Sarah's Ground (9781439115855) (9 page)

Why must people be such meddlesome troublemakers? Don't they know that if you leave trouble alone, it will find you?

The article went on to say that I was seen talking to Professor Thaddeus Lowe in the field, “gathering information to give to the Southern traitors.”

Whatever else they say of me,
I will not be construed as a spy!
I must write, today, to all the Northern vice-regents
and to Miss Cunningham to have them respond to these falsehoods.

But what hurts even more in the article is that it claims
that we employ slave labor here at Mount Vernon
.

It says our Nigras are not paid. That they are not free.

Upton advises we don't respond to any of it. Isn't that just like a man? My brothers would say the same thing. But I cannot abide such lies, when we are all working so hard to put this place to rights.

“We must free the Nigras,” I told him.

He sighed. He scratched his head. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Do you know how to do this?” he asked.

I was dumbfounded. The how of it had never occurred to me.

I didn't know how. And it came to me, for all my family's abolitionist talk up North, that I never have known how. I thought for a moment.

“I would think something like this should be done by President Lincoln,” he said.

“Well, he isn't here,” I said sharply. “And he isn't likely to come.”

Upton looked abashed. “Are there some kind of magic words that one says?” he asked. “Some ceremony?”

And then I came to my senses.

“I suppose it is sufficient to gather them together and tell them all that they are now free and may go and do as they
please. Those words are magic in themselves. Aren't those the words so many Nigras in the South are praying to hear?”

“And suppose they do just that? Go and do as they please? What will we do without them?”

“Hire others! What is it about you Southerners that you think you can't do without your Nigras?”

He took the scolding in good cheer. “Who will make my mint julep if Jane goes?”

“Stop joking. We must do it. This very day.”

And then he had a thought. “I think it involves free papers. I think that I'll have to write it out and file it at the courthouse. Now that I think of it, my father did that once for one of his slaves when I was a child.”

“All right,” I said. “Then, you must do it.”

So this very day we gathered them on the piazza, and Upton told them that they were free. They could leave us if they wished. They no longer had to stay in our employ. In his hands he had papers he had written out for each of them. He told them always to keep a copy and that another would be filed at the Fairfax County Courthouse for them as soon as possible.

Jane shook her head as if we were pure mad. Emily nudged Priscilla. “You do this?” I heard her whisper savagely. “You do this jus' to get me to leave?”

Priscilla scowled back.

Dandridge shuffled his feet. “You want me to leave, boss?” he asked Upton.

“Of course not,” Upton said.

“Then, why you do this for?”

“I have to do it. The newspapers are saying you're in slavery. It doesn't look good for Miss Tracy.”

“We ain't in no slavery,” Priscilla mumbled. “If'n I was, an' wanted to be free, doan you think I cudda walked off any time I went travelin' with Miss Sarah?”

We all stood looking at one another, alternately embarrassed and proud. They of their loyalty, and we that we were setting them free.

“Well, at any rate,” Upton said, “if anybody asks you, you're free. Now that your papers are in good order.”

They walked away mumbling and questioning the sanity of white people.

“We knows we free,” I heard Dandridge say to the others.

“They gots to make it look good for themselves,” Priscilla answered.

“I cudda run a hunnert times,” Emily said. “If I felt like it.”

In the evening, when all the chores are done, I often take tea on the piazza. I have managed to convince Upton to sit with me. It is still in disrepair, but at least the falling-down pillars are fixed.

I am told that General Washington and Martha took tea here, though I do not know the exact spot. I am told that
General Washington sat here with General Lafayette, too, and discussed slavery.

When the shadows lengthen, I can believe it. I can believe anything about this place. Things change with the deepening light. In the distance we can hear the frogs croaking on the riverbanks. Tree branches sway in the evening breeze, revealing long-held secrets. But what? I can smell the roses I planted in my flower garden, as well as the geraniums and phlox, mixed with the smell of fresh wood that is lying around for repairs.

I love the smell of fresh wood almost as much as flowers.

The pansies are in borders in the shade because they cannot take full sun. Next to my flower garden is the old greenhouse that George Washington had built so long ago. It burned years ago, and what is left is covered with vines. Vinca grows in a riot of green all around the ground near the mansion. There are wild grapevines down by the river. In the evening, just for a moment or so, I can feel the peace of this place and the secret it is trying to tell me.

All will be well. All will be in order again. What you are doing here is for future generations.

I can pretend the place is not in disarray but will soon be as Washington kept it in its prime. And I can pretend that there is no war.

The letters from the Northern vice-regents went to the papers, including the
Star
in Washington, speaking for my
loyalty to the Union and to the slavery question on Mount Vernon.

Things settled down for two days. And then I had a visit from Mrs. Harbinger.

She came driving her own cart one morning, bearing strawberry preserves.

“Have you seen my boy?” she asked. “Has Robert been about?”

I told her no, I hadn't seen him. But it turned out she knew better.

“He was here. I saw him come off your land with that recruiting man. I always knew you were a traitor,” she said.

Her words were like a slap. Was she the person who had told the papers about me? That our people were slaves? That I was seen talking to Professor Lowe?

“Mrs. Harbinger,” I said sternly, “mind yourself. Those are strong words.”

“I don't mind him going,” she said. “I have no illusions but that they'll come round for him sooner or later. But to think he joined the Northern army! You are a traitor to have set this up for him. We are Southerners. My other boy died fighting for the South!”

“Your boy died when he fell from a horse,” I said.

But she would not hear of it. She sat at the kitchen table and cried. Not because Robert had joined the army. But because he had joined the Northern army.

And somehow I managed to console her, angry as I was.
Because she was confused. But who amongst us isn't these days? I had heard that some of the Quaker neighbors around us were not speaking to one another anymore because one had a son fighting for the North and another for the South.

