by Rinaldi, Ann
She came the day I was planning on going to town to get passes for myself and the servants.
“Is thee planning a trip?”
“I was going to Alexandria to get passes.”
“And why isn’t Mr. Herbert taking thee?”
“He’s been advised against going.”
“Ah, so he hasn’t taken the loyalty oath, then?”
“No, he hasn’t, Mrs. Frobel.”
“Well, we Quakers don’t take oaths, you know. But I did come to deliver him a message.”
I had brought her into the kitchen and sat her down. “Shall I fetch him? He’s repairing the wharf.”
“No, but thee can tell him this. We got together and decided that if he needs our men in the Home Guard he is starting in the neighborhood, they are willing to serve.”
I stared blankly at her. “But I thought … ,” I said, and then I stopped.
She smiled. “Mrs. Harbinger was here, then?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“She’s trouble, that woman. Here, let me cut the rhubarb pie. It’s from rhubarb in my own garden. Everybody thinks we hide in time of trouble, Miss Tracy. We don’t go looking for it, is all. But when it comes, we don’t try to sidestep it. Already two boys from the neighborhood have joined the Union army.”
I nodded. “I’m neutral, Mrs. Frobel,” I told her. “So I quite understand your feelings. We want to keep this place neutral ground. Open to all.”
“As it should be,” she agreed solemnly.
I consider it beyond the pale that Mr. Herbert cannot go to Alexandria anymore. It would hurt me terribly if I were home on my father’s farm and couldn’t go into Troy. I know Mr. Herbert is pained because of this, especially since he is known by everyone in the county as an upstanding man with a strong central core, something planted there inside him by his ancestors, who carved out this country before it was a country.
Lest it sound as if I am mooning over him, that is not the case. We have a professional friendship.
It is late June now. Except for the soldiers who come to visit in small groups once in a while, one wouldn’t even think there was a war going on. I know I have to go to Washington City to see General Scott, to get passes for our servants, but I don’t want to disrupt the lazy peace of the days.
We seem to have established a pattern in the house. I get up early, but no matter how early, it seems as if Mr. Herbert is in the kitchen at breakfast already. He asks, at breakfast, if there is anything I need done in and about the place that day And I ask him about food. What is coming into bloom in the fields? Are the corn and potatoes and tomatoes ready? Would he like fish for supper? If so, does he want to take the boat out or have Dandridge do it? If I’m going to town, I ask him if there is anything he wants. Then we part, he going his way and I, mine. I assign the servants their jobs, decide what I am going to do, and, if I need help, ask them to assist me.
I check their work during the day, visit my garden, cast some bread crumbs to my crow, feed the chickens, put milk out for the cat, and in general behave like a housewife who is seeing well to the ways of her household.
Mr. Herbert insists that if I go to town, I take Emily with me. “There are soldiers wandering around out there on the roads and in the woods,” he reminds me.
Every day, no matter what happens, I write a letter to Miss Cunningham and report happenings and expenditures. I have not heard from her since she left. I wonder when she is coming back and almost hope she isn’t.
This first week in July, Mr. Herbert did not want to talk about fish or money at breakfast.
“There are rumors,” he said, “that Federal troops might be placed here.”
I stared at him. “And from whence come these rumors?”
“A Nigra friend of Dandridge’s came around yesterday. It’s all the talk in Alexandria, he said.”
“Can you trust him?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then I must go today to see General Scott and tell him we will not have Federal troops here, mustn’t I?”
He regarded me sadly. “Take Priscilla. She’s a better bodyguard than Emily You know how Emily is afraid of war.”
“I think Emily is the only sane one amongst us,” I told him.
“Be serious, Miss Tracy.”
“Do you think there is any sanity at all in our being here?”
“Miss Cunningham insists that the presence of a lady will keep people from looting and destroying this place.”
I laughed. Then I sobered. “So, Mr. Herbert, i’m to hold off the maddening hordes.”
“So far it’s worked. And I wish you’d call me Upton, not Mr. Herbert.”
“Then, you must call me Sarah.”
“Agreed.”
I betook myself to Washington City. I went by the omnibus from Alexandria, taking Priscilla with me because Emily was making pies and was afraid of war.
Priscilla is one person I would describe as stout of purpose. It makes her appear matronly, though I know she is not yet thirty. Emily is thin and filled with nervous excitement. Priscilla knows most everyone in the neighborhood, and though she wears a turban, I know she has gray in her hair.
Emily has a monstrous fear of the war, but I think Priscilla would meet a contingent of soldiers head-on and scold them for having dirty boots. In the pecking order of things, I know she considers herself senior servant in the house, and I let her have the privilege.
Washington City was in the same state as the last time we were there, only more so. Soldiers marching, crowds shuffling, soldiers cooking and eating on government lawns, Nigras holding horses’ reins and waiting outside hotels, boys screeching headlines.
“We must go to the War Department,” I told Priscilla.
“They gots a whole department for that? My, my,” she said, “these white people do take on about things.”
Yes, I thought as we wended our way through glass doors and across marble floors, we do take on, don’t we?
