After the Rain: My America 2

by Mary Pope Osborne

  Tonight I tried to cheer them all by telling them about Swiss Family Robinson. I told them we were not unlike the Robinson family, washed up on a strange shore. We must try to make the best of everything. After all, we at least have a roof over our heads and beans every night for dinner.

  December 17, 1864

  Tonight I told everyone more about Swiss Family Robinson. That brave family has just moved into a tree house! They are planting gardens and hunting and fishing. That should give us strength, I said. If they can survive on a desert island, we can surely survive in Washington City!

  Jane Ellen laughed and said I should have been a preacher. She said I am very inspiring.

  December 18, 1864

  Soon I will tell my family new stories -- stories about Mrs. Porter's grandchildren! They are coming to visit from New York City for the Christmas holidays. I can hardly wait. I confess I have missed being with other children. These days I feel more like a grown-up than a ten-year-old girl.

  December 19, 1864

  Hurrah! Tomorrow Robert, Sarah, and Eliza Porter will arrive. Sarah and Eliza are eleven-year-old twins, and Robert is my age. Their father is an important lawyer in New York City.

  I cannot wait to hear about their life and tell them all about mine. I can tell them about the Battle of Gettysburg and about Jed, Pa, and Jane Ellen.

  I might even tell them that my mother was a Southern belle. I'll tell them she lived in Virginia, and she had two younger brothers whom I've never met. Those brothers might be fighting for the Confederacy now! My uncles could be Rebs, imagine! I'll tell them.

  Maybe they'll invite me to visit them in New York City. I feel that tomorrow is the beginning of a great new adventure.

  December 20, 1864

  I did not actually get to visit with the Porter children today. I was dusting when they arrived. They did not speak to me. They were so excited to see their grandmother. They ran through the house shouting and laughing and chasing the cats. Their pretty mother wore a fur coat. The father and Robert wore handsome cloaks. Sarah and Eliza wore ribbons in their long, shiny hair.

  Mrs. Porter introduced them to me. But they did not seem to take notice. Surely that was because they were so excited to see their grandmother.

  December 21, 1864

  It snowed last night.

  I only briefly laid eyes on the Porter children today. They left early with their parents. They rode off in a sleigh with bells. When they returned, I heard Robert telling Mrs. Porter all about the Monticello Dining Room. They had ice cream and sugar cookies there.

  The girls told her about shopping at DeLarue's. They bought lilac ribbons for their hair and Paris kid gloves.

  Again, they did not seem to take notice of me. When Robert ran down the hall, chasing the cats, I laughed. But I couldn't seem to catch his eye. When he bumped into me, he did not even say "pardon."

  I felt like a girl made of air.

  December 22, 1864

  Today I felt again as if I were made of air. The Porter children moved about me, never catching my eye.

  Is this how all servants feel? What about slaves? I cannot imagine how slaves must feel. Why, what if the Porter children "owned" me! They might even beat me, if I didn't do what they wanted!

  My heart was heavy when I came home. I did not talk to my family at all. Our rooms seem shabbier than ever.

  Poison has entered my heart. I wish to be one of the Porter children and not myself.

  And why not? Ice cream and sugar cookies are far better than beans. And I would love lilac ribbons for my hair.

  December 23, 1864

  Today the Porter children sat in the dining room while I polished the silver in the parlor. They ate preserved peaches and pears. They talked about their great adventure last night. They went to Ford's New Theatre and saw Rip Van Winkle. They talked about how funny and amazing it was. None of them spoke a word to me.

  When I came home, I was quite cross. At dinner, I sighed and said I wish I could see a play at Ford's New Theatre someday. Pa said it cost too much to go to the theater. I blurted out that I was sick to death of being poor.

  Pa looked away. He seemed hurt and surprised. Jane Ellen seemed surprised, too. I excused myself from the table, saying I was too tired to eat a plate of old beans again. "Why can't we ever have peaches or pears?" I said.

  I felt ashamed lying on the sofa. I tried to talk my way out of it. I told myself I'm tired of being the cheerful one all the time.

