Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray

by Dorothy Love

  “No. He is well, and as busy as ever.”

  “We ought to get started soon. I’ll send Kitty up later to pack a bag for you.”

  “I won’t leave without my children.”

  I did not doubt that Eleanor would look after them, but my heart ached at the prospect of parting for who knew how long. I worried that if I did not recover they would not even remember me.

  At last Mother relented and sent Kitty to pack their things. Mother helped me dress, but I was so weak with fever and rattled with chills that she didn’t bother with my hair. Daniel came upstairs and carried me down to the carriage.

  The ten-mile journey to Ravensworth seemed endless. The road rose and dipped, the carriage was cramped and drafty. The children grew tired and restless. Mee woke and began to fuss, and nothing Kitty or Nurse could do would comfort her. We arrived late in the afternoon. I was given a room at the front of the house overlooking Aunt Maria’s garden, but I was too weak and too disheartened by Robert’s scolding letter to enjoy the view of the summer roses blooming there.

  The next day I woke to stiffness and searing pains in my legs. My fever had not yet broken. To my family I confided my fear that I would die. To my husband I said nothing.

  A doctor opined that I was in the early stages of rheumatism, which did not explain the recurrent fever nor the painful abscesses that had developed on my thighs. He prescribed warm ointments for the abscesses and continued bed rest—as if I had not spent the past three months resting to no avail.

  My birthday came and went without much fanfare. I missed my husband, and in the deepest, loneliest hours of the night I lay awake, fearful that this birthday might well be my last.

  Then one afternoon in early October, I watched from the window as a horse and rider thundered onto the road. Even from far away I knew it was Robert. No one else sat a horse quite the way he did.

  He had been away for five months, but I was too weak to get out of bed to greet him. I had been feverish for days. I hadn’t had a decent bath in weeks. I smelled of sweat and ointment, and my hair was in knots. Such was my appearance when Robert rushed into my room. He blanched when he saw me.

  “Dear Mary.” He crossed the room and drew a chair next to my bed. “I got home this morning and your father said you all were here.” His voice broke. “I had no idea you were so ill. You never said a word.”

  “I did not wish to become an aggravation, nor to encourage you in the dereliction of your duty merely because I am at death’s door.”

  He had the grace to blush. “I never would have lectured you so had I known how sick you are. And I missed your birthday too. I have not been the husband you deserve, Molly.”

  “Have you seen the children?”

  “Not yet. They are still asleep.” He got up and began to pace. “What do the doctors say?”

  I gave him the report.

  “Can you travel? I want to take you home. Consult with a different doctor. I cannot accept that you will not get well.”

  Robert was an engineer. His job was solving problems, and he saw my illness as another challenge to be worked out in a methodical and orderly fashion. He consulted with my mother. Our children and servants were readied for travel. In short order he called for a wagon, onto which he loaded my bed, and we traveled home.

  The new doctor tried purifying my blood by the application of leeches and by placing heated glass cups on my skin. He prescribed other treatments too unpleasant to recount, yet by mid-November I was still barely well enough to take light nourishment while sitting up in bed.

  Then my fever broke, and Robert brought in our children. Mee was nearly four months old, and I had scarcely seen her in that time. Robert placed her in my arms and she looked up at me, so solemn and curious, as if to ask where I had been.

  Boo climbed onto my bed with the new top his father had brought for him. “Look, Mama. It spins fast.”

  “My goodness, it certainly does. Did you say thank you to Papa for such a fine present?”

  “Yes, Mama.” Boo patted my sleeve. “I was scared when you were sick. I didn’t cry very much, though. But Mee did. Mee cries all the time.”

  “You were very brave, dearest. I’m proud of you.”

  “I know it. You should get up so we can go play in the garden.”

  “Careful, Boo,” Robert said. “We mustn’t tire your mother overmuch.”

  Boo held his toy to his chest. “When will it be Christmas?”

