by Rinaldi, Ann
“Because he’s delirious, too, and he wouldn’t have you here like this if he weren’t.”
She wrung out the cloth. “Oh, and I suppose he’d have you?”
“It isn’t my intention to wash him. I’m bringing him tea. If he needs washing, I’ll get Priscilla. Or Dandridge.”
She laughed, a lilting sound, and stood up. “At least I’m more honest than you, Sarah. At least I admit I’m fond of him. Who’s to be ashamed here if the truth were known, anyway?”
“Go and get me Priscilla,” I said sharply. “She sleeps above the kitchen now, since you’re here. Tell her I need her.”
Upton coughed again. I did need Priscilla. I couldn’t hold up his head and hold the cup without spilling it. “Go!” I ordered.
She went, and Priscilla came back along. She knew what to do. In no time she had a remedy made and Upton’s cough quieted, and she sent me to bed.
As I passed Marys room I saw it was dark. She’ll sleep late in the morning, I thought. I heard nothing from belowstairs, so I assumed the young soldier and his friend were all right. Priscilla set herself up in a chair next to Upton. I went to bed.
In the morning young Pomeroy was still very sick. Priscilla immediately made him a mustard footbath and other remedies. He slept most of the time. His captain and his ambulance came to inspect him. The captain was from Detroit, Michigan, and didn’t seem to care a fig for General Washington s home or the fact that he stood in General Washington’s Little Parlor. He was polite as could be, but all he wanted was Pomeroy returned to him.
“This damned South—excuse me, miss, but this damned climate isn’t good for anybody. Needs some good Michigan air, is what he needs.”
“I think we do all right, Captain,” I told him.
He smiled at me. He was very handsome, with a beard and mustache. He’d ridden in on his own horse, alongside the ambulance.
“He’s been calling for his wife,” I said.
“He’s married only one month.”
“How terrible.”
“We should have a doctor. I couldn’t get one to come,” he said.
“Priscilla is as good as a doctor.”
“You say he can stay one more day?”
“I say he can stay as long as he likes, Captain, but if you wish to come back tomorrow, you may.”
He sighed and looked around. “What kind of a place is this? Your home? You one of those Southern belles I’ve heard about?”
“No, sir. I’m not one of those Southern belles you’ve heard about. I’m from Troy, New York. This is the home of General Washington.” And I told him why I was here.
“Good girl. You’re a good girl, you know that?” he said when he left. “God, I always said it. The women have all the brains in this outfit.”
What “outfit” he was talking about, I didn’t know. But he said he’d return tomorrow.
He left around eleven, I recollect. Around noontime I went up to wake Mary. Often she’d slept until noon, but seldom later. I knocked on her door. There was no answer. I opened it and went in.
Her bed was made, the quilt smoothed over carefully. A note was in the middle of it.
Dear Sarah:
I have left. I saw my chance when the captain came by earlier today. I sneaked downstairs and out the side door and asked him for a ride back to Washington. He was most accommodating, even let me have time to write this note.
I shall be in touch with you. I am sorry, but this hasn’t turned out. I am attracted to Upton and cannot deny it. So are you, but you insist on denying it. All this means is trouble for everybody. I am going back to Philadelphia. I shall write.
Your friend,
Mary McMakin
I stood there holding the note to my breast. How had she done all this without my knowing? There was no secondguessing Mary. She was quicker than a rabbit in the celery patch. Me? I’m slow. I stood there like a jackass in the rain, blushing over the contents of her note. Then I ripped it up, lest someone find it.
Better she’s gone, I told myself as I went about my duties that day. Her being here would mean nothing but trouble. We must keep everything spotlessly aboveboard for the Association or this whole experiment will fail. And then what will happen to George Washington’s home, Miss Cunningham, who is counting on me so, and the Association?
Seventeen
I moved Priscilla back into my room. I missed Mary and I felt guilty about her. Not only had she left suddenly, she had left without saying good-bye, with only the ambulance captain for guidance. I had heard that there was a lot of sickness in Washington too, as well as the usual chaos. Would she be able to get her connections back to Philadelphia?
I felt responsible for her. Now I had two people to feel guilty about, Mary and John Augustine Washington. But I must think of the greater good, the possibility she posed of gossip against the Association. Oh, it is not always easy to do the right thing. But then, Miss Semple told us that, only I didn’t understand her at the time.
“I am not good with people,” I told Upton when he was up on his feet again after a week.
I did not tell him the real reason Mary left. When she was washing him, he’d been delirious. But I think he guessed that Mary and I had fought over him.
“She was a stubborn girl,” was all he would say. “I’m sorry if any of it was my fault, Sarah.”
“None of it was,” I assured him. “I’ll write to her and make it right. She has been my friend since childhood.”
Do men see things as women see them? Or do they just pretend certain things do not exist, to lessen the pain? I don’t know. And like as not, I never will.
