The Visitor 1862

by Barbara Svetlick

  The girl smiled as she turned around. “Jasmine. I shall assist you while you are visiting.”

  Mirisa decided not to inquire as to her unusual accent so as not to possibly insult the girl or reveal her own lack of education. “Is there a water closet?”

  “It is there.” She pointed to a door at the far end of the bed chambers then turned to straighten out the bed as Mirisa opened the door to find a large room with a copper tub set in the center. The room was odd shaped with large stained glass windows that softened the light. Where the bed chambers had a heavy baroque influence, this room was designed for a woman with love. There were dozens of little nooks in the wall holding large white candles. In the corner was a porcelain bowl with pipes and a chain hanging from it. She reached up and pulled the chain as the water in the bowl emptied. Her father had discussed getting these new British devices put in the house but the war had interfered with those plans. Mr. Lanfear must be a very influential man to have such modern conveniences.

  When she came out, Jasmine was gone and a day dress was laid across the bed with accompanying undergarments. Her travelling clothes were gone and her trunks stacked in the corner. She sat down and drank her tea in front of the fire while absently stroking Simone’s back and wondering about her father’s talk before he put her in his overland carriage. She would always remember her brothers and father standing on the porch as she waved goodbye but it never occurred to her that her destination would be anywhere except Pennsylvania. Maybe she should have given more attention to her geography tutor for she had no idea where she was except it was not north.

  Mirisa finally dressed then walked out onto the private veranda for her first glimpse of the countryside. The house seemed to sit a few hundred yards from the edge of what appeared to be a large river that was lined with old oak trees and open fields that bordered dense forest. The trees were covered with moss hanging from every branch and closer to the house ran a line of what appeared to be old magnolia trees. She turned back to the room and looked for her personal books and journals which had been placed in a large bookcase in the sitting area.

  Mirisa looked at the books on the shelf that included old copies of family history, journals and Bibles. The dates went back to the 1600s and many seemed to be written in French. She loved speaking in French and had read as many books written in French as in English. She pulled down a large leather-bound book and after the introduction were maps that seemed to be hand drawn. One was of France with several cities and towns eloquently written in ink that was fading, the next was of the Louisiana territory again with not only towns but names or maybe they were properties, the third was of Mississippi with an indication of the Lanfear Plantation outside of Natchez. She was in Mississippi which was a long way from her home in Virginia. Why was she in Mississippi?

  She put the book back on the shelf then saw the small leather box that sat next to her chests. She looked at the top which was stamped with an “E” and had a small gold lock in the front. She knew the box because her father kept it on the bookshelf in his office but she couldn’t remember where he kept the key or why he had sent it with her. She decided to leave it for another time and opened the door stepping out onto the landing and listened for signs of others before she slowly descended the stairs looking at the many portraits. The family appeared to be very rich in both looks and status but it only made her sorry that the only remembrance she brought was a small tin portrait of her five brothers. She stopped half way down and stood in front of a picture of a young couple. It was so different from the others in that they were posed in every day clothing, relaxed and you could tell they were in love. She touched it lightly then her hand absently went to her stomach.

  Jasmine coughed lightly as Mirisa turned toward her. “Mrs. Chauvin said that breakfast will be served at nine and would appreciate your promptness.”

  “Mrs. Chauvin? Is she the madam of the house?”

  “She is the housekeeper.”

  “Thank you.” Mirisa continued down to the entryway which was awash with light coming in from the French doors across the back of the foyer. She walked over and was stunned at the wildness of the beautiful gardens that spread all the way to a small stone wall then beyond was the river that seemed to stretch for miles before it touched the opposite shoreline. It was so different but the river looked as dangerous as the Chesapeake. The grandfather clock struck nine and she turned toward the sound. The clock sat between the parlor and a set of large doors. It was made of walnut with claw feet and a face that appeared to be carved with inset gold numbers. It was very ornate and twice as tall as Mirisa.

  “Good morning. I am Mrs. Chauvin. I hope you slept well.”

  “Good morning.” Mirisa smiled meekly. The Housekeeper did not respond nor did she appear happy to have another person in the home. Mirisa hoped the family was friendlier or at least warmer but generally the demeanor of the top staff mirrored the demeanor of the family.

  “Please let me show you to the dining room.” She turned and walked toward the large set of doors and opened them to reveal a very formal dining room filled with unique crystal and artwork. Mrs. Chauvin showed her to a chair at the center of the table and nodded to the server who proceeded to fill her plate with more food then she could ever eat. She thanked him; he bowed then filled her cup with hot tea. She looked at Mrs. Chauvin who asked her if she needed anything else. “Should I wait for the family to join me?”

  Mrs. Chauvin was surprised for a moment then responded. “Mr. Lanfear is away on business.”

  “Is there no other family?”

  “No. If there is anything you need, send Jasmine to find me.”

  “I don’t understand. Am I alone?”

