The Wedding Gift (17 page)

I resumed my duties caring for Clarissa, who claimed that she wanted to marry Mr. Cromwell and chattered about gowns, shoes, and gloves. When Isaac was home, the week after my ordeal, I told him that I had a lost a baby. He did not ask me any questions and said only that I should not be concerned, as we would have one the next time. He also said that the overseer at the stables had informed him that he was going to be Clarissa’s new coachman.

Isaac’s first journey with Clarissa and me was to her grandparents in Montgomery. The day we arrived, Clarissa, who was staying by herself in the guest quarters, told me that she would not need me in the evenings and made arrangements for Isaac and me to sleep in a cabin near the servants’ homes. Isaac said that I should not wait for him that first night, as one of the horses was sick and he was going to care for it until late.

We remained in Montgomery longer than I expected, about three weeks. During the day, Clarissa made social calls. I was alone at night because Isaac said that the horses were tired from so much travel and that he had to be with them to make sure that they were comfortable and rested. I borrowed books from Clarissa’s grandparents’ collection and read because Isaac never returned from the stables before four in the morning.

By permitting Clarissa to travel to Montgomery and Macon County with Isaac and me as chaperones, Mr. and Mrs. Allen misjudged Clarissa’s intentions and my ability to anticipate them.

CHAPTER NINE

THEODORA ALLEN

PAPA DIED THE YEAR CLARISSA WAS SIXTEEN. MY husband had taken Emmeline and Sarah to Mobile and refused to accompany us to Athens to see my ailing father. I assisted Papa’s wife and the physician, but there was nothing to be done. Had it not been for my daughter, I would have felt completely alone when he died. I did not have time to mourn because his death affected Clarissa more than I had expected, which I should have foreseen, as they had begun corresponding when she learned how to read and write. At first, I helped her with her letters, but as she grew, she did not share with me what they wrote to each other.

The year Papa died was the year I lost the final vestige of jealousy regarding Emmeline and my husband. I had believed that she had gone to his bed willingly, but when Bessie told me that he sold Belle, I felt nothing but pity for Emmeline, who thereafter became meek, even anxious in his presence. If she served us tea, her hands shook as she passed a cup and saucer. When Belle returned, she and Belle both seemed fragile, while Sarah became stronger and, I am sure, developed a deep hatred for Cornelius.

When Mr. Cromwell began courting Clarissa, I told her that we needed to sort her childhood possessions, some to put in a trunk for her children and others to give to the servants. We set a rainy day aside to revisit her early years, only the two of us. We found the letters that Papa had written her, and she said that she wanted to keep them all. I read them that evening and was surprised to learn that Clarissa was more perceptive than I knew. In one letter, written when Clarissa was twelve, Papa revealed her worries about my husband.

Dearest Clarissa, my favorite granddaughter:

I send you greetings and trust that you are applying yourself to your studies every day. This is the time to develop a thirst for a lifelong love of learning.

Always remember that you are your parents’ greatest treasure and that your father loves you, despite his frequent absences. He has to leave you and your mother because his commercial interests are burdensome and complex. Do not trouble yourself about your mother, because she has an intellect that is the match of any gentleman’s. She entertains herself with her literature and writing in her journal, which, I understand, you have no interest in undertaking. Please, dear, pay heed to your mother. Writing is a joy and offers a refuge from the troubles of the world.

My peach, you similarly should not worry about your father. It is unfortunate that the young gentlemen of today do not practice moderation in all things. I have seen lives destroyed by the excessive consumption of alcoholic beverages, but I believe that your father will recuperate from his illness if he completes his physician’s prescribed course of treatment.

My sweet pea, it concerns me that you believe that you overheard your father speaking to your mother in an uncivil tone and that you think that he struck her. That cannot possibly be the case, for your mother has never mentioned this to me, and your father is too much of a gentleman to ever hurt a lady.

 

I had never mentioned any of these incidents to Papa, and I told him that my husband’s illnesses were caused by exhaustion. It was a relief that he did not believe what Clarissa told him. Had he known that my husband had been hitting me since Clarissa was an infant, Papa would have been distressed and blamed himself for encouraging me to marry. The first time that my husband struck me was after I confronted him about fathering Sarah. He went to my bedroom when Bessie was helping me to prepare for supper and dismissed her. I could smell the whiskey on his breath and his face was red.

“Do not ever again interrupt me when I am working.”

“But Cornelius…”

“Mr. Allen…”

“I only wanted to…”

“I said, address me as Mr. Allen.” Then he slapped me and broke the lining of my mouth. I tasted iron, but I did not cry. For a moment, I believed that I was asleep and having a bad dream.

