by Dorothy Love
Late on Christmas afternoon, the overseer came by with a rabbit he had shot, and we fixed it for dinner. I was glad for my children to have something besides corn pone and sweet potatoes, but one rabbit couldn’t turn the day into any kind of a happy occasion. Word had come that Thornton had gone to Romancoke, and I wasn’t sure when I would see him again. I didn’t know where Miss Mary was either.
Two weeks later I was outside getting some wood for the fire. Snow was coming down hard enough to cover the bare patches in the yard and soften the edges of the stables and abandoned slave cabins. Darkness was gaining on a winter sky the color of a wet stone. I picked up the sticks of firewood and started back to the cabin.
Mister McQuinn appeared out of the white mist and shoved a paper into my hands. “Christmas present from General Lee.”
I set down my burden and unfolded the paper.
Know all men by these presents that I, Robert Edward Lee, executor of the last will and testament of George Washington Parke Custis, deceased, acting by and under authority and direction of the said will, do hereby manumit and forever set free from slavery the following named slaves belonging to the Arlington estate.
My hands shook so hard the words wouldn’t stay still on the paper. I leaned against the woodpile to steady myself.
George Clark, Charles Syphax, Selina Gray and Thornton Gray and their six children . . .
My knees would hardly hold me up. My eyes traveled with great speed down the page.
Margaret Taylor and her four children, Lawrence Parks and his nine children . . . Julie Ann Clark and her three children. Sally Norris and Len Norris and their three children Mary, Sallie, and Wesley . . .
My parents, and my brother and sister who had run away and been flogged for it . . . they were free, thanks be to God and all the angels and General Lee.
The Binghams—their names were written down too, on this glorious piece of paper more precious than gold. I wondered where they were and if they knew they were free.
I brushed the snowflakes off the paper and kept on reading. The second page had a list of Mister Custis’s slaves from his other places—White House and Romancoke—and at the bottom the general had signed his name with his seal and the date: December 29, 1862.
“It means you are no longer in bondage.” The overseer flapped his hands. “You’re free as a bird.”
“I know it. I can read.”
“You can leave here whenever you take a notion to. You and your children.” He bent his head against the cold and left me alone in the snowy yard.
Forever free. I folded the letter into my pocket and stood there in the pure silver light of that winter’s night while the news sank in. Maybe it was the wind and the snow that burned my eyes until everything was a wet blur. But I don’t know.
Maybe it was tears.
36 | MARY
1862
Mama.” Mildred glared at me as we climbed into the carriage, her sweet young face the very picture of mutiny. “Must we move yet again?”
Mary Custis settled herself opposite me and rolled her eyes at her youngest sister. “Why, no, Mildred Childe, it isn’t at all necessary. It’s just that it’s such great fun playing hide-and-seek with the Union army.”
My head pounded and my stomach roiled. “Mary Custis, please. The situation is distressing enough without your sarcasm. Show a little compassion.”
In July, the Battle of Manassas and constant rumors of troop movements near Aunt Maria’s house had forced us farther north and east, to Kinloch. Union troops lined the roads, battlements sprang up amid the greening meadows, sentries guarded bridges. Danger waited around every corner. I worried constantly for my husband and children, and for Selina and her family, at the mercy of the Yankee soldiers who had overrun my home. A thousand times I wished I could have sent her to a place of safety, but no place was safe.
Cousin Elizabeth and Thomas came out to see us off.
“Be careful, Mary,” Thomas said. “And keep an eye out for our Charles. Kinloch seems empty when my children are running hither and yon.”
My own family was scattered to the four winds. Annie had gone to the Wickhams’ at Hickory Hill with Rooney’s wife, Charlotte, and my little grandson. Agnes was in Richmond staying with Mrs. Warwick, a friend of the general’s. And Custis was ordered to North Carolina.
Elizabeth passed a basket through the open carriage window. “Take this, Mary. It will tide you over until you reach your aunt Eleanor’s.”
