Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray

by Dorothy Love

  Once again I wrote to Robert with sad news.

  His letter, written from his camp at Fredericksburg, arrived just as I prepared to leave Richmond for Hickory Hill.

  I have grieved over the death of that little child of so many hopes and so much affection and in whose life so much of the future was centered.

  I felt the loss too. But my family circle was irretrievably broken, shattered beyond repair. Even the news that Robert intended to free all of the Custis servants at the end of the month failed to cheer me. Their freedom had been the chief object of my life’s work, but two years of war and death had rendered me indifferent to joy, numb with grief, and burdened by losses that went too deep for tears.

  February 16, 1863

  Richmond

  My dear husband,

  I am worried to learn you are bogged down in such heavy snow and hate the thought of your suffering, and the toll this winter is taking upon your men and horses. I am pleased to know that George has arrived to cook for you and Perry is still there to look after you. The $8.20 per month that you are paying them ought to enable them to lay up something for themselves.

  No doubt you have heard our government has passed an impressment act allowing for the taking of supplies and the purchase of crops at a negotiated price. Of course there is no way to enforce it, and the rising price of everything here, from corn and flour to meat and salt, has set everyone on edge. In certain quarters there is talk of rebellion, but I cannot imagine it will make any difference, as Governor Letcher and President Davis seem to be blind to the suffering of this poor old city.

  I enclose two pairs of socks. Please use them yourself, my own love, and refrain from giving them away. Every soldier is precious but none more than you, to your countrymen and to your family who cherishes you so.

  Your devoted, MC Lee

  I set aside my letter for posting and took up my needles. I was still running my knitting factory, turning out as many pairs of socks as I could between visits to our sick and wounded soldiers. One day at the end of March, as I sat by the window with my knitting, a woman in a tattered blue dress came rushing up the walk to ring my bell. Agnes let her in.

  “Mrs. General Lee.” Her voice shook when she addressed me. “You don’t know me. My name is Minerva Meredith. My husband works at the ironworks. I’m sorry to barge in here like this, but we need your help. That new law they just passed is starving us to death. Our children are barefoot and in tatters. Something must be done.”

  I could see the desperation in her eyes. But people thought I had more influence than I actually possessed. “I understand, Mrs. Meredith. Everyone is suffering. It isn’t fair. But I don’t know what I can do.”

  “Come to our organizational meeting. It’s tomorrow at the Baptist church in Oregon Hill.”

  Agnes, who had been busy making coffee for our visitor, came into the room. “My mother is hampered by rheumatism, Mrs. Meredith. It won’t do to have her out in this chilly weather. But I will stand in her place.”

  “Agnes, I don’t think it’s wise to—”

  “I know I must be mindful of Papa’s position, but you would go if you were able, and Mrs. Meredith is right. Something must be done.”

  “I will write a note to the governor. But I don’t think—”

  “Oh, bless you, Mrs. Lee,” our visitor said. “He surely will listen to the wife of General Lee. Bless you both.”

  Agnes gave the weeping woman some coffee and sent her home with a few slices of bacon and a cup of flour from our own dwindling stores.

  The next morning dawned warm and fair. Agnes went off to join Mrs. Meredith’s meeting, and as I was not expected at the hospital that day, I found my walking cane and took advantage of the fine weather to post my letter to the governor. I was just returning from the very short walk when I heard a commotion in the streets and Agnes calling for me.

  “Mama! There’s rioting in the streets. Mrs. Meredith organized a march on the governor’s office, but when we got there he wouldn’t come out to see us.”

  She ran up the walk, took my arm, and we went inside.

  “What happened, child?” I sat down and put my cane aside. “I thought Mrs. Meredith would wait for my note to reach Governor Letcher.”

  “The men from the ordnance factory came to the meeting, and they didn’t want to wait another day. So we met at the statue of General Washington and marched over to the governor’s mansion. But he wouldn’t come out, so we left. Mrs. Meredith and Mrs. Jackson and the men started calling out for others to join us. Now they’re raiding the warehouses and the stores, taking food and clothes, shoes, even jewelry. The police are arresting people and taking them off to jail.” Agnes paused for breath. “I knew it would be bad for Papa if I were thrown in jail, so I came home.”

