Sarah's Ground (9781439115855) (6 page)

“I'm a woman of twenty-two.”

“If that is your claim.”

“What mean you by that, sir?”

He smiled. “Don't get on your high horse, but if you're twenty-two, I'm Napoléon's nephew.”

“Do you accuse me of lying?”

“Just stretching the truth a bit for your own ends.”

“I'm-twenty-two.”

He drew a letter out of his coat pocket. “I have proof here that states otherwise.”

My heart dropped inside me. I reached for the letter, but he pulled back.

“Who is it from?” I asked.

“Mrs. Francis Knudson.”

I gasped. “My sister, Fanny? She wrote to you? On what pretext?”

“Just to tell me that you are only eighteen.”

“Oh!” I had no words. I had only anger, then feelings of betrayal and hurt. “She had no right. She's always tried to hurt me and stop me from doing things. Oh, the witch.”

“Now, now, she's an older sister.”

“I hate her. She's ruined everything for me.”

“Nothing is ruined,” he said. “The information will go no further.”

I hesitated a moment. “Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I think you are right for the job. You belong here, as do I. You appreciate the place for what it is.”

How could I be angry at that assessment? Oh, he had me so confused. I turned to look up at the house. “I feel as if I belong here,” I said.

“And so you do. I've seen some of your letters to Miss Cunningham. They seem to echo Mr. Washington's when he was away at war, writing home.”

“They do?”

“Yes. I'll show you how they resemble each other sometime,”

“But what will we do about Fanny?”

He thought for a moment. “I'll write to her and tell her I'll take the matter up with Miss Cunningham and we'll abide by her wishes.”

“You'd lie for me?”

“I can tell a judicious lie sometimes. Look, we're at war. You are settled in here. Miss Cunningham s health is fragile, and anyway, she can't travel through the lines now. It would be worse not to lie at this point. Ohh. I think we have guests.” He laid down his hammer and ruler and nails. “Soldiers.”

They were from the Union army. Five of them. They explained they were stationed near here and wanted to see Washington's tomb. One was a boy of only about seventeen. “Want to see if he's still here,” he said.

I saw in Mr. Herbert's face and demeanor the angry superintendent warring with the Southern gentleman, and I stepped in.

“I'll gladly show it to you,” I said, “if you check your guns here at the gate and put on other clothing.”

“We're Union, ma'am. And we don't give up our arms.”

“I don't want your old arms,” I answered. “I wouldn't know what to do with them. But I ask you to respect the dead and the fact that this place is neutral ground.”

“By whose order?” the only officer with them said.

“General Winfield Scott,” I lied.

“Well, we don't have other clothes, ma'am,” the officer said.

“Then, wait here. I'll go into the house and get something
for you to cover your markings of rank with. That is the only way you can approach General Washington's tomb, I'm afraid.”

I sounded braver than I felt. But they waited. I ran into the house and, seeing Emily in the hall, grabbed the shawl from around her shoulders. “Go and find me four more,” I ordered.

“What you doin' with my shawl?” she asked.

“Never mind, I'll return it immediately. Do as I say.”

In several minutes she came back with four more shawls. Two were mine. I ran outside again and down to where the soldiers were standing with Mr. Herbert. Would grown men agree to put shawls around their shoulders like little old ladies? Would they agree to leave their guns at the gate?

“Gentlemen.” I held up the shawls.

“You can't expect me to put that on, ma'am,” the youngest soldier said.

“And why not?”

“It's like my granny wears.”

“Respect,” I said. “If I had blankets enough, I'd give you those. Just pretend they are blankets. And think of the story you'll have to tell your grandchildren. You actually visited George Washington's tomb.”

There was some mumbling, but they took the shawls and draped them around their shoulders. “Anybody tell anybody back in camp about this an' you're dead meat,” the officer threatened.

“We all got the same secret,” one of the others said.

They left their guns and we went down the hill to Washington's tomb. We stood outside the cast-iron gate reflectively. They took off their hats.

