by Dorothy Love
“Mrs. Lee,” the captain said. “I’m sure the lieutenant has told you of the events occurring in Southampton County.”
“Yes. But he assures me we are safe here.”
“Indeed. The garrison is being reinforced. Extra troops will remain here until the miscreants are apprehended and dealt with. You have nothing to fear.”
“I’ve no doubt of my safety, but I do worry about what this rebellion will mean for the rest of Virginia.”
He looked surprised. “I doubt it will mean much at all in the grand scheme of things. From what we know so far, Nat Turner fancies himself some sort of prophet, guided by heavenly visions to lead his people out of bondage. Rumor has it that it was the recent eclipse of the sun that convinced him it was time to act. Clearly he is deranged.”
“I quite agree, Andrew,” Mrs. Hale said. “The actions of one misguided slave won’t undo a system that has flourished for generations.” She glanced at me as if seeking my agreement, but I said nothing.
“At tea this afternoon Mary and I were discussing the Colonization Society,” Robert said.
“It’s a better alternative than an all-out war,” Captain Talcott said. “Though I realize many Negroes would have no wish to immigrate to a country where they have no family ties.”
“Nor any way to support themselves,” his sister remarked. “Freedom would be the worst thing for the Negroes, even if they can’t see it that way.”
“At least it would be the worst thing for them in America,” I said. “Until attitudes toward them soften more than they are at present.”
“Of course we can’t simply herd them onto boats and set them upon the sea,” the captain said. “They first must be taught to do something useful. But under the right conditions, they would benefit. And so would America. A thriving Liberia would demand American trade goods. Not to mention missionary support.”
“That would please Mrs. Lee,” my husband said. “She is experiencing a great cresting of spiritual feeling these days.”
It was true, and it was said without malice or derision, but in that moment I experienced the cresting of an entirely different feeling. I got to my feet. “Please excuse me. I need some air.”
I went outside and walked on the beach until my anger was spent. I sat on a half-rotted log, my chest aching with remorse, watching the waves breaking on the rocky shore and fearing for the future of my marriage. It was much easier to love someone from a distance, when letters were the only source of communication and one could take the time to choose the right word or phrase. Living together day to day in such close proximity magnified the differences between Robert and me. Still, I regretted having been so quick to judge him.
Down the beach a torchlight appeared. Hoping it was Robert coming for me, I got up, ready to apologize for my intemperate behavior. But it was only a fisherman, who passed me without a word. At last there was nothing to do but go home.
The house was dark when I let myself in. Cassie was sound asleep on her pallet outside the bedroom. I undressed in the dark, slipped into my nightdress, and slid into bed. I closed my eyes, though I didn’t expect sleep would come anytime soon. I hated quarreling with anyone, most of all my new husband.
“So you’ve come home at last, Mrs. Lee.” Robert drew me close until I lay pressed tightly against him.
“Where else could I go?”
“I am deeply sorry for my remark at dinner. I ought not to be so sensitive to your worries about the state of my soul. My conduct tonight was not that of a gentleman, and I beg your forgiveness.”
“I’m sorry I ran out on you. It must have been embarrassing.”
“It was. But I had it coming.”
“I thought you might come looking for me. I hoped you would.”
“You needed to be alone to sort things out. Did you?”
“Not really.” I propped myself up on one elbow. “What if we have made a grievous mistake?”
“You regret marrying me already, Molly?”
“No, I regret that I seem always to disappoint you.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is true. I have seen the way you frown when our rooms are not as tidy as you would like. Or when we are going out somewhere and you think I am not as well dressed as I should be. I cannot be like you. Always perfect, always punctual.”
He sighed. “I don’t mean to be critical. And I don’t know that I can ever overcome my propensity for order and methodology. I will try, sweetheart, but don’t expect miracles in my case. Leave something to time.” He drew me close and kissed me. “I do love you so, Mary Anna. Am I forgiven?”
