All Things New (26 page)

And there stood Mary, a stone’s throw away, watching them.

How long had she been there? Josephine turned her back on Alexander and hurried toward her. “Mary! What are you doing here?”

“I saw you get up and get dressed. I heard you leave the other morning, too. I wondered where you went, so I got dressed and followed you.”

“I needed some fresh air and—”

“You came to be with that Yankee. I saw you with him.” Jo turned to look back, but he and his horse were gone. She linked arms with Mary to walk home.

“You were spying on me?”

“Is that why you asked me about marrying someone unsuitable? About marrying for love? Are you in love with
him
?” She said the word in a disparaging way, as if Alexander were nothing, less than nothing.

“No, I’m not in love, don’t be absurd! We were just talking.”

“He was holding your hand, Jo.”

“He wasn’t—”

“I saw you!”

“Listen. He’s trying to help me understand things about the war—”

“What does a Yankee know about our side of the war?”

Jo couldn’t begin to explain their strange friendship, nor could she tell her sister that she’d lost her faith and could no longer pray. Mary would never understand. “Are you going to tell Mother that you saw us?”

“That depends. Are you going to keep sneaking out to see him?”
When Josephine hesitated, Mary said, “Jo, you can’t! It isn’t proper! People will think . . . I mean, he’s the enemy, and I saw him holding your hand. I saw the way he was looking at you.”

“Stop it. He’s not our enemy. And I swear we were simply talking. It’s not what you think.” But Mary was right. The way Alexander looked at her made her heart race like a thoroughbred pounding down the track. She drew a deep breath and let it out. “Please don’t tell Mother. I sewed you a new dress, I brought you new shoes—that’s where they came from, by the way. From Mr. Chandler’s church up north.”

“You’re sweet on him, aren’t you? And don’t tell me you aren’t because I can see it on your face.”

“Mary—”

“What will our neighbors think if they find out? Mother is having this dance so we can find husbands—proper, gentlemanly husbands—and you can’t ruin it for me, you can’t! Maybe you don’t want happiness, but I do.”

Jo drew Mary to a halt near the stables, afraid Mother would hear them arguing if they went near the house. She recalled Alexander’s words about happiness and joy and wondered if she could explain the difference to Mary.

“Happiness is what we had before the war, when Daddy was alive. It was based on being wealthy and having servants and a beautiful home, and it didn’t last. When our circumstances changed, we weren’t happy anymore. But we can have joy, now and in the future, even if we don’t have a beautiful home again or dozens of servants or rich husbands.”

“You aren’t making sense.” Mary looked so much like Mother when she stood this way, with her hands on her hips and her chin in the air.

“Have you ever watched Lizzie and Otis with their children? They have nothing—no house, no money, they wear rags and walk barefooted—but they have love and joy.”

“And you think you can have that with your Yankee?”

“No, Mary. No. I need someone to talk to, that’s all. I can’t
stand being trapped inside the house all day with nothing to do. I’m bored. That’s why I started sewing your dress and cleaning up the terrace. Mr. Chandler is someone new to talk to, that’s all. But please don’t tell Mother. She won’t understand. She’ll turn me into a prisoner.”

“If you promise not to see him anymore, then I’ll promise not to tell.”

“Fine. But I’ll have to see him once more to explain why—”

“No! Just stop going to the tree house. He’ll figure out why.”

“But he’ll think—”

“What? What will he think?” Mary planted her hands on her hips again.

Josephine had been about to say that Alexander would think she didn’t care for him, but she didn’t dare say that out loud. Because she did care for him. Against all reasoning, all logic, all propriety, she did care for him. Perhaps too much.

She took Mary’s hands in her own, looked her in the eye. And as much as Josephine hated to do it, she said, “I promise. I promise I won’t see Alexander Chandler again.”

25

J
UNE
17, 1865

“I would like this room thoroughly cleaned,” Eugenia said as she surveyed her guest room. “That means the bedding must be changed, the floor swept, and the room dusted. Those curtains will need to be taken down, washed, starched and ironed. Leave all the windows open while you work so the room gets thoroughly aired.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Roselle had given the proper answer, but Eugenia caught her looking out the window, not at the work that needed to be done. The two little Negro girls who would be helping Roselle looked suitably frightened of Eugenia, yet they were mere children and much too young to be proper servants yet.

“Pay attention now, Roselle. I want it done right. We have company coming from Richmond in two weeks.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Josephine, who also had been following Eugenia all around, moved close and whispered, “You can’t order them around, Mother. They aren’t—”

“I know, I know. For heaven’s sake, Josephine, quit pestering me about it.”

“Well, servants should be paid for their work and—”

“I’m providing room and board, aren’t I? The very least they can do is help me with a few simple chores once in a while.”

“But when they helped me with the terrace—”

“I never should have agreed to let you pay those children for their work. Now they’ll expect it all the time.”

Josephine sighed. “At least let me help them take down the curtains. I’m taller than everyone else.”