The carriage lurched, and we turned our eyes toward Audley, with its sad memories of Cousin Lorenzo. Once we were settled there, friends of Aunt Nelly’s who lived nearby came to call, bringing news and greetings from other of my acquaintances who could not travel. I worried constantly about what was happening at Arlington. Was Selina all right? I hadn’t heard from her in months. Were the Washington treasures still safe?
And most of all, what was happening with Robert? I lived for his letters. In early August a letter came, written from the town of Huntersville.
I returned here yesterday, dearest Mary, to visit this portion of the army . . . The soldiers everywhere are sick. The measles are prevalent throughout the whole army and you know that disease leaves unpleasant results, attacks on the lungs, typhoid, etc. etc. especially in camp where the accommodation for the sick is poor. I traveled from Staunton on horseback. A part of the road I passed over in the summer of 1840 on my return to St. Louis after bringing you home. If anyone had told me then that the next time I traveled on that road would have been on my present errand I should have supposed him insane. Give love to Daughter and Mildred. I did not see Rob as I passed through Charlottesville. He was at the University and I could not stop.
Mildred joined me on the porch and peered over my shoulder. “A letter from Papa? Is he well?”
“Yes. Worried about the measles among his men.”
“I received a letter too, but it was written days ago. He says to give love to everyone here, and to tell Sue Washington that her father was sitting on a blanket sewing a strap on his haversack. Papa said Sue ought to be there to do it.” Mildred frowned. “I don’t see why men can’t do their own sewing. After all, we women have to do plenty of their chores while they are gone.”
“And no doubt we shall be called upon to do many more before this war is finished.”
She sat down beside me. “Well, I hope it’s over soon. I am thoroughly tired of being a refugee.”
“We ought to be grateful so many friends and relatives are willing to receive us. These are perilous times, Life.”
“I know it, Mama. But last evening I overheard Mrs. Harrison saying there are terrible rumors about you and Papa. People are speculating about your separation in the papers.” Mildred’s young face clouded. “Mrs. Harrison says the stories are full of the most vile slander. I just want this war to end so we can go home.”
I had seen those papers for myself, but I had hoped to shield an impressionable girl from such ridiculous lies. I poured out my heart to Robert, who replied with his usual calm reasoning.
As to reports you say are afloat about our separation I know nothing. Anyone that can reason must see its necessity under present circumstance. As to the slander with which you say the papers abound, why concern ourselves? They are inserted for no good intention you may be sure.
“Listen to me, Precious Life. There are those who think your father is a traitor to his country, and they cannot refrain from telling all sorts of untruths. We must not let them dampen our spirits. We know the truth, and the truth must suffice.”
“Yes, Mama.” Mildred threw her arms around me. “I knew it wasn’t true. I am sorry they hurt you, though.”
“Well, thank you for that, child.” I gazed out over the yard to the road winding into hills already tinged with autumnal color. “Your papa says we ought to establish ourselves somewhere for the winter. I’m thinking of going to his mother’s house.”
“To Shirley? I haven’t been back since Rooney and Charlotte�
��s wedding. It might be fun to see it again. It’s so lovely and peaceful there.”
“You have your schooling.”
“If the war is still on this fall, I shall not return to school.”
“Oh, yes, you will. Your papa will be deeply disappointed if you don’t finish your studies.”
“But what I am studying for?”
“Knowledge is its own reward.”
“That’s what Charlotte says too.” Mildred released an exaggerated sigh and fluffed her skirts. “I do miss her, and her sweet little baby. And I miss Arlington and my cats. And I miss Papa most of all. It’s awful to have one’s family going every which way.”
“There is no prospect of returning to Arlington just now. Besides, if it’s safe to travel next month I must visit the baths. Rob and Daughter have agreed to take me.”
“Oh. Is your rheumatism bad again?”
