Or Give Me Death Read online

  She was as sane as a preacher's wife. But then, she worked with her husband. She wrote stories for the paper. She got about and saw people.

  Mrs. Hooper, our neighbor? I never liked her, but no, she wasn't daft, only mean as a viper. What about Mrs. Parson, who allowed that rumor to be bandied about concerning her son Richard with the rotted flesh?

  I thought about Aunt Annie. She lived in Indian territory, and we'd as yet heard no reports of her mind going.

  Then! decided no. It must be only our family. And so I thought again: It's what Pa meant, truly. It might someday be me.

  ***

  I TRIED TO GET away from the sound of the hammering belowstairs. Thank heaven the house was big enough to lose yourself in. And Pa wanted me to be mistress of the place. Very well, I would be.

  I must see what Pegg was planning for supper. Cold chicken fricassee, yellow squash, turtle soup, and pound cake for dessert.

  It was soap-making time, so I went to cast an eye to Daphne. Her husband, Claye, already had the fire going and was carrying over the water. The key to good soap is the ability to judge the strength of the lye, and use the right portion of grease. I stood, while Claye poured the water over the clean wood ashes and some lime in a barrel and the process was well under way.

  Then I went with Silvy, to help her air out the mattress tickings on this beautiful spring day.

  I knew I should bring Edward to Delia to be nursed, but I could not bring myself to do that.

  "Would you take him down?" I asked Pegg.

  She gave me a sly glance. How could I be mistress of the place if I couldn't even visit the quarters? Mama used to go every day to see what was needed, to take care of anyone who was sick, to visit new babies.

  I gave Pegg a look, letting her know I would brook no sass from her as I handed my brother over.

  "Tell Delia that if she is well enough tomorrow, I expect her up here at the house to nurse him," I said.

  "Yes, Miss Patsy." At the door, she turned. "Your mama be cryin' in her room 'cause she can't see the baby. You best let me give her some of my remedies."

  "The doctor said laudanum."

  "My remedies fix her better."

  I gave her no answer. I brought Mama some leftover dinner pudding.

  "Where is Edward? Where is my baby?" Her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders. She wore a silk sacque.

  "He's down to the quarters for nursing. Delia had her baby. A boy."

  "I do not want him nursed by a Negro."

  "Now, Mama, isn't it time you were treated like a lady? Most planters' wives don't nurse their own children."

  She pushed me away. "Don't tell me what most planters' wives do. Bring me my baby!"

  "Of course, Mama. Just take some nice tea first, and this powder the doctor left you. You'll feel better in no time."

  "You think I don't know what that doctor and Pegg are doing to me? I won't take it! I want my baby!" She pushed me aside even more forcefully and ran from the room. I ran after her.

  "Mama, Mama, come back," I begged.

  Out the back door I followed her ethereal form, with her hair flying and her blue silk sacque billowing out behind her. Behind me, Anne and William and Mr. Chitwell came out of the parlor, all calling her. From the corner of my eye I saw Betsy, who'd been playing with Pegg's Letty, drop her doll and stare as her mother flew by.

  This was just what Pa didn't want the children to see.

  "Patsy! What's wrong?"

  Thank God. It was MyJohn and John behind me. I pointed in the direction of the quarters. Mama was just reaching the lane that ran through the cabins. MyJohn gave chase, and I stood watching, leaning against my brother.

  At Delia's doorstep MyJohn gathered Mama in his arms and they went inside.

  ***

  "'Tis A SHAME about the flood," Mama said. The laudanum had quieted her. Edward was sleeping in my arms.

  "Flood?" I asked.

  "They are saying that it is the worst flood we've ever had. Mr. Jefferson lost his mill on the Rivanna River. And the James and Rappahannock overflowed. Such losses! Four thousand hogsheads of tobacco, crops, livestock, lives, and homes. Oh, the people will go into debt."

  "Mama, there was no flood," I said.

  She shook her head and sighed. "The people are suffering. And the new governor rides about in a coach given to him by King George."

  We didn't have a new governor yet. Governor Boutetourt had died last fall and England had not yet appointed another.

