My Theodosia Page 18

  It was the only question they asked her about her voyage. Their lives, she thought, were bounded by the Waccamaw Neck, even though their bodies could and did move around elsewhere, occasionally.

  Theo and Joseph went home to the Oaks by barge, poling and rowing up the river even as she had descended it over six months before. Only then, she had not yet had the baby. She looked at him, rosy and sleeping in Eleanore's arms, his deep auburn curls stirred enchantingly under his little cap by the breeze off the water. He shouldn't be caught by the deadly monotony of this country; he should grow up, in spite of them, alert and broad-visioned, worthy of his Burr name. If only—if only——A confused terror stole over her. A baby's life was tenuous, so easily assailed by the creeping evils that lived in these swamps. On the ship she had felt brave, confident that nothing could touch them. A little effort of the will, a few precautions, and this place would be as healthy as anywhere. After all, there were diseases and fevers in the North too.

  But as the cumbersome barge veered slowly from the Waccamaw River into the Oaks Plantation creek, she felt the old foreboding and melancholy which she had thought conquered. Here every manifestation of nature was dark, weird, and fantastically shaped. The inky water, stained by the gnarled black cypresses, gave forth no reflections. The moss hung down above them like gray tresses of witches' hair. When one of these clumps brushed her cheek, she bit her lips so as not to cry out. The barge progressed ever more sluggishly, butting its prow into the soft mud, first on one bank and then the other. The six negroes who propelled it burst into a minor chant—'Yowdah ... Rowdah ... De weary, weary load'. Their mournful wail mingled with the sucking of the water on their oars. The fetid odor of the swamp and drained rice fields stole around them.

  Eleanore, who had been watching the negroes with startled eyes as they sang, shuddered suddenly. 'Je n'aimepas ce pays, Madame. C'est triste.'

  Joseph turned from contemplation of his rice fields. 'What does she say?' he snapped. 'Tell the woman to talk English'. Theo smiled faintly. 'She says it's sad here. I'm afraid she doesn't like it, and no more does Louis'. She indicated the gloomy chef, who crouched morosely at the far end of the barge, his chin on his hands, his nose wrinkled in a disgusted sniff which never left him during his stay on the Waccamaw.

  Joseph shrugged. The management of the servants was Theo's business, and their emotions interested him not at all. He had been, moreover, exceedingly upset by an occurrence of the morning. His anger had overshadowed the reunion with Theo.

  Once they gained the house and the baby had been settled into his cradle, Joseph ordered himself a glass of rum punch and requested Theo's presence in the drawing-room.

  Whatever is the matter, Joseph?' she asked, sitting down. 'You have seemed preoccupied and out of sorts ever since my arrival. Is there anything wrong?'

  He nodded curtly, leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece and drummed with his fingers, scowling fiercely at the top of the gilt clock.

  She sighed. 'It isn't the elections, surely. You got your seat all right, did you not?'

  Again he nodded.

  'Well, then, what is it?' She began to be alarmed. She knew him too well to think that he was angry with her; at those times his behavior was quite different. Could it be some financial disaster, had a rice cargo been lost, or the factor proved dishonest?

  Suddenly Joseph jerked a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and spat savagely into the fireplace. 'Venus has run away.'

  Theo stared at him blankly, then, before she could check herself, laughed. Thank Heavens! she thought. Is that what he is making all this fuss about? She hastily composed her face, as she saw his expression.

  'I'm so sorry, Joseph. I did not mean to laugh, but you see I expected some terrible occurrence, and this is not so serious, is it?'

  'Not serious!' shouted Joseph, beside himself. 'Have you no comprehension at all? No Alston slave has ever run away. My father will be scandalized. It's a shameful occurrence. Shameful!' he repeated, glaring at her.

  'I'm sorry, Joseph,' she said again lamely, wondering if it were her own relief at Venus's absence, for any reason, which made it impossible to understand his violence. Or was it but another of those inexplicable differences in their viewpoints? There had been many of these, and yet they never ceased to astonish her.