  “The Plantation is fully staffed and you will be made both comfortable and safe while a guest here.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and looked down so as not to let this woman see that she was fighting hard to control her emotions. She didn’t understand anything her father had done or why none of her brothers were sent away with her. The desolation of her situation was overwhelming but she had to accept that her father had a reason. Mrs. Chauvin left the room as Mirisa picked up her fork to sample the food which was very rich. After a few bites, she realized that etiquette would be wasted since there was no one to address so she left the dining room and wandered into the formal parlor. It was a very masculine house on first impression but there were touches that soften the initial impression. The large door at the end of the foyer was closed so she turned and went down a long stone hallway that opened into a kitchen that seemed to be from another time. It was made entirely with large stones that appeared to be worn from centuries of use. Behind the big preparation slab in the middle of the room was a stone cooking area and to the left was a cooking fireplace with two old rocking chairs. The cast iron pots were hanging from the ceiling; the walls were lined with shelves holding jars and stone pots and herbs hung from hooks near the preparation table. Through a set of French doors the kitchen opened out into the same gardens that ran along the back of the house. Mirisa took in her breath closing her eyes as she was filled with the refreshing mints and lemongrass. The room was empty but she could tell whoever cooked for the house would be a very loving, warm person.

  MIRISA had been born on the family farm in northern Virginia. She was the youngest child following seven sons and her upbringing had been by wet nurses and nannies since her birth. Life was filled with tutoring and etiquette lessons to prepare her for marriage but her spare time was reading the many books her father brought home. How she loved to curl up in the big reading chair in his office lost in a new book. Her mother’s mood swings ranged from over smothering to unwarranted cruelty but the house kept her as sheltered as they could. When she was a small girl she learned how to crawl into her dollhouse when her mother would come looking for her. She never knew the love of a mother.

  When the talk of succession began, her father would dismiss it as nonsense but the boys would question him endless
ly when he returned from a legislative session in Richmond. The uneasiness affected the entire Plantation as well as the tobacco and corn market. Her two older brothers, Tom and Charlie, had long before moved to Gettysburg where their grandmother had gifted them land to continue the family tradition of breeding horses. The fights at the dinner table evolved around the three youngest brothers stating they were enlisting and her mother demanding that they all move to the family home in Philadelphia to wait out the unrest. There were frequent problems in the fields, slaves would disappear almost daily and harmony was very elusive. Her mother ranted constantly that the season of her coming out would be ruined unless she was immediately taken to Philadelphia where life was normal and the prospects of a husband more abundant. Then her mother would go into rants about the evils of marriage and the evils of men using unacceptable language.

  The President had declared war after an attack in the Carolinas but her father was determined to continue life as usual until the official visit from Washington advising him that all of his staples and crops would be seized unless he swore his alliance to the President and then he would be expected to provide the armies with anything that was grown on the plantation. He stood on the porch watching as they emptied out the food cellars in the snow, his expression showing no sign of the anger that was so obvious in the twitch just below his left eye. As he retreated to his library, his wife followed him determined to convince him of the graveness of their family supporting the South.

  “Richard I demand that the family move to Philadelphia now.”

  “I don’t want to discuss this again…”

  She stamped her foot and threw the small vase past him then turned to find something else to hurl when he retreated to his office. She followed him, her hair in disarray and her eyes glassy. She threw the small bowl that splattered across the foyer as the staff scurried to get out of her way. “I am taking the children and leaving. I won’t be treated like this any longer. Do you hear me?”

  Mirisa sat in her room with an unfinished cross stitch in her lap. Life had become a fine art of walking on egg shells or staying quiet enough not to be noticed. She held her breath listening to see which way her mother would go when the door to her room slammed rattling the paintings then the expected barrage of breaking objects. Mirisa got up and put her ear up to her door listening when she heard her father’s voice before the front door closed. He left more and more often after the fights. A tear ran down her cheek as she hugged the door but the sudden knock made her gasp. Quickly she wiped away the tears and took in her breath before opening the door.

  “Father said to pack up two trunks.”

  “Why?”

  “Mirisa just pack up your favorite things and don’t take forever because we leave in a few minutes.”

  “I don’t….”

  “Mirisa just do it.”

  He closed the door as she turned back to her room. Had her father decided to give in to her mother's demands to go to Philadelphia? She opened the large trunk at the foot of the bed and started to fill it with her books and toiletries then opened her wardrobe and began to pack her clothing. She would have to leave all her good dresses behind for the two trunks in her room would only hold a small portion of her things. Her brother returned as she was sitting on the trunk trying to get it to latch and he broke out laughing.

  “You can’t travel like that.” He threw a set of boy’s cloths on the bed along with an old winter jacket. “Hurry up and change.” He latched the trunk as her other two brothers came in and picked up the trunk carrying it down the back staircase so their mother wouldn’t hear them. Jed walked over to the large dresser and took out several quilts and told her to get her heavy cape and gloves. He took out her satchel and put it on her bed as he cleaned off her dresser and dumped the drawers of her personal things into the satchel. He then took out some simpler clothes for travelling and latched the satchel. She stood there open mouthed as he told her to just hurry. Her brothers had always protected her but they were scaring her tonight. She took out her winter cape as they carried the smaller trunk out with her satchel then she turned and looked at the room as tears ran down her cheeks. She reached across the window seat and picked up her favorite stuffed rabbit that her brothers had given her when she was little.

