Washington's Lady (4 page)

“With difficulty. Especially when I am not there to oversee. I have ordered supplies from England, windowpanes, mahogany furniture and such. And they have come but have not all been implemented because of my sickness. For six months I have lain abed with plans brimming in my head but no strength to see them carried out.” He looked at the floor. “Six years ago my dearest brother, Lawrence, died of a lung disease, and I thought I had that problem in addition to the . . . the other.” He looked directly at me. “I feared I was dying.”

“Oh my.”

“While at the war front, I was bled many times. The doctors didn’t know what to do with me. It seemed the treatment for one problem only begat another. They kept telling me to rest. But six months of it and still I was no better.”

“Did the doctors in Williamsburg offer true help?”

George gave me a shy smile. “Dr. Amson assured me I was not dying.”

“A good prognosis, all in all.”

He took a deep breath. “If ease of mind affects strength of body, I am determined to find total relief in the near future.”

“I will offer prayers for that very outcome, and that you and your beloved Mount Vernon can be reunited in a happy, flourishing state of shared health and prosperity.”

“I never refuse an offer of providential intercession.”

“A wise man.”

He sat back in his chair again. “Your children are charming.”

“And very dear to me. I lost two others.”

“I am very sorry.”

“As am I.”

“I hope for the blessing of children someday.” He blinked, then quickly added, “Upon marriage, of course.”

“That
is
the way it is properly done.”

He blushed. “You enjoy teasing me, Mrs. Custis.”

“Immensely.” I smoothed the lace that lined the edge of my overskirt. “I will stop, if you prefer.”

“No need.”

“Then I will continue as the moment warrants.”

“I look forward to it.”

He was so delightful I wished our conversation to continue for a lengthy time, and so I did something to ensure it: I asked him about himself. “Tell me some war stories, Colonel. I have not traveled beyond the wilderness of New Kent, though I am quick to enjoy the safety your efforts impart on behalf of our king.”

“Are you certain you wish to hear? The stories are more frustrating than glorious.”

“I long for true stories, Colonel. If they portray frustration, then so be it. Such is life.”

“I have learned much.”

“From hard experience?”

He nodded and fidgeted in his chair. I had heard about his humiliation at Fort Necessity. But that was years ago. Would he mention it? Or would his pride keep the hard facts hidden from me?

“The French and their Indian compatriots don’t fight in the European fashion.”

“Meaning?”

“We colonials, fighting with the British, are trained to march in columns, to shoot upon command while standing.”

“In very regal uniforms. It is quite impressive.”

“Not if the enemy hides in the brush, wears subtle colours, and cannot be seen. “

“Ah.”

“There is a fort at the conflux of three mighty rivers in Pennsylvania—the Ohio, the Allegheny, and the Monongahela. It is a strategic position for transportation, trade, and expansion. The French built Fort Du Quesne there and claimed all the lands for their King Louis. Since we colonized this land for King George, we believe it is ours. I was sent to take it back. To claim the fort for England.”

“A mighty cause.”

“A heady goal, but one not easily achieved. The French have many Indian allies. We British, but a few. Yet the chief of the Senecas, Half King, agreed to ally with us. His motives were not as honourable as I would have hoped, and when a party of French soldiers approached, I allowed myself to be pulled into battle when they were only warning us off. One of their officers was shot. As I was finding an interpreter to speak to him, Half King . . .” George looked away. “He murdered the French soldier. All in the French party were killed but one, who ran back to the fort with reports of the incident.”

“Half King incited the incident.”

“With my misguided participation. After the battle I knew the French would come find us, wanting revenge. Half King and his scouts reported there were over six hundred on the march toward us—before he and his men handily disappeared. With this knowledge I returned to our encampment at Fort Necessity, in Great Meadows, and prepared for battle. I didn’t want to fight the enemy in the woods, so I had my men build a stockade. I hoped for reinforcements from the south. I believed I was prepared as best as I . . .” His voice trailed off. “My actions . . . my confidence was misplaced and ill appropriate. I allowed myself to become cocky. I thought our position in a valley was an advantage; I believed the marshy terrain would keep the enemy out.”