Eugenia agreed, but only because they were running out of time and there was still a great deal of work to be done before her dance. Thank heaven she finally had Clara for another house servant so Josephine didn’t feel compelled to help Lizzie do everything. Clara was proving to be a much better cook than Lizzie and nearly as good as Dolly had been. Of course, their menu was still severely limited, but they would have fresh produce from the kitchen garden in a few more weeks. Roselle and these two new little girls were very young, but that meant Eugenia could train them herself, the right way—if they weren’t too dull-witted, that is.

“Can I leave you under Josephine’s supervision?” she asked. “Can I expect the work to be done properly?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roselle repeated.

“Promise me you won’t do any of the work yourself, Josephine.”

“I’m simply taking the curtains down.” She had already moved a chair in place beneath one of the windows and was lowering the rod. As Jo stood on tiptoes, Eugenia noticed her toes were no longer sticking out from her shoes. She moved closer for a better look.

“Josephine? Where did those shoes come from?” Jo turned around so fast, still holding the unwieldy curtain rod, that she nearly fell off the chair. Eugenia reached to steady her.

“My shoes? . . . Um . . . Someone noticed I needed new ones and—”

“Does this someone have a name?”

“They wish to remain anonymous. Everyone knows how you feel about accepting charity.”

“But you accepted charity just the same?”

Josephine drew a deep breath, then exhaled. “Yes. I did. And
you may as well know that I accepted a pair for Mary, too. We need them, Mother. And someday when we get everything back, as you’re so convinced we will, we’ll be able to repay the good deed and be charitable to someone else in need.”

Eugenia couldn’t argue with her daughter’s logic, nor could she explain the pain it caused her to be unable to meet her children’s needs herself. “I’ll be downstairs if you need any more instructions,” she said. “Priscilla promised to send two of her girls over to help me rearrange the drawing room, and they should be here any minute.”

Eugenia was gazing at her newly restored terrace when Priscilla’s servants arrived. The flagstone courtyard had turned out even better than Eugenia had dared to hope, with the weeds cleared and the railings newly whitewashed. Of course she knew what Josephine had been up to, sneaking around trying to teach those children to read. But at least the work was finished and the terrace looked wonderful. Now if only Josephine would meet a nice young man at the dance. Surely one of them would take a fancy to her, someone who wanted his family name associated with the Weatherlys.

She put Priscilla’s servants to work, rearranging the drawing room furniture, pushing chairs and end tables against the walls to create a dance floor, sweeping and mopping the huge room. They were just finishing when Lizzie entered, carrying a dusty bottle of elderberry wine in each hand. “Look what I found, Miz Eugenia.”

“Where in the world did those come from?”

“I found them in the root cellar, ma’am. We hid them from the Yankees after you left, and I forgot all about them until I got to the bottom of the potato bin today. There’s a few more bottles just like these.”

“Wonderful! Now make sure you remember to wash and dry all the wineglasses for our guests.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The next two weeks flew past with a bustle of activity that White Oak hadn’t seen since before the war. Eugenia could barely fall asleep the night before her dance, and by the time her guests
began to arrive, she felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. Her sister, Olivia, had arrived from Richmond that afternoon with her family and would be spending the night in the guest room.

“You’re very brave to open your home to entertain guests this way,” Olivia said as the first carriages began to arrive that evening. They stood in the foyer together in their well-worn gowns, wearing the few pieces of jewelry that hadn’t been sold. “To tell you the truth, Charles and I still can’t afford to entertain this way. We’re forced to go to bed when it gets dark most nights to save lamp oil.”

“I checked the almanac and planned the dance on a night with a moon. Thank heaven the weather cooperated and there aren’t any clouds. Lamp oil and candles are scarce here, too, but I asked everyone who could to bring a candle with them.”

“Everything looks lovely.”

“Thank you. I was afraid the . . . shabbiness of this affair would be embarrassing, especially compared to the lavish parties Philip and I used to give.”

“Not at all. I think you’ll win everyone’s admiration for being brave enough to move forward.”

That admiration proved to be enough for Eugenia. It felt like the old days as she greeted guests at her door and welcomed them into her home. Some of her friends had tears in their eyes as they told Eugenia how much they needed this diversion. Their gratitude cheered her, and the happiness on her neighbors’ faces made all the hard work and planning worthwhile. Eugenia had hoped this would be a tiny step toward restoring her old life, but it was turning out to be a huge one.

Soon her volunteer musicians arrived and began to play. Mary and Josephine took turns on the piano. Guests whirled around the dance floor, the women in their best gowns, many of the men in their Confederate uniforms. Laughter and music filled the room.

For the next few hours Eugenia made the rounds like a good hostess, talking to her guests, attentive to their needs. They showered her with compliments. She saw Daniel waltzing, and he was smiling for once. An admiring group of young men, including
Joseph Gray, hovered around Mary and her cousins. Mary looked beautiful in the dress Josephine had remade for her. But Eugenia couldn’t understand why Josephine hadn’t sewn one for herself. When she had asked, Jo had simply shrugged and walked away.