  The mere thought of the holiday that required so much effort left me feeling exhausted. For Boo’s sake I tried to eat more, in hopes of regaining my strength in time for the festivities. But that year I passed the holiday tucked into Papa’s chair, too listless to do more than attempt a few bites of the Christmas feast.

  Too, the prospect of yet another separation from Robert when I was still so unwell filled me with dread. Robert’s old boss at Fortress Monroe had left the army, and I hoped that Captain Talcott would encourage my husband to follow suit. The children were growing so fast. They needed their father. I needed him too.

  But I would never give voice to my feelings. Robert’s commitment to duty above all else ran bone-deep in him. I knew what he wanted and what he required of me, and I would not disappoint him.

  Our rector at Christ Church prevailed upon Mother to invite one of the seminary students to give the Sunday evening chapel service at Arlington. I was in my bedroom dressing for the occasion when Selina peeked in. At twelve years of age she was on the cusp of womanhood, a sturdy and dependable young girl with a sense of humor she usually kept hidden.

  “You going to preaching, Miss Mary?”

  I took a second pair of woolen stockings from my bureau. “I can’t very well require others to brave the cold while I sit in comfort beside the fire.” I bent to pull on my stocking and winced as rheumatic pain seized me.

  Selina stepped into the room. “You need help?”

  As annoying as it was to admit it, I did need help, and I sat back on the edge of the bed. Selina knelt in front of me and rolled my stocking.

  “If you’re asking me, you ought to stay inside tonight. You know it’s gone be cold as the grave in the chapel. Hold your foot up.”

  I raised my foot and she tugged my stocking over my knee.

  “Give me the other foot.”

  I did so, and Selina glanced around the room. “You want a jacket to go under your coat?”

  “Yes.”

  Ten minutes later, swathed in so many layers I could barely move, I descended the staircase with Selina and went into the parlor where Mother waited.

  “Selina. There you are.” Mother looked up from her book. “I can’t seem to find the gravy boat. Have you seen it?”

  “Yessum. It had to soak awhile after breakfast, but I washed it up and put it back on the sideboard.”

  Mother nodded and glanced at the clock. “I suppose we ought to start for the chapel.” She went to the door and rang her bell, and everyone gathered on the path.

  It was a short walk, but very cold. The air was sharp and smelled of ice. The purple shadows of evening tinged the patches of snow still lying in the low places.

  Mother shivered. “I do hope this young preacher makes short work of the service. I can’t remember the last time I felt so cold.”

  Selina grinned up at me. “Maybe his fiery sermon will warm things up.”

  Mother frowned, but I couldn’t help laughing.

  We went inside the chapel and took our seats. The pale-faced preacher, who introduced himself as Mr. Simmons, got right down to business, reading from his Bible in a strong, steady voice. I glanced around to find the Binghams, the Norrises, the Parkses in their usual places. Then I noticed a young man sitting alone in the back seemingly transfixed, his bare hands gripping the back of the bench in front of him.

  Just as we rose for the singing of the children’s hymn, the door blew open, letting in a blast of frigid air. The preacher delivered a very hasty benediction.

  The servan
ts made for the door, eager to return to the warmth of their fires. Selina waved to me and left with her parents. Mr. Simmons sought out Mother to thank her for the chance to hone his skills, and after a quick word with him I tucked my Bible away and started for home.

  The young man I had seen earlier followed me outside. “Miss Mary? You may not remember me. William Burke.”

  “William! My goodness. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I’m sixteen now. I reckon I’ve grown some.”

  “Indeed. But still reading, I hope.”

  He laughed, his breath clouding the air. “Everything I can get my hands on. Missus lends me her religious books from time to time.”

  “Dull reading for someone your age. At least I found them so when I was young.”

  “No, ma’am. They aren’t dull to me. I want to be a preacher one day.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ve got a plan to preach outside, like John Wesley did back in the old times. In Missus’s book it says he was the best-loved man in all of England.”

  We reached the back door of the house. Papa had lit the lamps, and yellow light spilled onto the snow. I was ready to go inside but William lingered, his hands in his pockets.

