MY THEODOSIA (32 page)

The island was covered with crab grass, relieved by a few stunted cedars, scrub oak, and the pretty red-berried cassena bush, but all this shrubbery was low and in no way checked the constant salt breeze. A wide porch spread across the house front, and on the afternoon of their arrival Theo curled up in a chair on this porch, took deep breaths of fresh salty air, and listened contentedly to the ceaseless booming of the sea

Presently a delicious odor of frying oysters stole up from the kitchen below. She realized that for the first time in
weeks she was really hungry and eager for supper. There were three servants down there in the kitchen—Dido the cook, her husband Hector, and their little son Cupid. Theo's selection of these particular slaves had annoyed Joseph. Neither they nor any of their forebears had been house servants; they were field hands, and that was that.

'But can't they be promoted?' urged Theo. 'I wouldn't dream of taking Phoebe away from the Oaks or disturbing the arrangements there. And I know Dido can cook. I visited her cabin the other day when she was stewing a rabbit that tasted most delectable. Anyway, Eleanore can teach her.'

'The regular house servants will resent your interfering with their caste system,' objected Joseph.

Theo sighed. 'I'm afraid they resent anything I do, anyway——Oh, it's not anything tangible,' she added quickly, seeing Joseph's frown deepen and wishing to forestall the usual criticisms of her plantation management. 'It's just that I should like to start fresh at the beach with new servants who will be tractable and grateful for their elevation.'

She did not add that she had overheard Dido referring to Venus as a yellow wildcat who would be the better for a good lashing. She was slightly ashamed of herself for the warmth which this remark kindled in her toward Dido. Since Venus's return and restoration to favor, the girl had kept out of Theo's way. But she spent hours with Phoebe in the kitchen house, and she wielded an even greater influence over the slaves than she had before her escape. That this influence was hostile, Theo now knew definitely. The murmurs, the dark, quickly averted glares, the tardy and resentful obedience to her wishes—all these had begun again amongst the slaves. And yet there was nothing specific, nothing with which to confront Joseph. He remained oblivious. The niggers always obeyed
him
promptly enough. As for Venus—the girl's
topaz eyes dewed with gratitude when they turned on maussa; in his presence her thin, voluptuous face wore a look of eager worship, highly flattering.

Theo knew that, to Joseph, Venus represented continual proof of his generosity, his humane treatment of his people; that he experienced a pleasant glow when he thought of her.

But I'm not going to think of Venus now—or anything disagreeable, said Theo to herself. There is peace here by the ocean and no worry.

No Joseph either. He had left for Columbia three days before. That his absence also contributed to the delightful relaxation of these days at the beach she did not admit to herself. In fact, during the next few weeks she scarcely thought of him at all.

Gampy grew plump and happy as he collected shells and dug holes in the sand with the wooden spade that Hector made for him. Dido justified Theo's confidence and produced delicious food. Hector and Cupid went fishing or crabbing daily, returning with succulent prizes. The household feasted on turtle eggs, oysters, clams, shrimps, and the delicate stone crabs. These Dido boiled in wine, flavored by a little herb which she had gathered herself upon the mainland. They all ate and slept prodigiously; even Eleanore was contented and ceased to grumble about le sale pays.

The ocean was for Theo a living presence, a companion. Its rhythm entered into her blood. Despite the horrified Eleanore's remonstrance, 'You will turn red as a boiled crab, Madame—so much sun is bad,' she lay long hours on the dazzling white beach, soaking up warmth and listening drowsily to the sea's thunderous music.

Lulled in this way by a rare sense of physical well-being, time lost its significance. Therefore, though she sent Hector to Georgetown twice a week for mail and was regularly dis
appointed at receiving no word from her father, it was not until August that she became seriously disquieted.

She woke one morning shocked by a sudden realization. Not only had she heard nothing from Aaron in nearly two months, but it had been a fortnight since she had received a letter from Joseph.

A faint unease oppressed her that day. She was restless and could not settle down. She tried to reason with herself. Letters from Aaron had been longer delayed than this. A packet might have encountered storms, or, if he had used the post, the mail might have been lost or stolen. As for Joseph's silence, there could be a dozen explanations. And yet it was surprising: he usually wrote her by every post. Perhaps he has gone to see the Sumters at Statesburgh, she thought, or unexpectedly to Charleston. That must be it.

