MY THEODOSIA (14 page)

'Yes, I—I suppose so. But I always thought I should be married from Richmond Hill, and not in the middle of winter——'

'Neither location nor climate has anything to do with marriage, my dear. And though I do not wish to sound vulgar, I must tell you the truth. I cannot afford to give you a wedding appropriate to our position at Richmond Hill. The whole town would have to be asked.'

Which was true enough, though Aaron had another motive for desiring an Albany wedding. At this critical period, with his name on every thinking man's tongue and the hostile press yapping, it would confound them all when it became known that he was quietly pursuing his legislative duties in Albany, and that, far from being engaged in the tie negotiations ot
intriguing for the Presidency, he was engrossed by a charming domestic affair—the marriage of his beloved only child.

He went to the highboy, and unlocking a small drawer drew from it a bag of coins. He put them gently in her lap. 'Consult with Natalie as to your wardrobe, then buy yourself some pretty gowns. That new French modiste on Chatham Street will make them up in a few days. Stint nothing. And if you need more money, I will find it for you gladly. I want my Theodosia to be the most beautiful of brides.'

T
HEODOSIA
and Joseph were married in Albany, on Monday, February 2, 1801, in the low-ceilinged parlor of the little house Aaron had leased for the session.

Afterward Theo never could remember much about the ceremony except a sharp sensation of surprise that marriage, which seemed such a soul-shaking step to contemplate, could in the happening seem so casual and undramatic. She had expected heartache, palpitations, perhaps even the mystical joy one read about. She felt nothing at all.

It was dusk and snowing fast against the tiny-paned windows. The parlor glowed with a crackling fire. At one end of the small room the half-dozen guests murmured politely as though awaiting the arrival of the tea service and decanters. There was no atmosphere of special festivity.

Aaron, exactly as usual, made graceful desultory talk and
quietly supervised everything. Joseph in a new coat of buff brocade seemed precisely the same young man who had left Richmond Hill four and a half months ago, silent and embarrassed. He had arrived yesterday evening, and Theo had not seen him alone. She herself wore a fine muslin frock embroidered in brilliants, one of those bought in New York before they left. But this was not unusual either. She had had many new white dresses, and this one could not compare in elegance to the one she had worn for her birthday party.

Only Natalie, who had of course accompanied them, experienced any of the emotions proper to a wedding. She huddled in a corner behind the fire screen, her handkerchief to her eyes, her kindly little mouth working. 'Pourvu qu'elle soit heureuse, cette pauvre Theo,' she horrified herself by murmuring. For Theo's total lack of animation, with none of the shy radiance one expected in a bride, smote Natalie's practical heart with dismay. She touched the crucifix around her neck and prayed for Theo to the Holy Mother who understands all things.

The Reverend Mr. Johnson swayed back and forth in front of the fireplace as he intoned the service. His long black coattails all but raked across the burning logs, and Theo watched them fascinated until he prompted her to each response.

Suddenly he stopped swaying. His ponderous Bible shut with a thud. It was all over.

Theo felt her father's arm draw her close to him, and in the same moment that she realized his arm trembled a little she looked up to see his eyes bright with moisture. He put his long delicate fingers on either side of her face and kissed her forehead. 'God bless you, my dear,' he whispered.

'Father——' She clung to him frantically, an hysterical sob crowding into her throat.

He shook his head slightly and put her from him. Beneath
the tenderness of his gaze, she saw the familiar air of admonishment. 'Go to your husband, Theo. He is waiting to embrace you.'

Husband! The word struck through her brain. This thickset stranger with the curly black hair and petulant mouth—Husband! Terrifying and yet ludicrous too. Almost she could have laughed, as he stepped forward clumsily and kissed her on the mouth.

A smile rippled through the company, the half-sentimental, half-bawdy amusement reserved for weddings.

I'm quite alone, she thought, profoundly startled. No one understands—not even Father!

'Let us away to the wedding feast,' said Aaron lightly, herding them into the dining-room and lifting his glass in the first toast to the young couple.

At nine o'clock Natalie led Theo upstairs and helped her change into her traveling clothes. She draped a violet velvet cloak over Theo's shoulders, tied bonnet ribbons under her round chin. The bonnet was of violet velvet too, and beneath its brim the girl's face shone ghostly white.