  “I sold the gloves and the scarf I got for Christmas last year,” he said. “A man at the market gave me a goodly sum for them. Reckon in another year I might can have enough to buy a Bible of my own.” His eyes shone in the lambent light. “I never can thank you enough for showing me how to read. It was the best thing anybody has ever done for me. It’s a gift, and I sure don’t want to waste it.”

  His earnestness was so touching I felt tears welling up. “I’m sure you won’t, William.” I handed him my Bible. “Here. It’s yours.”

  He drew back as if he’d been struck. “I thank you kindly, Miss Mary. The Lord sure does move in mysterious ways.”

  “Just don’t let your father find it.”

  William tucked his new treasure inside his coat. “Don’t worry. I got a safe place to keep it.”

  Despite the double layer of stockings, my feet had gone numb in the cold. “I must go.”

  William bobbed his head and disappeared into the night, whistling a tune under his breath.

  12 | SELINA

  By the time little Miss Mee came into the world, I had been learning housekeeping for nearly four years. There was more to it than sweeping and dusting. Take the curtains, for instance. Come spring, we took down the heavy winter drapes, washed and pressed them, and stored them in bags with camphor to keep the moths from eating them. Then we had to wash the windows and put up the summer curtains. Soon as summer packed up and moved out, we had to put up the winter curtains again.

  I learned to polish the woodwork with a soft cloth and beeswax. Make the wood shine like a new moon. Twice a year I scrubbed everything with a bristle brush to get the dirt out, and then I tackled the chandeliers with rags dipped in ammonia.

  Candlesticks and knives and forks and all the other silver things that had belonged to Mister George Washington had to be cleaned and rubbed shiny before putting them back on the sideboard. Missus was forever going on about how the Washington pieces were so important. There was a whale of importance in that room. Besides the silver pieces there were stacks of china dishes and warming plates, and a punch bowl with a sailing ship painted in the bottom of it.

  Januarys, Missus would count up all her belongings. She would hand me paper and a pencil, and we’d start with the china closet. She would tell me what to write.

  “Missing one wineglass,” she would say, and I would write it down. “One glass chimney of a lamp, cracked. One white china teapot, missing. One dinner plate, broken. Two goblets, missing.”

  I had to write fast to keep up with her.

  After that we counted bed linens and the skillets and pans in George’s kitchen. Heaven forbid if they was anything missing. Missus wouldn’t rest until it was all accounted for.

  Besides all the counting up and writing down, I learned where all the different serving pieces supposed to go on the dining table. Charles was the one in charge of the dining room, and he showed me how the bread tray goes between the vegetable platters and how the meat supposed to go at one end with the gravy beside it. Served in a boat. And the soup at the other end of the table, served in a tureen. Boats and tureens looked to me like plain old bowls, but Charles said it was important to know the right names for things, so I learned them.

  Keeping a big house, you need a schedule for everything, and we had one. Mondays for doing the wash, Tuesdays for ironing, Wednesdays for beating the dust out of the carpets, and so on all the way to Sunday, which was a day of rest. More or less.

  Missus had stopped my reading lessons when I turned ten years old because I could read the Bible as well as anybody, and since that was the main reason for teaching me in the first place, there was no need to keep going. She saw how disappointed I was and told me I could borrow the books she kept on a table in the parlor. But to be honest, they were dry as dirt. Most of them were sermons a preacher wrote down and put into a book. I liked preaching well enough, but not a steady diet of it. I wanted stories about pirates or the Wild West. Something with a little more excitement to it than a “Treatise upon the Lessons of Saint Paul” or whoever. I still had the book Miss Mary gave me for Christmas, but those stories were for little children and not for a girl about to turn thirteen.