It was worse than ever, but I didn’t want to burden Mildred when there was nothing she could do. “Yes, but the hot springs will help. Now go fetch my knitting. I promised some socks to your father.”
As winter closed in I took Agnes and Annie and moved to White House. Charlotte had returned from Hickory Hill with a few servants and my grandson, a bright sunbeam in the midst of so much misery. Mildred returned to school. Daughter left to visit friends in Kent County.
We occupied ourselves with our knitting, with reading and writing letters to my sons and the general. From Savannah the following spring Robert wrote of the blooming of that city’s lush gardens, so perfectly describing the yellow jasmine, redbuds, orange trees, and azaleas that my heart broke for the unseen beauty of my own gardens. I longed for news from Arlington and for word from Selina. But I was a wanderer—a gypsy endlessly on the move. It was unreasonable to expect that her letters could find me.
If not for my grandson I should have fallen even further into despair, but little Robert was so much like my own Rooney at that age that I couldn’t help laughing at his antics. Charlotte, however, was often tearful and driven to distraction. She was a pretty little mouse of a girl with chestnut hair and fair skin, and accustomed to getting her own way. War had brought out her inner strength, but her constant worries for Rooney’s safety stole her energies.
One evening when she seemed particularly done in, I sent for tea and settled her amid the cushions on the parlor sofa. “I am worried about you, Chass. Perhaps you ought to return to Hickory Hill where there are more people to look after you. I can keep the baby with me if it will help.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Mother. Not when your rheumatism is so severe.”
“It is a hindrance, but Lu and Peggy and my girls are here to do the things I can’t do. Surely the five of us can contain one small child.”
“Perhaps. But I could never part from my little boy, even for a day. He is all I have of Rooney for the moment. Besides, there is a good reason for my malaise.” She rested her hand on her middle. “I’m with child again.”
“Are you? Does Rooney know?”
“I haven’t told him yet. He would only fret, and the baby isn’t due till fall.” She drank her tea. “Don’t tell the general yet either. He sees Rooney all the time and he might let the cat out of the bag. I want to be the one to tell Rooney, when the time is right.”
“I shall be quiet as the tomb.”
“Don’t talk about tombs. Not now. It’s bad luck.” Charlotte refilled her cup.
From upstairs came the sound of the baby’s laughter and the pounding of feet along the hallway.
“I’m so glad to have Annie and Agnes with us,” Charlotte said. “Especially Annie. She is so cheerful and full of fun despite her blind eye. I only wish Mary Custis were here. I haven’t seen her in such a long time.”
“She is always off visiting somewhere. Her father worries she may be wearing out her welcome among our friends and family. Her tendency to rely so heavily upon the generosity of others distresses me.”
A knowing smile lit Charlotte’s face. “As does Rooney’s impulsiveness. He has told me so, many times. It’s no secret that you and the general thought we were too young to marry.”
“I’m sure Mr. Wickham had his reservations, too, about a daughter marrying at so early an age.”
“I have always been grateful that you both gave your blessing anyway. Rooney has proved a most satisfactory husband. He is industrious and thoughtful and kind. We have our son. And soon another child. When this war is over we shall be sublimely content.”
Lu, one of the servants, came into the parlor. “Letter for you, Mrs. Lee.”
“Which Mrs. Lee?” Charlotte asked.
“Mrs. General Lee.” Lu handed me the letter. “It just now come for you, Missus. They’s a package come for Miss Agnes too. Reckon I’ll take it on up to her.” She turned toward the door. “Supper’s gone be ready in a little while.”
She left, and Charlotte rearranged her pillows. “Is it from the general? What does it say?”
I scanned the letter. “Northern troops may come up the Pamunkey River to try to take Richmond. He says we should all get out of the way.” I let the letter fall into my lap. “I am thoroughly tired of running.”
“But we must think of the children. We can’t sit here and risk being trapped behind their lines.”
“Of course not.”