  “That was wise.” I was exhausted just from listening to her account.

  “But I’m not sorry I stood up for them,” Agnes said. “And I’m proud of you, Mama, for writing that letter.”

  “It won’t do any good now, I’m afraid.”

  Agnes collapsed into her chair. “Anyway, it was very frightening, but thrilling in a way. Just wait until I tell Orton.”

  The riots lasted only a few hours, but for weeks following the arrests, everyone in the city was jittery. Letters from Robert had grown even more sporadic, and my sweet Agnes became increasingly despondent, waiting day after day for a letter from Orton.

  By the middle of June the weather had turned fair and warm. Agnes and I took our books and our coffee out to the small garden at the back of the house where a few spindly roses were in bloom. We had just settled down to our reading when a skinny gray kitten wandered in, mewing pitifully.

  Agnes picked her up. “Oh, you poor thing. Mama, this little baby is half starved. I’m going to give her some cream.”

  “If you do, there won’t be any for tomorrow, but go ahead, child, if you want to.”

  Agnes got to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  She went inside and I returned to Les Misérables. I had forgotten the pleasures of reading in French that I had so enjoyed as a girl, and soon I was so absorbed in the story that it was some time before I realized Agnes had not returned.

  Leaning on my walking cane, I got to my feet and went inside. Agnes lay sobbing on the settee, a letter on her lap.

  “Darling, what is it? What’s happened?”

  “Oh, Mama, Orton is dead. He was caught behind enemy lines in Tennessee last week and convicted of spying. The Yankees hanged him.”

  Sorrow for her and hatred for the lawless Yankees boiled in my veins. Agnes clung to me, keening so brokenly that my own tears fell. I thought of Annie. One daughter was dead in body, the other in spirit. I wasn’t certain which was worse.

  38 | SELINA

  1864

  Freedmen’s huts sprang up all over the beautiful grounds of Arlington, and besides that the soldiers had a large military school established there. Nothing looked the way it had in the days when Miss Mary was young, with her children playing at her feet.

  War news came to us almost every day. We heard when General Lee won his big victory at Chancellorsville in the spring of ’63, and we heard the Yankee soldiers cheering in the summer of ’64 when General Sherman burned everything in his path on the way to destroying Atlanta. I had heard little from Miss Mary since she weaved a funeral wreath for her own daughter, but one day in October I received a short letter from Richmond. It was two years since Miss Annie had passed from this earth. Mister Robert was desperately trying to hold back the Yankees, but even Miss Mary could see that the war couldn’t go on much longer.

  I fetched my paper and pencil and sat down to write her back.

  November 8, 1864

  Arlington, VA

  Mrs. Lee,

  I received your letter and was happy to hear from you, and I was hoping to see you once more at Arlington but I suppose that is not possible now. I was sorry to hear of Mr. Rooney’s terrible troubles. To be wounded in battle
and then kidnapped from his own home and taken prisoner was trouble enough. But the news that his wife has gone the way of her two sweet babies surely must be too much for one man to bear, and I know that you grieve for him as well.

  Thornton keeps up with all the war news and we cannot help hoping the fighting will soon be over. We have heard of a piece of property in the valley, not far from Alexandria, that he wants to buy and make a farm of it. The house is not much to look at it and he says the land is very poor, but I am anxious to get it. I have done the best I could at Arlington having so many inferior persons to contend with, and I will be happy to have a comfortable home of my own.

  My children are well. Emma is a fine-looking girl. She has big dreams of finding a good job in Washington and Annice, too. It will be good when they are old enough to be on their own, as the cabin is crowded as usual and I am once again with a baby on the way.