Private Pomeroy of the Fifth Michigan stayed four days, and then his captain and his ambulance came back to get him. I made it a point to see the captain when he came. We got to talking, and I told him how we were on a strict budget here, how we had lost money from visitors since the government took our boat and I must rack my brain to think of ways to bring in some cash. He suggested coffee beans. Yes, coffee beans! He told me that some people in the city are selling bracelets made from coffee beans and that soldiers are buying them. He said they sell this particular kind of bean at the Washington market.
Then he left us a generous donation. Ten whole dollars! That will go a long way toward buying food for this winter. And he said that Mary was fine, that he’d escorted her directly to the train station, where she managed to get a train for Philadelphia.
I wait for a letter from her. I cannot imagine what she will write to my sister, Fanny, and what blame she will put on me, but I am sure I shall hear from Fanny about the matter.
It is October 1. Upton reminded me this morning that there is no real border between the Confederacy and the Union. That the only one that exists is at the foot of our sloping lawn. That seems to have put things back in perspective for me. Upton always seems to know the right thing to say when I am at sixes and sevens.
I am making a trip to the city to get some supplies. And I shall endeavor to get the coffee beans.
Oh, what a time. I haven’t written in this journal in days because so much has happened. First, the wheel of my wagon broke in Alexandria on the way to the city. The wagon was full of cabbages and potatoes and apples to sell in the Washington market. The only other way to get to Washington was by the omnibus. So I hired a man in Alexandria to fix the wheel. He said he must keep the wagon overnight, that he could sell my vegetables for me in Alexandria and would have my money and my wagon waiting for us when we returned. So I had to trust him and leave my wagon, and take the omnibus with Priscilla. All went well in Washington. I managed to get the coffee beans I wanted, and we put them in two bags to even up the weight of them, and each carried one on the omnibus back to Alexandria.
But the omnibus was late and we had to wait. It was a beautiful day and I did not mind. But when it finally came, I realized we would not be back to Alexandria until dusk, which comes earlier now that it is October.
When we got to Alexandria, lo,
there was my wagon with the horses and a small package in brown paper on the seat. I shook it and realized it was my money for the vegetables. But the man had left a note saying he could not wait and he hoped we had a safe journey home. Then, just as we were getting into the wagon, a lad of about fourteen came over.
“Uncle Andrew told me to drive you home,” he said.
I told him it wasn’t necessary.
“Uncle Andrew said it is,” he insisted. “He said it isn’t safe for two women alone. And that the sentries at the barricades are told not to let anyone through after five o’clock. That sometimes they shoot at intruders before asking for passes, once it gets dark.”
A clock on the local bank said quarter past five.
“I’ll get you through,” the lad said. And he was straightforward and tall for his age and said he’d roamed these woods and roads all his life, so we said yes.
I let him drive. We passed the first sentry post without difficulty. The soldiers seemed to know the lad, and I had passes from McClellan for me and Priscilla. We were three more miles on the road when we came to another barricade. “I know another way,” the boy said. His name was John. “These soldiers are hard ones. We’ll find another road.”
So we came back the three miles and took another road. After going a short distance, we met a large body of troops in the turn of the road where there had never been any before. Now, these were all Federal troops, but they were dusty and worn looking and appeared very mean. Instead of a sentinel, the officer came forward and said he was sorry, but we could go no farther this night. I showed him my pass, to no avail. He pointed in another direction and said that after going a short distance, I would find the road barricaded, but by crossing a field, we would find a road through the woods, which would eventually bring us to the right road.
“But you take a chance of being shot at,” he said grimly.
I was determined to get home that night, however. We conferred and decided to chance it, even though it seemed as if we were literally going round Robin Hood’s barn. Before quite reaching the barricade, we were stopped by more troops. The captain said it was impossible. But I would go on! I told him what the other officer had said. He did not believe there was such a road but asked for my pass. He read it and said again that he had not heard of such a road. A little sergeant standing by asked if he might go and see. The captain said yes.
We waited. Think of it! Waiting at night amidst soldiers and barricades, still six or eight miles from Mount Vernon. Oh, how I longed for home! Soon the sergeant came back and said there was a road, but a bad one. I said I would try it. The sergeant looked at me as if I were demented, shook his head, mumbled something about uppity women, and took down the bar so we could pass. Then he offered to act as a guide through the field. It was a pretty little road, narrow, and the trees lowered their branches to greet us as we passed.
We went on without any idea where the road would take us. Soon we found ourselves at the back entrance of a gentleman’s farm. We passed through until we reached the house. I sent John in to inquire if we might pass through the farmers road. The gentleman was very courtly and kind. He introduced himself as Mr. Cox and said he feared our troubles were not over, but if we could not get through, he and his wife would be happy to accommodate us for the night.
Another short drive. Another body of troops, an officer more decided than the rest. He could not let us by, even though I showed him my pass.
He said, “I could let you through with that pass, but some of my officers down the road are under orders to shoot anyone who approaches.” I asked him to send a soldier with us. He did. And we passed the ones he said would shoot us without a word!
Then we turned to the road leading to Mount Vernon, and I felt safe. I said, “Drive fast, John, it’s getting late!” And then another barricade, more formidable than the rest. The road was narrow and so situated that there seemed to be no outlet but straight ahead. And our horse was getting restless, for he was accustomed to the regular roads. There was a fence, however, and John went back to ask the lieutenant to allow one of his men to open it. He came himself, with five men, and said it could not be opened without cutting, which they were forbidden to do.