For the moment she was relieved, but the relief did not last. She had been calmly happy, and now quite suddenly she was apprehensive. The sun that evening went down in a red haze. Fog rolled in. The 'Castle' was shrouded in dripping dampness. Theo ordered Hector to light a fire in her bedroom. She pulled a chair close to the driftwood blaze and settled herself with the baby on her lap for the nightly ceremony of lullaby-singing. His soft weight snuggled against her and quelled the sense of foreboding. She bent her head, resting her cheek on his bright curls.

'Sing "Robin Adair,"' he commanded, as he always did, looking up at her expectantly. She laughed, amused by the child's passion for this mournful ballad.

What's this dull town to me?

Robin's not here.

She followed the familiar song without conscious thought. But as she finished, Gampy asked, 'Why did she want Robin to be there?'

'Because she loved him, pet.'

He digested this in silence a moment; then he asked, 'Who do you love? Is his name Robin?'

She squeezed him, laughing. 'I love you and you're right here and your name isn't Robin.'

He accepted this and lost interest, but she sat silent, staring into the fire. Its blue-and-green flames blurred, running together like shaken jewels. Bitter longing stabbed her, as it had not done in months. Merne, my beloved, where are you? Oh, why does it have to be this way!

She shut her eyes. From without came the muffled boom of surf through the deadening fog. And otherwise—silence: heavy, creeping silence.

'Your face looks queer, Mama——Sing some more.'

She sighed, opening her eyes. 'I will if you'll go to sleep'. One by one she sang his favorites, 'The Silver Moon,' 'Au Clair de la Lune,' and 'Bye-Low, Baby Bunting,' until his lids drooped and his breathing quieted. Then she carried him to the trundle bed which was pulled out in readiness from underneath her own.

As she turned from the sleeping child, there was a commotion outside her door, a sharp rap. She threw it open. Dido stood there panting from the exertion of climbing the kitchen stairs. Her fat face glistened with excited fear. 'Somebody comin' in boat acrost the creek, Mistiss. Hector gone see'urn. Muss be bad news, anybody come dis time night in fog. Enty?'

Theo's mouth went dry. Bad news—yes. It could be nothing else. She went to the window. Dimly through the gray mist she could see the flare of torches down by the landing. 'Go and see that we have refreshment to offer—whoever it is,' she said hiding her disquiet. Even Dido would blow up into hysterical panic if given the slightest chance.

Dido waddled off. Theo flung an embroidered blue shawl
over her informal gown, and as she ran out on the porch, she heard a familiar voice calling, 'Theo.'

'Here I am, Joseph,' she answered into the fog. Relief and anticlimax smote her at once. That was why she had not heard from him; he had been on his way. After all, her uneasiness had been ridiculous.

He stamped up the steps, embracing her briefly.

'I'm delighted to sec you,' she said, smiling. 'I had worried at not hearing from you; it never occurred to me that you might be on your way. I thought the legislature was to keep you in Columbia.'

'It should have,' he answered glumly.

She was puzzled by his manner, which seemed even more than normally brusque and ill at ease. His clothes were stained and wrinkled as though they had not been off him for days.

'What is it?' she asked, with renewed fear. 'Has something happened?'

Joseph tugged at his whiskers in the habitual gesture which indicated that he was uncertain of his course. 'There is news, yes—but it will keep until I've eaten. I'm famished. Can that damned Dido produce anything palatable?'

'Certainly.'

She clapped her hands, and when Cupid appeared, gave him hurried orders. 'Some corn pone, a few slices of ham, perhaps some boiled shrimp with the rice, and make some negus for your master. He's chilled through.'

She came back to Joseph, clasping his arm urgently. 'Now tell me, please. What is the trouble?'

Joseph moved uneasily, averting his face from her anxious scrutiny. He had made careful plans for telling her tactfully, but could remember none of them.

'It's your father,' he blurted out, and then cursed himself
as he saw the blood drain from her face, leaving it gray. Her hand dropped limp from his arm.