“It was not so?”

He shook his head in a mournful manner. “The hidden enemy shot from the precipices. We were targets in the open. Then the rain came and made our marsh a prison of mud. We were forced to surrender. In our negotiations . . .” He pulled in a fresh breath. “I had only two men who spoke French, and the best of those was wounded. So I sent a Dutchman to negotiate our surrender, but they took advantage of him. The French inserted some wording where, by my signature, I admitted to assassinating their envoy. The entire affair ended in failure. My failure.”

I didn’t know what to say. For a man who had been deemed a hero to admit defeat . . . “I am so sor—”

“I don’t know why I tell you this. I never speak of it. Frankly, I don’t speak much at all. People think me quiet. I have been called stoic and—”

“You are hardly stoic, Colonel.”

“Not around you, Mrs. Custis.”

“I take that as a high compliment.”

He nodded once, sealing it as so. And with his nod, I found I wanted to hear more. Much more. I wanted to hear everything he would tell me. “Please continue, Colonel. What else did you learn in the wilderness and in battle?”

“I learned that past ways of warfare don’t apply here. And I told General Braddock as much; but he—”

The doors to the parlour opened and Richard entered. “Excuse me, George, Martha, but I wanted to tell George I have instructed Bishop to put your horse to stable. Apparently you had given him the impression you would not be staying long?” His eyes passed between us, sparkling with mischief.

The colonel stood. “Oh dear. I
had
implied as much.”

Richard raised a hand, stopping his movement. “It has been taken care of. Besides, you cannot leave.”

“I
cannot
leave?”

Richard flashed a full smile now. “It is family policy—I will not let my guests leave after sunset.”

“Sunset?” We both looked out the windows. The red glow of the parting sun offered the only light.

Before we could respond, Richard took the handles of the double doors and backed out of the room. “Your children are nearly ready for bed, Martha. I will send them in. Until then . . . carry on.”

As his wife had earlier offered a grin, he left us with a wink.

I felt guilty for leaving my children in the care of others for so long. Ready for bed? “Richard is nothing if not obvious,” I said.

“We have given him reason, have we not?”

I didn’t answer but rose to poke at the fire. George took over the task, and the fire sprang to new life.

“Richard spoke of Bishop. I heard he used to be General Braddock’s manservant?”

“He was. In fact, he came over with the general twenty years ago. He was fifty years old, e’en then. At first he fought with us, then became the general’s servant. When the general was killed . . .” He paused and returned to his chair. “I have skipped too far in the story.”

“You left off saying you told General Braddock about the Indian style of warfare?”

“After my humbling defeat, I quit the military, but when the French increased their attacks in the Ohio Valley, I volunteered to be of service to General Braddock. He accepted my offer because of my knowledge of the wilderness. As a surveyor I had learned many ways of the wild.”

“You are an attentive student in all things.”

He smiled slightly. “If only the hard way were not my way.”

“Life rarely offers easy lessons.”

He nodded, then continued. “At first I found the general challenging. He looked upon the colonies as void of both honour and honesty. He was a difficult man to argue with, as he would never give up any point he asserted, no matter how unreasonable.”

“He does not seem a man to respect.”

“On the contrary. He had forty-five years of military experience, where I had but a few months. And yet . . .” George sighed. “He did not fully understand our predicament. Even our respected postmaster, Benjamin Franklin, tried to warn him about the new way of doing battle, but the general insisted that though the colonial militia may have had trouble, the British army would not.”

“Oh dear.”

George nodded. “When I accompanied the general back to Fort Necessity, with the power of hundreds of troops alongside, I hinted at the mistakes I had made, warning him and the other officers of the new way the French and the Indians took to battle. But the British officers were so in favor of regularity and discipline, and in such absolute contempt of the enemy, that the admonition was suggested in vain.”

“Why wouldn’t they listen to you? You who had experience?”

“I was not a British soldier, only a colonial volunteer. The British do not respect us. In their eyes, their formal training holds stock over our hard experience.”