“And never question me again. I am the master here and will do as I please.”

After that, he did not always hit or kick me when he was angry. Sometimes he pushed me against the wall and applied pressure to my throat. Afterward, he either was complimentary or tormented me with his words.

“Theodora, you really ought not to wear that color, as it makes you look longer in the tooth,” he enjoyed saying.

Worse than the physical pain, however, were his threats for some perceived infraction. When he made such comments in Clarissa’s presence when she was younger, she cried, which made him angry. He once threatened to strike her because she put her arms around me and kissed my cheek.

One year, at least twice a month, he went to my bedroom and forced me in a way that I cannot even describe. I did not know that anyone, especially a gentleman, committed such acts. When he was angry, I learned to ask Bessie to sleep in my bedroom when I feared that he was going to visit me after supper. As he aged, perhaps because of the whiskey and brandy that were his daily staples, his skin became sallow, his eyes sunken and surrounded by dark circles, and he became thinner. Eddie, his body servant, had to help him to his bedroom most evenings. I was thankful for those nights because he did not disturb me.

When Sarah married her coachman, my husband ordered that I dismiss Mrs. Ellsworth.

“Clarissa has been sufficiently educated, and Sarah can now be her chaperone with Isaac as Clarissa’s coachman.”

“Mr. Allen, do you believe Sarah will be a satisfactory chaperone, given that she and Clarissa are the same age?”

“If I did not think so, I would not have made the decision. And I want you to arrange for a betrothal ball to take place in two months.”

Clarissa was not excited about the ball and had no interest in participating in the preparations. She spent weeks in Montgomery visiting with her grandparents. My husband’s family from Montgomery and his brother, Charles, and his wife, Emily, from Mobile attended the dance. Emily and I had an opportunity to speak privately the day before the dance. She brought me news of Mobile society and the ladies I had met during our visits there throughout the years.

“Dear Theo, I was surprised to hear that our former coachman married your housekeeper’s daughter.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought that you knew that Isaac and Sarah are first cousins.”

“No, I didn’t know. How are they cousins?”

“My husband had a…concubine, a mulatto wench, and she was Isaac’s mother. After Isaac was born, I found out about her and told my husband to sell her, and he did, but he insisted on keeping Isaac on the plantation. I ask that you not speak of this to Cornelius because he may not know that Isaac is his brother’s son.”

“No, I didn’t know… I assumed that only my husband engaged in such… I cannot even say it. But tell me, was it just the one or has he had others?”

“I wish I could say that it had just been that one, but our plantation is not nearly as large as yours, so one hears things.”

“But were any of the…servants…that is, did your husband ever conduct himself …inappropriately under your own roof?”

“I don’t know. I have always chosen our house servants, and never pretty ones, from among the field hands or at auctions that I attend with my husband.”

“My husband told me when we were married that I was never to concern myself with obtaining servants, but even if that had been one of my responsibilities, it would not have changed my predicament, as Emmeline was here before me.”

“We’re not the only ones to suffer this way, Theo. It’s just that it’s not something we’re supposed to complain about.”

Clarissa was uncharacteristically quiet at her betrothal ball. It was late afternoon, and some seventy of the two hundred guests were enjoying the festivities in my gardens before supper. The others were indoors, where they were spared the sun’s still harsh rays. I was sitting not too far from Clarissa and Julius, who were surrounded by perhaps twenty people. Everyone was drinking Emmeline’s special punch or wine that my husband had imported from France. A string quartet was playing on the verandah. The young children, Clarissa’s nieces and nephews, were playing at some game or the other involving tormenting the carp that I kept in ceramic Chinese bowls throughout the gardens.

The group surrounding Julius and Clarissa was completely focused on him and paid her no attention, even though she was magnificent in an Alençon lace gown. Julius was a formidable figure, and he delighted the guests with tales. The scar on Julius’s face, which appeared faint when he was indoors, was striking. Sunlight accentuated the smooth skin that had been created by the healing of the wound. One woman, I believe the wife of a neighboring planter, asked Julius if that was the scar from his infamous duel. At first he appeared to be disturbed by her question, but then he smiled, touched his face, and said that he had earned it when he vanquished a scoundrel who had challenged him to a swordfight. While I had never heard the story, some guests were apparently familiar with this account.

“I was on leave from West Point when a fellow whom I had known since childhood alleged that I had insulted his reputation and challenged me to a duel. He sliced my face, but I put my sword straight through his heart. Of course, I was not invited back to West Point after the incident, but my father was not disappointed, as he needed me at home to preside over his commercial concerns.”