Sarah's Ground (9781439115855) (13 page)

Upton came and apologized to me. “I only wanted to get her out of the water,” he said.

“Its all right.” I was shelling peas in the detached kitchen. Helping Jane get supper. I liked shelling peas, and Jane was teaching me about cooking.

“It isn't all right. I know what you're thinking.” He paused to cough. It was deep and resounding.

“Are you ill?” I asked. “That dip in the water did you no good. It was cold.”

“No, I'm fine, thank you. I just don't like seeing you upset. I know you worry about the propriety of things.”

“Well, at least you understand,” I said. “After all, Mary is a beautiful young girl, and if you are attracted, I don't blame you at all, but she is a bit of a coquette.”

He looked at his shoes. A piece of his brown curly hair fell over his forehead. He wore his hair longish. “I'm not attracted,” he said. “And I'm not altogether untried in dealing with such girls. The South is full of them.”

“I never asked you if you had a …” I paused. “Anyone who interested you.”

“I didn't ask you, either. I didn't think that's what we were about here.”

“We aren't,” I said abruptly.

He nodded his head as if something had been settled, when I knew nothing had. He made some excuse about seeing soldiers coming and left the kitchen.

Soldiers were coming. Several of them. Upton was seeing to them, however, so I went on shelling the peas. I didn't know where Mary was, and frankly I didn't care.

After about half an hour Upton came back into the kitchen. I was determined to make a pie for supper and was rolling out the dough.

“I'm afraid we have trouble, Sarah,” he said.

I went with him. And yes, we did have trouble. He'd given the soldiers their tour of the tomb, then on the way to bringing them to the house found one of their members lying under a tree in a delirium of sickness.

I went with Upton to see him.

They were from the Fifth Michigan, six of them. The
one on the ground was called Pomeroy. “He has congestive fever, ma'am,” a corporal told me.

“He should be in the hospital,” I said. I'd leaned over him to find his head hot.

“He was released from the hospital,” the corporal said, “and told to take his ease.”

“Then, why is he here?”

“He wanted to come, ma'am.”

Somehow his companions got him into the house. Upton and the young man's friends did what they could. They laid him down on the settee in the Little Parlor. They gave him water. They cooled his brow.

He was shaking and sweating all at the same time. Upton got him undressed, down to his skivvies, and covered him with a blanket.

We fed the soldiers. I went into the kitchen with Jane to help, and Mary came and sat beside the sick soldier.

What to do with him? “We've sent for an ambulance to take him back,” the corporal said.

“He can't be moved,” was my first reply.

“We don't want to impose on you.”

I looked at Upton, but he did not return the look. He did not appear too chipper himself. He was coughing again. I became worried. There is a swampy bit of land a quarter of a mile below the mansion. Upton calls it “a marsh filled with pestilence.” General Washington called it
“the hell hole.” It is guaranteed every year, in the hot season, to cause illness, being a breeding place for mosquitoes, and is responsible every year for a sickness of chills and fever. Had Upton contracted something from working near it?

“I don't care if you've sent for eight ambulances,” I snapped. “You aren't moving him. He's staying here. Don't worry about the bother.”

“I'll stay with him,” the corporal said. “You all go back to camp and tell the captain.”

It was agreed, and the corporal, whose name is Derwent Dwight, has taken up his post beside his friend s sickbed.

My pie crust burned in the oven. The peas were overcooked. Altogether it was not a good night. And upon retiring, Upton was coughing more than ever.

I heard him during the night. The cough resounded through the quiet house like a drum, scraping on my nerves.
I should make him some hot tea with honey in it,
I thought. So I got up, put on a robe, and went downstairs to the kitchen, where I lit an oil lamp and made the tea. I put a drop of bourbon in it to help him sleep, then went back upstairs.

Mary was there before me. She was kneeling at his bed. She had a bowl of water and a cloth, and she was wiping his brow, his face, and his chest where his nightshirt was open.

“Mary.” My whisper was loud.

