Washington's Lady (13 page)

A visit to my family back in Chestnut Grove was a special treat.

My brothers William and Bartholomew came to visit with their families, and I took great pleasure in spending time with my sisters Elizabeth, Nancy, and her dear husband, Burwell, and my littlest sister, Mary.

George could not take time to accompany me, but as a treat for Mary, I brought Patsy along as a playmate. The two little girls, both nearly eight, gave us many joyful moments.

I left Jacky behind at Mount Vernon. George had suggested it be so, had actually suggested I might enjoy my family visit more without the burden of my children. I could not do such a thing in good conscience and was going to bring them both, until Jacky was so naughty that the very thought of having him with me brought with it a measure of exhaustion that seemed beyond my ken.

Mother asked me about his absence. “He must have done something extremely bad,” she said at dinner the first evening of my visit.

“He is a good boy. Generally,” I hedged.

“He is a boy,” Nancy said. “And as such needs a firm hand. I imagine George provides just what he needs.”

He would like to.
I could not tell them of my inability to let my husband father the children in full. It was an unexplainable compunction on my part, and one that did not make me proud. “I try to keep the children close by. There is so much upon a plantation which can harm, and . . .” I took the moment to turn around to find little Pat.

“She is fine. She is with Mary and the nanny,” Mother said. She gave me an admonishing look. “You must relax, my dear. The children will be fine.”

“The children may not be fine. You have not lost—” I stopped the words I had oft used against George. In the present case they did not suit, for my mother had also lost two children. And a husband.

“My children were lost when they had grown past the early years of childhood. John was seventeen and Fanny but thirteen,” she said.

“This is supposed to comfort me?”

“This is supposed to remind you that death is not prejudiced against the very young. It comes when it chooses.”

“That is why—”

She held up a finger. “That is why you cannot spend time worrying beyond a normal degree. Too much worry skews happiness, Martha. You must be happy when it is time to be happy, and leave sadness and fear for the time of sadness and fear.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and quoted a verse:
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted . . . A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

I nodded. I knew how things should be, yet seemed unable to do what I should do.

“Enough admonition—for the moment,” Mother said. “Tell us what Jacky did that has kept him at Mount Vernon without his dear mamma.”

I was more than willing to set my own indiscretions aside toward the naming of my son’s. “George has purchased a fishing schooner to sail the Potomac and into the Chesapeake. If good catches continue, he says we shall take one million fish from the tidewater this year.”

Nancy shook her head, incredulous. “Surely not one
million?”

“Surely it is so,” I said. “The very number boggles my mind e’en as it pleases me. For one million fish means fish that need to be cleaned and salted and sealed in barrels to be sold in the colonies and West Indies. George says there is great profit in it, and I believe him. And this is not accounting the profit of serving fish to the people at Mount Vernon with great regularity.”

“Your George is very industrious,” Elizabeth said.

“Beyond measure,” I said.

“So,” Mother continued. “What did our little Jacky do?”

“He was down at the dock with George and the overseer, watching the crew bring in a good portion of the catch.”

“He did not fall in, did he?” Nancy asked.

“No, no. But he did dive into the river. To swim.”

There was a moment of silence. “Had he not swum there before? I seem to remember you saying—”

“Yes, yes, he swims in the Potomac all the time, with the children of the slaves, and his neighbour friends.”

“Then what was the problem?” Mother asked.

I could not attest to my problem and focused on my son’s. “He and the boys were being exuberant and . . . and he nearly drowned.”

Nancy put a hand to her chest. “Oh, Martha, no! Not like—”

Perhaps they would understand. “Our brother John, yes. If John drowned in the lowly Pamunkey River when he was seventeen, with the strength and constitution of a man, then how can I not worry about a nine-year-old, with a reckless manner and no thought to danger or common sense or—”

“I am surprised you are here, then,” Mother said. “If Jacky nearly drowned . . .”

Oh dear. I had taken the story in a direction that was not completely forthcoming.