  I sat rocking Edward. But oh, my mind was so sullied now with fear! And then guilt. Because the fear was not for Mama. It was for myself.

  ***

  I SETTLED MAMA for a nap and put Edward to sleep in the downstairs cradle. By late afternoon I discovered that Anne and William couldn't be found.

  "I haven't seen them," MyJohn said when I called belowstairs. Both he and my brother came up.

  Little Betsy, who was just learning to put words together, tugged at MyJohn's breeches. "Mill, mill. I wanna go, too."

  "So they're at the mill," I said.

  "We'll go and fetch them back," MyJohn offered. The mill was a mile away on the river. Both children knew not to go near the water.

  "They like to visit the miller and his wife," I said.

  "You ought to rest before supper," MyJohn said. "You look spent." He put his arm around my shoulder. "Won't you?"

  I pulled away.

  "What is it, Patsy?" He peered into my face. His earnest brown eyes were so perplexed, his concern so dear.

  "Nothing. I'm worried about Mama."

  "Don't worry. We're making her a pleasant retreat downstairs. Patsy, what is it?"

  "Oh, MyJohn, I'm afraid." And I commenced to cry.

  "What are you afraid of?"

  Out of the corner of my eyes I saw my brother John go out the back door, to give us privacy. "Of you," I said.

  "Of me?" He made as if to laugh but did not.

  "Of what marriage to you will do to me. Of becoming like Mama if we wed."

  He smiled. "Patsy, darling, of course you might think that, but by heaven, you are the most sensible and steady young woman I have ever known."

  "How do we know?" I whispered. "Mama was beautiful and strong, too, when she wed Pa."

  MyJohn hesitated for a moment. "How do we know about anything, dearest? There is no promise written in stone that tomorrow won't bring any manner of trouble. Should we deny ourselves happiness in anticipation of it?"

  "No."

  "Patsy," he said gently, "I greatly esteem your father. But he casts a long shadow. I do not."

  "You're saying it's Pa's fault?"

  "It's no one's fault. It's just that another woman might have been able to stand up under his long absences, and his preoccupations."

  It was almost what Pa had said. "I'm still afraid. I don't think it's Pa. I just think there's too many barons in Mama's family. And that it's in the blood."

  "I refuse to allow anything bad to happen to you. I promise," he said.

  I smiled and nodded, as if I believed him. I was supposed to believe him, wasn't I? But I would not let him hold me. It was not he who had to do the promising, after all. It was me. And of a sudden, I couldn't.

  ***

  "MAMA, TELL ME how it was when you first met Pa. Were you very much in love?"

  The children were not yet back. I'd brought Mama some tea.

  "Your pa was a fine man."

  I supposed that if I wanted her to talk any, I'd have to abide by her belief that Pa was dead.

  "When did you meet him?" Why had I never asked her these questions before?

  "Nobody wanted us to wed. Your pa had no money. We were wed in the parlor at Rural Plains."

  "I know, Mama, but did you love him?"

  "Guests wore powdered wigs, high stocks, hoop-skirts, and all kinds of furbelows. Silk stockings and silver buckles. Oh, there was feasting and dancing, mint julep and eggnog. The wedding feast lasted several days. Then we went to our h
oneymoon cottage at Pine Slash, given to me by my own pa. The land was poor, but it was three hundred acres. And six Negroes."

  "But, Mama, did you love him?"

  Her eyes came alert. "They say a true lady should never admit she loves a man," she said solemnly. "It is not consistent with the perfection of female delicacy."

  "'Female delicacy'?"

  "For a married woman to declare the full extent of affection for her husband might produce disgust in him."

  "Who told you that, Mama?"

  "A book. The Ladies Library. I was raised on it." She giggled. "I went against its teachings once, and what happened? I got in the increasing way with you. But I've tried to make up for it. Always I cultivated a modest reserve and retiring delicacy."

  She made up for begetting me?

  "Our wedding feast and dancing went on till morning."

  She was talking about the gown she wore when I left the room. She was saying something about blue striped satin and pale blue calamanco shoes.

