by Dorothy Love
“Maybe you ought to take Daughter and join them.” I eyed Mee. “She seems to have little use for her mother’s company this morning.”
Mee brightened. “Can Kitty take me swimming?”
“She may not. Go along now, and behave yourself. If you can.”
With Annie asleep on my shoulder, I walked to the window and watched Kitty and Mee crossing the yard behind the house. In addition to Kitty and Rose, who helped with the house and with my personal needs, we had brought Jim along to look after Robert’s horses and our carriage. He was proving to be an excellent companion for my growing sons. Jim had made a swing for the children, and now the boys were taking turns on it. Custis was nearly ten, Rooney was four, and they were in constant motion from morning until night, when they finally settled with their father and me for reading and evening prayers.
I was pleased to have a spacious house all to ourselves, the yard for the amusement of my children, and a garden for planting the seeds and cuttings Mother sent from home. There was a beach nearby, and on my walks around Fort Hamilton I watched ships coming and going from New York Harbor. Looking out over the pastoral neighborhoods of Brooklyn, it was difficult to believe that the bustle of New York City, with its endless array of fashionable shops, lay just a few miles away. Though Robert’s military salary was modest, it was enough to indulge my occasional forays into those shops, where I had already purchased beautiful dresses for my daughters and my mother.
On this blue and gold September day, however, there was no time for walking or shopping. The week before, Mother had requested that I write letters to several of our cousins and acquaintances urging their support of our resettlement efforts.
I eased the sleeping Annie onto the settee, sat at my desk with paper and pen, and unfolded the list Mother had sent. Among the Fitzhughs and Williamses and Turners I spotted the name of Mrs. Pinckney, the woman who at my wedding ten years earlier had offered to buy the carved ivory box my father had just given me. I couldn’t imagine that such an acquisitive woman would be sympathetic to the cause, but I penned a note and added it to the stack with the others.
I wrote straight through the day until Rose came in at three to tell me dinner was ready.
“Guess what, Mama?” Custis said as soon as we were seated at the table. “Jim made us a swing.”
“I saw it from the window this morning. It looks like the most fun.”
“It is fun,” Rooney said. “Jim pushed me higher and higher. I went higher than Mee.”
“Oh, Rooney, you did not,” Daughter said, picking up her glass of milk.
“What about you, Custis?” I worried constantly about my elder son. I wanted him to have the same carefree childhood I had enjoyed, but he seemed always to be serious and preoccupied.
“I swung once or twice, but then I let Mee have my turns. She’s younger than me.”
“That was kind of you, son. But there is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself.” I took a bite of Rose’s excellent apple pie. “You ought to have fun while you can. Your formal schooling will begin soon, and then you won’t have as much time for leisure.”
“I don’t know why you can’t keep teaching me, Mama.”
“Well, my precious child, for one thing I am not very good at mathematics.”
“Maybe you take after Grandpapa. He says he was not any good at it either. He says President Washington worried about it all the time.” Custis buttered his biscuit. “Did Grandpapa worry about you?”
“No. But I was not expected to excel in the same subjects as boys. I was more interested in art and books and riding my horses anyway.” Rose appeared to refill my water glass. “I suppose that’s why to this day I’m not very fast at numbers.”
“But Papa is. He can teach me. And then I could stay right here.”
“Are you worried about leaving home and going away to school?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I guess so.”
“Fairfax is not so far from Arlington. You will be home often.”
“If I were going away I would not be the least bit worried,” Daughter said, finishing her second slice of pie. “I think it would be wonderful. When I grow up I am going to travel all over the world and never come back to Virginia.”
She cast a defiant look my way, undoubtedly seeking a reaction.
I waited for Rose to clear the table before replying.
“We will miss you, Daughter. But no doubt you will see many exciting things. You must write to us and tell us all about your travels.”
She pushed back from the table. “Since you won’t take us swimming, I am going up to my room.”
“Mama, may Rooney and I go back outside?” Custis asked. “Jim said he would show us the hayloft.”
“Rooney needs his nap, but you may play until your father gets home.”
Custis grabbed his cap and ran outside. Kitty came in and took charge of Rooney and the still-sleeping Annie.
I poured a cup of tea and retreated to my desk, where I finished my correspondence and then opened a packet of notes and clippings from my father’s collection. Work on his book had progressed only in fits and starts over many years, and I had no idea when it would finally be finished. But I enjoyed the peek into the lives of my ancestors. Among them was a woman called Sorrowful Margaret. I was curious about her and pored over Papa’s old papers, searching for more of her story.
An hour later a carriage rolled into the yard. A tall, red-haired woman in a straw hat and a yellow calico dress emerged, made her way to the door, and rang the bell. I hurried to answer before another buzz should awaken my sleeping children.
“Mrs. Lee?” Bright blue eyes appraised my ink-stained fingers and hastily pinned hair.
“Yes?”
“I’m Ellen Wilcox. I live in the yellow house at the end of the road. I ought to have come earlier to welcome you, but I understand you have a large family and I thought perhaps I should give you time to settle in.”
