Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray (20 page)

“Thank you, son. I know you all will do your best while I am away.” Robert bent to Daughter. “Be kind to your mother, Mary Custis. And write to your poor old lonesome papa.”

Mary, stoic as ever, merely nodded. Rob wept as if his little heart had shattered, and his tears nearly made me lose my composure too. Precious Life slept peacefully in my arms, too young to know her papa was leaving her. I couldn't help wondering how old she would be when he came back to us.

Daniel brought the carriage around and loaded Robert's trunks. Mother and Papa came out. Papa shook Robert's hand and clapped him on the shoulder and said gruffly, “Good luck, son.”

“Thank you, Father.” Robert turned to my mother, who was having a hard time holding back her own tears. “Look after my Mary for me,” he said. “She takes on too much.”

As if I had any choice, with seven noisy, needy children under my care.

“You must make her get enough rest,” Robert said.

“Try not to worry about us, Robert,” Mother said. “Only come home safely.”

He bent to kiss our sleeping daughter. “We must pray for a swift conclusion to this Mexico business, Mary, for I am terribly
homesick for you already.” His lips, soft and warm, brushed mine. “Take care of yourself, my dearest wife.”

My throat ached with unshed tears. “And you do the same, my love.”

“Mr. Robert?” Daniel stood beside the open carriage door. “We ought to get going if you plan on catching that train to Wheeling.”

“All right.” Robert climbed inside and closed the door.

Daniel clicked his tongue to the horses, and the carriage rolled down the drive. Rooney wrenched himself free from my father's grasp and chased after it.

I turned and carried Precious Life inside, my emotions a raw tangle of resentment at Robert's going, pride in his bravery, and fear for his safety. The baby stirred and began to fuss. I kissed the top of her head, the weight of my impending vigil already pressing hard against my heart.

R
ose wasn't fibbing after all. Miss Mary and Missus gave her a wedding bigger than any we had ever seen down in the quarters. The new pink dress they bought her was trimmed with satin bows on the sleeves and a ruffle on the skirt. Her bonnet was of the same color and tied with wide ribbons.

Missus and Miss Mary and her girls dressed up for the occasion in silk dresses and fancy hats. Mister Custis wore his old straw hat, a pair of threadbare fawn-colored breeches I had folded up a thousand times, and a sour expression that said he thought the whole thing was nothing but foolishness. He marched down to the quarters with his Bible and read some verses, and there under the big trees, Rose and Randall promised to stay together for the rest of their days, and that was that.

George fixed us a ham with biscuits and the strawberry jam we had put up back in the spring, and a cake with boiled icing. Nathaniel and Wesley set up tables to hold everything. Randall and Rose sat side by side in Mauma's best chairs, stiff and straight as Chinese royalty. Presents piled up at their feet like it was Christmas—new quilt tops, a candlestick, oilcloths for the table, jars of preserves. Judah gave them red flannel sacks filled with a special wedding potion to wear around their necks. Charles—who ran the dining room for Missus and who had showed me how to set a table and what a gravy boat was for—gave them a
baby cradle, which set off a lot of laughing and teasing. But Rose and her new husband would never have a need for it. Rose had already told Mauma she wasn't about to bring more babies into slavery. Mauma told Rose: easy to say, hard to do.

My cousin George brought out the harmonica he had got from a store in Washington during a trip to market and played while we danced. After a while Miss Mary's children got restless, and she let them go back up to the house with their grandparents. Pretty soon Daddy and Mister Bingham and some other of the menfolks drifted into the woods.

I looked around for Wesley. I hadn't seen him since he and Nathaniel finished setting up the wedding tables. Lately it seemed like my brother was always mad about something. Once or twice I asked him what was the matter, but he wouldn't say anything. Mauma said it was because he was turning from a boy into a man. Maybe that was true, but I couldn't stop worrying about him and his wild notions.

“Selina.” Thornton appeared from out of the crowd and tried to kiss my cheek, but I slapped at his hand. He drew back. “Looks like somebody swallowed a hive of bees this morning.”

