MY THEODOSIA (20 page)

She raised her eyes, startled at his tenderness. 'Yes, Joseph?'

He looked down, embarrassed, touched her hand clumsily. 'Theo, we'll go to Charleston, as soon as you can travel. You shall have a——' He hesitated: the family would be shocked and contemptuous. He swallowed and went on. 'You shall have Doctor Debow, if you wish. I don't want you to worry. You must take care of yourself, I'——His face crumpled. 'Damme!' he shouted at her, 'why haven't you taken better care of yourself? You've had none of that medicine Maum Chloe made up for you. Look at it, there's the bottle—full!'

He pointed angrily at a viscous mixture of swamproot and chopped snakeskin which the Alston midwife had sent over to the Oaks.

Theo shook her head gently; her eyes glistened as she smiled at him.

'Poor Joseph, I do cause you a lot of trouble, don't I? You are good to me'. She raised her arms and, pulling his head down close to her, she pressed her pale lips softly against his whiskered cheek.

Six days later, Theodosia and Joseph made the trip to Charleston. It was not so difficult as she had feared. Pompey
and Cato carried her on a litter from the house through the tangled woods to the Oaks Landing on the creek. A huge flatboat awaited them, and she was made comfortable upon it, while skilled boatmen rowed and poled it along the winding creek to the Waccamaw.

The tide was running out and swept the heavy craft downstream to Winyaw Bay, fifteen miles away, where they labored against the currents and whirlpools around the point, then up the Sampit River, to tic up at last beside the Alston Wharf in Georgetown.

Here a schooner awaited them, already loaded heavily with the precious rice, two hundred barrels of it, rough-polished and ready for sale in Charleston. Theo was carried on board, and the
Live-Oak
set sail, skimming along with a following wind the whole sixty miles.

They entered the Cooper River just as the Charleston city lights began to prick yellow against the darkening spring sky. Theo admired the graceful eluster of houses with its lofty church spires—slender, pointed silhouettes—but she never saw it without a sick yearning for that other skyline so many miles to the north. The two cities were so maddeningly similar in many ways—both built on points with two encircling rivers, both with batteries at their tips.

But the other was home, and this one, though more beautiful and certainly cleaner, was not. And never would be—for her.

They went, as a matter of course, to the great Alston House on King Street. The lovely Georgian mansion which Charlestonians still persisted in calling the Brewton House after its original owner, though Colonel William had bought it ten years ago when he married his present wife, Mary Motte, whose family had inherited it from the Brewtons.

Since it was customary for all the planters to spend at least
two months of the year in Charleston, and since Joseph could well afford it, Theo had prodded him into getting a house of his own on Church Street. But it was not ready for them, of course. Nothing was ever ready on time, and only Yankee blood would expect the impossible.

So they drove, perforce, to the family mansion, and found to Theo's immense relief that Colonel William was there alone.

He greeted them with absent-minded cordiality and complete oblivion to the cause of their visit. 'Delighted to see you, my boy. Delighted. And Theodosia—how well you look!' He did not look at her at all, but at a point above her head. 'How unfortunate that you have just missed the others! They left yesterday for Sullivan's, where you will no doubt join them in a day or so.'

Oh, no, we won't, Theodosia thought. I'm not going to have my baby in that cramped beach cottage and in the company of Mrs. Alston, her six children, and Maria and Charlotte.

'The servants will show you to a room,' continued the Colonel vaguely. 'There must be one vacant for once. How did you leave things on the Waccamaw? I must run up there in a day or two. Hubbard writes me that the trunks need repairing on the west fields at Clifton. Can't have the young rice flooded at the wrong time, eh?'

Theo escaped from the rice talk and went upstairs to bed. Her father-in-law was kind and courteous, but he was so dull. He had but three topics of conversation—rice, his fighting days under General Marion, and his race-horses. They all bored her, though she hid it quite successfully. During race week in February she had made pretense of sharing the delirious excitement which apparently gripped the whole of South Carolina, but it had not really seemed very important that Colonel William's Maria was unaccountably beaten by
Trumpeter for the Jockey Club Purse. Yet to the Alstons, including Joseph, it seemed to be stark tragedy. They had talked of nothing else for weeks.