I shook my head. It seemed logical that the gift of practical wisdom would be recognized and put to use.

The colonel stood and meandered to the mantel, where he straightened a candle. “The general was so confident in the traditional ways of warfare, we proceeded north to Fort Du Quesne, certain we would never be attacked.”

“But you were.”

“We were slaughtered.”

At these horrific words, I let out an inconsequential, “Oh.”

“The enemy stormed upon us with a barrage of fire, chasing us into the woods. Our shocked soldiers were ordered back into line like rows of deer, waiting to be shot. From our rear came another band of the enemy, and another, and another. For over three hours we fought as best we could. I had four bullet holes in my coat, and had two horses shot out from under me. I was the only aide of General Braddock not killed or injured. Our soldiers ran out of ammunition and fled, some across the river to safety. The Indians did not follow them. They were too busy scalping and—” He stopped his discourse, his jaw tight. “Forgive me. ’Tis not for a lady’s ears.”

Too late. The image was already vivid in my mind.

“The cries of help from the wounded and dying were enough to pierce a heart of stone.”

“You are a man of deep feeling, Colonel. You are not a man of bravado.”

“I can be.”

“As you should be, and have earned the right to be. Yet I see inside of you a softer side where true empathy reigns.”

“One must be empathetic to the needs and suffering of others.”

“No, actually,” I said, “one does not. But you do. ’Tis a strong mark in your favor.”

He smiled. “So you are making marks for and against me?”

“The list grows quite lengthy. Now . . . back to your story. I do need to hear the end, sensitive or not.”

He nodded and added another log to the fire. He did not speak until he was through. “General Braddock was wounded during the battle. We lost nearly one thousand out of the fifteen hundred who fought. We lost twenty-six of the eighty-six officers, with seventeen more wounded. The French lost a handful. The Indians a few more.”

“But you were a hero.”

He turned toward me, his face stern. “I was deemed a hero, not for winning a battle but for leading the defeated survivors to safety.”

“You led them.”

“Yes.”

“And they followed.”

“Yes.”

“That is one aspect of heroism. Getting others to follow.”

He looked pensive. Then he said, “If I did any good there, it was to bury the general properly, wisely. After four days he died, and I had him buried in the road, at the front of our column. Then we proceeded east, walking over his grave, making it look like a common road so no Indians would find him and desecrate—” He stepped upon a piece of ash that had escaped the fire. “Bishop, Thomas Bishop, the man who accompanies me here . . . with the general gone, I asked if he would work for me. He agreed. And the general had bequeathed me his horse and a sash. Also a pistol. I cherish them all.” He looked at the door. “Poor Bishop. He has probably stood ready to leave for hours.”

“Richard informed him of your intent to stay. Surely he is well off to a good night’s rest.”

The colonel nodded once. “I do not mean to detain
you
from rest, Mrs. Custis. When your children come in, if you feel the need to retire, I would understand. I would regret your parting, but I would understand.”

“I feel no need to retire, Colonel. In fact, I feel quite invigorated.”

The parlour doors flew open and the children rushed into the room as though bidden by his mention of them. Three-year-old Jacky and nearly two-year-old Patsy looked adorable in their nightshirts, with their bare feet padding upon the wooden floor. There was something delightful about a child’s bare feet.

Jacky virtually jumped into my lap, with Patsy climbing up behind. “Oomph!” was all I could manage amid their oblivious elbows and knees.

Once settled, Jacky looked at the colonel as though seeing him for the first time. “Who are you?”

I should have admonished his forthrightness but instead chose to answer him. “This is Colonel Washington. He has been fighting out west.”

Jacky used his finger as a gun and shot the colonel with a
pyoo-pyoo
sound.

To his credit, the colonel put his hands on his heart and groaned. “I am hit!”

Patsy mimicked her brother with her own gun and
pyoo-pyoo
. The colonel suffered again for her benefit.

Mary Chamberlayne stood at the doorway, missing nothing. Her sisters-in-law, Elizabeth and Rebecca, stood close by. “Come, children,” Mary said. “Kiss Mamma good-night.”