“I don't think we ought to kiss in front of everybody. That's all.”

“Why not? We gone to be married soon.”

Just then, one of the Bingham children turned over a table. Plates and forks clattered to the ground. People scrambled to pick them up, and that seemed to be the end of the wedding celebration. Folks started back to their own cabins or scattered to the chores that never did take a holiday, no matter what.

“I got to help Mauma carry her chairs home.”

“I'll do that. You a lady. And ladies don't go around toting furniture.” Thornton crossed the yard, and I heard him telling
Mauma he was there to help. He had dressed up in his best gray pants and blue shirt, and his hair was shiny as a raven's wing. Mauma said he was too skinny and his cheekbones too sharp to be handsome, but Thornton Gray suited me just fine.

Miss Mary crossed the yard, holding her skirts up from the dust. “Selina. You mustn't feel envious of the wedding we gave Rose. I have written to the Reverend Keith about performing your ceremony.”

“What did he say?”

“I haven't had a reply yet.” She placed a hand on my arm. “I saw the way you were watching Rose today. Sometimes it's very difficult to stand by and witness the happiness of others. I wanted to remind you that your day is coming.”

There are times when feelings go deeper than words, and the things that are most important fall between the cracks and stay there. The wedding was over and done. There wasn't any use in letting Miss Mary know what I thought about it.

“Reckon when the reverend will write you back?”

“I have no idea. But I shall speak to him myself the next time I see him.”

Rose and Randall came over. He was holding on to her tight, like he thought the wind might blow her away.

“Miss Mary, we can't thank you enough,” Rose said. “We sure had us a fine wedding.”

“I'm very glad, Rose. This will be something to tell your children and grandchildren about one day.”

Rose didn't bat an eyelash. She looked up at Randall and then at Miss Mary and said, “Yessum, we surely will. Me and Randall, we want lots of children.”

And I thought,
Rose, when did you learn to lie like that?

Dear Mrs. Lee,

I regret that my extended travels and a subsequent illness have prevented my replying to your letter of last September. I beg your forgiveness for my tardiness. While I can appreciate your wanting a marriage service for so valuable a companion as Selina Norris, I am afraid I must refuse. The church
—

M
iss Mary?” Daniel came into the room where Papa had set up a work desk for me and set down the bulging mail pouch. “Looks to me like you got some mail from Mr. Robert.”

Setting aside the disappointing note from the minister, I opened the pouch to find letters from Robert for me and the children. “Yes. At last. Thank you, Daniel.”

He went back into the hallway and I heard him greeting Old Peter, who still manned the door for Papa every day. I sorted the letters for Rob and Rooney and the girls. Desperate for the scent of my husband, I lifted his letter to my nose. But there was only the faintly musty smell of paper and sealing wax. I ran my fingers over his neat handwriting, every letter perfectly formed, and imagined his hands—strong and browned from months in the hot Mexican sun—gripping his pen. I pictured him hunched over his small camp table, tired and dusty after a day in the
saddle, penning his letters by lantern light, pouring out his homesickness and his most ardent wishes onto the page.

Now he wrote from Cerro Gordo describing the valley town and its inhabitants—dark-haired women selling fruits from carts in the street, old priests smelling of incense and wine, olive-skinned children who peered at him shyly from the windows of brown adobe huts as he rode past on his new mount.

I have named her Grace Darling and you will see why when you meet her, for she is exceedingly well formed, of calm and sweet temperament, and fleet of foot.

He mentioned little of the dangers he faced, knowing that such news would only make our separation harder to bear. Instead, he wrote of our children.

I have written to Custis at school where I trust he is diligently applying himself. I hope the girls are well. How I wish I had them with me here, for they would be such a comfort to me. Tell Rooney and Rob to stay out of trouble.

Kiss them all for me, dearest Mary, and believe me always your affectionate husband, RE Lee

“Mama?” Rooney stood in the doorway in muddy boots, his shirt and trousers sopping wet. “Rob and I were playing pirates and, well, I sort of fell in the river.”