Of course I forgave him. How could I not? Especially since half the fault was mine.
He fell asleep, but I lay awake listening to his breathing and the mewing of the kitten next door, sobered by the realization of just how much was at stake. How much of life is by one simple moment decided.
9 | SELINA
They hanged that slave Nat Turner. After he was dead they skinned him out, to be sure he wouldn’t be causing no more trouble for the white people. We got the news on a Saturday.
Mauma and me, and Ephraim and Billy, plus Lawrence got dressed up and ready to take our apples and vegetables to the Washington market. I had never been before. My daddy usually went with Mauma in the summer when they took a boat across the river with our strawberries and corn to sell. But on this particular day he was feeling poorly and Mauma said I could go.
Washington City was the busiest place. Pigs and goats and dogs running in the muddy streets. Geese honking, people yelling back and forth. Carriages and wagons and carts and people going every which way and more things for sale than I knew was in this world. Bushels of peas and bunches of green onions. Tubs of oysters and strings of fish, umbrellas and bolts of calico. Shovels. Hats. Mauma grabbed me by the hand and we walked around for a while, taking it all in. Then the menfolks got our wagon unloaded and we got down to business.
It was late in the afternoon when a man black as night and big around as a tree stopped in front of us. He looked us over with his mean pig eyes. “Whose people are you?”
Lawrence stood a little bit taller and said, “Who wants to know?”
“Me, that’s who.” The man picked himself an apple and bit into it, and he hadn’t even paid for it yet.
“We belong to Mister Custis up at Arlington,” Ephraim said. His voice was quiet as a winter’s night after snow has come down.
“Custis? I heard he lets you all come and go any way you please. You all just about free, I reckon.”
Billy started to say something, but Ephraim stopped him by shaking his head. To the stranger eating our apple, he said, “You take that apple and go on now. We got to finish up and get on home before dark.”
The man took a folded-up paper out of his pocket and gave it to Lawrence. “You might find this interesting. If you can find anybody to read it to you.”
I was itching to get my hands on that paper and read every word. I was about to tell that man that I knew how to read and so did Lawrence, but something in the way Mauma looked at me told me not to say anything.
Two women came by and bought our last basket of apples. We packed up our empty crates. Ephraim bought us a loaf of sugar and some vanilla flavoring, and we drove through the crowded streets, across the bridge, and up the road to home.
Missus came out and counted our heads to be sure we all come back, and told us to hurry up because Mister Custis was feeling poorly and wanted some supper before he went to bed. We was all in a hurry too, wanting to know what the newspaper said.
After George took supper up to the dining room, Billy ran through the quarters to round up whoever wanted to come hear. Most everybody showed up, crossed the yard, and crowded into our cabin because it was the biggest. It was still a tight squeeze. People leaned up against the walls and sat on the floor beside Daddy’s sickbed. Old Nurse made herself comfortable in my mauma’s chair. Nathaniel Parks and his baby sister, Cissy, climbed up into my
sleeping loft with me.
Mauma lit a new candle and set it on the table. Lawrence sat in Daddy’s chair and unfolded the paper. He cleared his throat a few times and pulled the candle a little closer to the page.
“It says here, after eluding the law for two months, the runaway slave Nat Turner was captured on the thirtieth day of October.” Lawrence was running his finger under the words and stopping for a minute to figure them out. “He was taken to trial for the murder of sixty white people and sentenced to die by hanging. On the morning of November eleventh, the sentence was carried out. After the hanging, the body was skinned and left on display as a warning to others who would do harm to their masters.”
Outside in the dark, the night peepers and the crickets went quiet. Inside, it felt like some big whirlwind had sucked all the air out. Everybody went still, like in one of Mister Custis’s paintings. Even the babies, who had been fussing when they first came in, got quiet. It was the scariest news I had ever heard in my life so far, and I wondered why that man at the market gave us that paper. It didn’t seem like Nat Turner had anything to do with us.
