Washington's Lady (23 page)

“A commander must be a general,” I said, though the title also held me in awe.

“Is there more said?” Eleanor asked.

Jacky went back to the paper. “Let us see . . . yes, here . . . Oh my.” He looked up at me. “Mother, it says Poppa will accept no pay, only expenses, no matter how long the war might last.”

I nodded.

“You knew about this?”

“Your father and I discuss everything—as should you and Eleanor.”

“But
no
pay? What if the war continues for an extensive length of time?”

“Surely it will not.”

“But what if it does?”

I felt the slightest inner pull. “Then he will abide by those conditions. A man of honour does not renege on what he has promised. Besides, because we have much we have a responsibility to give much. ‘For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.’”

Jacky shook his head. “How am I ever going to be such a man as Poppa?”

“There is only one George Washington.” I leaned toward my son and put a hand upon his knee. “You are not to be him, dear Jacky, but you. Be the best John Parke Custis you can be.”

“You
are
a good man,” Eleanor told him. “And the best of husbands.”

“As you will be the best of fathers,” I added.

Jacky’s face was still troubled. “I was not the best of sons.”

I could not buoy him with false accolades. “The past has offered many trials. But the future . . . from this day forward strive to do your best in all things. No one—not e’en your father or I—could ask for more than that.”

He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it.

The pact was sealed. I prayed my son would rise to the challenge.

*****

I walked in the garden, choosing flowers to grace the rooms of our guests. For even though George was not home, visitors still arrived. I wondered if he had asked every acquaintance ever known if they would visit me, to keep me company.

Actually . . . I appreciated the diversion.

I stooped to cut some roses when—

“Mamma!”

Jacky ran down the path into the garden. He stopped before me, his face flushed, strands of hair pulled out of his tie. He reminded me of a twelve-year-old boy, not a man of twenty. Only the smile on his face prevented me from expecting news of an emergency. “My, my, son. What brings you here so flustered?”

He brushed the strands of hair back upon his head and took a much-needed breath. “I wish to join the army and fight with Poppa and the others.”

A thorn pricked my finger. The pain told me this moment was real.

“You are not a soldier, Jacky.”

“Most of the men aren’t soldiers, Mamma. Poppa is making them into soldiers.” He straightened and lifted his chin. “I wish to fight for the Cause.”

I felt my head start to shake no, but stopped in time. This was not a request for another piece of cake or to go to Alexandria on a lark. This was my son, asking permission to risk his life for a cause our family believed just and right. And yet . . . though Jacky used to play soldier, he had not the temperament of a good one—at least in my mind. But was my mind skewed because I did not wish him to fight, to risk, to leave?

“You have a child on the way, Jacky. Your wife is having a hard time of it. She needs you.”

“She has you. She has her parents and many sisters.”

This time I allowed my head to shake no. “She needs you here, not hundreds of miles away—in danger.”

“Poppa is hundreds of miles away—in danger.”

“Yes, but—”

“You need him, but you let him go.”

I risked causing offense to make my point. “He is one man over many. No one else can do the job he does.”

“And I would be a lowly soldier, one of the masses. I know that. I could accept that. I do not ask for special privilege but to do my duty as a citizen. Didn’t Patrick Henry say, ‘I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!’?”

Yes. He had.

All my life I had longed for my son to become a good man of honour, and now, here he was, standing before me, asking to act upon that honour. My thoughts raced with an answer that would satisfy both our needs and inclinations. “I admire your desire to help, Jacky. As would your father. However, considering the delicate situation with Eleanor I would like to offer you the alternative of staying put until—if—the fighting comes closer. Certainly if Virginia herself is threatened, then you may, and should, consider joining the forces to defend her.” I began to reach forward to touch his face, but pulled my hand back, not wanting to demean his brave offer with feminine touch. “Will you do that for me, Jacky? For Eleanor?”

He let out a puff of air. His shoulders slumped. “I suppose.” He looked at me once more, his eyes sad. “I just want to help, Mamma. I just want to make Poppa proud of me.”

Forgetting restraint I pulled him into a motherly embrace. “He is, dear one. He already is.”

*****

Letters. I had to be content with letters.

After the May meeting of the Second Continental Congress, George did not have time to come home. His services as General Washington were needed immediately in Boston, where the British still held sway.

A myriad of letters from George were received by me as well as family members—most of which were shared with me in an attempt to stem the sorrow of our separation. My sister Nancy and brother-in-law Burwell Bassett came for a visit, and Burwell offered his letter from George:

It is an honour I wished to avoid, as well from an unwillingness to quit the peaceful enjoyment of my family as from a thorough conviction of my own incapacity and want of experience.