  Accustomed as she was to her husband's sudden rages, she was appalled at his vindictiveness. A vein throbbed in his forehead and his voice shook. 'The ungrateful bitch! I was too lenient with her last spring. She should have had the lash. Now when she's brought back, she shall have more than the lash. She shall have a chain around her yellow ankle, and at the other end a fine mate. I shall breed her to the Ape.'

  'Oh, Joseph, no! Don't speak like that, you frighten me'. Theo stared at him horrified. The 'Ape' was a slobbering and dangerous idiot who dwelt in a remote cabin under the care of Maum Reba, his unfortunate mother. Even for Venus, Theo could not imagine such a fate.

  Joseph slumped suddenly onto a chair, scowling at the floor. 'Couldn't you just let her go?' Theo ventured after a minute. 'What difference does one slave make? You can afford it'. 'Just let her go!' mimicked Joseph furiously; then he added more quietly, 'You don't know what you're talking about. She's worth near a thousand dollars, though that's not all. How long, think you, would our plantation system endure if runaway slaves were let go? How long before they would begin to feel themselves equal to the whites? Do you want an insurrection? Would you like the Oaks to be run by niggers?' She shook her head. 'But do you think you can find her?' 'She cannot have gone far. I've sent an advertisement to the Gazette and the Courier. She'll be hard to hide; she's an uncommonly handsome wench.'

  Theo looked up quickly at something in his voice, but she saw that he had been unconscious of any unusual intonation, unconscious, too, of her recoil as he repeated slowly: 'When she's brought back, she shall have a taste of the cat on her deceitful yellow back, then she shall live with the idiot until such a time as I choose to sell her to the Spaniards in Florida. She shall see the rewards of disobedience and ingratitude.'

  But the weeks went by and Venus was not found, though Joseph continued to advertise, and his overseer made many fruitless trips through the surrounding country.

  The winter dragged. Theo's early energy vanished. In March she had a stiff bout with la Grippe, emerging white and weak, to lie once more on the sofa and long for her release in June. For that she would again go North to her father had come to be an accepted fact. She was much alone that winter while Joseph spent a great deal of time in Columbia pursuing his legislative duties; and the various Alstons spent two months in Charleston. But for this Theo was glad. Try as hard as she could—and she did try hard—she could not seem to establish any enduring basis of common interest or deep sympathy with them. She knew that they disapproved of her. Even her initial kinship with Sally, John Ashe's bride, had lapsed. For Sally was interested in nothing but her husband, and Theo found it difficult to sustain enthusiasm over John Ashe's peculiar preference for eggs roasted rather than boiled, or his distaste for French pomade and Virginia tobacco. Besides, Sally, along with the rest of the family, had decided that Theo was eccentric and gave herself airs. Witness the inordinate amount of time which she spent in reading and writing. Witness, especially, her slack methods of housekeeping and her French servants.

  In truth, these latter presented problems which Theo had not anticipated. Eleanore was invaluable, but she would in no way co-operate with the blacks, and Louis, after a few weeks, did no work at all. He discovered that the negroes stood in awe of him and were prepared to obey him implicitly. So he gradually came to spend all his time in an armchair in the kitchen, languidly directing the operations of his underlings, while sampling Joseph's best wine and chewing on Joseph's best cigars. He lightened his boredom by a few affairs with the more personable of the wenches and a shortlived pursuit of Eleanore. But that shrewd peasant would have none of him, so that there was a state of war between the two. Eleanore loathed t
he Waccamaw; only her affection for Theo and her immense devotion to the baby kept her moderately contented. She, too, longed for June and the trip North.

  Their release came sooner than they had expected. In the third week in May the Enterprise unexpectedly put in at Georgetown, and even Joseph agreed that this opportunity for sailing North on the familiar vessel should be seized. Especially since the fever season had begun early this year. Already a damp, suffocating heat had settled on the plantation. Green mold appeared upon the walls and upon their clothing. Meat spoiled in one day, and milk soured—the precious milk upon which the baby depended. Theo hung over his cradle and felt his little forehead a dozen times a day. It remained cool. The fever had so far spared them all except Louis. The unhappy chef no longer went to the kitchen house at all, but shivered and sweated in his attic room. He was, of course, to sail with Theo, Eleanore, and the baby.