Imagine Aaron, who lost the Presidency with airy grace and humor, being cast into deepest gloom at the loss of a trifling purse. There were so many more interesting things in life than rice and racing or prosy details of inconclusive battles fought long before she was born.

She sighed, turning her unwieldy body slowly in the bed, searching for a cooler spot. A melodious clangor of church bells jangled across the city. Saint Michael's, Saint Philip's, and the Huguenot Church one after another struck the hour. Only nine o'clock and a long night ahead. Of late, though she felt dull and heavy all the time, and occasionally drifted without warning into a dreamy stupor, yet real sleep eluded her.

I wish Father would come, she thought miserably. I want him so.

She struggled up from the bed, and fetched the small leather box in which she kept his letters, to re-read the last one. He had been upset by the carefully unalarming bulletins from Theo about her health. 'Why have you not gone to the mountains as I wished you to?' he wrote. 'All places on the Carolina seacoast are subject to excessive heat and fever at this time of year.'

To Joseph he had written more strongly: 'I learn with a good deal of regret that the mountain plan is abandoned.... With Theodosia's Northern constitution she will bring you some puny brat that will never last the summer out; but, in your mountains, one might expect to see it climb a precipice at three weeks old. Truly I mean to be serious, and beg to know whether you have, in fact, resolved, and whether the resolution has, in good faith, been the result of reflection or of inertness.'

Joseph had resented this particular attempt to regulate his conduct. Had he not already shown excessive caution by bringing Theo to the city long before it was necessary, and in granting her leave to consult a doctor? Moreover, he intended to transfer her to Sullivan's Island, as his father suggested. He was amazed to find that Theo had no such intention, and that to all his arguments she presented a quiet inflexibility. She would risk the fever, risk the waxing heat, but she would not leave Charleston until Aaron arrived.

The renowned and popular Doctor Debow waited upon young Mrs. Alston two days after her arrival. During these two days Theo had been feeling increasingly ill, and she had not realized how eagerly she had counted on the physician's visit, how much she had depended on his advice and help, until Joseph ushered him into her chamber.

'I'm so glad you've come, Doctor,' she cried. 'I don't feel well, I mean even in the circumstances, and I'm sure you can help me.'

The doctor bowed. He had flowing white hair, and in his fur-collared black robe he looked both impressive and priestly. 'Your confidence docs me great honor, madam. It is natural for ladies in your—ah—delicate situation to be concerned over trifling manifestations. You must not disquiet yourself. Secundam naturam, my dear Mrs. Alston. Secundam naturam, you know'. He balanced himself on his heels, crossed his fingertips upon his corpulent belly, and regarded her benevolently.

'Exactly,' said Joseph. 'Just what I tell her.'

'Oh, I know,' said Theo unhappily. 'I don't mean to make an unnecessary pother, but my head aches almost constantly, and I can't seem to see very well. It is as though little black fleck› floated across my eyes.'

'Ah—visual disturbances, madam, are by no means un
common. You must keep your strength up. Plenty of good red meat, copious libations of hearty wine, between repasts as well as while partaking of them. It is wise to force one's inclination a trifle. You are providing nourishment for—ahem—for two, you know'. He swayed ponderously, beaming at her.

'But I can't eat more,' she protested. 'Food makes me ill, and I am getting so fat anyway.'

He nodded affably. 'Quite natural—quite. Hie et ubique. Corpulence is an encouraging sign.'

'I suppose so,' she agreed hesitatingly. 'Yet my feet and hands are so swollen that I can wear neither my shoes nor my gloves, and it is a peculiar kind of plumpness, when I press it.—Look'. She thrust a small puffed foot from beneath the bedclothes, touched the taut white flesh: the dent from her finger remained for some seconds.

Joseph made an impatient sound and turned to the window, but the doctor's eyes flickered, his tolerant smile slipping for an instant. 'Possibly a slight dropsical condition. Perhaps it would be as well to——' He paused, glanced hastily at Joseph's disapproving back, pursed his lips delicately, and went on in a lower voice, 'Pray do not think me offensive, but we should perhaps examine the—ah—water——'

She cut him short. 'Of course, Doctor Debow. I quite understand.'