I got to my feet, sucking in a sharp breath as a pain traveled along my leg. “Where is your brother?”

“Oh, he's all right. Jim and Kitty were with us, and Grandpapa too. Jim fished Rob out. They're coming now, but I got here first.” He crossed the room to my desk, trailing water onto the wooden floor. “What's the matter? Why are you crying?”

I tucked away Robert's letter to read again later. Letters took more than a month to reach me. This one would have to assuage my loneliness for many weeks to come.

“I'm fine, child. But look at you. Go find Selina and ask her to fetch you some clean clothes.”

Just then Kitty and Jim arrived with Papa and Rob. A sorrier lot I had never seen, but my father was having a fine time.

“Now, do not be cross with us, Mary Anna. Boys need to be boys. And there was no harm done.” He grinned sheepishly and wrung water from his shirt.

“You are the worst boy of all, Papa.”

But it was impossible to be angry with a portly, balding, disheveled old man in a battered hat and tattered breeches so clearly besotted with his grandsons. They needed a man other than the servants to emulate, and Papa was happy to oblige.

An hour later the boys were bathed and changed, the girls had finished their lessons, and we gathered in the parlor, where I handed out Robert's letters. The children took turns reading aloud his charming descriptions of the birds and turtles and snakes of Mexico. He had included little hand-drawn sketches for each of his children, along with reminders to study hard and to write to him.

Rooney's lip trembled. He folded his letter and set it aside. “I miss Papa. I don't know why he had to go so far away.”

I wanted to scoop him into my arms, but he thought himself too old now for such comforts. He slid off the chair and went in search of my father.

“Mama, may we make a picture to send to Papa?” Annie perched on the arm of my chair and turned her good eye in my direction. “This morning I saw some bluebells blooming. If I make a picture, maybe he won't be so homesick.”

“That's a lovely idea. He can pin it to his tent and think of you every time he sees it.” I drew her onto my lap and kissed her.

“I want to send him a picture of my cat,” Agnes said.

“He will like that, I'm sure. And we must remember to—”

“Mary Anna?” Mother appeared in the doorway, a letter in her hands.

“What is it, Mother?” I kissed my children and sent them off to their various pursuits.

She crossed the room and took the chair closest to the window. “Your aunt Eleanor writes that your cousin Lorenzo is ill. She needs help in caring for him. I would go to Audley myself, but I am simply not strong enough these days to make the trip.”

“Of course you must stay here. I'll go. I'll take Rooney and the girls with me. Kitty and Eliza can help you with Rob.”

“What about Daughter?”

“She will escape Arlington as soon as she can wangle an invitation. Mary seems to prefer almost any place to being at home with us.”

Rooney had left his papa's letter behind. I slipped it into my pocket.

“Thank you for taking this on,” Mother said. “It won't be easy looking after Lorenzo and keeping up with the children too.”

“Annie and Agnes can help me with the baby. And I'd like to take Selina with me, if you can spare her.”

“Surely your aunt Eleanor has a housekeeper of her own.”

“Yes, but I will need someone to help me keep myself and
the children organized. Selina was a great help the summer we spent at Kinloch. Besides, I feel I owe her a trip to distract her from disappointing news.”

“The Reverend Keith has refused to perform her wedding?”

“It's spineless of him, really. Of course the marriage won't have any legal standing, but it means so much to Selina. It seems petty to deny her merely for the sake of appearances.”

“I shall write to him myself,” Mother said, smiling at last. “Even he won't be able to resist the power of
two
Custis women.”

She looked out the window, and I followed her gaze. A carriage was winding along the road from the long bridge, the top of it just rising into view.

“Callers,” Mother said with a weary sigh.

“I can tell them you are not up to visitors today.”

“No, I'll manage. You should write to your aunt Eleanor and start packing. From the tone of her letter, the sooner you can get there, the better.”

Arrangements were made quickly, and I set off on the sixty-mile journey to Aunt Eleanor's with the children and Selina. That evening we stayed at the home of friends in Clarke County, reaching our destination the following afternoon just as a spring thunderstorm broke.