And Jacky shared with me a letter in which George said,

My great concern upon this occasion is the thought of leaving your mother under the uneasiness which I fear this affair will throw her into. I therefore hope, expect, and indeed have no doubt, of your using every means in your power to keep up her spirits, by doing everything in your power to promote her quiet. I have, I must confess, very uneasy feelings on her account, but as it has been a kind of unavoidable necessity which has led me into this appointment, I shall more readily hope that success will attend it.

George, George. Ever thoughtful of my condition when he was the one with whom worry belonged.

I sat at my desk and read the latest letter he had sent to me. Reread it as I would most likely do many times hence.

You may believe me, my dearest, when I assure you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment I have used every endeavour in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the Family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too far great for my capacity and that I should enjoy more real happiness and felicity in one month with you, at home, than I have the most distant prospect of reaping abroad, if my stay was to be seven times seven years. I shall rely therefore, confidently, on that Providence which has heretofore preserved, & been bountiful to me, not doubting but that I shall return safe to you in the fall—I shall feel no pain from the toil, or the danger of the campaign—my unhappiness will flow, from the uneasiness I know you will feel at being left alone—I therefore beg of you to summon your whole fortitude & resolution, and pass your time as agreeably as possible—nothing will give me so much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hear it from your own pen.

I looked nearby at the page that was blank and ready for a reply. I then went back to his letter . . .

As life is always uncertain, and common prudence dictates to every man the necessity of settling his temporal concerns whilst it is in his power—and whilst the mind is calm and undisturbed, I have, since I came to this place (for I had not time to do it before I left home) got Colo. Pendleton to draft a will for me by the directions which I gave him, which will I now enclose . . .

Per his word, he had included a will that left me everything and asked me to remember him to all if he were killed.

If he were killed.

I shuddered at the very real chance . . .

No. I would not think on it. As the Indians believed George could not be killed, so I would think the same.

Or try.

I finished reading the letter.

As I am within a few minutes of leaving this city, I could not think of departing from it without dropping you a line; especially as I do not know whether it may be in my power to write again till I get to the camp at Boston—I go fully trusting in that Providence, which has been more bountiful to me than I deserve, & in full confidence of a happy meeting with you sometime in the fall.

In the fall. It was late June. If only I could withstand a few months more, I would see him. Surely he would come home victorious and our life could return to normal.

Or so I prayed.

*****

A grandchild was coming!

I embraced this beam of hope during the long summer without George. As the month of Eleanor’s confinement began, I traveled to Mount Airy to her parents’ Maryland estate to be with her and Jacky.

I was thrilled to be awakened one morning by a knock on the door of my bedchamber. It was Jacky. “It has begun, Mamma.”

I hurried to dress. I was glad I had a cap to cover my mussed hair. Who could think about dressing hair at such a joyous time?

I found a crowded hallway outside Eleanor’s room. Her mother and three of her sisters. Her father and Jacky. All were bound closely together, heads down.

I approached quietly, touching Jacky’s arm. “How can I help?” I asked.

Jacky’s face revealed a horrid concern. “Pray,” he said.

’Twas not the answer I had expected.

I looked to his mother, raising my eyebrows to ask a question between women.

“She is not doing well,” she answered.

A scream pierced the hallway and all eyes turned to the door.

“I must go in!” Jacky placed his hands flat upon the door, resting his forehead against its panels. “Why can I not go in?”

I put my hands upon his shoulders, drawing him back. “The doctor needs room.” Suddenly, I wondered whether there was a doctor. Again I looked to Mrs. Calvert. “Yes?”

She nodded and clutched her husband’s arm.

Another scream. The sisters held on to each other, and we clustered in such groups, awaiting news.

Keep Eleanor safe. Please keep her safe.

A baby cried!

We all gasped, looked up, then at each other. We broke into nervous laughter and tears. We embraced each other, offering hearty congratulations.

I kissed my son. “Congratulations, Poppa.”

He kissed me back, then turned his attention to the door. He knocked loudly. “Now, now let me in! I wish to see them!”

I could hear commotion inside and our expectation at seeing the door open and the exhausted face of the doctor did not materialize.

Jacky began to shake his head. “Mother? Why will they not let me in?”

“They have work to do after a birth,” I offered, but even I was worried. At the birth of my four children, Daniel was allowed inside immediately. That Jacky was not . . .

He put his ear to the door. “I hear movement. And Eleanor.” He stood erect. “I hear Eleanor crying!” He pounded on the door all the harder. “Let me in! I demand it!”