  December 24, 1864

  While I dusted, I listened to the Porter children chat again. This time, they were talking about visiting the President's House. They spoke about Tad Lincoln as if he were their friend. Tad is only ten and goes everywhere with his father. I have never seen Tad.

  But I wish now with all my heart I knew him. I wish with all my soul I was him.

  Never before have I wished to be someone other than myself. The Porter children have put me under a strange spell.

  December 25, 1864

  A snowy Christmas day. Jane Ellen stayed in bed. Pa forced himself up. He asked me if I would like to go with him to Finley Hospital tonight. He wants to play his violin for the wounded soldiers.

  Later

  At twilight, Pa and I tread through the wet snow and mud to the hospital. I could tell that his back ached with every step.

  On the way, sleigh bells jingled on Pennsylvania Avenue. I heard children laughing. I thought I saw the Porters ride by. Or some other family just like them. A rich, happy family.

  As we entered the hospital, I heard the cries and groans of wounded soldiers. I dreaded seeing them all.

  I kept my eyes down as we entered a ward. Pa stood in a corner and began to play his violin. As "Silent Night" wafted through the cold, drafty room, the cries ceased. I saw tears stream down the face of a lady nurse.

  As Pa kept playing, angels seemed to calm the air. The room became warm with a deep, holy feeling.

  On our walk home, I felt the angels were still with us. I heard no sleigh bells or didn't notice. For a short while, I felt peaceful and happy just to be myself.

  Drizzly rain.

  Hundreds of guns boomed in Franklin Square this morning. Jed told us the city is celebrating General Sherman's conquest of Savannah, Georgia. He thinks the war will end by spring.

  December 27, 1864

  The Porter children went home today.

  I watched the servants carry their trunks out to their carriage. They received many gifts from their grandmother for Christmas. One was the very copy of Swiss Family Robinson that I had been reading to her.

  They received other books as well --The Tiger Prince and Life in the Woods. Sarah and Eliza left in fur-lined cloaks. Robert carried away new skates and a sled.

  After they rode away, Mrs. Porter went up to her bed to lie down.

  When I got home, I went straight to bed, too. Jane Ellen sat by me and stroked my hair. She asked me what was the matter, but I didn't tell her about the Porter children and their books and ribbons and dresses.

  I just said I didn't feel well. When she said, "Where do you hurt?" I answered angrily, "All over!" Then I turned my face to the wall.

  She seemed to understand that I did not want to talk. Forgive me, God, but my life seems quite small compared to that of the Porter children. And now I'll never know the ending of Swiss Family Robinson.

  Tonight Jane Ellen declared that we were all too gloomy. She tried to cheer us up by saying we must think of a name for the baby.

  We each suggested a few names, but we found none that all could agree upon. The conversation dwindled away, for I fear our hearts were not in it.

  December 29, 1864

  Mrs. Porter was still resting in bed today, so I left work early.

  On my walk home, I finally saw the sight I've been waiting for -- President Lincoln riding his gray horse! And Tad at his side on his own horse!

  I recognized them at once when I saw all the soldiers guarding them. The soldiers held sabers over th
eir shoulders.

  The President looked grave as he rode by. His dark eyes stared straight ahead. His face seemed even more deeply lined than when I saw him in Gettysburg.

  I caught only a glimpse of Tad. He was laughing at something and looked quite happy. I was seized with such a yearning to be Tad Lincoln that I could scarcely breathe.

  When I got home to our dreary rooms, I went straight to bed without hardly a word to anyone.

  Never has my own family looked more tattered and wanting.

  December 30, 1864

  Tonight a crowd in the street was singing "When This Cruel War Is Over." Only half-listening, I thought they were singing "This Cruel World," and I'll admit I did not think it strange.

  December 31, 1864

  We are all together tonight. Jane Ellen served a special dinner of turkey for New Year's Eve. Jed says everyone believes 1865 will most certainly bring about the war's end.

  We should be happier about this, I think. Perhaps it is the gray, rainy weather that keeps us all in such a state of melancholy.

