My Daughter's Legacy

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Yes, that’s a problem. But it sounds as if it’s a problem everywhere, and we have farmers who are able to bring in produce.”

  “Not meat?” Now Mother seemed almost angry.

  As if sensing her escalating mood, Polly gave in on that one. “Well, yes, meat can be difficult to come by at times.”

  With a satisfied half smile, Mother settled back in her seat. “So have you made new friends there?” she asked in a more pleasant tone.

  Polly shrugged. “Not especially. I teach the Baxter children during the week and attend church on Sundays. That’s really the extent of my interactions with anyone in Richmond. Well, other than volunteering in a hospital.” Her eyes twinkling, she turned toward Therese and added, “The one that’s in our old school. What used to be the Women’s Institute is now the Institute Hospital. I can’t tell you how odd it is to be bathing soldiers in our former classrooms.”

  Before Therese could respond, Mother cried out, “You work in a hospital? That’s men’s work!”

  “Not anymore, Miss Helene,” Polly said. “The men are all off fighting.”

  Mother crossed her arms. “It’s not respectable.”

  Polly’s eyes lit up in alarm. “It wouldn’t be very respectable to let our soldiers die either, would it?”

  Therese had to interject. Given the circumstances, working in a hospital was a generous act, not a scandalous one. “Times have changed, Mother,” she said softly. “We all have to do our part, from knitting to farming to, yes, even hospital work.”

  “Absolutely,” Polly said. “There are close to fifty hospitals throughout the city and not nearly enough people to staff them. Nurses are desperately needed.”

  Mother sniffed. “Nuns, certainly. Or older women. Matronly women. But not young women. Not girls your age. You have your reputations to think of.”

  Polly laughed. “Matron Webb would agree with you on that. She’d much prefer women in their thirties and forties or older, but she has no choice now.” Polly lowered her voice a little. “I feel privileged to help. The suffering is nearly unbearable, but it’s the most meaningful work I’ve ever done. Let me assure you, Miss Helene. Nursing hasn’t ruined me.”

  Mother shook her head. “Why aren’t soldiers sent home so their families can care for them? Hospitals are only for the destitute.”

  “Not anymore. There are too many specialized procedures that can’t be done at home. Cleaning wounds. Treatments that aren’t readily available. Surgeries that country doctors aren’t trained to do. And there are so many dire illnesses—dysentery, influenza, typhoid, tuberculosis. The list goes on and on. And most soldiers are far away from home and don’t have the option to be cared for by family, no matter what.”

  Mother harrumphed, probably feeling Polly was being insolent to challenge her. “I wouldn’t allow Warner to be cared for by others, I can tell you that.”

  “I understand,” Polly said. “I truly do. But times have changed.”

  Therese had always appreciated Polly’s forthrightness and couldn’t help but enjoy hearing her challenge Mother this way.

  “Well, in my opinion,” Mother said, “which is universally shared, for a young woman, teaching is a much more respectable vocation than nursing.”

  Polly’s dark eyes lit up, and she turned to Therese. “Speaking of teaching, a clerk in the secretary of state’s office is looking for a governess.”

  Therese’s eyes widened.

  “The family’s name is Galloway,” Polly continued. “Their last governess left a few weeks ago. They’ve been trying to find a replacement since.”

  “Oh?” Therese tried to keep her voice casual. She would love nothing more, but she knew her mother wouldn’t agree to it.

  “If you’re interested, I could put in a good word for you.” Polly gave her a wink. “They live just around the corner from the Baxters.”

  “I’d never allow Therese to go to Richmond,” Mother declared. “It’s much too dangerous.”

  Polly shrugged. “Those living in the countryside are vulnerable too.”

  With one dismissive grunt in response, Mother closed the subject.

  “Thank you just the same,” Therese told Polly softly, giving her a meaningful look. Her friend nodded, seeming to understand.