  Remember me kindly to Miss Agnes and Miss Mildred, remember me kindly to Mr. Custis and also to Mr. Robert. I trust I may see the day yet when you will have Arlington, and I hope that I may yet be able to see you as I am very anxious to.

  No more from your humble servant, Selina Gray

  The cabin door swung open and Thornton came in with Annice, both of them carrying an armload of firewood.

  “Mama, guess what?” Annice dumped the wood in front of the fireplace and made herself comfortable on my chair underneath the window. “Mister Lincoln has been elected president again. Everybody says this is sure to be the end of the war.”

  Thornton threw another log on the fire and muttered something I couldn’t understand. Ada woke up and began to fuss. I set down my pencil and took her onto my lap, though she was getting too heavy for me to hold, with another child waiting to enter the world. Her braids had come undone and I fixed them back, one eye on my husband. Something was bothering Thornton, but he wouldn’t tell me unless I asked. “What is it that’s got you worried, Mister Gray?”

  “Saw Austin Bingham this morning. He’s got his eye on that farm down in the valley. I’m worried he’ll buy it out from under us ’fore we can save up what we need.”

  “Where would he get that kind of money?” Ada was getting heavy, and I shooed her off my lap.

  Thornton shrugged. “They say some of the Northerners is willing to make loans to freedmen. I’m thinking about looking into it.”

  “Huh. What do you reckon those Yankees will want in return? I don’t suppose they’re making loans simply out the goodness of their hearts.”

  Thornton eyed me sharply. “I know you’re still loyal to Miss Mary and you don’t like what the Northerners have done to Arlington. But we got to think of ourselves now. If the Yankees want to help us get our own land, we got to consider it.”

  “He’s right, Mama,” Annice said. “Arlington is our past. Green Valley is our future. It’s gone happen, soon as the Yankees beat the Confederates once and for all.” She got up to pour her papa some coffee. “I don’t know why General Lee keeps on fighting now that Mister Lincoln has already freed the slaves. But I surely hope he gets beat, and soon.”

  I could see the end of the war would be best for everybody. I wanted that place in Green Valley as bad as I’d ever wanted anything. Even if the general’s men won and the North lost, wasn’t nobody going back to slavery times. I was sure Miss Mary knew it as well as anybody. But I also knew her heart, and her general’s fierce pride. If he lost his war it would crush them both.

  Annice brought me a cup of coffee. I held on to the warm cup and watched the fire crackling in the grate. This was another of those times in the long friendship of Miss Mary and me, when getting my own wish would mean Miss Mary couldn’t get hers.

  39 | MARY

  Shortly after Dr. McCaw’s visit to Mrs. Caskie’s, I made my first visit to Chimborazo Hospital. Perched high on a hill on Richmond’s east side, the hospital was a city unto itself, with its own soap house and icehouses, a guardhouse, gardens, and stables. An apothecary, a carpentry shop, and a blacksmith shop ensured that Dr. McCaw and his large staff had whatever was necessary to see that their patients, who often numbered into the thousands, received the best of care.

  The wooden barracks of the soldiers, first built for military training—some one hundred buildings in all—had been converted into ninety wards, each holding forty beds. I was pleasantly surprised on my first visit by the whitewashed walls and the curtains at the windows, each room adorned with vines or flowering plants.

  I soon learned that the true boss of the operation was Mrs. Pember, a no-nonsense widow from Charleston who had taken over as matron and instituted her own set of rules and her own way of doing things. She seemed to resent my presence among her patients, as any visit from the wife of General Lee caused a commotion that took more time to contain than she was willing to invest.

  Not wishing to go where I was not welcome, I began visiting the smaller hospitals scattered about Richmond. The ladies of St. James Church had taken up the cause of Miss Sally Tompkins, who had opened a hospital at the home of John Robertson, a local judge. Miss Tompkins welcomed my visits to her patients.