  'And kindly do not engage any more gibbering French monkeys,' said Joseph to Theo on the day before sailing. 'You must confess that the experiment has been a total failure. I wish you to get rid of Eleanore too. My son should have a mauma, as do all the Alston children.'

  Oh, no, she thought. No dirty African wench is going to tend my baby, teaching him Gullah or frightening him with conjuh. This place is dismal enough without the added terror of spooks and plat-eye. But she had long ago learned the folly of combating Joseph openly, and she feared blighting their parting with one of his rages.

  'You are entirely right,' she said gently. 'Louis has indeed been a failure. I was foolish to bring him. When, think you, will you arrive in the North? I shall be monstrous glad to see you.'

  Joseph, this summer, was to join her as soon as the legislature adjourned.

  'I'm not sure,' he answered, forgetting as she had hoped the subject of servants. 'When I leave Columbia, I shall go to Charleston. I'm not satisfied with the factor's accounting. He got exceedingly poor prices on the last rice shipment. We shall be beggared at this rate.'

  She listened patiently to this familiar theme, fixing on him a look of bright interest, while she mentally tallied the trunks, bundles, and boxes which waited ready packed in the hall for conveyance down the river to the Enterprise.

  The sturdy brig made her usual quick voyage to New York. So quick that, when Theo disembarked, she found that Aaron had not been able to meet her. He was in Philadelphia and must stop in Washington before returning home. She was greatly disappointed at this delay until she thought of going to Washington and awaiting him there.

  Accordingly she, Eleanore, and the baby took a packet to Alexandria and arrived two days later. At the wharf she hired a coachee, and they ferried across the Potomac, then bounced over dusty roads to Aaron's lodgings on Independence Avenue. He was expected from Philadelphia, 'maybe tomorrow or the day after,' the landlady informed them, and in the meantime she had a small apartment to place at Theo's disposal.

  So Theo happily established herself in three pleasant rooms on the second floor and prepared to surprise her father. She well knew what delight the unexpected reunion would give him, and arranged the details in a happy bustle of anticipation. She bought an armful of early roses from a flower vendor at the market and scattered them through their rooms. She laid in a stock of Aaron's favorite Cuban cigars and ordered a cask of the Trent wine he preferred to all others.

  She regretted that she could not buy herself a new gown ft› the occasion. All her dresses were sadly out of date, and Aaron dearly loved to see her dressed modishly. He took an eager interest in feminine apparel. During her short stay in New York she had noted that tunics had come in, necks were not so low, and bow trimmings had replaced embroidery. Yet she had not had time to have a gown made, and there were no dressmakers in Washington, nor any shops in which to buy fine goods.

  In fact, the Federal City had improved little since her visit there for the inauguration. Her lodging windows overlooked the Capitol, and she thought it quite impressive. The President's unfinished 'Palace,' too, gave promise of eventual grandeur, but between these two lay a welter of unpaved, barely discernible streets. They gloried in fine names, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Constitution, but led nowhere except into mud flats or stubbly fields. There were a few partially finished residences, a handful of lodgings and Stelle's Hotel, these latter scandalously expensive. And that was all. All except a city plan so ambitious and ridiculously far-flung as to provoke bitter mirth from the foreign ministers who dwelt irritably and uncomfortably in the inadequate quarters provided by this uncouth village.

  Theodosia, however, was indifferent to the town's appearance. Inasmuch as it would soon contain her father, it justified its existence.

  She felt well and young for the first time in months.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ON THE morning after her arrival in Washington, Theo awoke at five o'clock. There was freshness in the June air, and sparkle. She jumped from bed, ran to the cradle in the next room, and kissed the sleeping baby.

  Eleanore poked up a frowzy head from the near-by bed. 'Madame rises herself so early?' she cried, astonished.

  'Yes, Eleanore. It's such a glorious day. Come get me dressed. I'm going out for a walk.'