  Oblivious to the awkwardness of the moment, Mother brought the conversation back around to Polly’s family, asking about her mother, who was a close friend. As the two of them talked, Therese only half listened. Her mind was stuck on the idea of living and working in Richmond as a governess. She would give anything to do that, but it was useless to yearn for what she could never have.

  They reached the far shore and disembarked, and though Polly had intended to walk to the church, they offered her a ride instead. Badan helped all three women into the buggy, and they set off. Therese asked Polly more about their old school, which she missed terribly, and for details on how it could possibly be functioning as a hospital.

  “It’s actually one of the better ones in the city,” Polly replied. “It’s clean, ventilated, and well lit, thanks to the gaslights. The staff has room to board when needed. The gardens are tended, so there’s fresh produce. And we have an outstanding doctor, if I do say so myself.” With a proud smile, she added, “He’s a distant cousin all the way from Maine.”

  “Maine?” Therese asked.

  “Yes, by way of Boston, where he’s been working for the last few years. But he plans to return to Maine after this and take over his father’s practice.”

  “What’s he doing down here?” Mother asked. “Is he a sympathizer?”

  Polly shook her head. “He’s a Quaker, although he doesn’t speak Plain. At least not around us.”

  Therese nodded. Using thee and thou would bring a lot of attention to him in Richmond, she felt sure.

  Polly continued. “As a Quaker, he’s a pacifist, of course. The Union allowed him to come for a few months. Considering the North has three times the number of surgeons we do, they weren’t really in a position to turn him down.”

  “I suppose not,” Therese said.

  “I didn’t realize you had Quakers in your family tree,” Mother said, using the same tone for Quaker as she might for coward.

  Polly didn’t seem offended. “Like I said, he’s a very distant cousin. And as far as I know, his is the only Quaker branch of our family tree.”

  Therese didn’t know much about Quakers, but she did know her father respected both their beliefs and their actions.

  Badan turned toward the church, and when he stopped the horses, Therese hugged her friend.

  Polly hugged her back. “Remember what I said about the governess position.”

  Therese wanted to cry into her friend’s shoulder over the unfairness of life. Oh, how she yearned to take that job! Instead, she gathered her courage and simply replied, “I wish it were possible.”

  Polly hugged Therese one last time, and then after Badan helped her down, she slipped into the church. Therese swallowed hard, willing herself not to cry. If only Grandfather would free his slaves, then Mother could stay with a clear conscience at River Pines, well taken care of, and Therese would be free to go. If only Father hadn’t died. If only this horrible war didn’t keep dragging on and on and on.

  By the time they reached Grandfather’s ornate iron gate, Mother dozed with her head leaning back against the high seat. Brush and trees crowded Grandfather’s fields that had once grown tobacco. Before the land had been cultivated, it was forested—and it seemed it would be again.

  As the lane turned, the house came into view. Therese couldn’t ever remember a time when it had appeared so shabby. Paint peeled from the siding, the trees encroached on the house and needed to be trimmed, and the grass was dry and brown from the summer heat. Once exporting tobacco became difficult due to the Union blockades, Grandfather had sold off so many of his slaves that there was no longer the manpower, the money, or the supplies to keep the place in repair. Still, the three-story structure was g
rand, with double columns on the front porch and a veranda on the side.

  As they neared the house, Therese sighed in relief at the sight of the verdant garden and healthy orchard. There was no concern for the dry lawn—the vegetables and fruit were what mattered. Perhaps the estate was far enough off the road that soldiers hadn’t looted the food. Granted, they gave what was required to the Confederate Army, but oftentimes soldiers helped themselves too. No matter. What counted was that Grandfather didn’t seem to be lacking.

  Badan drove the buggy around to the back entrance, where he helped Mother down and then Therese. Her feet landed on the hard ground as Aggie came out of the kitchen house. She wore a blue scarf around her head and a white apron over her dress and carried a pitcher. She was thin and tall and held herself as straight as an arrow. She broke into a smile at the sight of Therese.