Lawrence kept on reading. “In a cornfield Nat Turner had a vision of blood droplets on the corn and knew it was God preparing him to rise up against his oppressors.”
“What’s oppressors?” Thursday asked.
Ephraim shrugged. “The masters, I reckon. What else does it say?”
Lawrence folded the paper. “Best the women and children not hear any more.”
“Huh.” Althea folded her arms. “Seem to me like there can’t be anything worse than what you already read. Skinning out a man like he was a wild animal. I never heard of such.”
“Go on,” Billy said. “Tell us the rest.”
“It says the whites done killed more than a hundred blacks because of what Nat Turner done. It says some masters made up a new rule, and slaves are not allowed to gather no more.”
“We ought to go,” Ephraim said, “before Missus finds out we had a meeting. After news like this, she and the mister sure to keep a close watch on us. For a while, anyways.” He held out his hand. “Give me that paper.”
Lawrence handed it over. Ephraim tore it into little pieces and threw them into the fire, which just about killed me. I had counted on reading it all for myself.
People stirred and started leaving in twos and threes so as not to attract too much attention from the house. Ephraim held up his hand. “Anybody asks you if you heard of Nat Turner, you better say no.”
I sure hoped Missus wouldn’t ask me, because the Bible says not to tell a lie. But what if you had to, to hang on to whatever kind of a life you had?
Nathaniel handed Cissy to his mauma and climbed down after her. This time he didn’t stop to stick out his tongue at me or anything. I guess he was scared too.
After a while it was just Mauma and Daddy and me. Mauma took me on her lap and held me real close. “You all right?”
“Yessum.”
“You hear what Ephraim said about not telling nobody about tonight?”
“I heard.”
“It’s important, Selina. Don’t forget and let it slip. If you do, we won’t be allowed to go to the market anymore.”
Daddy got up and put on his shoes and shuffled outside to the outhouse.
“I don’t want you studyin’ on this Nat Turner business no more,” Mauma said. “It was terrible, but it’s over and done.” She took my chin in her hands. “If anybody asks, you say you don’t know anything.”
I remembered a story Althea told me one time about a man who never lied. The king tried to trick him but the man told the truth, and the king figured out that a wise man always tells the truth.
“But, Mauma, what if Missus asks me?”
Mauma didn’t answer me. Her face went smooth as stone. After a minute she said, “I got some good news. I was up to the house yesterday when Daniel come in with the mail. Missus got a letter from Miss Mary and tore it open then and there. Miss Mary and her new husband is coming home for Christmas.”
10 | MARY
Daniel met us at the river landing with the carriage, a red scarf draped jauntily about his neck and a sprig of holly tucked into his hatband. “Miss Mary. Sho is good to have you back to home. Arlington just ain’t the same without you.”
“I’m glad to be home.” I handed him my traveling satchel. “How are you, Daniel? How is your little boy?”
“He had the croup awhile back, but he seem to be right as rain these days.” Daniel grinned. “The thought of Christmas coming perked him right up.”
“Me too.”
Daniel looked around. “Where’s Cassie?”
“Staying at Fort Monroe. Captain Talcott’s nieces are ailing, and their mother needed an extra pair of hands. Cassie has grown fond of them and asked my permission to stay.”
Daniel hoisted the last of our bags into the carriage and held open the door. “Is that ever’thing, Mist’ Robert?”
“All but the horse and bridle, Daniel.” Robert’s cheeks were pink with cold, and his dark eyes shone with the same excitement I felt at being home.
“Sir?”
“A joke. Because Mrs. Lee has seen fit to bring so many trunks on this trip.” Robert helped me into the carriage and scooted in next to me. “Drive on.”
Daniel spoke to the horses, and we turned for home. Though I had been absent for only six months, the sight of it evoked so many pleasant memories of winters past that my throat tightened. “I wish it would snow so we could go sledding. Do you remember that year when—”
“I do.” Robert leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I remember what happened later too. In the storeroom.”