Moments later, the door opened and we witnessed the haggard face of the doctor. He looked from eye to eye as if trying to find someone he could speak to, someone who would understand.

“I . . . I . . .”

Jacky pushed past him, running toward the bed where Eleanor lay. She raised her arms to him. “Oh, Jacky . . .”

No. No. No.

Eleanor’s father took the doctor by the arm. “Tell us, man. Tell us.”

“Mrs. Custis gave birth to a girl, but alas, she was not strong enough and—”

Mrs. Calvert screamed and collapsed upon herself.

I followed her to the floor. Her sisters followed, forming an undulating mass of female sorrow.

I saw Mr. Calvert’s jaw clench as he fought for control. “And Eleanor?”

“She will recover,” the doctor said. “I am sorry, truly sorry. There was nothing I could do.”

I looked past him, through the opened door, where Jacky held Eleanor in his arms. They rocked each other.

Instead of a baby . . .

*****

After a few days’ stay at Mount Airy, I made for home. I let the jostling of the carriage take me this way and that, not having the energy to fight for stability—or to care. Our first grandchild, dead. A dear little girl, gone before she knew anything of the love that awaited her.

It was not fair.

I looked out the window thinking of George. Was he on such a road, coming home to me as he had promised in the fall?

I needed him so.

*****

I arrived at Mount Vernon void of my husband. And to make matters worse, I was greeted with a letter stating he did not envision a chance to come home in the near future. The fledgling colonial army needed him.

I threw the letter on the fire and watched it burn.

“He is what?”

Lund stood before me in the kitchen, where I had been cutting pumpkin for pudding. He was out of breath, but with a sweep of his furtive eyes over the servants assembled to help me, succeeded in moving our conversation out-of-doors. We walked toward the house.

“I repeat, Lord Dunmore is doing what?” I asked.

“He has ordered his British warships to sail up the Potomac and burn Mount Vernon and the Masons’ Gunston Hall, and moreover, capture you!”

A laugh escaped. “Capture me? George and I dined with Lord and Lady Dunmore many times in their home in Williamsburg. Charlotte and six of their seven children. And I hear Charlotte recently gave birth to another. They are our friends.”

Lund shook his head. “Not anymore. And he does not reside in Williamsburg. Not since he confiscated the ammunition stores there. He had to run for his life to take sanctuary aboard a warship in Norfolk Harbour.”

“And now he threatens to sail those warships up our river?”

“He does. I know your sister’s family and Jack are here and your plan is for the lot of you to travel down country to their home at Eltham. With Jack and his wife so grieved over the baby, I know it is a much-needed trip, but—”

“But nothing,” I said. “I will not let this arrogant Scotsman threaten our home, to say nothing of my person.”

“But people in Alexandria are worried, Martha, and they have less to fret about because they are not mentioned by name.” Lund looked to the right, then to the left, then back at me. “Mr. Mason, he takes it seriously. He is packing their valuables away.”

I felt an eyebrow rise. Our neighbor George Mason was not a man prone to panic.

Nor was I. But I was also not a woman to ignore common sense.

I turned toward the house. “I will send Nancy and Burwell home without us. Then we shall gather a few things for safekeeping.”

“
I
could do that, Martha. You could leave with your sister.”

I stopped walking. “No. I will not leave. George has left Mount Vernon in our able hands and I will not abandon it. Let Dunmore come. I long to see him face-to-face and give him what for.”

So there.

*****

I urged Jacky and Eleanor to accompany my sister back to the safety of Eltham, but he would not hear of it. “’Tis my home too, Mamma.”

I could not deny him his stand, for it was mine.

The last trunk was nearly full with family heirlooms and George’s papers. I looked upon the parlour with a new set of eyes, borne of this newest challenge. As it got down to what to keep and what was dispensable, I found that if tested, I could get by without most of it.

I let my eyes rest upon a blue porcelain tea set with its silver-spouted urn. What did it really matter? Or the silver-filigreed candlesticks upon the mantel. Although I had treasured every one upon its purchase, I now found their worth marginal. They were
things
. Even the house itself was just a house—a beloved home built with loving concern, yet I found that it too could be relinquished if need be.

People. People were
not
expendable.

And so I took care of that. With Jacky’s help we determined an escape plan that would provide safety within ten minutes. I also instructed the servants and slaves if the British got this far, they were to step away and let them do their worst. There would be no deaths on account of property. I would not allow it.

That done, we went on . . . .

*****

In a rare moment of idleness, I stood at the front window, allowing myself time to ponder the loveliness of the changing trees that lined the drive. Green was turning to red and gold. ’Twas my favourite time of year, when the breezes were cool and smelled of musk and spice.