I was surprised at how much her call pleased me. I’d had little time for socializing, especially since Agnes’s birth and our move to Fort Hamilton.
“Please come in.” Grateful that Rose had dusted the tables and swept the floors just that morning, I led my guest into the parlor. “Would you care for tea?”
“Oh, my dear, please don’t trouble yourself. I’m certain you are busy enough looking after your family. Four young children, I hear?” Mrs. Wilcox settled onto the settee.
“Five. I have an infant daughter.”
“My heavens. How do you have time to breathe?”
“My servants are indispensible to me.”
Rose bustled in and stopped short when she saw my guest. “Oh, Missus. I didn’t know you had comp’ny.”
“What is it, Rose?”
“I was wanting to know what you want me to fix for Mr. Robert’s supper this evening. I meant to ask you this morning after prayers, but it slipped my mind.” She backed toward the door. “It can wait, though.”
Mrs. Wilcox watched her go, and it seemed to me the air suddenly chilled. “I wasn’t aware that you kept slaves, Mrs. Lee. I think you’ll find that few New Yorkers approve of the practice.”
“It is an unfortunate necessity, but both my mother and I have devoted much energy toward their eventual emancipation.”
“Eventual? Why not now? Why perpetuate a cruel and inhumane system that cannot possibly stand?”
I was momentarily stunned at her lack of good breeding. No one I knew would dare pay a social call and then proceed to criticize the hostess. In her own parlor! It was true that on the plantations in the Deep South, unspeakable cruelties were inflicted upon those in bondage. The thought of it shamed and sickened me. But Arlington was more akin to a country estate than to a plantation, and my father demanded far too little of his servants, to his own detriment. He asked nothing more of them than to support themselves by growing their own gardens, and to assist in the upkeep of the house and grounds. Their lack of productivity was the chief reason he was al
ways in debt.
And as it happened, Cassie, who had accompanied Robert and me to Fortress Monroe when we were first wed, had been emancipated along with her husband, Louis. My father rarely explained himself to me or to anyone, and I had no idea what had prompted him to let Cassie go. Cassie and Louis had come to New York to seek their fortunes. But I was disinclined to explain any of this to my ungracious caller, or to make of them an example to defend myself against her disapproval.
“I cannot expect you to understand a situation with which you seem to have no experience, Mrs. Wilcox. Perhaps we shall have to agree to disagree on this point.”
She got to her feet and fussed with her straw hat. “Perhaps you are right. I must go.”
I walked her to the porch and stood there while she climbed into her carriage and rode away.
Then Robert arrived, looking preoccupied, and went straight to the parlor with his paper and pen. I couldn’t know whether he was working out some engineering problem or stewing over some political issue. He would tell me in his own time.
Rose came in to announce supper. Custis, Daughter, and Rooney took their places at the table and bowed their heads as Robert blessed our meal. Then came the best part of my day, when my children got to see their father, who always was full of playful affection and kindly advice. Between bites of Rose’s beef pie, Robert quizzed Custis about his reading, teased Daughter about sewing for him, and listened to Rooney’s detailed description of a lizard he had found in the grasses near the swing.
Dessert was served. Robert finished the last of his pie and leaned over to ruffle Rooney’s hair. “Want to play cowboys and Indians?”
“Yes!” Rooney jumped up, nearly overturning his water glass. “I’ll race you to the parlor, Papa!”
Robert laughed and let his son win the race. Soon my husband was on all fours with Rooney on his back. Custis hid behind the curtains, drawing an imaginary bow against the cowboy and his horse.
Mee and I were alone at the table. “Daughter, don’t you want to join the game?”
“No, it’s silly. And besides, it’s a boys’ game.”
“Want to walk with me down to the stable to see Kate?”
“She is your horse, not mine. I want a pony of my own.”
“I know you do. Perhaps we will get one while we are posted here.” I retied the blue satin ribbon that had come loose from her braid.
From the parlor came a loud yell and a thump. Custis ran into the dining room. “Mama, Rooney fell off Papa’s back and hit his head.”
“Is there any blood?” Daughter’s voice held an unmistakable note of hope.
“Nope, Rooney’s fine. Papa says he needs a cold compress.”
I got a basin and a towel and went into the parlor. Robert was holding Rooney on his lap and rubbing our son’s back. “He’s all right, Mary. Just a bump on his forehead.”
Together we soothed Rooney. Custis went in search of Kitty, who soon returned to get all of the children ready for bed.
Robert kissed each of his children in turn. His tenderness with them brought a lump to my throat. I counted myself lucky, for no father anywhere on earth was more attentive to his children or more earnestly concerned with their welfare.
The children went upstairs with Kitty. Robert and I settled in the parlor, I with my knitting, he with his book. He took a letter from his pocket. “I almost forgot to give you this.”
I opened Mother’s letter and read it, first with eagerness and then with dismay. I handed it to Robert. “She says they can’t afford a visit this autumn after all.”
He scanned the letter for himself and handed it back. “I’m sorry Father is in such dire circumstances. He ought to find a way to make Arlington pay for itself. White House and Romancoke are self-sufficient. I fail to see why Arlington must remain in such poor financial shape.”