“Just wanted to pay our respects, sir,” the officer said.

Tears came to my eyes. Overhead I heard my eagle calling. If I were given to conjure, like the Nigras, I'd say it was a sign. But I am a good Yankee, believing in no such nonsense.

At the top of the hill again, they handed back the shawls, offered Mr. Herbert some money, and picked up their rifles. “Thank you, ma'am,” the youngest one said.

As we watched them walk away Upton looked at me. “I told you you belonged here,” he said, “but you'd better get the matter official. With General Scott, I mean.”

As my eagle soared gracefully overhead I promised him I would. I was flush with success. I felt as if I could accomplish anything.

I
have met some of the neighbors. I think they are all Quakers, although we have one foot-washing Baptist in the person of Mrs. Jean Harbinger. She came around one day bearing a pecan pie. She is a tall, sad woman who lost one son when he fell from a horse and broke his neck. She came with another, named Robert. He is about seventeen and completely under his mother's domination. She should send him away to school instead of keeping him wrapped around her like a shawl.

She wears grief on her like a shawl too. It even shows in her walk, which is languid and reluctant, as if she really has no place to go and nothing to look forward to.

She is the one who told me we are surrounded by a Quaker settlement. That all of George Washington's farms were purchased by Quakers.

“He hated Quakers,” she told me, as if she knew him personally. “They thwarted all his war aims in the Jersey legislature. You watch. The ones around here won't be found if there is trouble in the neighborhood. They'll hide in their cellars.”

“That isn't quite right, Mother,” Robert told her. “There
are a lot of Quakers who have sons in gray right now. And some who have sons in blue.”

She told him to hush. I made her tea, and she spoke of her boy Donnie as if he were still with her. Then she spoke about the neighborhood.

“Many Quaker Friends fled to New Jersey when it looked like there was going to be war,” she said, “but they have all returned. The big house on Union Farm, half a mile from your west gate, has been reopened. And there are lights on at Walnut Hill.”

She knew everything about the neighborhood. Then she told me about old Wes Ford, an ex-slave man who is living nearby.

“He came to your mansion about 1802,” she said. “When Bushrod Washington inherited the place from the general. And he left with John Augustine's family. He stayed that long, though he'd been set free in his masters will in 1829. One thing about the Nigras around here. They don't want to leave. Robert, pour me another cup of tea.”

He poured it.

“So Mr. Herbert told me,” I said.

“Wes Ford can tell stories about the general and his wife. Stories told to him by Billy, the general's body servant himself. Billy was still living here when Wes Ford came in 1802.”

Then, having won my interest, she gave the conversation a turn.

“Funny, isn't it? You and Mr. Herbert living all alone here in this big house.”

“Mr. Herbert is going to start a Home Guard. I'm going to ask him to teach me how to shoot,” Robert said.

“Robert, you are not going to learn how to shoot. Now, we have discussed this.”

“We're not alone,” I said. Robert's young, handsome face was flushed. He reminded me of Charles, my first love.

“Oh? I'd heard that the lady from the Association had a sick mother. Didn't she go home to her?”

I was trapped. “Yes, she did. But we have four servants, three of them women. And I'm actively seeking a female companion.” I looked at her. “Do you want the job?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you want to come and live here with me and help guard my virtue?”

She looked flustered. “Dear me, no. I'm not insinuating anything. I don't wish you to take it that way. Heavens, I've known Mr. Herbert for years. We all have. He is so full of decorum he could pass for Saint Joseph in the dark.”

I had never liked Saint Joseph. I didn't think much of a man who'd allow angels to tell him how to conduct his marriage.

Then she got up. “Come, Robert, it is time to go.” She turned to me. “The good Lord has his plan. I'm sure you will find someone.”

“I'm sure I will.”

“He knew what he was doing when he took my Donnie. At least Donnie won't have to go fight in the war and get himself killed.”