Elizabeth stood. “You must go home, Martha. As much as I relish our time together, if poor Jacky—”

I felt Mother watching me, and she was the one to halt Elizabeth’s discourse with a hand. “Jacky did not nearly drown, did he?”

She knew me too well, read me like the page of a book. “Well, no. Though I do hate the rough play, he is quite a strong swimmer and George says I worry too much and that boys need to be allowed to be boys and—”

“He did something naughty.” Mother said it as a statement. For beyond knowing me, she also knew her grandson.

I could avoid it no longer. “After swimming, he ended up falling into . . . a crate of flopping fish.”

The ladies round me were silent. I was not sure if it was for shock or—

Nancy began to laugh. Then Mother. Then Elizabeth.

“’Twas not funny,” I said. “The more he wiggled to get out, the deeper he went, until he was thoroughly covered with the smell and slime.”

Mother covered her mouth with her hand. “He did not make good company for quite the time, I suspect.”

“George had brought him down on horseback, but made him walk beside all the way to the house. Poor little—”

“Poor nothing. I am certain he was warned time and again to stay back.”

Although I did not nod, I knew it was true.

“So he has been left behind as punishment,” Nancy said.

“Well . . . actually . . .”

“You did punish him, Martha, didn’t you?” Mother asked.

I
did not. “George made him get cleaned up all by himself and wanted to make him wash his own clothes. I put a stop to that, as I thought the walk back home was punishment en—”

She shook her head. “You are too lenient. A boy of Jacky’s age needs a firm hand or he will become a wild boy.”

“My hand is plenty firm,” I said.

“I do not see it,” Mother said. She quoted me, “‘Poor little Jacky’ indeed.”

“So if you did not leave him behind as punishment, why is he not here?” Nancy asked.

The truth would not help my cause. “He wished to stay behind. With George.”

“With the one who punished him.” Mother nodded with far too much pleasure. “’Tis interesting.”

To my luck Patsy wailed from the next room. “If you will excuse me.

*****

Dogs barking.

I snapped awake and sat erect in bed. It took me but a moment to remember I was at Chestnut Grove.

Away from home.

Away from George and Jacky.

It was still dark, but the dog . . . was a visitor coming with a message announcing horrible news that Jacky was ill or hurt in some accident?

The dog persisted. Old Joe didn’t bark without reason.

I hurried to the window and peered into the darkness, looking for a horseman.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a deer running through the clearing toward the woods. The hound ran after it and both disappeared amid the trees.

The yard was silent but for the swish of the breeze through the branches.

Jacky is fine. There is no need to worry.

Need or no need, the worry remained.

To appease it, since I could not check upon my son who was a four-days’ ride away, I tiptoed to the hall and into my sister Mary’s room, where my little Patsy had begged to sleep.

The two little girls lay together in bed. Mary had taken more covers than her share, so I gently pulled them away in order for my daughter to stay warm. Patsy murmured a sound of cozy warmth. I kissed her cheek, pushed a stray hair from her forehead, and left the room.

I returned to bed and adjusted my own covers against the coolness of the night.

Patsy was fine. Jacky was fine. I could sleep appeased by that knowledge.

I could sleep.

But I didn’t.

*****

I regularly thanked God for caps.

“Pin it up and tuck it under, Amanda,” I told my maid. We were back at home and I had much to do to catch up. “I have neither time nor patience for the whims of my hair today.”

Although I rarely despaired over my hair, on some occasions it did
not
cooperate, and I owned neither the time or inclination to have Amanda fiddle over it. Enter my thanks for the fashion of the cap. Although most ladies chose those that sat low on the head, I preferred a cap that owned a bit of puff to it, one that gave the illusion of a height I did not own. When I was around the Dandridge side of our family, I never felt out of place, for they were the source of my height. But when visited by George’s side, or Sally and George William, I felt puny—in height at least.

My other complaint (since I felt petty) was that because of my small height and family propensity, I was plumper than I would like. Give me three or four more inches to stretch out my weight and surely I would have been stunning. Although some of my neighbours had ceased wearing corsets while at home, my vanity suggested I could not follow the comforts of their fashion.