  “Mirisa…now.”

  She turned as the carriage started down the driveway unable to shake the look in her father’s eyes.

  THE questions always lingered in her imagination but after a few weeks she turned her mind to exploring the Plantation on the days that she could get out of the house. The people living on the Plantation grounds were a mixture of both former slaves and white sharecroppers. They were always friendly and willing to teach her about the history of the area from the stories of the local Indians, the wars, the times when the territory was held by the French then the Spanish before finally coming under British then American control. It wasn’t long before the weather started to get warm and Mirisa was allowed to go on rides as long as the stable boy accompanied her. She fell in love with the late spring when the orchards began to blossom and the bee houses were set out. She learned how to remove the honey and label it according to each orchard. The fields were tilled for new tobacco plants and indigo but the majority of the plantation was planted with cotton. It was very similar to her father’s farm but smaller. Her days were spent learning something new and her evenings recording everything in minute detail in her journal. Her favorite chore was gathering eggs and feeding the chickens though she left the cleaning of the coop to the help.

  The first of July brought a soft wind blowing through the large oak trees with the gentlest of rustling. The baritone croak of the toads broke the otherwise quiet morning. Mirisa had been in Natchez for five months with no word about her family or the company of anyone other than the people who lived on the plantation. She had taken to reading the many journals in an effort to offset the boredom but the more she learned about the family the more frequent the unusual dreams would come. She asked Jasmine about the woman Sara and found out that the bedchambers were used by Sara and her husband and that most visitors would not stay in the room because it was said she still roamed the halls on stormy nights.

  “She haunts the house? Did she die tragically?”

  “They say she still walks the halls making sure her babies are safe. She was a kind and gentle mother who brought out the best in her husband. He outlived her which was cruel for he was lost without her by his side but the only known tragedy was the fire. She died peacefully in her sleep.” Jasmine finished tidying up as Mirisa headed downstairs with a new book she had found on the shelf.

  The days were growing warmer. She put the book down and shooed the cat off her lap then walked down to the garden. There were no paver walkways or fountains, just expanses of very green lawns surrounded by a stone wall which was covered in climbing rose bushes. She walked slowly touching the small buds that were covering the long limbs. She slowly started picking off the dying flowers dropping them into her pocket. The soft petals fell easily into her hands as she wistfully moved along the wall.

  “Good morning.” Mirisa turned to see Mrs. Chauvin walking toward her with a basket swinging from her arm.

  “Good morning.” She looked into the basket. “What are these?”

  “The squatty ones are tree orchids and the long ones are grass pink orchids that grow in the reeds along the river. You must pick them when they are young so as not to damage their roots.”

  “Do you gather them for soaps or medicine?”

  “Neither, they are for pleasure only. Would you like to help me in the greenhouse?” She walked past Mirisa who followed her around the house where a large glass structure was built off the kitchen. The structure was filled with rows and rows of plants sitting on ledges and hanging on hooks from the ceiling. There was a large tree in the center of the room with strange plants growing all over it. Some were blooming but most seemed to have only leaves and roots that grew wildly in the air or around
the clay pots.

  “There’s an apron on the hook over there. If you are going to help, then you will want to protect your dress since the soil around the roots is quite nasty.”

  Mirisa put on the apron which covered most of her dress when she wrapped it around her small waist. The afternoon disappeared as Mrs. Chauvin worked while explaining how to transplant orchids, how to cross pollinate them and a history of each species.

  “Well, it’s almost dinner time and you know how Miss Minnie gets if we are delayed.” Mirisa smiled since she knew that the tight schedule of the house was set by Mrs. Chauvin but she just nodded.

  “Mrs. Chauvin, has there been word of my family?”

  “No child, but right now it is hard to get letters across the country.”

  “I don’t understand?” She looked down at her hands that were covered in black dirt. “I don’t know why I am here, alone.”

  Mrs. Chauvin nodded. “The war…”

  “The war has been going on for over a year, is it not to be through soon?”

  “Child I have no answers for you. I am sorry.” She washed her hands and beckoned Mirisa to clean up at the large water tub. “Your father obviously met with Mr. Lanfear before you arrived but I cannot explain his actions.”

  Mirisa washed her hands and dried them on the apron before taking it off. “Where is Mr. Lanfear?”

  “He’s been out of town on business and has been delayed by all the problems with the war.”

  “But it’s been over five months since I have arrived.” Mrs. Chauvin smiled at the tone of this mere slip of a girl.

  “I think tonight we’ll have dinner on the veranda. I think you need some companionship instead of worrying about things you cannot change.”

  MIRISA caught a summer cold that week and took to her rooms for a few days. Jasmine brought her an elixir with her tea and told her that it would help her feel better. Her dreams were getting stronger and her sleep more restless. She had taken to roaming around the house and several times was sure that Mr. Lanfear was home but had yet to meet him. Whenever she would question Mrs. Chauvin the answers would be vague and then she would change the subject. After a quiet night on the veranda with a cup of medicinal tea, Mirisa decided to retire to her chambers. She passed Mrs. Chauvin bidding her good night. Mrs. Chauvin picked up her cup and carried it into the kitchen.