Sarah's Ground (9781439115855) (14 page)

So we came back the three miles and took another road. After going a short distance, we met a large body of troops
in the turn of the road where there had never been any before. Now, these were all Federal troops, but they were dusty and worn looking and appeared very mean. Instead of a sentinel, the officer came forward and said he was sorry, but we could go no farther this night. I showed him my pass, to no avail. He pointed in another direction and said that after going a short distance, I would find the road barricaded, but by crossing a field, we would find a road through the woods, which would eventually bring us to the right road.

“But you take a chance of being shot at,” he said grimly.

I was determined to get home that night, however. We conferred and decided to chance it, even though it seemed as if we were literally going round Robin Hood's barn. Before quite reaching the barricade, we were stopped by more troops. The captain said it was impossible. But I would go on! I told him what the other officer had said. He did not believe there was such a road but asked for my pass. He read it and said again that he had not heard of such a road. A little sergeant standing by asked if he might go and see. The captain said yes.

We waited. Think of it! Waiting at night amidst soldiers and barricades, still six or eight miles from Mount Vernon. Oh, how I longed for home! Soon the sergeant came back and said there was a road, but a bad one. I said I would try it. The sergeant looked at me as if I were demented, shook his head, mumbled something about uppity women, and
took down the bar so we could pass. Then he offered to act as a guide through the field. It was a pretty little road, narrow, and the trees lowered their branches to greet us as we passed.

We went on without any idea where the road would take us. Soon we found ourselves at the back entrance of a gentleman's farm. We passed through until we reached the house. I sent John in to inquire if we might pass through the farmers road. The gentleman was very courtly and kind. He introduced himself as Mr. Cox and said he feared our troubles were not over, but if we could not get through, he and his wife would be happy to accommodate us for the night.

Another short drive. Another body of troops, an officer more decided than the rest. He could not let us by, even though I showed him my pass.

He said, “I could let you through with that pass, but some of my officers down the road are under orders to shoot anyone who approaches.” I asked him to send a soldier with us. He did. And we passed the ones he said would shoot us without a word!

Then we turned to the road leading to Mount Vernon, and I felt safe. I said, “Drive fast, John, it's getting late!” And then another barricade, more formidable than the rest. The road was narrow and so situated that there seemed to be no outlet but straight ahead. And our horse was getting restless, for he was accustomed to the regular
roads. There was a fence, however, and John went back to ask the lieutenant to allow one of his men to open it. He came himself, with five men, and said it could not be opened without cutting, which they were forbidden to do.

Oh, the army! Spare me from the army and its stupid rules! How they will ever win this war, I will never know. Then the men found a gate, farther down, opened it, and led the horse through. But they had to lift the wagon over the fence because it could not fit through. I knew where I was then. Once around this barricade, I could reach the blacksmith who shod horses at Mount Vernon, and I could leave the horse and wagon with him until morning.

One of the soldiers said I had better not attempt it with only a lad in attendance and a Nigra woman. He said there were more sentinels down the way that he could not be answerable for. The others said there was no chance of getting out that way, but that if I would stay at Mr. Cox's, they would help me the next day.

The gathering darkness was answer enough. So we backtracked all the way to the house of Mr. Cox. The lieutenant walked beside our wagon all the way back. He told us they had been cutting trees for four days to stop the Confederate cavalry from passing. I did not tell him what nonsense I thought the whole war was. I dared not, they were being so serious and so nice.

Mr. and Mrs. Cox welcomed us and gave us hot tea and excellent accommodations. They even had a place for young
John. But when I looked out the window of my room and saw the soldiers' arms glittering in the lantern light, I thought that if there was an attack, which they seemed to be expecting, it might be pleasanter to be somewhere else after all.

In the morning the captain came to say his men had found a way for me to get around. I sent John home, with thanks to him and his uncle, and with some coins in his pocket. And we commenced our winding way. We found another farm, where there were two soldiers willing to show us the way. We came into a road, and they said soon we would find the last barricade. This we reached in safety and found three soldiers, who took down a fence and led us through some bushes and briars, down a hill, over a ditch, and through another fence, and congratulated us on finally being on a clear road. And believe me, I was grateful!

All for coffee beans!

When we got home, of course, Upton acted like one of my older brothers, alternately scolding and expressing his joy that we were all right.

“I waited up all night for you,” he said sternly. “I imagined all sorts of things happening. You could even have stayed in Washington, for all I knew. I can't go through a night like this again, Sarah.”

I finally convinced him it was not my fault. I showed him the money I had made on the vegetables, and he vowed to find Uncle Andrew's last name and thank him for the offer of his nephew for a guide.

“That will be all the trips to Washington for a while,” he said sternly.

I smiled. I think he cares about me a little bit. The thought warms me.

A
s October advances, the leaves have turned bright yellow, red, and brown. Everything outside is so beautiful I don't want to come inside. I keep inventing tasks to keep me outside. My crow still visits me every day, and I feed him bread crumbs. I must remember to feed him all winter. He hops around the brick fence around the garden and scolds me all the time.

There are bright red berries on the dogwood trees at the edges of the woods. And large scarlet berries on the holly hedge near the mansion. Mornings the mist rises off the river, and the mallard ducks are flying south, over the river, right past Mount Vernon. Upton and Dandridge are hunting together. Upton tells me that from November through January the canvasback ducks will be flying, and they are good for eating too. We shan't be hungry this winter. And Upton and Dandridge have seen to it that a goodly supply of wood is in. So well have many a warm night by the fire. And then the shad and herring begin to run in the Potomac in April.

