Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray (35 page)

November 25, 1862

Arlington, VA

Dear Miss Mary,

There is no one this side of heaven who can know how much your heart hurts at the loss of your Annie. And there is nothing I can say that will ease the pain. Tell the general and the rest of your children that everyone here grieves with them. Miss Annie's smile always reminded me of a light in the window of a dark house, how it could make you seem less alone when you looked at it. I have no doubt she is making some corner of heaven brighter now. But I don't suppose that will bring you much consolation. Any mother expects to pass on ahead of her own children, and I imagine this is a shock that will only grow less so with time.

You were the one who told me how a book can brighten the darkest of times, and when I heard Miss Annie had passed I got out the poem book you gave me when I was just a girl. Do you remember? In it was a poem which is too long to copy the entire thing, but I send you a few lines in hopes they will somehow comfort you.

Everything at Arlington is the same. Soldiers everywhere. The house dark and still of an evening. We had a snow the other night, the first one this winter, and I thought about the night you and I went sledding on the hill. I remember we hit a hard bump that lifted us both off the sled and I thought we would go flying off into the snowbank and break our necks, but you held on tight and we got over the bump and the rest of the ride was pretty smooth. I suppose that is what you must do now. Just hold on tight and get over this bump till life brings you better days.

Your humble servant, Selina Gray

PS: Here is the poem from Mr. WC Bryant, the same you used to read to me when I was small.

And then I think of one who in her
Youthful beauty died
The fair meek blossom that grew up
And faded by my side
In the cold moist earth we laid her
When the forests cast the leaf
And we wept that one so lovely
Should have a life so brief
Yet not unmet it was that one
Like that young friend of ours
So gentle and so beautiful should
Perish with the flowers.

After the loss of my home—which even savages would have spared for the sake of the former association with my father—after the loss of White House with its ties to my Washington kin, after the deaths of my little grandson and my dear Annie—all in the space of a single year, and despite my constant prayers for mercy, the cruel hand of death once more gripped my family. A few weeks before Christmas, Charlotte gave birth to a little girl who developed a lung infection and died before her parents could name her.

Once again I wrote to Robert with sad news.

His letter, written from his camp at Fredericksburg, arrived just as I prepared to leave Richmond for Hickory Hill.

I have grieved over the death of that little child of so many hopes and so much affection and in whose life so much of the future was centered.

I felt the loss too. But my family circle was irretrievably broken, shattered beyond repair. Even the news that Robert intended to free all of the Custis servants at the end of the month failed to cheer me. Their freedom had been the chief object of my life's work, but two years of war and death had rendered me indifferent to joy, numb with grief, and burdened by losses that went too deep for tears.

February 16, 1863

Richmond

My dear husband,

I am worried to learn you are bogged down in such heavy snow and hate the thought of your suffering, and the toll this winter is taking upon your men and horses. I am pleased to know that George has arrived to cook for you and Perry is still there to look after you. The $8.20 per month that you are paying them ought to enable them to lay up something for themselves.

No doubt you have heard our government has passed an impressment act allowing for the taking of supplies and the purchase of crops at a negotiated price. Of course there is no way to enforce it, and the rising price of everything here, from corn and flour to meat and salt, has set everyone on edge. In certain quarters there is talk of rebellion, but I cannot imagine it will make any difference, as Governor Letcher and President Davis seem to be blind to the suffering of this poor old city.

I enclose two pairs of socks. Please use them yourself, my own love, and refrain from giving them away. Every soldier is precious but none more than you, to your countrymen and to your family who cherishes you so.

Your devoted, MC Lee

I set aside my letter for posting and took up my needles. I was still running my knitting factory, turning out as many pairs of socks as I could between visits to our sick and wounded soldiers. One day at the end of March, as I sat by the window with my knitting, a woman in a tattered blue dress came rushing up the walk to ring my bell. Agnes let her in.