  Therese grinned back at her friend. As a child, she would have rushed into the young woman’s arms, just as she had Polly’s. But Grandfather had broken her of that when she was thirteen with a harsh scolding, telling her it was time to accept that she and Aggie had very different roles in life.

  “I’m headed up to Master LeFevre,” Aggie said. “Mother’s with him for the moment. Come along.”

  “So he’s injured badly,” Therese said.

  “That’s right,” Aggie answered. “He’s been asking for the two of you.”

  Mother was already headed toward the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Aggie said.

  Therese nodded and followed her mother. Grandfather had always favored Warner, his only male descendant, over Therese. Father had cautioned Warner not to take Grandfather’s blessing to heart and not to think better of himself because of it, but Warner had long ago stopped listening to Father—if he ever had. He much preferred Grandfather’s grandiosity compared to Father’s humble warnings.

  A time or two, Father had confronted Grandfather about his favoritism, which was probably why the old man had agreed to pay for Therese’s school tuition.

  Father and Grandfather had other disagreements, some louder than others. By the time the war started, the two barely spoke to each other. But when Father died, Grandfather and Badan arrived with a wagon full of supplies and a pine box. Mother requested that Father be buried at River Pines against Father’s wishes, but Grandfather refused. He attended Father’s burial in the churchyard, keeping his distance.

  Prior to that, the last time they’d visited River Pines, not long after the war first started, Father and Grandfather argued once again. Father quoted, “He that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.” The old man quickly shot back, “Servants, obey in all things your masters according to the flesh; not with eyeservice, as menpleasers; but in singleness of heart, fearing God.”

  “Servants,” Father had said. “Yes, please. Make them servants. Free them. Pay them.”

  “Out of my house!” Grandfather had bellowed.

  Therese shivered at the memory. Father had rounded her and Mother up and escorted them out the door while Grandfather yelled profanities at the “Yankee” who’d stolen his daughter, adding that at least Warner had brought honor to the family by fighting for the South.

  Now, by the time Therese reached Grandfather’s room on the second floor, Mother was kneeling at his side, holding his hand. The sight made Therese’s eyes fill with tears. She well remembered how she’d felt just over a month ago, kneeling next to her own father’s bed.

  Grandfather’s long white hair was fanned out around his head, and his eyes were closed.

  Auntie Vera stood against the wall, a rag and a basin in her hands. She gave Therese a welcoming nod, and they shared a fond glance. Aggie approached with the pitcher, filled the basin, and then took it from her mother.

  Mother looked up at Aggie. “What does the doctor say?”

  “That time will tell. He’ll be back in the morning.”

  “What happened?” Mother leaned closer to her father.

  “He rode the gelding down by the river yesterday evening,” Aggie said. “When it grew dark and he wasn’t back yet, Badan went after him. He found Master on his stomach, his head against a rock. Badan’s pretty sure his foot got caught in the stirrup and he was dragged.” Aggie stepped to Grandfather’s side, put the basin on the table, and mopped his face with the cool cloth. When she finished, she said she needed to check on the bread baking in the kitchen house, but she would return. Auntie Vera stayed, her back still against the wall.

  Grandfather began to stir, and Mother rose and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. “I’m here, Father.”

  “Helene?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He turned his head toward her, and his eyes fluttered a little. “You came.”

  “Yes, and Therese too.”

  “Warner?”

  “No. He’s off fighting.”

  “That’s right.” He managed to open his eyes. “I changed the will.”

  Therese’s pulse surged. He changed his will? Did that mean he had decided to free Aggie and Auntie Vera and Badan and the others after all?

  “Don’t speak of that,” Mother told him. “You’ll be fine. We’ll stay until you’re on your feet again.”

  Grandfather shook his head. “Everything is written down with my solicitor, but I need to know you understand.”