“Oh, hello, Sarah. I just thought I'd help. He's feverish.”

“Go to bed.”

“Why?” she asked innocently.

“Because he's delirious, too, and he wouldn't have you here like this if he weren't.”

She wrung out the cloth. “Oh, and I suppose he'd have you?”

“It isn't my intention to wash him. I'm bringing him tea. If he needs washing, I'll get Priscilla. Or Dandridge.”

She laughed, a lilting sound, and stood up. “At least I'm more honest than you, Sarah. At least I admit I'm fond of him. Who's to be ashamed here if the truth were known, anyway?”

“Go and get me Priscilla,” I said sharply. “She sleeps above the kitchen now, since you're here. Tell her I need her.”

Upton coughed again. I did need Priscilla. I couldn't hold up his head and hold the cup without spilling it. “Go!” I ordered.

She went, and Priscilla came back along. She knew what to do. In no time she had a remedy made and Upton's cough quieted, and she sent me to bed.

As I passed Marys room I saw it was dark.
She'll sleep late in the morning,
I thought. I heard nothing from belowstairs, so I assumed the young soldier and his friend were all right. Priscilla set herself up in a chair next to Upton. I went to bed.

In the morning young Pomeroy was still very sick. Priscilla immediately made him a mustard footbath and other remedies. He slept most of the time. His captain and his ambulance came to inspect him. The captain was from Detroit, Michigan, and didn't seem to care a fig for General Washington s home or the fact that he stood in General Washington's Little Parlor. He was polite as could be, but all he wanted was Pomeroy returned to him.

“This damned South—excuse me, miss, but this damned climate isn't good for anybody. Needs some good Michigan air, is what he needs.”

“I think we do all right, Captain,” I told him.

He smiled at me. He was very handsome, with a beard and mustache. He'd ridden in on his own horse, alongside the ambulance.

“He's been calling for his wife,” I said.

“He's married only one month.”

“How terrible.”

“We should have a doctor. I couldn't get one to come,” he said.

“Priscilla is as good as a doctor.”

“You say he can stay one more day?”

“I say he can stay as long as he likes, Captain, but if you wish to come back tomorrow, you may.”

He sighed and looked around. “What kind of a place is
this? Your home? You one of those Southern belles I've heard about?”

“No, sir. I'm not one of those Southern belles you've heard about. I'm from Troy, New York. This is the home of General Washington.” And I told him why I was here.

“Good girl. You're a good girl, you know that?” he said when he left. “God, I always said it. The women have all the brains in this outfit.”

What “outfit” he was talking about, I didn't know. But he said he'd return tomorrow.

He left around eleven, I recollect. Around noontime I went up to wake Mary. Often she'd slept until noon, but seldom later. I knocked on her door. There was no answer. I opened it and went in.

Her bed was made, the quilt smoothed over carefully. A note was in the middle of it.

Dear Sarah:

I have left. I saw my chance when the captain came by earlier today. I sneaked downstairs and out the side door and asked him for a ride back to Washington. He was most accommodating, even let me have time to write this note
.

I shall be in touch with you. I am sorry, but this hasn't turned out. I am attracted to Upton and cannot deny it. So are you, but you insist
on denying it. All this means is trouble for everybody. I am going back to Philadelphia. I shall write
.

Your friend
,

Mary McMakin

I stood there holding the note to my breast. How had she done all this without my knowing? There was no secondguessing Mary. She was quicker than a rabbit in the celery patch. Me? I'm slow. I stood there like a jackass in the rain, blushing over the contents of her note. Then I ripped it up, lest someone find it.

Better she's gone,
I told myself as I went about my duties that day. Her being here would mean nothing but trouble. We must keep everything spotlessly aboveboard for the Association or this whole experiment will fail. And then what will happen to George Washington's home, Miss Cunningham, who is counting on me so, and the Association?

I
moved Priscilla back into my room. I missed Mary and I felt guilty about her. Not only had she left suddenly, she had left without saying good-bye, with only the ambulance captain for guidance. I had heard that there was a lot of sickness in Washington too, as well as the usual chaos. Would she be able to get her connections back to Philadelphia?