The man I must see first, to be proper about things, was a Mr. Graham, a friend of Miss Cunningham’s. In no time we found his office, but he was not in. So I turned to the officer who had ushered us to his door. “Take me to General Scott,” I said, and I explained to him who I was and why I had come.
“Miss, we can’t just barge in on General Scott.”
“You just take me there. I’ll tend to the barging.”
We went up another flight of stairs. There were soldiers and men standing all over the place, likely waiting to see the general too, but they parted like the Red Sea for Moses when we came through. The hall was large, echoing, and dimly lit, and the tiled floor was dirty from so many boots.
On a door was printed his name: GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT. The officer knocked and, from inside, was told to enter. He went in, leaving the door slightly ajar.
“A friend of Miss Cunningham’s,” I heard a deep, booming voice say. “What does she want?”
I did not hear the reply, but I heard laughter. Then, “God bless the ladies!” And the door opened and they came out.
General Scott was in full uniform, with gold epaulets on his shoulders and a double row of brass buttons in front. He was gray haired, and tufts of hair stood out over his ears.
“My dear lady, I can promise you that no Federal troops will be stationed or placed at Mount Vernon,” he said. “Nor will they march across its lawns with guns.”
“Thank you,” I said. “We wish to keep the place free of war. A neutral ground.”
“As behooves its sacred atmosphere,” he said. “But now”—and there was a twinkle in his eye—“can you be equally sure Virginia will honor this agreement?”
He was asking me to speak for Virginia! For the Southern army! So I did.
“Yes,” I said. “I can.”
Thank heaven he did not ask me how. For I did not know the how of it. He bowed, took my hand, and kissed it. “God bless the ladies,” he said again. “You are a refreshing appearance in my long and terrible day
. I shall give you a written order.”
“And I’ll need a pass for myself and the servants.”
“That, too,” he agreed.
I have met the commander in chief of the Northern army, I thought as we went back downstairs. And he made me a promise. I wonder what Fanny would have to say about that. I wonder what Mother and Father would have to say.
Then I thought, But he is old. Mr. Lincoln wanted Robert E. Lee, but he went with the South instead. Mr. Lincoln will not keep General Scott as commander in chief for long. But he is that now. And he met with me. Me! And I have his word, his order, and no one shall doubt me.
Eight
Two days later a letter came from the Accotink post office, the closest to Mount Vernon. It was from a Mrs. Merrick, written for Mrs. Lincoln! Addressed to me!
My hands shook as I opened it. Everyone stood around, just inside the front door, in the foyer.
Was she going to rescind General Scott’s order? Remonstrate with me? Why did I regard her as my older sister, Fanny? Why was I afraid?
“Oh!” My hand flew to my mouth. “She wants to come here! She wants to see Mr. Washington’s home! Oh dear!”
The others became all excited. I regarded it with dismay.
“What is it?” Upton asked me when the servants had left the foyer.
“I can’t meet with her.”
“But why?”
“It would be construed as a political act.”
“Meeting the wife of the president?”
“As a representative of the Association, I can’t greet the wife of the president of the United States. That was one thing Miss Cunningham told me to keep in mind, not to favor one side over the other.”
“In heaven s name, meeting the woman would be favoring the North over the South?” He was incredulous.
I sat down on the nearest chair. “I’m afraid so.”
“Well then, what do we do? Tell her she can’t come?”
“No,” I said, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to meet with her.”
“But she knows you are the lady in residence here.”
“Does she?” I asked bleakly.
“Believe me, everybody in Washington knows by now. What will you be doing, then, while I meet with her?”
“Hiding,” I said.
He smiled. He does have a lovely smile. “I have to admire your gift for politics.”
“It isn’t a gift. It’s common sense. First thing you know, I’d have the Southern regents on me. Then the newspapers.”
He sighed. “Well then, I’ll do the honors. I’ll meet with her and take her on the tour. You had best be out of sight.”
What if she knows of me? I wondered. What if she and General Scott have spoken? What will he think? Will he go back on his word and send troops here?
Is this what politics is? I asked myself. If so, I hate it. It’s a dirty mens business.
If the Federals run the war the way they have run this expedition for Mrs. Lincoln, they will most likely lose. Mrs. Merrick requested use of our boat for Mrs. Lincoln and her party. I said absolutely not.
Mrs. Merrick wrote back a rather nasty note, reminding me how full the boat would be with important people. And that we might, considering the poverty they heard we were in, like some of that Republican gold! The nerve.
I wrote and said no again. If Mrs. Lincoln came, she must come as an ordinary person. Furthermore, it should be kept out of the papers and not made into a circus.
Where am I getting the mettle for this? I don’t know. Where does one get the mettle for anything?
I don’t like Mrs. Lincoln anyway. Not many people do. They say she is bossy and short and fat and acts like Cleopatra and that she makes poor Mr. Lincoln crazy.
I shall develop a dreadful cold in my bones and go and see Dr. Anderson in Alexandria on the day they arrive.
It rained today. So they couldn’t come.
The Lincoln boys have the measles, so another note has come round saying they can’t come.
They came today. I took some cabbages and some roses to town to sell and went to Dr. Anderson and got some medicine for my cold.