  January 1, 1865

  Tomorrow, Jed, Pa, and I are going to the New Year's reception at the President's House. All the public is invited to shake hands with the President.

  I will look for Tad Lincoln. I have a great urge to see him again. I consider him the luckiest boy alive.

  Some nights I yearn so much to be Tad that I cannot even sleep. I shiver with cold in my bed and imagine myself riding on horseback with the President.

  January 2, 1865

  Everyone in the world wanted to shake the President's hand today. Pa, Jed, and I did not even get close to him. Thousands of men, ladies, and children pressed forward. The crush was so great that some were hurt.

  We went home, sorely disappointed. Jane Ellen was cheered later to hear that a number of Negroes were able to meet with the President. They all exclaimed, "God bless Abraham Lincoln!"

  The President is pushing for a change to the Constitution that will end slavery once and for all.

  January 4, 1865

  A huge snowstorm today. Freezing cold. Fighting the wind on the way to Mrs. Porter's, I almost wished I could lie down and die.

  January 9, 1865

  Each day, I see more deserters from the Confederate army. Jed says many have nowhere to go. On my way home this evening, I passed one who appeared to be frozen stiff. He was lying in an alley with no shoes or hat. His eyes closed, his face blue.

  I wondered about my mother's two younger brothers. Were they fighting as Rebs? Where are they now?

  Does one lie somewhere on the cold ground? Or are they buried underneath it?

  I wish Pa had stayed in touch with my mother's family after her death. Now we'll never know who -- or where -- any of them are.

  Jed seems to feel as I do. Two days ago, he carried an old blanket out to a Reb sleeping on the ground near our house. He said the man could be our kin for all we know.

  January 17, 1865

  I have not written in my journal lately, for there has not been much to write. Mrs. Porter left last week to visit her son's family in New York City. Her maid went with her. Her elderly manservant stayed here, but he keeps to himself. I go to her house each day. But I do little more than dust and polish and embroider. In my free time, I sometimes move about the house, pretending I am Mrs. Porter's granddaughter.

  January 19, 1865

  I keep playing the game of pretending to be Mrs. Porter's granddaughter. When the fantasy wears thin, I stare out a window and daydream about her real grandchildren.

  What exciting things are they doing now in New York City? I imagine they live in a fancy mansion and ride in sleighs and go to a fine school and many parties.

  Every time I look at photographs of them, a strange grief stabs my heart. I wish their beautiful mother was mine. And their father, too, I sometimes wish was mine. Forgive me, Pa.

  January 26, 1865

  It is one of the coldest winters on record this year. None of us can seem to get warm. I see Pa shivering even when he is standing close to the fire.

  January 30, 1865

  The paper says that the famous orator Edward Everett has died. I remember him speaking at Gettysburg. I thought his speech would never end.

  Now I feel a bit sad, longing for those days when we were building our lives again after the terrible battle. There was hope in the air and a feeling that we ourselves had been heroes.

  Today, our family seems tattered in comparison to how we were then. Pa is so distant and seldom speaks. Jane Ellen is in bed constantly and has little good humor or happiness to share. Jed feels guilty for everyone's plight and stays late at work on purpose, I think. And I am feeling quite cross and mean.

  What has happened to us? And to our great adventure in Mr. Lincoln's Washington?

  January 31, 1865

  Jane Ellen got up from bed today. She wrote to her Negro friend, Becky Lee, in Gettysburg, to tell her congratulations.

  Congress has voted to pass the Thirteenth Amendment to abolish slavery. Now it must go to the states for something called "ratification." Then it will be the law of the land. Becky Lee will soon be legally free forever.

  Amen, says Jane Ellen.

  How, I wonder, could a people have ever allowed slavery? The evil of it seems so clear. I can only think that, throughout history, most children have held doubts about slavery in their hearts. But children become used to the customs of their time and place. As they grow older, they forget their doubts and follow in the footsteps of their parents and grandparents. Now, for the first time, our whole nation is about to start down a new path together.

  February 1, 1865

  I saw an interesting ad in the paper today.