Don't they have enough confusion making the decision to fight?
I thought.

I ended up comforting Mrs. Harbinger. And I served her strawberry preserves.

It is the fifteenth of August. The fixing of the house goes on. The wharf is repaired. Mrs. Frobel was here this morning and told me that when Mrs. Lee left Arlington, she left with a large farm wagon full of good furniture, portraits, china, and furbelows that once belonged to George and Martha Washington. I wish she had put them here for safekeeping. We need furnishings so. The house is so bare that sometimes it echoes.

But no. Mrs. Lee took that wagonload of treasures deeper into Virginia. I hope they survive the war.

Today I heard officially that both of Upton's brothers, Arthur and William, and all his cousins joined the Confederate army. Arthur owns the bank in Alexandria. I heard this from Dandridge.

Mary McMakin says mayhap she can come in September. I think she is fearful of travel. I think she is fearful of
being here. She was always afraid of everything. I suppose I should write to her again and tell her I need her to come. At least it will keep Fanny happy.

We heard guns in the distance yesterday. The shots rang out and carried in the air. They seemed not far away, and Upton ordered all the servants and workmen to stay close to the house.

He rode out on Peaches to find the source of the trouble. Turns out it was a skirmish. The redbrick church, where General Washington and his family went, is six miles from here. Upton reports it was not damaged but it was pillaged. Everything inside that could be carried away was taken, even the white baptismal font.

It is this part of war that bothers me so. That baptismal font was an original to the church. What will a soldier do with it?

Mary writes that she is coming in September. Oh, my heart is glad. Not because I fear being the only white woman in the house. But because now speculation about my being alone here with Upton will end.

I am preparing one of the upstairs rooms for Mary.

I have to go to Washington City again. Not only do we need candles and oil, but we need new passes. President Lincoln has put General McClellan in charge, and the pass from General Scott is no longer valid. And our servants need
passes to Alexandria. With McClellan, there are all new rules. They say he is pompous and orderly and crazy for regulations.

I must get a new pass even for myself to go to Alexandria. As it is now, we've had mail only once in ten days. And I must have it three times a week or go mad. If only because I must keep up with the papers and see what people are saying about us.

But now we have news of a different stripe. George Washington Riggs is an important banker and treasurer of the Association, and he and his wife have proved good friends. They live two miles short of Alexandria. She writes that Prince Napoléon of France is visiting Washington and wants to visit Mount Vernon.

A prince! Well, we've had just about everything else happen to us. Why not this?

I
n the weeks that followed I tried to remember if there was anything in any of Miss Semple's teachings that prepared one for entertaining a French prince.

There was.

Girls, face your problems. Meet them head-on!

So much had to be done. The workmen were still fixing the road to the west gate. It was filled with ruts from frozen spring mud, which were deep and were now dust beds.

Upton asked me what I wanted done outside. “The hedges must be trimmed,” I said, “and the grass around the brick walks. And the walks weeded.”

He set the men working.

I had Priscilla bake a cake. Martha Washington's “great cake,” for which we had the recipe. I sent for claret and groceries from Alexandria. They would not require supper, we were told. Just refreshment.

And then I had a thought. Did they speak English? Could I remember my French from my days in New Orleans? I have been practicing.

Thank heaven the place speaks for itself. The trees are lush, the lawns green, and the flowers in full bloom.
Though it is August, we have plenty of flowers—lavender, heliotrope, pinks, phlox, ragged robin, Canterbury bell, musk roses, columbine, and sweet William. Even the old orange trees in the middle of the tumbledown greenhouses are in bloom.

I have picked some flowers and put them in vases in the house.

There is a special vase of musk roses in General Washington's bedroom.

Well, the place is ready. We await the prince.

And then came a special messenger, up the road on horseback. I felt myself shake all over. Only bad news comes on horseback.

Upton met him, gave him some money, had the servants give him refreshment, and brought the letter to me.

It was addressed to me.

It was from an officer on Lee's staff.

I looked at Upton. “I don't know if I should open it. I might be accused of consorting with the enemy.”

His brown eyes sought mine in understanding, and he held out his hand for the letter, which I gave over.

I watched his expression turn into a scowl. “John Augustine Washington has been killed,” he said softly.

“Killed?”

“In the war.”

“I didn't know he'd joined up.”

“Oh yes, I did. And apparently there was a skirmish in the western part of Virginia. And he was mortally wounded.”

I put my hands over my mouth to still the cry. Upton put a hand on my shoulder.

“A man with six children had no right to join the army,” I said.

“No, but he had to prove himself.”

I thought of him, how he'd been that last morning he was here, when I made him leave the house, how downtrodden and humble. I thought of him dead now. Oh, why had I been so pompous! Because I'd wanted to show my mettle to Upton and Miss Cunningham. And I'd made that poor man my victim. I was so ashamed of myself. Of course he'd gone and joined the army. Mayhap to prove himself to me, how did I know?

I wanted the letter, but I did not take it. I would not let it be said that I had touched a letter from Lee's staff. “Keep it,” I told Upton. “You keep it.”

He folded it carefully. “I will.” His brow was furrowed, his manner solemn.

“Upton, I know what you're thinking,” I said. “Don't think it, please.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “He went and did his duty. And I'm here.”

“You're doing your duty,” I reminded him.

“What? Entertaining a French prince?”

“No,” I said, and my voice was full of resolve. “Keeping General Washington's house from being pillaged and destroyed. Look what happened to Pohick Church. What will future generations have, if not for what you're doing?”

“It's you who are doing it,” he mumbled. And he walked away, toward the old slave quarters, which I dearly wished had been taken down, but which, to this day, haven't.