  On the day Miss Mary’s little daughter, Mee, was born, it was July and hotter than blue blazes. Breathing was like taking in air through a wet blanket. It was a Sunday—supposed to be a day of rest—but Missus kept me busy all morning going up and down the stairs fetching water and linens and liniments and such. The door to the birthing room was shut up tight. I could hear voices in there, Old Nurse and Missus cooing like doves to Miss Mary, who was having a bad time of it, judging from the way she was moaning and crying.

  I knew what was happening in that room, and I was partly scared and partly curious. I had got my nature just a few months before, and Mauma, who was waiting for the birthing of her own baby, had sat me down and told me where babies come from and how they get to the outside world. It didn’t sound like anything I wanted to try.

  Soon as I finished fetching and toting for Missus, I went outside and headed for the summer kitchen. The ground was so hot it scorched the bottoms of my feet. Down in the woods the crows were cawing and the dogs had set up a ruckus. I could smell some of George’s tea cakes from clear across the yard. Sure enough there was a pan of them cooling on the sill. I took a couple and got me a gourd and went to get some water from the well. Mauma called it the sweet water of Arlington. There was nothing that could take the heat out of you like a long drink of that pure, cool water.

  “Selina Norris.”

  I spun around so fast that my tea cakes plopped into the dirt.

  The stable boy stood there grinning at me. Thornton Gray wasn’t much older than me, but he was taller, and thin as a rake. He smelled like hay and leather and horses. His hair was straight and his face was broad until you got down to his chin, which came to a sharp point.

  Thornton would tell anybody who would listen that his people was Indians and he was planning to head out West just soon as he was free. We didn’t talk too much, me and Thornton, because he usually sneaked away from Sunday night preaching, and during the week he was busy sunup to sundown helping with the horses and the carriages, or else helping the men with the planting. And I was up at the house with my beeswax and candlesticks.

  “What do you want, Thornton Gray?”

  “I was going to ask for one of them tea cakes.” He looked down at them, just about as sad as if he was on his way to a burying. “But not now.”

  I filled my water gourd and took another long drink.

  Thornton shook the dust off his bare feet. “Can I at least have some water?”

  I handed him the gourd. “How come you’re not down at the stables with Daniel?”

  “Too hot in there right now
.”

  “You better not let Missus see you standing here doing nothing. She says we must practice great industry at all times.”

  He filled the gourd and drank it empty again. “Industry. What a word.”

  “It means we are supposed to stay busy all the time. Because idleness is the devil’s workshop.”

  He laughed, showing perfect teeth. “Missus ain’t never seen a workshop in all her born days. And anyway, why don’t she just say busy?”

  “White people like big words, I reckon. I wouldn’t mind knowing more of them.”

  “More white folks?”

  “Don’t act dumb. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He filled the gourd again. “Everybody says you the best reader on the place.”

  It surprised me, how much his words pleased me. My stomach dipped and rose like a rowboat in big waves. “I guess so.”

  “You a pretty girl too,” he said. “Be even prettier if you wasn’t frowning all the time.”

  “I don’t frown.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “How would you know what I do? You don’t even stay to preaching on Sundays.”

  “I might, if you would sit with me.”

  There went that dip in my stomach again.

  Just then Kitty come running from the house. “Selina, Missus looking all over for you. Miss Mary’s baby has come, and we got to wash up her bedsheets.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Girl. Now she and Mister Robert got them one of each. A matched set, Missus says.”

  Thornton headed back to the stables. “Next Sunday night, Selina.”

  Kitty glanced at him over her shoulder. “What’s he want?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Huh. Boys always want something.”

  When we got to the back door I stole a look toward the stables, but Thornton was already gone. We went inside and finished everything Missus told us to do. I wanted to see the baby, but Missus said not to disturb Miss Mary, so I went on about my business.

  As it turned out, I didn’t see much of Miss Mary for a long time because she come down sick in August and Missus packed up and took her and her babies away. They didn’t come back until the leaves were gone from the trees and the frost had turned the garden to a brown mess. Then there was quite the commotion: doctors coming and going and Mister Robert pacing and frowning and the little boy, Boo, crying for his mama and she was too sick to pay attention.