  ***

  I HEARD ANNE and William clattering into the house.

  "Anne bit the head off a butterfly! Look!"

  They stood there, just inside the back door. Anne, William, John, and MyJohn. Anne held the creature in her hand. It was spotted, of a lovely golden tone. And true enough, it had no head.

  "Stop making up stories!" I scolded. "And where have you both been? Didn't I tell you to be here for your tutor? I've had to dismiss him again!"

  "She bit off its head," William insisted. "I'm not making up stories."

  "Did you?" I demanded of my sister.

  She nodded solemnly. Yes.

  "Did you eat it?"

  "I spit it out."

  I could not believe it. Nor the willfulness with which she admitted it.

  "Why? Why would you destroy one of God's beautiful creatures like this?" I was filled then with a sudden fear.

  Suppose Anne was of Mama's bent? Mayhap she was the one who would inherit the madness.

  I must take firm action with her, in spite of what Pa had said. I must not let her run wild and unstructured. I must keep a careful eye to her doings.

  She stood unafraid before me. "Because I want a new dress the color of the butterfly. That's what you get if you bite off its head."

  MyJohn kissed me lightly. "Go easy," he whispered, "they're confused on account of their mama." Then he and John went back downstairs.

  "Who told you this?" I demanded of Anne. "Pegg?"

  Her refusal to respond gave me the answer.

  "And what do you need a new dress for, pray?"

  She retrieved a dirty and crumpled paper from her pocket.

  It was from Mrs. Hooper. An invitation. "I am pleased to invite your Anne to the delightful Mr. Onslow's Dancing School, which is held in rotation in the homes of pupils in the Williamsburg area. Each pupil will have an individual lesson. There will be picnics, games, and formal dinners for the occasion. Please send your young William and a servant to accompany Anne."

  "Evelyn saw us playing by the river and rode over to deliver it," Anne said. "And Evelyn has a new silk dress, the color of a red bird, and she's no older than I am."

  I breathed a sigh. "You want to go to this dancing school?"

  "It would be great sport."

  Her wanting this surprised me. "What about William?" I asked.

  "He said he'd sooner be tarred and feathered."

  "He'll go with you. But I cannot. I shall send Silvy. But if I hear that you have acted like a rapscallion, or sullied our good name, I shall punish you, you hear?"

  "And what about my dress?"

  "I shall stitch one up for you of blue cotton."

  "Evelyn's got silk!"

  "They import it. They go against the nonimportation agreements."

  "Everybody will be wearing silk."

  "Everybody's father isn't Patrick Henry. You don't know how lucky you are. Evelyn's father is in debt. Like so many other families in Virginia who insist on growing tobacco. Pa long since gave it up for growing wheat and grains."

  "I'll tell them you said that." She was uncontrollable.

  "You dare!" I whirled on her. I grabbed her arm hard and shook her. "And you are not to say a word about her niece Sarah and Jonathan Snead. Do you hear?"

  "I might as well not even go, if I can't talk."

  But she heard. I scared her to death, poor child.

  "Can I go and see Mama?" Her voice got plaintive. And her face lost its sharp angles and resumed the round innocence of childish need.

  "No, she's resting. We can pay her a visit later. Go clean up. Then to the books. I must see to Edward."

  Chapter Eight

  "THE ROOM FOR your mother is finished, love," MyJohn said. "Why don't you come down and see it?"

  It was two days later. I was reading the Gazette.

  Whereas Martha Beasley, my wife, has absented herself from me and goes about scandalizing my character and threatening that she or some of her associates will swear away my life; and as I am of the opinion that she has lost her senses: These are therefore to forward all persons from harboring or trusting her on my account, for I will not pay any debt she shall contract, from the date hereof. Signed, William Beasley.

  "Patsy?"

  I read the words over and over. Then I dropped the paper and picked up the dress I was making for Anne.

  "I'm studying on whether to put some lace at the sleeves of Anne's gown. What do you think? She'll likely be the only little girl there without it."

  "You must abide by your pa's resolutions," MyJohn said.

  "Anne hates it that Pa won't let her wear silk."