  It said, "How can you find wealth and good fortune? Find out from Madame Masha at 402 K Street. For ten cents, she tells the future and gives good advice to young and old."

  I would love some good advice. More than that, I would love to know my future.

  February 6, 1865

  I was paid today for the last two weeks of work. As usual, I handed my money over to Pa -- all except ten cents.

  Pa did not notice, for he never counts what I give him. It hurts his pride too much. He just drops the paper in the cookie jar without looking.

  I kept the ten-cent paper note so I can go see Madame Masha, first chance I get. I do not feel guilty about keeping the money from the others. I am desperate for advice on how to find wealth and good fortune for all of us.

  Today, Pa sent me to the store for bread. I hurried and bought the bread. Then I ran all the way to 402 K Street. I tapped on Madame Masha's door, and she let me in.

  She wore a beautiful lavender dress. She had a red scarf tied around her hair. And sweet-smelling candles burned throughout the room.

  She asked me why I had come. I told her I needed to know how I could find wealth and good fortune.

  Madame Masha looked deeply into my eyes for a long moment. Then she picked up my hand and studied my palm.

  "Ah, this is serious," she said. "You have allowed the goddess Envy to attack you."

  Horrified, I asked what she meant.

  She said wherever Envy strikes, the sun no longer shines. All flowers die. One feels cold and cannot sleep.

  "That's right," I whispered. Madame Masha knew exactly how I'd been feeling since I'd met the Porter children!

  She said the goddess Envy had placed a nest of thorns in my heart.

  I quickly put my hand over my heart, for it hurt even as she said this.

  What can I do? I asked.

  She told me I must banish Envy completely. I must post guards at the doors to my heart and mind. I must not let Envy enter again, she told me. Not for an instant.

  "Or she will smite all the love in you," she said.

  I nodded and felt so afraid I could scarcely breathe. When I found my voice again, I asked about Pa, Jane Ellen, and Jed. Could Madame Masha tell me what was going to happen to them?

  She nodded slowly. "Great
change is coming," she said, "great change is coming."

  I was very relieved to hear this.

  Then she said, "Now go home and take your bread back to your family."

  Goodness! How did she know the bread was for my family?

  I gave her ten cents. Then I ran all the way home. I ran as if my family's lives depended on the bread I was carrying.

  As I ran, my heart felt as if it might burst. I had a horrible fear that my family might not be there when I got home. I feared I might have lost them all. The goddess Envy might have slain them already!

  When I came through the door, relief flooded over me. Everyone seemed fine. Jane Ellen was reading the newspaper. Pa was writing out some music. Jed was boiling water for coffee.

  I broke into tears, and everyone looked at me with alarm.

  "I'm sorry!" I cried out. "I've been terrible and mean, and I'm sorry! I love you all! Please forgive me! Please!"

  I threw myself onto Pa and cried my heart out. He just held me tightly as I tried to explain how I had envied Mrs. Porter's grandchildren and how I had wanted to go to the theater and have fancy clothes and a beautiful house. I told them that I had been feeling mean and spiteful. And I was so sorry!

  Pa gently helped me onto the sofa. He covered me with a blanket and told me he'd always love me no matter what I felt or did. He told me he never thought of me as mean and spiteful. He said I always seemed brave and kind to him.

  Then Jed sat with me. He said he imagined that Abraham Lincoln himself must have felt great envy as a child. After all, his family had been very poor. His mother had died, and he'd lived in a humble log cabin. But look at him today, Jed said. He is the most powerful person in all the land. His envy did not harm him at all. "And it will not harm you," he said.

  Later, Jane Ellen sat beside me and stroked my hair. She said that she understood quite well how I had been feeling. She said that she herself felt envy at times. She said we are only human and that God loves us even when we are full of discontent. She said God waits patiently for us to discover the wealth of love around us.

  I clutched Jane Ellen's soft hand and held it to my cheek. And the greatest joy came over me. Not only was my family not harmed by my meanness, they all understood it in their own way. And they all loved me no matter what.