a family.”
“Patsy calls me her old man,” George replied.
George William burst into laughter. “And, by heaven, when you’re in one of your serious moods, it’s a name that suits you well.” He leaned down and held out his hand. “It’s been a fine day.”
George shook the hand vigorously and turned with his own still outstretched, to offer Sally. But she was holding her riding crop in one hand, the reins in the other. For a single instant she stared at him with an unfathomable expression in her green eyes. Then she brought the crop sharply against the side of her mount.
“Race you home, darling,” she cried and started down the path. Laughing, George William dug his spurs into his horse and galloped behind her. George watched as they streaked out of sight. How many times had he been part of those mad races across the fields and over fences to the steps of Belvoir.
A feeling of chill and loneliness came over him. He hurried inside, looking for Patsy. But she was upstairs, supervising the children’s baths and did not hear when he called her.
March 9, 1797
The Executive Mansion Philadelphia
THE EXECUTIVE MANSION AT PHILAdelphia had a disembodied look. At last the great crates were out of the hall and packed into the supply carriages. At last the endless debate about which of the personal furniture to have returned to Mount Vernon and which to discard was over.
It was decided to bring Nelly’s bedstead back home. Nelly had indicated a certain desire for a new, more fashionable bed but had been firmly refused by her grandmother. The trundle for under the bed was being kept, too. George understood the reason for that. Long ago little Patsy had curled up to nap there.
The large mirrors they had brought to Philadelphia were a problem. They needed to be crated with absolute care. Some of the roads they’d be driving over were rough and bumpy. A badly packaged mirror would arrive in smithereens.
During the week of packing it seemed to George that never did fifteen minutes go by before a caller came to offer one last farewell. In despair, he finally told Lear to simply put all the papers in boxes, and they’d worry about sorting them at home. Not, God knows, that he expected too much leisure at Mount Vernon. With growing alarm he kept track of the number of people who insisted they’d be down to Mount Vernon for a real visit shortly. With spring about to break he had every reason to believe that most of them were sincere.
That thought led him to order new carpeting for the blue room. The last time he’d been home he’d realized how badly it was needed. He wondered if age could possibly be bringing on irritability. A hundred times during that last week he firmly closed his lips over sharp words. But it was so damnable and infuriating to see precious possessions being carelessly crated. He didn’t intend to arrive home with carriages filled with battered belongings.
Nelly had a pair of parrots. Their squawking sent shivers through George and he’d hoped that she would leave them in Philadelphia. He’d even gone out of his way to suggest to some friends that they volunteer to take the birds. Apparently his hints had been too subtle. Nelly carefully planned minute details of the parrots’ traveling arrangements.
Young Washington sincerely tried to be helpful. George received many suggestions from the lad, most of which were impractical. It was a relief to him when the boy went off to make his own farewells to the young ladies and then returned to Princeton. He’d be just like his father. That thought brought a wry smile. The Custis boys were handsome and charming. A little less charm would have been a blessing.
Young Lafayette was in a troubled state and no one could blame him. Every ship from France brought new rumors, but it did seem likely that the Marquis would be released from prison soon. The boy had worried so long about his family and George knew that he wished he were sharing their imprisonment. Often he reminded his ward that he was the hope of continuity of a great French name, that his father’s one consolation in the past five years had been the knowledge that he was safe. Now that the strain was almost over, the young son of the French nobleman was showing the effect of it. He, too, would be better off in Virginia. The countryside in the spring could not help but relieve and soothe any spirit.
Patsy had come down with a heavy cold. Her colds frightened him terribly. The doctors had warned that any inflammation of bronchial tubes would almost surely go into pneumonia. He’d tried to forbid her to leave her bed, but she wouldn’t listen to him. Trying not to cough, she’d insisted that what they both needed was to get home and get settled, and she’d be absolutely fine once they were back where they belonged.
The morning of departure was windy and cold. Naturally, George told himself sardonically. It had been folly to hope for a balmy day in March. He ordered that extra robes be put in the chariot. Patsy had to be protected from drafts. He wanted to ride in his phaeton but didn’t even suggest it. Time enough for that if the weather improved a bit, and Patsy would be fretting about his throat if he rode in an open vehicle today.
They had a last breakfast in the dining room. The staff servants, who would be staying on with the Adamses, were grim-faced and quiet. The Mount Vernon servants had an attitude of barely concealed excitement. Patsy barely touched her breakfast but George insisted she have a second cup of hot tea. To his discerning eye it seemed that her eyes were overly bright, almost feverish.
Anxiety over her made it easy to get away. He felt no lingering or regret now. The farewells had been said. Finally he and Patsy got into the main carriage. They pulled away promptly at 7 A.M.
Nelly yawned behind her hand. “Oh, it’s such a bitter day,” she sighed. “Do you think spring will ever come?”
Patsy had a glint of amusement in her expression. “If you think today is cold, you should have known a few of the winters we experienced. I can remember riding to join Grandpapa when the bitter cold
literally caked the horses’ breath.”
“But Grandmama always came,” George said. “How we waited for her carriage to pull up. Not one of these overloaded vehicles can begin to compare with the way hers was packed with ham and cakes and wines and preserves. The news that Mrs. Washington was coming to camp made every man in the army rejoice. I think they felt that the commander was in far better disposition when his lady was about.”
“I can remember you packing for those trips,” Nelly said. “Remember the trunk that you always used, Grandmama? You told me we used to cry when you packed it in the fall but joyfully helped you unpack after your return in the spring. I do remember that sometimes you’d be crying then because you worried about Grandpapa when the spring campaigns started.”
Patsy blushed a deep crimson and George smiled. “Your grandmama never hinted she was worried. She insisted that I and my army were invincible. She really made me believe it, too.”
“I always did believe it,” Patsy said firmly. “And I recall doing very little weeping.”
She felt her husband’s sharp glance and knew he was thinking of the same thing that was going through her mind—the endless weeping she had done after that first terrible grief came to Mount Vernon . . .
June 19, 1773
Mount Vernon
AFTER A LONG, HARD WINTER AND A late spring summer burst forth on the Potomac. The tulip trees and magnolias, the violets, the catalpa, and the New Scotland spruce vied with each other to drench the land in color. The weeping willows had many boughs broken and bent from the weight of the winter snows, but the kitchen gardens were filled with currants and raspberries and great quantities of peaches and cherries.
In fourteen years of uninterrupted life at Mount Vernon George had succeeded in fulfilling many of his early dreams for the mansion and grounds. His original inheritance had included two thousand acres and the house. Now the boundaries of the plantation covered over six thousand acres and he had options on other nearby property.
Mount Vernon Love Story: A Novel of George and Martha Washington Page 11