I blushed at the memory.
He laughed. “Oh me. Stolen kisses, Miss Molly. Weren’t they sweet, though? Perhaps I ought to steal one now.”
“Behave yourself, Lieutenant. There will be plenty of time for kisses. If I know Papa, he has seen to it that there is mistletoe hanging from every arch and lantern on the place.”
A few minutes later we were home. Leaving Daniel to deal with the trunks, Robert and I went to the door. Old Peter greeted us warmly and waved us inside. Mother rushed over, wearing a new green dress and the gentle, sweet smile that had sustained me all my life, but she seemed much older than when I had left her only six months earlier. Her skin bore deeper wrinkles, and there was a tiredness in her eyes.
She clasped my hands and kissed my cheeks. “Mary Anna. You’re home. And dear Robert. How are you, Cousin?”
“Never better.” Robert shucked out of his coat and handed it to Peter. “Marriage to your daughter agrees with me.”
Daniel came in, staggering beneath the weight of our bags. Mother sent him up to the room where Robert and I had spent our first nights as husband and wife. I pulled off my coat and gloves, and we went into the parlor where a fire blazed. Mother motioned us to sit before the fire and poured from my great-grandmother’s teapot. “Your papa has been waiting most impatiently for your arrival.”
“Where is he anyway?” I looked around at the banks of ivy, holly, and myrtle decorating the mantel. A ball of mistletoe hung suspended from a red satin ribbon, just where I expected to find it. “I see he had the greens brought in.”
“Yes. We had a long spell of wet weather earlier, and he wanted to take advantage of a dry day to get it all cut and arranged.” Mother poured herself some tea. “He is in his study at the moment, wrestling with some verse or the other. I should let him know you’ve arrived.”
“Stay by the fire, Mother. I know the way to the study.”
Robert stood as I did. “Take your time, Molly. I’m happy to keep Mother company while you and your papa catch up on the news.”
I went down the hall to Papa’s study and knocked once.
“Come in.”
He looked up from his desk. “Ah. Mary Anna.”
“I am home, Papa.”
“So you are. Come let me look at you.” He stood and twirled me around. “None the w
orse for your six months at Fortress Monroe without your papa.”
“And you are none the worse either.” I kissed his cheek and noticed a rip in the seam of his shirt. Smudges of ink and cat hair covered the knees of his trousers. Those who criticized my lack of attention to fashion and tidiness might well look to my father for blame. But I found his rumpled appearance endearing. He was a man of many interests and gifts, too busy with his artistic pursuits to give much thought to his wardrobe. The walls of his study were lined with pictures and illustrations done by his own hand. The bookshelves held copies of his original plays and musical compositions.
I loved his lively mind, his lack of pretension, and the absolute self-possession with which he moved through our cloistered little world. “Mother wrote to me that The Rail Road was well received.”
“It was indeed a successful little play. I hope to mount a production in Philadelphia next year. I am much encouraged to begin work on another very soon.”
I noticed a large canvas propped against the far wall. “And what is this?”
“A new painting for the Washington centennial next year.”
I studied the outline of the large figure dominating the canvas. “Mother said you are composing a new verse for that occasion as well.”
“That is my intent, but I confess I have not progressed very far.”
“May I read it?”
“I have spent the morning wrestling with words, and all I have to show for it is the title.”
He handed me a sheet of paper written in his curlicued hand. Lines written for the Centennial Anniversary of the Birth of George Washington Feb 22, 1832. By George Washington Parke Custis of Arlington.
“I’m certain it will be wonderful, Papa, and a fitting tribute to your stepgrandfather.”
He set aside his paper. “After I’m gone you must look to the preservation of all things Washington.”
“I will do my best.”
“They are very dear to this family, but they belong to our country too, Mary Anna. No one must be allowed to forget him.”