Who invented corsets? Most likely a man, attempting to torture us and keep us from true relaxation. My only concession was to order stays easy-made, and in the summer months, very thin for when the heat made any clothing unbearable. How comfortable we would be if not for the shame instigated in the Garden of Eden.

My, my, I was in a mood. And over such inconsequentials too. Such disrespect for priorities did not become me.

The children rushed into the room. They were dressed and ready for breakfast and their studies.

“Mamma!” Patsy ran to my side and climbed upon my lap. She was beginning to be too big, but I would never dare say as much. And blessedly, my dearest girl did not care whether my hair cooperated or the height of my cap.

Jacky ignored me and began to jump upon the bed. I saw Amanda flash him a look, but she waited for me to chastise him.

“Come give your mamma a kiss, young man.

He jumped from the bed, nearly on top of Patsy, and did his duty. For this near-miss he did receive my ire. “You be careful of your sister. You nearly—”

Suddenly, I felt Patsy begin to tremble. My first inclination was that she was chilled, and I thought of getting her changed into a warmer dress or procuring a blanket. But that thought was gone in a blink as her entire body shook its way out of my arms, sliding onto the floor. I attempted to cushion her decline and focused on keeping her head from hitting too hard.

She continued to shake—with violent jerking—and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Mamma!” Jacky yelled.

Amanda backed away.

I pointed at her. “Go send for my husband! Quickly!”

Amanda hesitated a moment, her face pulled with fear, but then she bolted from the room and I heard her calling out to the household. “Get the master! Get the master! Quickly!”

I realized her trumpeting would bring the curiosity of other servants. “Jacky, close the door!” My eyes returned to Patsy.

She was choking!

I tried lifting her head to a better position, but she flung out of my arms, hitting the floor with a thud.

“Hold her, Mamma!” Jacky said.

I tried, but she had the strength of a man and would not be contained. I moved the bench of my dressing table away so she would not flail against it. “The coverlet!” I yelled at Jacky.

He tossed me the coverlet that sat at the end of our bed. I attempted to wrap it around my daughter to cushion her limbs against the hardness of the wooden floor.

There was a knock on the door and Amanda reentered. “Is he coming?” I asked.

Her eyes scanned Patsy, then met mine. “He is at the River Farm, but I sent Linus to fetch him.” She did not venture closer. “Can I . . . can I help?”

As suddenly as the seizure had taken her, Patsy was still. No one moved. I held my breath.

She opened her eyes and I moved into her sight line. “Sweet child! I am here. Mamma is here.”

Patsy blinked slowly, as if returning from another place.

Jacky poked her shoulder. “What were you doing? You were shaking and—”

“Shh, son. Help me get her to bed.”

We half carried, half walked Patsy to the mattress. She stared straight ahead and seemed groggy, in a daze. “Get her a glass of water, Amanda. And a damp cloth.”

I tucked her limbs beneath the bedclothes and stroked her hair. “There, there, sweet girl. Mamma has you safe.”

But did I?

*****

An hour later I heard heavy footfalls on the stairs. George burst into the room. Seeing Patsy upon the bed, he raced to her side. “Dear girl. Are you all right?”

“I am fine, Poppa.”

He looked to me. “Is she?”

I motioned him out of the room, leaving Patsy to play with Jacky. They were drawing pictures of horses.

I closed the door behind us. I told him all I had witnessed, and in addition told him she had no memory of the incident, and apparently felt no pain—though her right elbow was sore.

“It sounds like epilepsy,” George said.

Oddly, I was glad it had a name. “You have heard of it?”

“Seen it. One of my soldiers fell into a fit once. Thrashed about wildly, knocking things over, hurting those who were trying to contain him. Some Indians saw it and said some word that meant
demon
.”

“Demon!”

He took my hands, shaking his head. “No, no, dear. Please. I must learn what to share and what not. Apparently those without education have no other explanation but to say demons are involved. I have heard those in medieval times thought the same. But science has given it a name. Epilepsy.”