Yet, after she had silenced Joseph's shocked objections and induced him to wait in the hallway, the examination proved to have been quite unnecessary. The doctor put on his silver rimmed spectacles, held the vessel to the light, peered at if and through it, wagging his head, then placed it on a table. 'Entirely satisfactory, my dear madam. Entirely. Nullius ›ddictus jurare in verba magistri,' he added, rolling the rich syllables over his tongue.

Theo had a fleeting impulse to giggle, immediately quenched by uneasy disappointment. If only she might consult Doctor Rush in Philadelphia, or Doctor Eustis at home. Would they, too, think her a silly, fanciful woman, unwarrantably, almost indecently concerned about her condition?

'Nature, salubrious and omnipotent Mother Nature, will dispose of all these little inconveniences of which you complain. They are,' said the doctor, describing a sweeping gesture, 'the inherent concomitants of parturition. Nil disputandum. I will compound for you some Balm of Gilead, a sovereign remedy for nervous disability. Partake of it frequently, and remember'—he waggled his plump forefinger—'Mens sana in corpore sano.'

He bowed himself out, after assuring her that he would await summons, 'whenever—that is—when circumstances force you to suspect that new developments may be imminent'. Joseph accompanied the doctor to the front door and returning said to Theo: 'A most gentlemanly physician, and learned too. Now that he has set your fears at rest, I hope that you will show a little more spirit. So much lying in bed can scarcely be good for you.'

She smiled wanly. 'I know, Joseph; I'll try.'

Theodosia dragged herself through the next week, forcing herself to eat and drink, fighting against the constant throb in her temples, the ever more frequent dizzy spells, when the world blurred and her eyes seemed filled with darting black flashes.

On the sixth of May, she felt better and her spirits burst through the chains that weighted them when she received a letter from Aaron. He had arrived at Clifton, where her father-in-law had entertained him. He would be with her in three days.

At once she plunged into feverish activity. She called the
servants and impressed them with the unparalleled importance of the occasion, directed the sweeping and garnishing of Aaron's bedchamber herself. She harried the cook, ordering menus far beyond that placid black woman's comprehension, and finally in desperation engaged the best caterer in town for Thursday.

'You are wearing yourself out,' said Joseph crossly. 'Your father will hardly expect such an elaborate welcome.'

They were together in the drawing-room on the second floor, for Theo preferred this room to all others. Its graceful beauty gave her pleasure and some measure of peace. It always seemed cool there, for its cypress-paneled walls were tinted pale blue, and gold brocade draperies softened the pitiless heat from five tall windows, while in the center of the ceiling hung a gigantic chandelier like a reversed fountain of crystal ice. It held twelve candles, and lighted, as they were now, they threw tiny jets of color through the sparkling prisms to the polished floor beneath.

Theo was bending over a small walnut desk, checking lists, her eyebrows puckered. She had not heard Joseph's remark. 'Father does not care for this type of Madeira,' she said. 'If this is all there is in the cellar here, we must order more'. She made a note.

Joseph was sprawling on a sofa, chewing the end of a cheroot, since he could not, of course, smoke in the drawingroom. He removed his cigar and frowned. 'That Madeira is good enough for my father, so I cannot sec why Colonel Burr should object to it.'

Theo looked up and smiled. 'Oh, Joseph, don't be out of temper. It's just that I wish everything to be perfect for Father. After all, he has never been South. I want him to see how well we live, what luxuries and elegance you provide for me.'

Joseph granted, replacing the cheroot.

'We must give a party for him,' she went on. 'Governor Drayton, the Richardsons, the Pinckneys, the Rutledges, they'll all be delighted to honor the Vice-President. How beautifully this room will lend itself to entertaining!' She saw it filled with brilliantly dressed guests, laughter, music, flowers, and Aaron in the midst of them standing against the black marble mantel charming them, investing the most trivial conversation with interest.

'You surely do not propose to appear in public at this time,' cried Joseph.

She flushed. For one blessed moment, she had indeed forgotten.

'I suppose the party must come afterward,' she said slowly. She put down her pen, pushed back the paper. Afterward. After this strange thing which has transformed my poor body shall be painfully wrested from me. After I shall be released and alone again. But how if there is no 'afterward'? If the shadows which are closing on me should at last forget to lift? What then? This room will be here just the same. There will be laughter and music and flowers in it just the same—for others, even perhaps after a while for Father.