  The maid, grumbling a little, obeyed. This was a new thing for Madame, getting up with the sun. Down in Carolina she often remained in bed all morning. Still, down there it would be hot already—but hot! Thick odorous heat that choked one like fog. Heat like that of l'cnfer itself, no doubt—only damper, and rendered quite unbearable by the high, maddening hum of mosquitoes. Ce maudit pays!

  Eleanore had a sharp nostalgic pang for her native Touraine, but it passed. She could no longer conceive of an existence apart from Madame and the baby. For them she would drag around the country on vessels and coaches and flat boats; for them she would endure, when she had to, the discomforts and fevers of the Waccamaw.

  'Ça y est, Madame,' she said, as she finished tying the ribbons on Theo's kid slippers. Theo thanked her and waved good-bye. Arrayed in a 'Conversation' bonnet of yellow chip straw, a willow-green walking-dress, and a small India shawl, she let herself out of the sleeping house and walked rapidly down Maryland Avenue to the river.

  As she walked, she hummed, joying in the sense of physical well-being, in the glowing June dawn, in the clear note of a meadowlark which mingled with her own voice. 'Cherry Ripe! Cherry Ripe!' she sang, laughing as the bird seemed to imitate the notes. Cherries were ripe now too, and Aaron liked them. She must send Eleanore to see if there were not some for sale in the market.

  She crossed a bridge, and the road narrowed as she approached the river. Soon she glimpsed blue water between the trunks of hickory and oak trees. Not the sprawling, moss-dripping live-oaks of the South, but great sturdy trees that flung their leaves proudly to the sky. As trees should.

  She came upon a field of daisies and Queen Anne's lace. Half-amused at her childishness she plucked a handful of these flowers and wove their stems together into a wreath. The white petals were studded with dew. She rubbed some of it upon her cheeks. Early morning dew is supposed to make one beautiful, she thought. I trust it improves my color or Father will scold.

  She raised her head quickly as she heard galloping hoofs thump toward her down the road, and saw an enormous bay with a tall rider in a white shirt. Some other early riser, she thought indifferently, averting her head until he should pass and leave her again to the quiet beauty of the morning.

  But he did not pass. The horse gave a quivering, resentful snort as he was pulled up short beside her.

  Astonished, she turned. As she recognized the rider, she gasped, her fingers fell open, and the wreath dropped to pieces on the grass.

  The man flung himself off the horse and stood staring down at her. His mouth smiled a little, but his gravely questioning eyes transcended convention with their same message of intimate understanding as when they had met in Vauxhall Gardens. The three years that had passed collapsed like the twig houses that children build. Theo felt again the trembling joy and the fear
of that September night in New York.

  Have I always known that this would happen? she thought. Was it for this that I awoke so gay, so happy today? And at once an inner voice chimed in: I will not make a fool of myself again. I was a silly child then.

  She recovered herself, struggling frantically for composure.

  'So we meet once more, Captain Lewis. I had no idea that you were stationed in Washington'. She spoke in precisely the cool voice she would have used to greet one of her father's less important political satellites.

  Lewis bowed slightly, the light behind his eyes vanishing. He replied in a tone equally impersonal, though it was sharpened with the faintest edge of amusement. 'Indeed, Mrs. Alston, this is an unexpected pleasure. I am not stationed here. I am Mr. Jefferson's private secretary. I lead a life of pampered ease and uselessness. Not, however, for long, I believe.'

  'Oh, indeed,' she murmured inanely, annoyed to find that his coolness had destroyed hers. No longer an insignificant frontier officer then, but secretary to the President. She could think of nothing to say. She stood there tongue-tied as a country girl, and her knees felt weak. How stupid I am! she thought angrily.

  There was nothing about him so to discompose her. He was not handsome in the least: his features were too rough and gaunt for that. And he was immoderately tall. She liked neither tall nor fair-haired men, and he was both. His hair was sun-bleached to a hueless, ashy tint that nearly matched his chill gray eyes. And his dress was most careless. No gentleman should be so careless. No coat, no vest: nothing but buckskin trousers like a backwoodsman, and a cambric shirt thrown open to disclose a heavily muscled brown neck that shocked her with its naked maleness.