The man on Patsy’s right was one of the Randolphs, and George was surprised to hear him ask Patsy how her legal suit was going. It seemed to George a highly personal question to ask and he wondered if she’d show resentment. On the contrary, she seemed almost grateful to answer.
“It drags on so dreadfully.” She turned to him. “Colonel Washington, all Virginia knows—but you may not because of your absence—that my husband died without a will. There is the question of a will his grandfather made out and my claim and the claims of my children to the estate are being questioned.”
“But of course, you’ll win out.” Major Chamberlayn’s statement was definite.
Patsy nodded. “Yes, I think so, but it is bewildering. Daniel took care of all finances. I never touched them. Now to find myself not only forced to decide on every single expense, but also saying yes and no to lawyers who want to do this and that . . .” She laughed but it was a poor attempt to cover suddenly quivering lips. But then she recovered herself and said briskly, “Never mind. It will be all right, I’m sure.”
George thought of his own mother, how she had dissipated her holdings because she too was confused and bewildered by trying to manage her affairs herself. Granted his mother was quite different from the Widow Custis. The gods themselves would have gotten nowhere in an attempt to help direct his mother in her judgments. Still, a young and pretty woman like Patsy Custis would undoubtedly marry quickly . . . The thought brought chagrin.
It was obviously the same one that Major Chamberlayn had. “Never mind, my dear,” he said. “With the suitors already tripping over each other in your parlor, you won’t have such problems for too long.”
“Now, really.” Mrs. Chamberlayn’s voice was admonishing.
Patsy smiled. “That I assure you is quite as big a problem as the business arrangements. When Daniel asked me to marry him, I had no question but that he loved me dearly. In fact his father was quite explicit about the fact that I was not Daniel’s equal either socially or financially. So when he risked his inheritance by quite simply telling that difficult old man that he loved me well and would marry me, I knew that indeed I was wanted for myself.
“Now when I sit in my parlor with a caller, I wonder if he sees me or the Custis holdings. It’s rather hard to decide.”
“You will let your heart decide,” Mrs. Chamberlayn said.
George laughed, then quickly apologized. “My dear Mrs. Custis, I could only think of my sister Betty, Mrs. Fielding Lewis. When Fielding asked her to marry him, she was not quite sure. He’s somewhat older, you realize, and I think Betty was saving her charms for a crown prince at least. When Fielding was having little luck in persuading her, he remembered her childhood dream of a grand house and lyrically described the home he’d build for her. My sister Betty instantly promised to be his bride.”
They all laughed. “And it’s been a fine match,” Major Chamberlayn said.
“An excellent one,” George replied promptly. “That’s why Fielding himself tells this story with much zest. Betty adores him. He pampers her and, at the same time, almost miraculously remains very much the master of his home.”
“You sound as though you approve of a man being master of his home, Colonel,” Mrs. Chamberlayn commented a bit dryly. Too late George remembered that in this house the lady had a great deal to say, but he would not be sidetracked.
“I do, madame,” he replied. “I think the very word ‘husband’ bespeaks one who protects and cares for his wife. And surely no woman can be allowed to lead a man around, tweaking his nose—we see it all too often, do we not—and then turn to that same man for the security that is her rightful claim.”
He could not help thinking of his own mother. Secretly he’d always suspected that his father was afraid of her. When he married—he paused, realizing that he’d used that word in his thoughts many times in the last few hours.
He refused the last course and made a pretense of sipping his wine. Suddenly he was beginning to feel extremely tired again. The aching was returning and the thought of the long journey to Williamsburg wearied him. He decided to rest by the fire in the study for a little while after dinner, then start. With the return of the weakness, a sense of melancholy was beginning to come over him.
Apparently his silence was noticed. The others finished eating quickly, then while some of the guests made ready to depart, Mrs. Chamberlayn escorted him to the study. She tried to persuade him to spend the night.