  Though hollow-eyed with sickness and sorrow, the men never failed to greet me in the most respectful and gracious way. Their pitiful entreaties tore at my heart, as there was so little I could do for them. But I sat for as long as my rheumatism would allow, reading to them, helping to write letters home, or simply listening to their recollections of happier times. They took such pride in having served under my husband’s command. Often they told stories of his care for them—the gift of a warm blanket or new socks from the general’s own trunk, a leave granted in the midst of a conflict, a word of encouragement when a comrade fell—kindnesses that endeared him to his men. He felt each one’s agony and shared their hardships in his letters home. Every day is marked with sorrow and every field has its grief, the death of some brave man.

  “Mrs. Lee.”

  I paused beside the bed of a young man whose limbs were wrapped in bandages. Blood had seeped through the linen and dried to the color of rust. His eyes were sunken and fever bright. He reached for my hand, and I clasped his as tightly as my crippled fingers would permit.

  “Mrs. Lee. Will you do a favor for a soldier of General Lee’s?”

  “Of course, child. Whatever I can.”

  “It’s my mother, ma’am. My sister writes that Mother is deathly sick and wants to see her only son—that’s me—before she expires. I put in my request to General Longstreet a month ago, but I haven’t heard a word.” He grasped my hands so hard I winced. “Can you ask General Lee if I can go home?” Tears coursed down his cheeks. “I just want to go home.”

  Every refugee and every soldier in Richmond wanted the same thing. The soldier had a duty to his country, yet I could not remain unaffected by his fervent plea. He was no older than my Rob, and his grievous wounds would plague him for the rest of his days. If he survived.

  “If I had it in my power I would put you onto the cars myself this very afternoon. I cannot promise anything, but I will write to my husband.”

  “Thank you. You are God’s own angel, Mrs. Lee.”

  “What is your name, young man? Where is your home?”

  “Henry Lawson, ma’am. From Mooresville, Alabama. It’s on the Decatur Road.”

  I rose from Mr. Lawson’s cot and stayed for the rest of the afternoon, reading the Bible to a moonfaced young man from Tennessee, wiping the fevered brow of another from Georgia, spooning soup into the mouth of yet another. The effort tired me to the depth of my bones and robbed me of my last ounce of optimism. But never had I felt more committed to our cause, never had I felt more deeply satisfied.

  Miss Tompkins came into the room, her arms full of fresh bandages. According to Mary Chesnut, who knew everyone and everything that happened in Richmond, Miss Sally Tompkins was barely thirty years old. But her tired expression and pale complexion made her seem much older.

  “Mrs. Lee,” she said quietly. “You’re still here.”r />
  “There were many who needed a kind word today, and I could see you were too busy with the most critical cases. You are very good with them, Miss Tompkins. Everyone in Richmond sings your praises.”

  “And yours.” She set the bandages on a chair in the parlor and pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Mrs. Chesnut says you are tireless in your efforts to supply socks and blankets to our soldiers. Three hundred pairs of socks last month!”

  “Some of the ladies from St. James have taken up the cause. I could not accomplish half as much on my own.”

  “Nor could I. They are the lifeblood of this hospital.” Miss Tompkins motioned me to a chair. “I don’t have any tea, I’m afraid. But there is coffee, if you like.”

  “Thank you, but I must go. My daughters will wonder what has become of me.”

  “Shall I have my orderly drive you?”

  “If you can spare him.”

  I left Miss Tompkins to her patients and entered the carriage for the trip home. I had moved to a house on Franklin Street that afforded more room for my daughters and me. I was glad for the additional space, though it meant I now saw less of the Caskies.

  Darkness was falling when the orderly drew up at the gate. He helped me out and I crossed the street, leaning on my cane, passing houses still brilliantly lit despite the privations of war. The sound of distant cannon fire from Fort Harrison punctuated the conversation of soldiers milling about on the corner. They stood in twos and threes, smoking and offering up their opinions on the conduct of President Davis, General Hampton, and General Beauregard. Even Robert’s decisions were loudly questioned and dissected. It was quite a shame that such brilliant military minds were not employed on the fields of battle, I thought, where their superior judgment would surely have brought a swift and victorious end to the fighting.