I returned to the letter. “He thinks I ought to come to Richmond. He says, ‘I can soon make arrangements for your comfort and shall be very glad of your company.’ ”
“He sounds awfully lonesome,” Charlotte said. “I think it would do him good to have you with him. What do you think, Mother?”
“I must think about it.” I read the last of the letter. “He says to sell the corn and the wheat as soon as it can be harvested.”
“Yes, he wrote me the same last week. I have asked the overseer to take care of it, but who knows whether he will take me seriously. He doesn’t like taking his orders from a mere woman.”
“Nevertheless, you are mistress of White House. If he won’t listen, then we shall be forced to dismiss him.”
“And replace him with whom? Able-bodied men are scarce as hen’s teeth these days.”
Agnes pounded down the stairs and rushed into the parlor. “Guess what? Orton Williams has sent the most charming letter. And he’s sent his Bible for safekeeping.”
Charlotte smiled. “Is it my imagination, or is love in the air?”
Agnes blushed. “He is awfully handsome and just as kind as can be. Don’t you think so, Mama?”
Oh, the high hopes I had for my sweet Agnes. At twenty-one she was at the height of her beauty, an openhearted young woman full of life and promise. Clearly she was smitten, and nothing would have made me happier than a match with Orton.
“I’m going to put his Bible in my trunk.” Agnes fairly floated toward the stairs.
“Supper soon,” I said.
“I’m not hungry,” she sang.
I was still at White House in April when Robert wrote that General McClellan’s forces were on the move and urged me again to leave. There is no telling from what quarters the enemy will proceed, he wrote.
I hated the necessity of abandoning the simple home where George Washington had married my great-grandmother, but I once again packed my things and prepared to depart for Marlbourne. Its owner, Mr. Ruffin, an admirer of my husband’s, had kindly offered to shelter me and the girls.
The carriage came for us on a bright May morning sadly reminiscent of the lovely spring day just one year earlier when I had left Arlington.
The girls climbed into the coach. “Are you ready, Mama?” Annie asked.
“Not quite. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To leave a note for the Northerners.”
Agnes laughed. “I doubt the cretins can read.”
I scribbled the note.
Northern soldiers who profess reverence to Washington: Forbear to desecrate the home of his first married life, the pr
operty of his wife, now owned by her descendants.
I signed it A granddaughter of Mrs. Washington and pinned it to the door.
The driver helped me into the coach.
We drove out of the yard and onto the road. I couldn’t look back, but Annie did, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, I really wish from the bottom of my heart that the Yankees were all in the infernal regions!”
I didn’t bother to chide her, for I could not have agreed more.
37 | MARY
Just months after my departure from White House, General McClellan’s forces stormed the property. They seized the few remaining servants as contraband, pillaged the house, and burned it and the barns to the ground. Some time later I received a note from one of the Northern soldiers professing his protection of the house, but the pile of rubble spoke for itself. I could only pray to live long enough to see a day of retribution.
Even before I learned of its destruction, I wrote to Robert requesting that he make arrangements for me to join him in Richmond. But now I was behind enemy lines and needed an escort to pass through them to the city. Major Roy Mason was dispatched to meet me at General McClellan’s headquarters.
The general was nearly twenty years younger than my fifty-four years, and such a handsome man—thick dark hair, a luxuriant mustache, pleasantly even features—that had I been young and a Yankee woman, I might well have enjoyed his attention.
“I trust you had a comfortable journey, Mrs. Lee.” He bowed slightly and motioned to his aide, who left the room and returned momentarily with a tea tray.
“As comfortable as can be expected under the circumstances.”
He poured a cup of tea for me, but I left it untouched. “My husband has assured me of safe conduct to the Confederate capital.”
“Of course. I thought you might like to rest awhile before you go on.”
“Thank you, but I haven’t seen my husband in more than a year. I should like to continue on as soon as you can manage it.”
He nodded. “I have arranged for a carriage to transport you across the Meadow Bridges. Major Mason will remain with you until you are safely on the other side.”