Upton served as host. He welcomed them. He of the impeccable Virginia manners. He showed them the banquet hall, George Washington s bedroom, the gardens. He gave them the royal tour and shared his own humble supper with them, his ham and potatoes and vegetables.
He is a real Virginian, and I am sure politics never came up. But then, Mrs. Lincoln is a Southerner herself, with two brothers in the Confederate army. I am sure they got along.
Still, I can’t believe that Upton did this.
I must laugh. If I do not laugh, I shall cry.
I have received a letter from Mother. “We did so want you at the Maxwells’ this summer,” she wrote. “They have a wonderful nephew who is going to visit them, and Mrs. Maxwell has told him all about you. He can’t wait to meet you, and now you are off on your own. Fanny is very worried about you. She threatens to come and bring you home.”
Fanny, indeed! She has never bestirred herself out of Troy. Doesn’t she know there is a war on? I must write and tell them about the enemy lines.
Oh, I am so angry!
I think of what I have done this day.
I went on a made-up visit to a doctor to avoid seeing the wife of the president of the United States.
I had to make the decision not to see Mrs. Lincoln on my own because of the political implications. And Fanny threatens to come and rescue me! As I said, I must laugh or I shall cry.
I have not written in my journal for almost a month now. Oh, I feel so delinquent, but there hasn’t been time. We’ve been so busy, and if any writing is done, it must first be done for Miss Cunningham, to report events.
I interviewed two women for the job of companion here. The first one I hired had a three-year-old child. It was not a good idea. She had no place to leave the child and so brought her here. We are not equipped for children, I fear, and the child wouldn’t let go of her mother’s skirts. The mother, a decent enough woman, spent all her time down at the wharf, wading in the water with the little girl. I think, being a widow, she had eyes for Upton. I had to dismiss her.
I hired a second one, who claimed she had a husband out west and no children. Within two days I found my locket missing. Upton missed his pocket watch, and he himself searched her room and found both articles.
She cried, saying she needed money to go out west and join her husband. Upton was very firm. He said he would not tell the authorities if she would go quietly.
She went. I shall not hire any more.
I received a letter from my friend Mary that she can’t come for a while. Her mother is not yet well. Upton’s aunt Eleanor came to act as chaperone and only upset the whole household. She needed so much special care. I must sit and sew with her every afternoon. I must listen to stories about Upton and his brothers when they were children.
We must have a formal tea every afternoon, which meant that Upton had to come in from the fields or wherever he was working, change, and wash and dress and sip tea.
She was a dear, but I was glad to see her go.
Of course the servants observed and listened. We have no secrets from them here.
“You let me sleep at the foot of your bed in a cot and you got no need for a chaperone,” Priscilla said one day.
We were at supper, which Upton and I take in the dining room every evening. We looked at each other across the table. And I wondered if he felt as foolish as I did.
“That sounds like a fine idea,” he said.
After she left the room, I looked at him. “Do you know what you just did to me? I’ll have no privacy at all now.”
“She can vouch for you if people have anything to say,” he said.
“Do I need somebody to vouch for me? Or you?” I asked boldly.
“We both know better than that,” he said. And he gave me his smile, which cut into me somehow. I felt a surge in my chest where I suppose my heart is.
I breathed easier. “I’m glad to hear it,” I said.
But Priscilla moved her cot into my room anyway, to the foot of my bed. And I have to say that when I awoke the next morning to hear the cannons muttering in the distance, I was glad she was there.
Nine
It was six o’clock in the morning when the cannons mumbled in the distance. And there is no worse sound in the world. It seemed to me that even here, on these placid green lawns, I could feel the earth move.
From that moment until one o’clock in the afternoon, the firing continued in the direction of Centreville.
“Stay calm,” Upton told the servants. “No one will come this way.”
But they were skittish all day. And for good reason. There didn’t seem to be even three minutes’ time between each cannon roar. I tried to sew. I tried to pull weeds in my garden, where my peas are already six inches high. In the garden I noticed the birds were lulled into quiet. I looked for my pet crow, but he did not come. Were the animals and birds in hiding?
I tried to write to Miss Cunningham and couldn’t. I wanted to pray for the poor souls out there in the distance who had seen their last sunrise that day, and couldn’t.
Upton attempted to get the work crew to finish shoring up the pillars on the piazza and to start painting them, but the Nigras couldn’t concentrate, so he started them on the road to the generals tomb. It must be repaired.
At one o’clock Priscilla and Jane took the workmen’s noon meal out to them, and Upton came into the house and asked for some bread and lemonade and ham. Emily was nowhere to be found. She was hiding somewhere.
I can’t say how much safer I felt with just Upton’s presence. Then the firing ceased. We looked at each other in the kitchen.
“Regrouping,” he said.
Since the other servants were outside, all huddled together in the vicinity of Washington’s tomb, I gave him his lunch. He ate morosely.
I knew what was on his mind. “Are you sorry?” I asked.
“About what?”
“That you didn’t join the army?”
He nodded his head. “Moments like this, yes.”
“You have as much an obligation here, keeping this place from pillage and destruction,” I told him.