  "At her age hate comes easily. And doesn't last. What were you reading in the paper?"

  "I was just realizing how many notices there are about women running off from their husbands. Mayhap if Mama had run off, you wouldn't have to be building a room for her now."

  "Patsy, don't," he pleaded.

  "I'm just saying that with these women, running off might be to save their sanity."

  "The room is ready for your mama," he said again.

  Why is it that when men don't wish to face something they wash it over and pretend it does not exist? I looked down at my stitching.

  "You and I are responsible for the younger children," he reminded me. "This is the only way, Patsy."

  "I'll be along in a minute," I said.

  ***

  I'D ALWAYS KNOWN the ceiling was low, but why did it seem so much lower now?

  "Pegg put up the curtains," MyJohn offered. He was trying so hard to please me.

  They were homespun. And all the hammering I'd heard had been for the new heart-pine floor, which was now covered with animal skins. The wide hearth had always been there, of course. But now a brass kettle hung on a polished crane. There was a heavy oak table. The walls gleamed with whiteness. There was one of Mama's favorite rocking chairs, a clothespress, and a bed with one of her favorite quilts on it.

  John and MyJohn stood looking at me, waiting.

  "It's beautiful."

  "She can come down this very day," MyJohn said.

  "Not yet, MyJohn," I said. "She's been quiet and good. Not yet. She needs more time."

  "You mean you do."

  "All right, yes. I do. I have to become accustomed to this."

  He sighed. "I suppose it is accorded to man born of woman to wait," he said.

  "Don't blaspheme," I told him. When everything about the whole business was a blasphemy, anyway.

  ***

  OVER THE NEXT two days I readied clothes for Anne and William to go to the Hoopers'.

  And still Mama did not go to the cellar.

  MyJohn was patient with me. He waited.

  I told him it was better to do it when the children were away. John would see them to the Hoopers' safely. Into a basket I put preserved jellies, pickles, and some pastries. One did not arrive to be a guest at a plantation without bringing along gifts.

  Into Anne and William I p
ut the fear of God.

  For two days I lectured them on manners. Still, when the chaise drove off, with Silvy sitting between them, Barley driving, and John riding alongside, I had more fears than a cat with a long tail in a room full of rocking chairs.

  I should have gone with them, I thought. I shouldn't have allowed Anne to take her lacquered box in which she kept her treasures. That alone could cause trouble with the other girls. Then MyJohn came up behind me. "Good, you got them off," he said. "It's starting to rain."

  As I turned to go back inside the house, I saw a white pigeon on the roof.

  ***

  BY THE TIME MyJohn was ready to leave that evening, the rain was steady and vicious. He didn't want to go until John returned. John had been away all afternoon, likely at Dorothea's.

  We stood under the covered walkway out back. We were alone, and MyJohn looked as if he wanted to kiss me. But I gave him no encouragement.

  "Patsy, you've got to stop this," he said.

  "What?"

  "You know. We're betrothed. Why won't you kiss me?"

  I had no answer. I wanted to. The nearness of him, the manly smells of him, the dear familiar arms and hands, the broad shoulders made me half daft with wanting. Did he think it was easy for me?

  I let him kiss me. I huddled in his arms, letting him protect me, until we saw John and Barley ride up.

  Both were already soaked through. Barley took the horse and chaise into the barn. MyJohn squeezed my hand and went to speak to my brother. Then he rode off.

  John and Barley came in about ten. I gave them supper in the traveler's room. Rain slashed against the windows and pinged into rain barrels. When they'd come in, I'd seen through the open door pools of standing water in the back quadrant. And heard water rushing in rivulets in the lane between the slave houses.

  "I'm afraid we're in for the worst of it," John said. "Some people at the Hoopers' said the James and Rappahannock are already threatening to flood."

  I thought of Mama. And her predictions. But I said nothing.

  John and Barley ate in companionable silence. There was something between these two. They'd grown up together, played together. But, while John still retained some of his boyhood friendship with Barley, it had long since taken on a different tone. Barley was a good hand with the horses John was raising for racing. But John was definitely the master now in the friendship.