Upton has found a way to bore holes in the coffee beans so I can string them together to make bracelets. We work
on this in the evening by candlelight. I think of Mary and how she could be playing the harpsichord for us, but then, likely she'd be up to some trickery if she were here, to make me angry with her.

“Were you taken with her?” I had the nerve to ask Upton one evening.

He didn't answer right off. He is not the kind of man to be put to such a question. And at first I thought he was angry for the asking. But presently he answered. “No,” he said. “She was pretty and a little flirt, and no man is above liking such tactics, just for a minute or so. What man wouldn't be attracted? But no, I'm taken with someone else.”

My heart fell inside me, when I thought I had it secure against such feelings. He led me to believe it was someone off the plantation, someone his brother had introduced him to. He does go sometimes to his brother's place nearby here to look after things. I know his brother has a lot of female admirers. I also know that Upton has a young woman living with her older sister and her sister's husband at his place, Bleak House, to care for it in his absence. I wonder if it is the younger sister. Upton never leaves here except to go once a month to check on Bleak House.

The first coffee bean bracelet worked out fine. The first night I made only two, but I know I can learn to work faster, and then we'll be able to sell them, as souvenirs, to soldiers who come by.

Dandridge has told Upton about Wes Ford. He is an eightytwo-year-old colored man who was a favorite of the Washington descendants. One of them, Judge Bushrod Washington, the son of the general's brother John Augustine, gave him a considerable amount of land on Little Hunting Creek, where he owns a farm.

Upton and I rode over today to see him. He has four children, all grown: William, Jane, Daniel, and Julia. All know how to read and write, as does Wes. The farm is in good standing, and he has many other holdings. I am amazed at this, but Upton is not. He told me that the Washingtons, Bushrod and his wife, took Ford into the house when he was a child, and it is said he was educated with their own children.

“Many times Southern families grow fond of a certain child and treat him or her as their own,” he said.

I do not understand this business of slavery. I know Upton does, although he owns no slaves himself. He says he grew up with colored people in attendance upon him.

We found that Wes is just old and sometimes has attacks of delirium tremens. But his mind is in good order. Although his four children are willing to care for him, he keeps telling them he wants to “go home.”

Home is Mount Vernon for him. He was once overseer here. His son William was once gardener. Upton has found a whole new cache of information now for what the place
once looked like, and I know he intends to make use of it. Wes remembers how the gardens were laid out, and Upton is very excited about this.

So we brought Wes Ford home. He remembered the little room off the kitchen where he used to roost when he lived here, and was delighted to find it still intact. “I'll just stay in there,” he said, “if it's all right with you all. It's near the kitchen and it's warm, and it's near the food.”

The servants Jane, Priscilla, and Emily came to stare at him. They are amazed at his knowledge.

“One more mouth to feed,” I heard Jane mumble as she went up the stairs to bed. But the others didn't seem to mind at all.

I have another scolding letter from Fanny, deriding me because of the argument between me and Mary. “So you are alone again,” she writes, “with that superintendent. Mary tells me how handsome and dashing he is, that his family ties are actually with Washington himself. Those Southern men are all rapscallions, Sarah. I cannot upset Mother and Father by telling them of your indiscretion. I have two choices, it seems: to write to Miss Cunningham and tell her you are still only eighteen, or to come down there myself and hire another girl to stay with you. I am leaning toward the latter. Expect me soon. Your loving sister.”

“But she can't come,” I told Upton. I did not show him the letter, for fear it would make him uncomfortable. “She
will never get through the lines. Look at what I went through just coming back here from Washington one night.”

“I will write and explain to her that it is impossible,” he offered.

“Then shell write to Miss Cunningham and tell her I am only eighteen!”

“Let her, Sarah. Miss Cunningham can't do without you now. It's impossible for her to travel up here. Look at the envelope that letter came in.” It was lying on the table. “It looks as if it's been to Europe and back. Mail is a doubtful matter these days. I'm afraid you'll just have to decide. Do you want her here? Or would you rather have her send a letter to Miss Cunningham, which likely won't get through? There is no more mail between the North and the South.”

“There is if you use a special messenger.”

“Being a Northerner, away from the fighting, she won't know that. Just let her write, and bide your time.”

What Upton said was right. He thinks so clearly. And he always manages to make me feel better. Oh, I am afraid I am having feelings for him. My sister's letter brings them to light. It makes me look inward, where I don't want to look.

Yes, I do have feelings for Upton. They have been sitting all along inside me, growing, like baby birds in a nest. Getting ready to fly.

I cannot let them fly. I must rein them in and act like a proper woman. Oh, what would Miss Semple have to say about all this? She always did say that when affairs come to a head between a man and a woman, its usually the woman's doing. Constantly she reminded “her girls” of the responsibility they had of keeping things proper. Because men are so frail and vulnerable, she told us. They can be led around by the nose by us women. “And if ever one of my girls gets into trouble, I will know it is her fault,” she would say, “and not the young man's. The responsibility to maintain good behavior rests with you, girls. Remember that.”

Anyway, Upton has feelings for another. Didn't he tell me that?