Natalie kissed her. 'Don't be afraid, chérie,' she whispered unhappily. 'It can't be so—so bad. All ze married women in zis world have—subi'. She blushed scarlet.

Theo smiled faintly. 'I'm not afraid, Natalie, dear.'

For now again she felt nothing but a weary blankness: a complete detachment as though she stood far outside herself watching the antics of tiny, not very interesting puppets.

This sense of isolation carried her through the leave-taking. Aaron had prepared himself to deal with this difficult moment, soothing her, and reminding her that they would meet again in a fortnight. His precautions were unnecessary. She seemed scarcely more aware of him than she did of the others, and her brief, almost casual farewell dismayed him. He
wished her to adapt herself to her new circumstances, of course, yet where had she acquired this sudden remoteness? It invested her with a surprising maturity. For one instant he felt misgivings—he checked them instantly. Of course she would be happy—ambition and determination produced happiness under any conditions. She must learn this.

He flung open the door and ushered the bride and groom to the small cutter which was waiting outside. The horses stamped and blew with the cold. But it had stopped snowing. High above a frosting of stars twinkled tiny as spangles, diminished by the chill air.

Theo seated herself in the cutter and Joseph clambered in beside her. The horses started off briskly with a cheerful jingling of sleighbells.

'Good-bye, Godspeed!' Most of the company had returned indoors, unwilling to brave the cold or the night air, but Aaron stood bareheaded on the Dutch stoop until the cutter disappeared around a corner.

It glided smoothly on its runners over the fresh snowfall toward the docks. Aaron had booked a stateroom for them on the New York packet, and had informed Joseph of it upon his arrival the evening before.

'Theodosia loves Richmond Hill,' he had explained, 'and I have made arrangements for you to go there at once. It will be easier for her to go by boat, even though ice on the river may delay you. The overland journey is too rigorous at this time of year, and the taverns are impossible.'

So Joseph had found his honeymoon arranged for him in every detail. He had accepted it without protest, recognizing that it was sensible and saved him trouble. But he was astounded, on entering the large and commodious cabin which Aaron had booked, to find it transformed out of all resemblance to a ship's cabin. A Turkish carpet covered the floor,
and the dingy curved timbers that formed the walls had been whitewashed to shining purity. There were two small armchairs with needlepoint seats, and on the hinged table by the berths stood an enormous bowl of Christmas roses.

Theodosia broke her silence with a little cry. 'How pretty it is! I didn't know a ship's cabin could look like this. Did you have it fixed this way?'

He shook his head sulkily. 'No'. After a moment's silence he added, 'I presume that your father did.'

She walked over to the stove, pulled off her mittens, and held her chilled hands to the blaze.

Of course it was her father. Who else would have taken such pains to insure her comfort? Who else would have thought to send her roses, the only kind that could be procured in midwinter, a trifle shriveled and puny, but roses none the less? Messages of cheer and comfort.

Joseph flung his cape on one of the chairs and stared unhappily at Theo's small unconscious back. His mind was not analytical, but he found himself irritated by Aaron's thoughtfulness. There was something faintly ridiculous about starting married life in a bower of a father-in-law's devising. And deeper than that lay a disquiet that he could not quite drag to light.

Now and then at Richmond Hill, he had mulled over the single-hearted devotion that Theo showed her father. And often, when they were together, he had felt himself excluded while the two of them escaped into an apparently delightful atmosphere which he did not understand and slightly resented.

Still, you couldn't resent so admirable a thing as love between father and daughter; it was most proper and becoming. Always, he had told himself, it would be different once he and Theo were married. Theo would then automatically transfer
that eager admiration, that breathless responsiveness, to her new master. Girls always did.

He had vaguely pictured his wedding night, seeing Theo starry-eyed and shy, shedding a few natural tears, perhaps, as she parted from her father. But, after all, they were to see Aaron again so soon. He had pictured himself as drying those tears tenderly, carrying her off in a high manner. Then they would be alone at last, freed from all other influences.