I did not understand such convoluted reasoning. But then, I did not know how a mother felt who had lost a son. I did know that if it happened to me, I wouldn't go around telling people that the Lord knew what he was doing. And I wouldn't make my other son pay for it either.

The next who came to visit was Anne Frobel, a Quaker woman.

She came the day I was planning on going to town to get passes for myself and the servants.

“Is thee planning a trip?”

“I was going to Alexandria to get passes.”

“And why isn't Mr. Herbert taking thee?”

“He's been advised against going.”

“Ah, so he hasn't taken the loyalty oath, then?”

“No, he hasn't, Mrs. Frobel.”

“Well, we Quakers don't take oaths, you know. But I did come to deliver him a message.”

I had brought her into the kitchen and sat her down. “Shall I fetch him? He's repairing the wharf.”

“No, but thee can tell him this. We got together and decided that if he needs our men in the Home Guard he is starting in the neighborhood, they are willing to serve.”

I stared blankly at her. “But I thought … ,” I said, and then I stopped.

She smiled. “Mrs. Harbinger was here, then?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“She's trouble, that woman. Here, let me cut the rhubarb pie. It's from rhubarb in my own garden. Everybody thinks we hide in time of trouble, Miss Tracy. We don't go looking for it, is all. But when it comes, we don't try to sidestep it. Already two boys from the neighborhood have joined the Union army.”

I nodded. “I'm neutral, Mrs. Frobel,” I told her. “So I quite understand your feelings. We want to keep this place neutral ground. Open to all.”

“As it should be,” she agreed solemnly.

I consider it beyond the pale that Mr. Herbert cannot go to Alexandria anymore. It would hurt me terribly if I were home on my father's farm and couldn't go into Troy. I know Mr. Herbert is pained because of this, especially since he is known by everyone in the county as an upstanding man with a strong central core, something planted there inside him by his ancestors, who carved out this country before it was a country.

Lest it sound as if I am mooning over him, that is not the case. We have a professional friendship.

It is late June now. Except for the soldiers who come to visit in small groups once in a while, one wouldn't even think there was a war going on. I know I have to go to Washington City to see General Scott, to get passes for our servants, but
I don't want to disrupt the lazy peace of the days.

We seem to have established a pattern in the house. I get up early, but no matter how early, it seems as if Mr. Herbert is in the kitchen at breakfast already. He asks, at breakfast, if there is anything I need done in and about the place that day And I ask him about food. What is coming into bloom in the fields? Are the corn and potatoes and tomatoes ready? Would he like fish for supper? If so, does he want to take the boat out or have Dandridge do it? If I'm going to town, I ask him if there is anything he wants. Then we part, he going his way and I, mine. I assign the servants their jobs, decide what I am going to do, and, if I need help, ask them to assist me.

I check their work during the day, visit my garden, cast some bread crumbs to my crow, feed the chickens, put milk out for the cat, and in general behave like a housewife who is seeing well to the ways of her household.

Mr. Herbert insists that if I go to town, I take Emily with me. “There are soldiers wandering around out there on the roads and in the woods,” he reminds me.

Every day, no matter what happens, I write a letter to Miss Cunningham and report happenings and expenditures. I have not heard from her since she left. I wonder when she is coming back and almost hope she isn't.

This first week in July, Mr. Herbert did not want to talk about fish or money at breakfast.

“There are rumors,” he said, “that Federal troops might be placed here.”

I stared at him. “And from whence come these rumors?”

“A Nigra friend of Dandridge's came around yesterday. It's all the talk in Alexandria, he said.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then I must go today to see General Scott and tell him we will not have Federal troops here, mustn't I?”

He regarded me sadly. “Take Priscilla. She's a better bodyguard than Emily You know how Emily is afraid of war.”

“I think Emily is the only sane one amongst us,” I told him.

“Be serious, Miss Tracy.”

“Do you think there is any sanity at all in our being here?”

“Miss Cunningham insists that the presence of a lady will keep people from looting and destroying this place.”