Oh, the army! Spare me from the army and its stupid rules! How they will ever win this war, I will never know. Then the men found a gate, farther down, opened it, and led the horse through. But they had to lift the wagon over the fence because it could not fit through. I knew where I was then. Once around this barricade, I could reach the blacksmith who shod horses at Mount Vernon, and I could leave the horse and wagon with him until morning.
One of the soldiers said I had better not attempt it with only a lad in attendance and a Nigra woman. He said there were more sentinels down the way that he could not be answerable for. The others said there was no chance of getting out that way, but that if I would stay at Mr. Cox’s, they would help me the next day.
The gathering darkness was answer enough. So we backtracked all the way to the house of Mr. Cox. The lieutenant walked beside our wagon all the way back. He told us they had been cutting trees for four days to stop the Confederate cavalry from passing. I did not tell him what nonsense I thought the whole war was. I dared not, they were being so serious and so nice.
Mr. and Mrs. Cox welcomed us and gave us hot tea and excellent accommodations. They even had a place for young John. But when I looked out the window of my room and saw the soldiers’ arms glittering in the lantern light, I thought that if there was an attack, which they seemed to be expecting, it might be pleasanter to be somewhere else after all.
In the morning the captain came to say his men had found a way for me to get around. I sent John home, with thanks to him and his uncle, and with some coins in his pocket. And we commenced our winding way. We found another farm, where there were two soldiers willing to show us the way. We came into a road, and they said soon we would find the last barricade. This we reached in safety and found three soldiers, who took down a fence and led us through some bushes and briars, down a hill, over a ditch, and through another fence, and congratulated us on finally being on a clear road. And believe me, I was grateful!
All for coffee beans!
When we got home, of course, Upton acted like one of my older brothers, alternately scolding and expressing his joy that we were all right.
“I waited up all night for you,” he said sternly. “I imagined all sorts of things happening. You could even have stayed in Washington, for all I knew. I can’t go through a night like this again, Sarah.”
I finally convinced him it was not my fault. I showed him the money I had made on the vegetables, and he vowed to find Uncle Andrew’s last name and thank him for the offer of his nephew for a guide.
“That will be all the trips to Washington for a while,” he said sternly.
I smiled. I think he cares about me a little bit. The thought warms me.
Eighteen
As October advances, the leaves have turned bright yellow, red, and brown. Everything outside is so beautiful I don’t want to come inside. I keep inventing tasks to keep me outside. My crow still visits me every day, and I feed him bread crumbs. I must remember to feed him all winter. He hops around the brick fence around the garden and scolds me all the time.
There are bright red berries on the dogwood trees at the edges of the woods. And large scarlet berries on the holly hedge near the mansion. Mornings the mist rises off the river, and the mallard ducks are flying south, over the river, right past Mount Vernon. Upton and Dandridge are hunting together. Upton tells me that from November through January the canvasback ducks will be flying, and they are good for eating too. We shan’t be hungry this winter. And Upton and Dandridge have seen to it that a goodly supply of wood is in. So well have many a warm night by the fire. And then the shad and herring begin to run in the Potomac in April.
Upton has found a way to bore holes in the coffee beans so I can string them together to make bracelets. We work on this in the even
ing by candlelight. I think of Mary and how she could be playing the harpsichord for us, but then, likely she’d be up to some trickery if she were here, to make me angry with her.
“Were you taken with her?” I had the nerve to ask Upton one evening.
He didn’t answer right off. He is not the kind of man to be put to such a question. And at first I thought he was angry for the asking. But presently he answered. “No,” he said. “She was pretty and a little flirt, and no man is above liking such tactics, just for a minute or so. What man wouldn’t be attracted? But no, I’m taken with someone else.”
My heart fell inside me, when I thought I had it secure against such feelings. He led me to believe it was someone off the plantation, someone his brother had introduced him to. He does go sometimes to his brother’s place nearby here to look after things. I know his brother has a lot of female admirers. I also know that Upton has a young woman living with her older sister and her sister’s husband at his place, Bleak House, to care for it in his absence. I wonder if it is the younger sister. Upton never leaves here except to go once a month to check on Bleak House.
The first coffee bean bracelet worked out fine. The first night I made only two, but I know I can learn to work faster, and then we’ll be able to sell them, as souvenirs, to soldiers who come by.
Dandridge has told Upton about Wes Ford. He is an eightytwo-year-old colored man who was a favorite of the Washington descendants. One of them, Judge Bushrod Washington, the son of the general’s brother John Augustine, gave him a considerable amount of land on Little Hunting Creek, where he owns a farm.
Upton and I rode over today to see him. He has four children, all grown: William, Jane, Daniel, and Julia. All know how to read and write, as does Wes. The farm is in good standing, and he has many other holdings. I am amazed at this, but Upton is not. He told me that the Washingtons, Bushrod and his wife, took Ford into the house when he was a child, and it is said he was educated with their own children.