“Mrs. General Lee.” Her voice shook when she addressed me. “You don't know me. My name is Minerva Meredith. My husband works at the ironworks. I'm sorry to barge in here like this, but we need your help. That new law they just passed is starving us to death. Our children are barefoot and in tatters. Something must be done.”

I could see the desperation in her eyes. But people thought I had more influence than I actually possessed. “I understand, Mrs. Meredith. Everyone is suffering. It isn't fair. But I don't know what I can do.”

“Come to our organizational meeting. It's tomorrow at the Baptist church in Oregon Hill.”

Agnes, who had been busy making coffee for our visitor, came into the room. “My mother is hampered by rheumatism, Mrs. Meredith. It won't do to have her out in this chilly weather. But I will stand in her place.”

“Agnes, I don't think it's wise to—”

“I know I must be mindful of Papa's position, but you would go if you were able, and Mrs. Meredith is right. Something must be done.”

“I will write a note to the governor. But I don't think—”

“Oh, bless you, Mrs. Lee,” our visitor said. “He surely will listen to the wife of General Lee. Bless you both.”

Agnes gave the weeping woman some coffee and sent her home with a few slices of bacon and a cup of flour from our own dwindling stores.

The next morning dawned warm and fair. Agnes went off to join Mrs. Meredith's meeting, and as I was not expected at the hospital that day, I found my walking cane and took advantage of the fine weather to post my letter to the governor. I was just returning from the very short walk when I heard a commotion in the streets and Agnes calling for me.

“Mama! There's rioting in the streets. Mrs. Meredith organized a march on the governor's office, but when we got there he wouldn't come out to see us.”

She ran up the walk, took my arm, and we went inside.

“What happened, child?” I sat down and put my cane aside. “I thought Mrs. Meredith would wait for my note to reach Governor Letcher.”

“The men from the ordnance factory came to the meeting, and they didn't want to wait another day. So we met at the statue of General Washington and marched over to the governor's mansion. But he wouldn't come out, so we left. Mrs. Meredith and Mrs. Jackson and the men started calling out for others to join us. Now they're raiding the warehouses and the stores, taking food
and clothes, shoes, even jewelry. The police are arresting people and taking them off to jail.” Agnes paused for breath. “I knew it would be bad for Papa if I were thrown in jail, so I came home.”

“That was wise.” I was exhausted just from listening to her account.

“But I'm not sorry I stood up for them,” Agnes said. “And I'm proud of you, Mama, for writing that letter.”

“It won't do any good now, I'm afraid.”

Agnes collapsed into her chair. “Anyway, it was very frightening, but thrilling in a way. Just wait until I tell Orton.”

The riots lasted only a few hours, but for weeks following the arrests, everyone in the city was jittery. Letters from Robert had grown even more sporadic, and my sweet Agnes became increasingly despondent, waiting day after day for a letter from Orton.

By the middle of June the weather had turned fair and warm. Agnes and I took our books and our coffee out to the small garden at the back of the house where a few spindly roses were in bloom. We had just settled down to our reading when a skinny gray kitten wandered in, mewing pitifully.

Agnes picked her up. “Oh, you poor thing. Mama, this little baby is half starved. I'm going to give her some cream.”

“If you do, there won't be any for tomorrow, but go ahead, child, if you want to.”

Agnes got to her feet. “I'll be right back.”

She went inside and I returned to
Les Misérables
. I had forgotten the pleasures of reading in French that I had so enjoyed as a girl, and soon I was so absorbed in the story that it was some time before I realized Agnes had not returned.

Leaning on my walking cane, I got to my feet and went inside. Agnes lay sobbing on the settee, a letter on her lap.

“Darling, what is it? What's happened?”

“Oh, Mama, Orton is dead. He was caught behind enemy lines in Tennessee last week and convicted of spying. The Yankees hanged him.”