'He's—he's ill,' she whispered. 'Or—or worse. For Heaven's sake, Joseph, can't you speak?'

'I'm trying to. He's not ill. Hi is in perfect health.'

Even through the tide of relief that left her knees shaking, she noted his contemptuous emphasis on the pronoun. She collapsed onto the sofa, lacing her hands together.

'Then it can't be so bad, if he is well.'

'Bad enough'. Joseph gloomily lit himself a cigar. 'He's killed Hamilton.'

She stared at him blankly. 'I don't understand.'

'He challenged Hamilton and they met at Weehawken July eleventh. Burr fired first and shot him in the side. He died two days later.'

'But what about Father?' she cried, comprehending but one aspect of this astounding news. 'Are you sure he wasn't wounded? How can you be sure? Oh, Joseph, for God's sake—speak!'

'I'm trying to tell you. He was not wounded. Hamilton's pistol was discharged into the air. I know because I have had two letters from Colonel Burr, and, besides, the papers are full of it.'

'That's why he didn't write me,' she murmured. The numb uncomprehension passed. She began to understand what had happened. She looked up at Joseph. 'Thank God, I didn't know beforehand. I should have been mad with terror. But it is well over. Hamilton was always his enemy. He gave him, I know, unbearable provocation. I always hated the man,' she added on a lower key, remembering the Creole's cold, disdainful eyes, the covert sneer in his voice.

Joseph impatiently flecked a cake of dry mud off his boot. 'It's not as simple as all that'. He was exasperated by her
attitude, which seemed to him both callous and casual. 'There is a tremendous hullabaloo. The country has been incited by the press to consider the Colonel as a ruthless demon. And——' He hesitated. He had meant to break it gently, had spent three uncomfortable days and nights of travel worrying as to the best way of telling her. But her airy reception of the news changed that. She might as well know it all at once. 'Your father is being prosecuted for murder, Theodosia. He has fled from New York to escape hanging.'

She caught her breath sharply, springing to her feet. 'How can that be? It was a fair and honorable duel.'

Joseph shrugged his massive shoulders. 'I have no doubt it was, but they say not. At any rate, there has been a jury, and they have brought in a verdict of willful murder.'

'But it's incredible!' she cried. 'Duelists are never prosecuted. Why, General Hamilton's own son, Philip, was killed by George Eaker three years ago, and no one dreamed of prosecuting Eaker.'

'I know. The Colonel himself is amazed at the outcry against him. I confess I do not understand it, but there is no doubt of the seriousness of the matter.'

'Where is he now?' She paused, swiftly considering. 'He must come to me, here,' she said decisively. 'He will be safe. I will write him at once, but it mustn't be trusted to the mails. We can send one of the servants to take the letter direct'. 'That won't be necessary,' said Joseph coldly. 'He is already on his way to you. A roundabout way, for he is off the coast of Georgia. He dared not travel overland until the hue and cry dies down. Major Butler has offered him asylum on Saint Simon's Island. I have a letter to you from him which was dispatched from Philadelphia and sent in my care.'

He rummaged in his pockets while she watched him in a
fever of impatience. Aaron, persecuted and in danger, Aaron in flight——These things were incredible. She scarcely felt fear for him, so monstrous did it seem that he could find himself in any situation of which he was not the cool master. His note both reassured her and yet confirmed the facts as Joseph's bald statements had not seemed to.

P
HILADELPHIA
,
August
3
rd,
1804

You will have learned through Mr. Alston, of certain measures pursuing against me in New York. I absent myself from home, merely to give a little time for passions to subside, not from any apprehension of the final effects of proceedings in courts of law. They can, by no possibility, eventually affect my person. You will find the papers filled with all manner of nonsense and lies. Among other things, accounts of attempts to assassinate me. These, I assure you, are mere fables. Those who wish me dead prefer to keep at a very respectful distance. No such attempt has been made nor will be made. I walk and ride about here as usual.

A. B
URS

She put the note in her bodice. 'As always, he makes little of his troubles,' she said softly. 'Oh, Joseph, you do think he's safe, don't you? He does not write thus only to reassure me?'

'Oh, he's safe enough where he is in Georgia. They had no love for Hamilton down there.'