“Oh, thank you, but I’ll have to get on. I’m anxious to see the doctor as soon as possible and get back to my men.” He attempted a smile. “It’s just that from time to time I find it difficult to believe those who assure me that I’m nearly recovered.”
He wondered where Patsy was. He had thought she was staying over but perhaps he had misunderstood. Maybe she had left, too. Or maybe she’d simply gone to her room. Why should she, after all, want to sit with a scarecrow? He was icy cold now and could feel perspiration on his body. Would he never get over these damnable attacks?
Major Chamberlayn came in, stared at him, and said abruptly: “You are spending the night and without argument, sir. I never permit a guest to leave my home after sundown and, besides, you are far from well.”
Patsy came in, followed by a servant who was carrying a tray. “I’ve already sent word to the colonel’s servant,” she said quietly. “The poor man was standing outside with the horses saddled, stamping his feet with the cold. Colonel, you do inspire loyalty, don’t you? From my late husband’s estate are 286 slaves and not a one of them would be caught in this blizzard on the chance that I might wish to leave early.”
George realized that one of his eyebrows had gone up. His reactions to what was happening were mixed. “You dismissed my man, madame?”
“I told him you were spending the night. You see, you really won’t feel much like traveling after you’ve had this. It will make you quite pleasantly tired.”
The servant had put the tray on a table and drawn it up beside George’s chair. The tray contained a bowl with a steaming hot mixture.
“What’s this?” he asked. Secretly he was dismayed. There wasn’t one of his friends who had not subjected him to a homemade remedy in the past months. Invariably he felt worse after all of them.
Patsy pushed the table a bit nearer his chair and handed him the spoon. “Try a little, please.”
One sip, he told himself, and no more. With the damnable way his stomach had been acting he’d not risk putting anything into it that might . . . The liquid was hot but not to the point of discomfort. It had a flavor he couldn’t quite identify. Meat stock? Some kind of tea?
Patsy did not answer his questioning look. “It’s a recipe that has been in my family for generations. And it’s quite miraculous when one is getting over a debilitating weakness like dysentery. Now please drink it all. I guarantee you’ll feel much better.”
He had a feeling the “please” was superfluous. He had a fleeting thought that in the softest possible way Mrs. Custis could probably be quite as adamant as his mother. Oddly the comparison brought amusement. Meekly he drank the contents of the bowl.
Patsy nodded in satisfaction then turned to Mrs. Chamberlayn. “Might we have the fire built up a little? We mustn’t let the colonel get a fresh chill.”
Mrs. Chamberlayn spoke to a servant at once then turned to her husband. “My dear, we shall leave our young guests for a time. I’m sure they’ll excuse us. We’ll join them again for a late supper.”
Major Chamberlayn looked astonished. “I don’t intend—”
His wife slipped an arm through his. “You shall see our guests later.”
The harsh aching began to pass and George leaned back in the chair contentedly. Patsy sat opposite him. There was a piece of needlework in a little basket and she picked it up. “I do want you to rest, so please close your eyes, if you wish.”
He obeyed again but then found himself unable to keep from looking at her. Through half-closed eyes he watc
hed as the firelight caught the touches of gold in her shiny brown hair. The high-necked, long-sleeved black gown, relieved only by a simple brooch, could not completely conceal the whiteness of her neck and hands. The past year had brought a new maturity to her expression, and, oddly, had at the same time made her seem younger. He tried to imagine her entertaining suitors in her parlor but the picture didn’t ring true.
His sister Betty—or Sally—they’d have a wonderful time being courted by half the men in the county. But he suspected that Mrs. Custis would have little taste for flirtations.
The pleasing lassitude brought on by the fire and the broth was playing tricks with George’s mind. He felt absolutely at home here, looking across the hearth at Mrs. Custis. A woman like that should never be alone.
Alone. But she had children.
The realization drove sleep away. “Mrs. Custis,” he said. “I’m sorry to realize that I haven’t inquired about your children. Are they well?”