But Theo had neither blushed nor cried. Since the ceremony she had not spoken to him at all—until now, to express pleasure over the transformed cabin, with which he had had nothing to do. Neither did he like the transformation. A ship's cabin should be a ship's cabin. This looked like a stage-setting, specious and theatrical. It made him uncomfortable.

Theo continued to warm her hands at the stove; her back, under the cape which she had not removed, was both remote and rigid. She seemed totally unapproachable: a polite little stranger.

From the deck above their heads he could hear the trampling of sailors' feet. Six bells rang from somewhere, there came a musical shout, 'Heave away,' followed by the flapping of the mainsail. The vessel creaked.

He cleared his throat. 'We—we're getting under way.'

'Why, yes, I believe we are,' she answered, not moving.

He walked over beside her. 'Won't you take off your bonnet and cape? It's warm in here.'

She obediently untied the ribbons beneath her chin. He took the cape from her, hung it on a bracket near the door, taking as much time as possible to do so. He was increasingly uncomfortable. Damn it all, they were married, she was extremely pretty, she was his wife. He had dreamed of this moment. There had been nights in Carolina when he had tossed sweating on his bed, consumed with desire for her. For love
of her he had refused to go to the brothels with his friends in Charleston.

But now he felt no desire. Her pale fixed little face, with its great staring eyes like—like a sleepwalker's almost frightened him. He could no more imagine embracing her than he could one of the cold marble statues in his plantation garden.

Yet this was a bridal night. On bridal nights a man must be masterful, vigorous, no matter the unresponsiveness of the bride.

Joseph paced a few uneasy steps across the cabin and made a pretense of peering through the porthole into the blackness outside. A light or two pricked out from the shore; the leaping flames of a huge bonfire moved slowly past, and out of sight. The packet glided downstream with velvet quietness. There was almost no motion. The inner uncertainty and fear of being inadequate, which had bedeviled him from childhood, now gnawed at Joseph's heart. He took refuge in the brusque, arrogant manner that was half-temperamental and half-concealment.

'I'm going to have a dram of negus,' he said abruptly, scowling at Theo as though she had forbidden it, 'if I can find a servant to make it for me on this damned boat.'

Theodosia turned her small head, her eyebrows raised in cool surprise.

'Alexis is waiting out by the saloon, you know. You have but to call him. He makes excellent negus.'

Alexis, of course. He had forgotten. Aaron had provided his own servants for them too. Joseph, suddenly swept with unreasonable anger, threw open the cabin door, and shouted in a voice that was an insult, 'Alexis!'

The negro came running. 'Yes, sir. Yes, sir.'

'I want negus. And be quick about it, damn you.'

Alexis bowed with dignity, resentment in every line of his
stiff body. Aaron treated his servants with invariable kindness and courtesy. The negro did not like Mr. Alston, but he saw that the bridegroom was unhappy. He felt a trifle sorry for him, but a whole lot sorrier for Miss Theo. She'd got herself a dull-headed, ill-tempered bull of a husband for fair: him and his passel of Gullah niggers with their singsong jabber and their heathen charms.

He came back in a few minutes bearing a steaming bowl of negus, fragrant with lemon peel, port wine, and nutmeg. Miss Theo was sitting in one of the chairs, her chin on her hand, mooning over the Christmas roses Colonel Burr had combed Albany to find. Mr. Alston was leaning against the far wall, frowning at the carpet. Neither looked up when Alexis came in, so he placed the bowl of negus beside two china cups on the wooden bench, and bowing disappeared.

Joseph ladled out the smoking-hot liquid. 'You will join me,' he ordered sharply. 'We must drink a toast to our marriage.'

'Certainly'. She accepted the cup, touched her lips to it. Joseph gulped his, poured himself another, and another.

This isn't real, Theo thought. Soon I shall waken and I will find myself in my white bedroom at Richmond Hill. Father will be up and dressed already, down in the library writing. He will be a little cross with me for being late to breakfast, and he will tease me by forbidding me another cup of tea. But after breakfast we will walk out onto the porch together; the air will be crisp and sparkling; Minerva will be waiting for me, whinnying at the hitching-post. Our pond will be thinly iced, with new pussy-willows around its margin, and behind I shall see the Hudson.