Sorrow for her and hatred for the lawless Yankees boiled in my veins. Agnes clung to me, keening so brokenly that my own tears fell. I thought of Annie. One daughter was dead in body, the other in spirit. I wasn't certain which was worse.

1864

F
reedmen's huts sprang up all over the beautiful grounds of Arlington, and besides that the soldiers had a large military school established there. Nothing looked the way it had in the days when Miss Mary was young, with her children playing at her feet.

War news came to us almost every day. We heard when General Lee won his big victory at Chancellorsville in the spring of '63, and we heard the Yankee soldiers cheering in the summer of '64 when General Sherman burned everything in his path on the way to destroying Atlanta. I had heard little from Miss Mary since she weaved a funeral wreath for her own daughter, but one day in October I received a short letter from Richmond. It was two years since Miss Annie had passed from this earth. Mister Robert was desperately trying to hold back the Yankees, but even Miss Mary could see that the war couldn't go on much longer.

I fetched my paper and pencil and sat down to write her back.

November 8, 1864

Arlington, VA

Mrs. Lee,

I received your letter and was happy to hear from you, and I was hoping to see you once more at Arlington but I suppose that is not possible now. I was sorry to hear of Mr. Rooney's terrible troubles. To be wounded in battle and then kidnapped from his own home and taken prisoner was trouble enough. But the news that his wife has gone the way of her two sweet babies surely must be too much for one man to bear, and I know that you grieve for him as well.

Thornton keeps up with all the war news and we cannot help hoping the fighting will soon be over. We have heard of a piece of property in the valley, not far from Alexandria, that he wants to buy and make a farm of it. The house is not much to look at it and he says the land is very poor, but I am anxious to get it. I have done the best I could at Arlington having so many inferior persons to contend with, and I will be happy to have a comfortable home of my own.

My children are well. Emma is a fine-looking girl. She has big dreams of finding a good job in Washington and Annice, too. It will be good when they are old enough to be on their own, as the cabin is crowded as usual and I am once again with a baby on the way.

Remember me kindly to Miss Agnes and Miss Mildred, remember me kindly to Mr. Custis and also to Mr. Robert. I trust I may see the day yet when you will have Arlington, and I hope that I may yet be able to see you as I am very anxious to.

No more from your humble servant, Selina Gray

The cabin door swung open and Thornton came in with Annice, both of them carrying an armload of firewood.

“Mama, guess what?” Annice dumped the wood in front of the fireplace and made herself comfortable on my chair underneath the window. “Mister Lincoln has been elected president again. Everybody says this is sure to be the end of the war.”

Thornton threw another log on the fire and muttered something I couldn't understand. Ada woke up and began to fuss. I set down my pencil and took her onto my lap, though she was getting too heavy for me to hold, with another child waiting to enter the world. Her braids had come undone and I fixed them back, one eye on my husband. Something was bothering Thornton, but he wouldn't tell me unless I asked. “What is it that's got you worried, Mister Gray?”

“Saw Austin Bingham this morning. He's got his eye on that farm down in the valley. I'm worried he'll buy it out from under us 'fore we can save up what we need.”

“Where would he get that kind of money?” Ada was getting heavy, and I shooed her off my lap.

Thornton shrugged. “They say some of the Northerners is willing to make loans to freedmen. I'm thinking about looking into it.”

“Huh. What do you reckon those Yankees will want in return? I don't suppose they're making loans simply out the goodness of their hearts.”

Thornton eyed me sharply. “I know you're still loyal to Miss Mary and you don't like what the Northerners have done to Arlington. But we got to think of ourselves now. If the Yankees want to help us get our own land, we got to consider it.”

“He's right, Mama,” Annice said. “Arlington is our past.
Green Valley is our future. It's gone happen, soon as the Yankees beat the Confederates once and for all.” She got up to pour her papa some coffee. “I don't know why General Lee keeps on fighting now that Mister Lincoln has already freed the slaves. But I surely hope he gets beat, and soon.”