Patsy smiled. “Quite well, thank you. You’ll see them later. They’re upstairs in the nursery but their nurse will bring them down to say good-night.”
Then she let the tapestry slip unheeded into her lap. “I really wasn’t going to bring them this time but at the last minute realized I couldn’t leave them. Whenever I have to be parted from them, I’m quite frantic with worry. Of course, they are watched every instant and their nurse is devoted, but I can just see Jacky getting on a horse and galloping by himself—he’s four now and very active—and then being thrown. And little Patsy is not quite two but she is so delicate. You see, my first two children died very young and perhaps that’s why I’m unreasonably cautious about the two I still have.”
“I suspect that every mother worries when her off-spring are quite young.” George thought that Mrs. Custis had the same look of heartache when she spoke of her children as Anne had had when she discussed the baby. But Anne had been right to fear. She’d lost the baby.
Patsy reached for the tapestry. “I only fear that I shall get worse as they get older. The only word in my own defense is that I truly try to overcome this apprehension.”
“Tell me about them.” It was not simply a polite inquiry. George realized that he really wanted to hear about the Custis children.
He soon saw that he could not have found a better way to know Patsy Custis. Her expression changed from joy to pride to anxiety to joy again as she discussed her children. “Jacky—a handsome boy, quite willful but so charming that it’s difficult to punish him. Daniel found him a handful, I think, and yet was so proud of him. He is so bright. He already has simple lessons which he doesn’t like. Little Patsy is so gentle, so anxious to please and be loved. She misses her father, even though she can surely remember him little. When a male visitor comes she studies him for a time, then if he passes inspection, goes and sits uninvited on his lap.”
A willful little boy who needed a father’s strong hand. A wistful baby girl who needed a father’s tenderness. A pretty, young mother.
Almost impatiently George sat up straight, unconsciously tugging at his uniform.
Mrs. Custis smiled. “You’re feeling better, aren’t you? But at least pull your chair a bit nearer the fire. Otherwise the chill might return.”
Now at that point his mother would have harangued about what warfare did to a man’s constitution.
And Sally, what would she have done?
He almost laughed. Sally might just have said, “Young Washington, you’re feeling fine now. Shall we try the new dance step that Sarah says is the rage in New York?”
As he obediently moved the chair a few inches nearer the hearth, he tried to analyze his feelings. He did not experience a wild pulsing of his senses as he often did in Sally’s presence. He did have a feeling that a portion of his heart that had never been touched before was suddenly flooded with warmth.
Mrs. Custis finished an intricate piece of sewing. “Now,” she said, “you have listened so patiently to me and, really, it is time for you to tell me about yourself.”
“Where shall I begin?”
“At home, I think. Mrs. Chamberlayn tells me you have the most beautiful piece of land in Virginia. Tell me about Mount Vernon.”
If she had asked him to speak of himself in any other way, he’d have offered little.
But to speak of Mount Vernon—to watch the firelight play on the gentle, pretty face across from him as he described the roll of the land, and the house, being honest enough to protest its present inadequacies. To speak of his plans for house and land, and where flower beds would eventually grow and where shrubbery would line the approaches.
He talked for a long time and realized that other names were creeping into the conversation—his mother, his brothers, the Fairfaxes, the days in Barbados with Lawrence. He talked until the logs split and collapsed into blazing embers, and then, realizing that the room was suddenly chilly, sprang to his feet.
“Mrs. Custis, my apologies. Loquaciousness is not usually one of my vices but you are too polite and too good a listener for your own comfort.”
She got up easily. “If there are apologies due, they are mine to give. I’ve enjoyed this so much and I think that now I hear the children coming to say good-night.”
The door of the study burst open, and a whirlwind raced in, a little boy with bright brown eyes and hair falling on his face. He ran up to Patsy. “Mother, it’s really too early to go to bed, isn’t it?” He started to trip over his own feet and automatically George reached out and caught him.