  Somehow he found the strength to keep talking, but Therese’s heart soon fell. The new terms of the will had nothing to do with the slaves at all but instead were mere technicalities about how Warner would receive his inheritance. Apparently, upon Grandfather’s death everything was to go into a trust to be administered by Mother until Warner turned thirty. If Warner didn’t survive the war, Grandfather said, then everything would go to Therese instead.

  “Except Therese wouldn’t inherit at thirty,” he added, his eyes on Mother. “You would remain beneficiary of the trust for the rest of your life, with the trust not to be dissolved until your death. Do you understand?”

  Mother nodded. “Yes. Of course. Now stop talking and try to rest.”

  “All right.” Grandfather’s eyes fluttered and then closed. Therese wasn’t sure if he tried to shake his head or had a spasm. She stood and stared for a long time before she slipped from the room.

  When she reached the back door, she stopped for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the late afternoon sun. Two figures stood on the side of the kitchen house, their arms wrapped around each other.

  For a moment, Therese felt overcome by her losses. She squinted through the glass in the door. Aggie pulled away, a sassy grin on her face. Badan laughed and headed for the barn. Aggie had with Badan what Therese wished she could have, but never would, with Michael. She chided herself for the self-pity. There was no comparison. She didn’t have Michael, but she did have her freedom.

  Therese stepped back into the hallway. She couldn’t just traipse out to the kitchen house as she had as a child. Everything in her life had changed through the years a thousand times over. And unless Grandfather recovered and she and mother returned to their cottage, even more would change. If it came to that, she felt confident her mother would do the right thing and free Aggie and Badan and the others too. God had a plan for all of them—she was sure.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Therese

  Therese spent the night taking turns with her mother and Aggie watching over Grandfather. At dawn she relieved Mother, who asked that she wake her when the doctor arrived or if Grandfather worsened. Therese assured her she would.

  “Aggie will be in soon,” Mother said. “Stay out of her way.”

  Nodding, Therese settled on a chair that had been pushed close to the bed. She reached for her grandfather. His skin had a papery feel to it, and age spots speckled the back of his hand. He turned toward her, his mouth open a little. Early in the night, she’d read to him from the Scriptures by the light of the lamp, but she didn’t have the energy for that now.

  She’d been w
ary of him as a child, aware of the tension between him and her father, and of how gruff he could be. Now he seemed so harmless. So vulnerable. And so alone at River Pines except for the overseer, Alden Porter, whom Therese loathed, and the five slaves that Grandfather had kept.

  Her grandmother had died long before Therese was born, back when Mother was a girl. Grandfather said once that he’d spoiled his only child, and that was why Mother had done such a foolish thing as fall in love with Father, a Northerner, and then marry him. “Falling in love can’t always be helped,” Grandfather had said to Therese in one of the rare conversations they’d had. “But marrying is a choice. Your mother was determined to get what she wanted.”

  Therese’s father had first arrived in Virginia at the age of twenty-two, straight from the College of New Jersey. He was from a wealthy family who owned textile mills, but he was also an abolitionist. He rejected his family’s business and money, saying they were making a fortune off the cotton picked by slaves, lining the pockets of Southern slaveholders as well as their own. Determined to make his livelihood as a teacher and believing he could somehow influence the young men of the South with lessons about justice and liberty, he took a teaching job at a boys’ school west of Richmond. He met Mother at a dance in the city when she was seventeen and a new graduate of finishing school. She was to return home the next day, but after she met Willis Jennings, she sent a message to her father saying she wished to remain in Richmond another week. And then another. By the time Grandfather ventured into the city to collect her, she was deeply in love. She insisted, if Father wanted to marry her, that he stay in Virginia, and Father, who had fallen head over heels for her, had agreed.

  “Nothing makes a person more foolish than love,” Grandfather had said to Therese.

  There was no doubt her parents had loved each other, although she doubted her mother had been aware when she agreed to marry Father just how poor they would be. After all, he was from a wealthy family, but Father never relented on his stance of refusing their help. And once he saw just how dependent his new wife’s family was on their slaves for their livelihood, he refused all help from them as well.