Josephine wasn’t even trying to meet a beau. In fact, as the evening wore on it looked as though she was going to spend the entire time playing the piano. Eugenia waited until the song ended, then went over to the piano and took Josephine by the arm. “Come, dear. Let someone else take over for a while. You need to mingle with our guests.” She saw young Henry Schreiber conversing with Daniel near the open doors to the terrace and towed Josephine over to them.

“Are you gentlemen enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weatherly. Very much so,” Henry said. “Thank you for inviting me.” Eugenia lingered long enough to help Josephine start a conversation, then discreetly left when Henry invited Josephine to dance. She saw Priscilla Blake just coming through the drawing room door and hurried over to greet her.

“Where’s Harrison? Didn’t he come?”

“I told you he wouldn’t.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. But I’m glad you came, dear. Everyone has been asking about you.”

“I’m sorry I was late. I was trying to convince Harrison, but . . .”

“Never mind. There’s some elderberry wine over on the sideboard. Dolly, our former cook, made it. Come, I’ll fetch a glass for you.”

They met Leona Gray by the refreshment table, and Priscilla was soon engrossed in conversation with her. Eugenia surveyed the room to see who else might need attention and to make sure her guests were mingling. Olivia and her husband were waltzing together, and Eugenia felt a stab of jealousy when she saw them—and then a rush of anger toward Philip for supporting the war, for dying, for leaving her alone. He’d been such a powerful, dynamic man, always strong and in control, filling any room he entered with his presence. She felt the pain of his absence now as if her arm or her
leg had been severed or her heart gouged from her chest. As she struggled to stop her sudden tears, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“May I have this dance, Eugenia?” She turned, surprised to see David Hunter. He had cut his hair at last and looked slender and handsome in his Confederate uniform. For a moment she forgot her manners and simply stared at him. He smiled shyly. “Please don’t say no, Eugenia. It has taken me all evening to gather up my courage to ask you.”

“Of course I’ll dance with you. I just . . . you took me by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t realize you had arrived, I’m sorry.”

“Your daughter Mary met me at the door. Shall we?” She moved into his arms, and he led her around the dance floor in a graceful waltz. Eugenia had always loved the company of men, loved their strength and masculinity and the way it complemented her femininity. She had enjoyed the game of flirtation when she’d been Mary’s age and the command her beauty gave her over men. She envied her daughter, just beginning to discover her power.

David turned out to be a wonderful dancer, graceful and smooth. “Where did you learn to waltz so beautifully?” she asked as they glided around the room.

“My mother taught me. She said it was something every gentleman should learn.” Eugenia wondered how a common physician’s wife had learned to waltz, but she didn’t ask. “If you’re wondering how my mother learned,” David said with a smile, “she was born into a privileged life like yours. She married ‘down’ because she fell in love with my father, a physician like myself who had treated her for scarlet fever.”

“Really? How interesting.”

“Theirs was a very romantic story, so I’ve been told. My mother was a Blandford from Fairfax County.”

“I know the name. They are a very fine family.” No wonder David had always displayed such good manners, with one of the Blandfords for his mother.

“You picked a beautiful evening, Eugenia, with moonlight and starlight. Your home looks magnificent.”

“I wish you could have seen the galas we used to have. This gathering is a pale shadow in comparison.”

“Does it make you sad to compare this night with the past?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re allowing ourselves to be happy again, to put the war behind us. Today is a better day than yesterday, and that’s what counts. We’ve given ourselves one night to dance and visit with old friends and not worry about tomorrow.”

What she missed the most, Eugenia realized, was the freedom from worry, the contentment of knowing that Philip was in charge and that he would take care of her. Ever since he’d died, she’d been forced to run the plantation herself, making the arrangements with her former slaves, making sure the crops were planted and the vegetable garden tended. Daniel had turned out to be a great disappointment to her. She didn’t know what he did with his time every day, but he wasn’t running White Oak. She glanced around for him as she and David covered the dance floor but didn’t see him.

“We’re a bit like one of my patients,” David said, “whose fever and pain have gone away for a day or a night, and he can finally sleep in peace. Perhaps the fever will return tomorrow, perhaps he’ll become worse and die. But for today, he can celebrate life—and so will we.”

“You’re right. All these fine families have suffered these past few years, and many continue to suffer. But we’re coming together as a community and enjoying each other’s company tonight.”

“You called them ‘fine families.’ Even after the war, Eugenia, do you still put people into categories the way you were taught to do—rich and poor, socially acceptable and not, black and white?”

“I haven’t placed them there. Life has.”

“But people are all the same in God’s eyes, don’t you think? Or do you believe there will be segregated divisions in heaven like the ones we’ve created here on earth?”

“What an odd question to ask. I guess I’ve never thought about how it will be in heaven.”

“No. Because we were taught that there was the Southern aristocracy and there were common men. That the Negroes were
little more than beasts with souls. But what I’m wondering is, do you still believe that?”