The wide brown eyes widened even more.
“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. Are you . . .? In the nursery they said . . . Sir, are you Colonel Washington, the hero?”
George laughed. “I’m Colonel Washington, young man.”
Jacky inhaled sharply. “Upstairs they told us not to carry on because you were visiting and you’re used to order and having people doing what you say. Is that right?”
“Quite right, and you must be Jacky. And as a good soldier, you would not question an order to retire.”
Jacky brushed aside the reference to bedtime. “May I try on your sword?”
George laughed again. He went over to the corner of the den and got it. “You may not take it from its sheath. And you may not swing it. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, sir.” Jacky’s mouth was a wide O. “Did you kill many Indians with it, sir?”
“I lost count after twenty.”
“Twenty!”
“Jacky, you must not annoy the colonel.” Patsy looked perplexed. “And where is little Patsy? Oh . . .” The little girl came into the study, holding her nurse’s hand. But she dropped the hand and ran to her mother. Patsy picked her up and said, “This is my baby, Colonel.”
George felt disconcerted as he looked into the solemn brown eyes of the little face that was appraising him so intently. Remembering how he’d first greeted Anne’s infant, he reached out one finger. Somewhat to his amazement little Patsy took it and smiled.
“You have won her,” Patsy said. “In a moment she’d be wanting to go to you, but I’m sure you want rest more than a romp before supper. Now Jacky, say good-night to Colonel Washington and give him back his sword.”
With a long sigh the little boy obeyed but as he relinquished it said, “Colonel Washington, would you like to visit us sometime?”
George said, “I’d like to very much. In fact, I was about to ask your mother if I might call after I leave Williamsburg next week. You will be home then, I think?”
He was looking at Jacky but addressing the question to Patsy. Her smile was as brilliant as her son’s as she said, “Yes, Colonel Washington, we shall be home and so happy to receive you.”
Jacky said, “We live near Williamsburg, Colonel. Everybody knows where. Just ask people where the White House is. That’s the name of our home.”
George looked at the little group in front of him. They made a charming cameo against the dying firelight and the deepening shadows. It seemed so a
bsolutely right that they were looking at him, that they were here with him. For a moment his mind seemed to play tricks and he could see these three on the steps of Mount Vernon, watching for him to ride home. He could see little Patsy and Jacky romping on the sloping lawns near the Potomac. He could see Patsy as mistress of his home.
He extended his hand to Jacky, who took it solemnly. “The White House,” he said. “No power on earth shall keep me from it.”
March 4, 1797
7 P.M.
Philadelphia
DINNER WAS ONLY FOR THE HOUSEHOLD; for the wonder of it, no guests had managed to get invited. And yet, Patsy thought, with a touch of amusement, the general’s notion of dining alone completely ignored the fact that they never had less than eight or ten at the table.
During dinner she eyed Nelly and young Washington and found comfort in the fact that neither seemed anything but delighted at the prospect of going home. But they had been well trained. It had taken her too long to let George really help with the raising of little Patsy and Jacky. With Jacky’s children it had been different. When they’d come to Mount Vernon, “Grandpapa” had been their father. She hadn’t made the mistake of standing between them as she’d tried to do when her own children were young.
But that was a long time ago.
Young Lafayette was in high spirits. He loved Mount Vernon, too. He and his affable tutor would be welcome guests there. Again her eyes seemed to play tricks. Young Lafayette was so like his father . . . Nelly was like little Patsy . . . young Washington like Jacky. A generation had gone by since those others sat around a dinner table with George and her. As long as he was always with her . . .
He’d suggested that she rest after dinner. A public reception was scheduled for the evening, to honor him. They’d thought that the magnificent birthday honors of only two weeks before would spell the last of the ceremonies. He had been only somewhat pleased at this final good-bye, but she understood why. To her it seemed that his countrymen were letting him go so reluctantly that they seized at opportunities to see him again.
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