I felt responsible for her. Now I had two people to feel guilty about, Mary and John Augustine Washington. But I must think of the greater good, the possibility she posed of gossip against the Association. Oh, it is not always easy to do the right thing. But then, Miss Semple told us that, only I didn't understand her at the time.

“I am not good with people,” I told Upton when he was up on his feet again after a week.

I did not tell him the real reason Mary left. When she was washing him, he'd been delirious. But I think he guessed that Mary and I had fought over him.

“She was a stubborn girl,” was all he would say. “I'm sorry if any of it was my fault, Sarah.”

“None of it was,” I assured him. “I'll write to her and
make it right. She has been my friend since childhood.”

Do men see things as women see them? Or do they just pretend certain things do not exist, to lessen the pain? I don't know. And like as not, I never will.

Private Pomeroy of the Fifth Michigan stayed four days, and then his captain and his ambulance came back to get him. I made it a point to see the captain when he came. We got to talking, and I told him how we were on a strict budget here, how we had lost money from visitors since the government took our boat and I must rack my brain to think of ways to bring in some cash. He suggested coffee beans. Yes, coffee beans! He told me that some people in the city are selling bracelets made from coffee beans and that soldiers are buying them. He said they sell this particular kind of bean at the Washington market.

Then he left us a generous donation. Ten whole dollars! That will go a long way toward buying food for this winter. And he said that Mary was fine, that he'd escorted her directly to the train station, where she managed to get a train for Philadelphia.

I wait for a letter from her. I cannot imagine what she will write to my sister, Fanny, and what blame she will put on me, but I am sure I shall hear from Fanny about the matter.

It is October 1. Upton reminded me this morning that there is no real border between the Confederacy and the
Union. That the only one that exists is at the foot of our sloping lawn. That seems to have put things back in perspective for me. Upton always seems to know the right thing to say when I am at sixes and sevens.

I am making a trip to the city to get some supplies. And I shall endeavor to get the coffee beans.

Oh, what a time. I haven't written in this journal in days because so much has happened. First, the wheel of my wagon broke in Alexandria on the way to the city. The wagon was full of cabbages and potatoes and apples to sell in the Washington market. The only other way to get to Washington was by the omnibus. So I hired a man in Alexandria to fix the wheel. He said he must keep the wagon overnight, that he could sell my vegetables for me in Alexandria and would have my money and my wagon waiting for us when we returned. So I had to trust him and leave my wagon, and take the omnibus with Priscilla. All went well in Washington. I managed to get the coffee beans I wanted, and we put them in two bags to even up the weight of them, and each carried one on the omnibus back to Alexandria.

But the omnibus was late and we had to wait. It was a beautiful day and I did not mind. But when it finally came, I realized we would not be back to Alexandria until dusk, which comes earlier now that it is October.

When we got to Alexandria, lo, there was my wagon with the horses and a small package in brown paper on the seat. I shook it and realized it was my money for the vegetables. But the man had left a note saying he could not wait and he hoped we had a safe journey home. Then, just as we were getting into the wagon, a lad of about fourteen came over.

“Uncle Andrew told me to drive you home,” he said.

I told him it wasn't necessary.

“Uncle Andrew said it is,” he insisted. “He said it isn't safe for two women alone. And that the sentries at the barricades are told not to let anyone through after five o'clock. That sometimes they shoot at intruders before asking for passes, once it gets dark.”

A clock on the local bank said quarter past five.

“I'll get you through,” the lad said. And he was straightforward and tall for his age and said he'd roamed these woods and roads all his life, so we said yes.

I let him drive. We passed the first sentry post without difficulty. The soldiers seemed to know the lad, and I had passes from McClellan for me and Priscilla. We were three more miles on the road when we came to another barricade. “I know another way,” the boy said. His name was John. “These soldiers are hard ones. We'll find another road.”