“White House and Romancoke are working farms. Papa never intended Arlington to be anything other than a place to entertain and to show off the Mount Vernon treasures.”
“But something must be done to satisfy the creditors and keep the house going.”
“I agree. What do you suggest?”
“The servants must become more disciplined and productive. More acreage ought to be placed under cultivation. Winter wheat and corn have done well. Father ought to try livestock production.”
“He tried sheep farming once. It was a disaster. But we must think of something.”
“I can do little besides offer my opinion. If it is asked.” Robert closed his book and placed it on the side table. “If only I had twenty thousand a year, I could put everything in tip-top shape.”
“If we had that kind of money, this entire conversation would be moot.”
“I suppose.”
“Is everything all right? You seemed preoccupied when you arrived home this evening.”
“Just the usual aggravations that come with the job of post engineer. I had hoped the mapping of the coastal fortifications would be completed by now. And there has been another delay in the funding for dredging the sand bars.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. President Tyler cannot seem to get along with anyone, even with the members of his own party. I would rather not see the government fractured at a time when we have so much potential for progress.”
“Perhaps his cabinet can talk some sense into him.”
“One can only hope. Will you forgive me, Mary? I find that I am too tired for reading after all.”
“I will be up soon.”
He kissed my cheek and made his way upstairs.
I turned up the lamp and resumed my knitting, thankful that I had not mentioned the intense pain that had been building in my legs all day. Though Robert hadn’t said so, I knew he worried about the future of his military career if the government could not agree upon its priorities. He rarely spoke of his unfinished work on the Mississippi River, but it pained him to leave any task undone. To remind him of my infirmities would only increase his unhappiness, and I would not add the weight of a single feather to his burdens.
Upstairs my family settled for the night. I heard Rooney giggling and the sound of the windows being closed for the evening. It was getting late, but I was too unsettled by worries about Papa’s finances and Robert’s career to think of sleep. And Mrs. Wilcox’s reminder of the thousands of the enslaved in the Deep South—for whom whips and chains were as much a part of every day as air and sunlight—sorely troubled me.
What could my meager efforts for the Colonization Society really accomplish? I could raise money from daylight to dark and it would never be enough to save all of the poor wretched souls who languished in bondage. For all our good intentions, sending a few hundred freedmen to Liberia each year was like spitting into the ocean. Still, if I could give even one family a chance for a better life, wasn’t it worth trying?
The stairs creaked and Robert, his hair tousled and his eyes heavy with sleep, peered into the parlor. “You’re still up.”
“Too many problems on my mind.”
“Mine too. But we can’t solve them tonight. Come to bed, Molly.”
He held out his hand. I took it and together we ascended the stairs.
18 | SELINA
1844
I stayed so busy helping Missus with the dusting and polishing that I forgot all about my birthday until Thornton Gray grabbed me by the hand. He led me to a remote part of the garden and pressed me up against the brick wall of the carriage house, which was still warm from the sun. Darkness was gaining on the late-autumn sky, but a thread of sunlight came in through the trees.
Thornton kissed me—not for the first time—and put a book into my hands. “This is for you.”
It was pretty. On its red cover was an illustration of a flower and the word Poems in gold letters. I will say this: that boy knew the way to my heart. Reading was a kind of enchantment that came over me whenever I had time for a book. Sometimes a story was the only thing that made it possible to keep going.
“Where did
you get this?” was all I could think of to say.
He still was holding on to my hand. “Mister Custis let me keep a little from the extra hauling I did for him. You twenty-one now. I thought you ought to have something special.”
Twenty-one. In some ways it didn’t seem like I had been on earth for that many years. I thought about getting older only when I saw how gray my mauma and daddy were getting to be and how big Wesley was growing. He was twelve now and tall as Daddy. Our little sister, Mary, was right behind him.
“Got something to ask you,” Thornton said.
I knew what it was he was fixing to ask, but I said, “What is it?”
He leaned against the wall beside me, and we looked out at the sky. Pale stars came out, shivering in the purple sky. “I reckon we ought to go on and get married.”
“That is not a question.”
He laughed. “You know what I mean, Selina. Will you?”
I looked at the clumsy boy who loved me and felt my heart beating too hard. His words were not much of a surprise. I knew from the day he brought me that scrap of lace from the market in town that one day he would want to marry me. But what kind of life could we have, still the property of other people?
I had kept my promise to Mauma not to bring any more copies of the Liberator into our house, but I kept my ears tuned to the conversations in the parlor when Missus’s friends and cousins came to call. There was plenty of talk about the Quakers, who were writing in the newspapers calling for slavery to end. In his newspaper, Mister Garrison was still railing at the colonization people who wanted to send us to Africa. Missus said freedom would come one day, and she was worried that we would find out it was nothing like we expected. Where would we live and how would we eat?
I thought about those questions all the time as I was polishing the silver and beating rugs and dusting tables in the parlor. I remembered the summer I was ten years old and Peter, who was in charge of letting people in and out the door of the house, told us after preaching one night that Mister Custis had set Maria Syphax free. And gave her some Arlington land and a house besides.