The trees relinquished my attention as I noticed a wave of disquiet wash toward me. Slaves and servants alike had their heads together, discussing . . . something.

It took me only a moment to guess the bulk of their discourse. Lord Dunmore was threatening to offer slaves and indentured servants freedom if they fought for the British. I doubted he would ever go through with such a thing, as it would ruin the economy of Virginia—of patriot and loyalist landowner alike. But the thought of it spread like an infection. I knew not what to do about it. We treated our slaves well, providing them with home, food, clothing, and medical attention. We did not beat them as I had heard done by some. And yet I also knew that given a chance at freedom . . .

Once again, I wished George here, with me.

Then, in the distance, I spotted a rider, coming up the drive fast.

I walked out to the stoop and strained to see who it was. I recognized Johnny, one of George Mason’s men.

He reined in with a scatter of dust. He did not dismount but accosted me from his horse. “Mrs. Washington!”

“Yes, Johnny. What is the matter?”

“Warships! Up the river! They are coming for you!”

On instinct I glanced over my shoulder toward the back of the house, toward the river. “Are you certain?”

He nodded vigorously and passed me a note. “Mr. Mason told me to give this to you, personal.”

I opened the note:
Martha, the worst is happening. Run and hide. I am sending Ann and the children to safety and implore you to seek your own.

Johnny waited for me to acknowledge it. “Thank Mr. Mason for the warning. We will be fine.” With a dip of his hat, he rode away. I stood a moment, watching the fallen leaves dance behind his horse’s hooves. Leave Mount Vernon? Had it really come to this?

Lund came running from the stables. “Did you hear?”

I tucked the note in the pocket of my dress. “I heard.”

“I have told Eustis to get the carriage ready for you, Eleanor, and Jack, to implement our plan to—”

I took another step forward, to the edge of the steps. “Take them to safety, but as for me . . . I will not desert my post.”

Lund froze in place, his face unbelieving. “But you must.”

“I must not run from such a deplorable bully as Dunmore.”

“He may be a bully, and e’en deplorable, but the men under him will follow orders. Gunships, Martha. Soldiers with orders to burn Mount Vernon to the ground and take you captive.”

“I would like to see them try.”

He let out one breath and took a new one. “Lord Dunmore will not march up this hill so you can argue with him. He will send soldiers who don’t know you, Martha. Soldiers who will only see the wife of General Washington as a great bargaining tool, and his possessions a great prize to pilfer and destroy.” He took a step toward me, stopping directly below me as I stood on the top step. “I wrote your husband promising I would see you to safety if such an event transpired. I will not go back on my word. If you would be taken captive, do you realize the pain and sorrow it would cost him? The difficulty it would cause all who fight for the colonies?”

He was right. On all accounts. Now was not the time to be stubborn—even for the sake of taking a stand in courage. Now was the time for prudence.

I heard commotion behind me. Jacky appeared at the door to the house. “Mamma? Is it true? Are the ships coming?”

I turned to him slowly, playing the part I needed to play. “They are. Tell Eleanor we must leave immediately for safety.”

Leave reluctantly.

*****

There was an old planter’s shed a few miles inland, a shed long abandoned to all but animals, insects, and damp. Yet it was ideal for our needs. When we had first heard rumour of Dunmore’s plan, Lund equipped it with supplies.

We could not risk a carriage—for it would be difficult to hide—yet riding on horseback so soon after childbirth was not an option for Eleanor. And so we only rode in the carriage along the bumpy back roads as far as we could before walking through a field and into the woods to the cabin. Inside, there was barely room for two cots for Eleanor and me, with one more bedroll on the floor for my maid Amanda. Lund and Jacky stood guard outside.

I sat inside, upon a bed, my back to the wall, holding Eleanor, who beyond her fear, was not feeling well and was sorrowful over the death of her daughter. She had cried much during these past weeks and all I could do was hold her close. Words were of no use. I knew this from bitter experience. Amanda sat upon her bedroll, her knees brought to her chin. A candle flickered in the breeze that permeated the logs of the crude cabin. The cold breeze. How long would we have to remain in this dismal place?

I pulled a blanket higher upon Eleanor’s shoulder.

“Will the British come for us?” she asked.

In odd relief, I was glad she was not fretting about the lost baby. “We are far enough away that if the soldiers land at our wharf they will be occupied with their evil at the house. They will not seek us so far away.”

“Will they destroy everything?” she asked.

“Steal or destroy.” I added a brave statement I did not completely feel. “But they are just possessions, my dear. Possessions can be replaced.”

I felt her move beneath the blanket. Then, she sat upright, her hand patting the bodice of her dress. “My baby’s lock of hair!” She was off the bed, frantically pulling at the bedding.

Amanda and I knew what she was searching for. Ever since the death of her daughter, she had kept a tiny cutting of her hair in a locket around her neck. Her neck was now bare.

“I must have it! Where is it?”

Eleanor flew through the tiny room, crazed with her need. I barely rescued the candle as she bumped against its table.

“Are you sure you had it on?” Amanda asked.

Eleanor stopped her search long enough to glare at her. “I always have it on. I will always have it on. Forever.”

Amanda looked properly chastened and continued to search. I did the same, but soon realized it was not there.

At our commotion Lund cracked open the door. “Shh! You must be quiet. We hear shots in the distance.”

Eleanor called for her husband. “Jack!” Jacky came to the door, musket in hand. “I have lost the locket!”

Jacky looked at me.

“We have searched the room.”

“I must have it, Jack! I must. It is the only thing I have of our daughter.”

With the door open, I heard thunder. Was a storm threatening us as well?

Jacky’s cheeks were flushed with the cold night air. “You probably dropped it on the way here. We will look for it tomor—”

“I must have it!” Eleanor cried.

My son looked to me, imploring me to do something. I handed two extra blankets to Jacky. “Here. Don’t you dare catch your death. If it starts raining, come inside with us. In the meantime, close the door.”

The door closed, allowing me to turn my attention to my daughter-in-law. “Lie down, Nelly. Amanda. It is time to sleep.”

“But my locket . . .”

“We will search for your locket in the morning. I am sure some tuft of grass or pile of leaves is holding it safe until morning.” Thunder rumbled overhead.

Or was it cannon fire?

I prayed for God to hold
us
safe until morning.

*****

The storm was fierce and the men spent the night inside the cabin. We never slept deeply, only dozed. And we never blew out the candle. Total darkness was not something any one of us was willing to endure on this night.

I awakened for the fifth time and moved my neck to ease a crick. I looked about the room at the sleeping figures. Eleanor slept upon her side, her hand clutched at her bare neck. Amanda was curled tight like a child. Lund sat against the far wall, his head drooped in sleep, and Jacky sat with his back and head against the door, his musket cradled in his arms.

It was odd to look at him so, to have the chance to study him. He had his father Daniel’s tall forehead, and his hair held the chestnut colour so common to the Dandridge side. He was a handsome boy.

Man. He was not a boy anymore. He was a man. And with a start I realized that at that moment, in that obscure cabin in the woods, I was incredibly proud of him. The ornery boy who had driven Reverend Bouchard to write letters dripping with frustration was now a man, protecting his family from an enemy we had never imagined would be ours. If Daniel would happen upon us now, he would be shocked and appalled at the dissension that was ripping the colonies apart. And war? Daniel had never been a fighter. In fact . . . which side would he have chosen? Although his familial ties to the colonies extended back a hundred years, it would not be a certainty that he’d have felt compelled to cut his ties to the mother country. If I were still married to Daniel, would we be discussing with utter disdain the sedition of the ungrateful rebels?

And yet, who would have thought my George would choose the side of mutiny? He who respected and cherished all things British.

There was no knowing where Daniel would have stood in this conflict, only the certainty his son was protecting us from it, even now.

Jacky took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He saw me looking at him.

I smiled.

He smiled back.

I went back to sleep, safe within his watch.

*****

Jacky rode off early to see what had transpired during the night. The rain had stopped, allowing us a chance to walk outside and into the woods to take our relief. The underbrush was soggy, and we had to lift our skirts high lest they become sodden.

Eleanor also insisted we search for her locket. Although Lund would have rather we returned to the shed, I knew Eleanor would not be still or palatable to be around until we had made a good attempt at its recovery.

Amanda was the one who won the prize. “Here!” she yelled from the bottom of the hill leading to the cabin. “I found it!”

We women gathered to place it upon Eleanor’s neck once more, our relief full. Lund’s relief was in the fact we could now return to the interior of the cabin. “Please, ladies. Until Jack returns with news . . .

We made up the beds and tried to organize the space as best we could. The one small window allowed minimal light but was appreciated just the same.

“Shall I read aloud?” I asked.

It was agreed, and so I took up the Bible I had brought with me and sat near the window. I read aloud the story of Naomi and Ruth, her daughter-in-law. It seemed appropriate at such a time. Ruth’s husband had died, and Naomi urged her to go home to live with her own mother . . . . “And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” I paused a moment because I had a reason for this particular story yet was uncertain how to approach—