Washington's Lady (22 page)

“There is much to be in awe about. You are an expert at running our farms.”

George shrugged. “John also enjoys hunting and horses as much as I, along with appreciation of a fine Madeira. And he agrees with me on the need to keep keen financial records.” He paused a moment and pushed his right foot toward the fire, then back. “I attended Presbyterian services with him while in Philadelphia, and then, led by curiosity and good company, together we tried a Romish one. Actually, there was much churchgoing. Late in September, I attended two services for the delegates in one day: one at a Quaker meetinghouse and another at St. Peter’s Episcopal.”

I laughed. “I am pleased to see the delegates seeking His wisdom with such alacrity. That there are so many ways to seek it . . .”

George’s face drew serious. “We
are
seeking it, Martha. Every day’s congressional session began with prayer. And personally, I enjoyed experiencing the different congregations, as I enjoy the recent trend to find a more personal God within our own faith. If He is not with us, we will not prevail.”

“I have been praying also.”

“I know you have. And please continue.”

The need for prayer made me think of sacrifice. “George . . . if all proceeds in the direction it is going . . . we may lose everything.”

“There is the chance. The sacrifices will potentially affect every aspect of our lives.”

I could accept the material sacrifices, and the cultural, and even the social. What I feared most was losing . . .

George must have sensed my thoughts, for he leaned forward from his chair, his hand seeking mine. “If there is fighting, dearest, you know I feel no need to be a hero.”

“Be a hero all you wish. A live one.”

“I will do my best.”

I believed him. But would Jacky and my nephews follow such prudence? For surely they would be called to fight. To believe in a cause yet fear the cost . . .

I knew it would not be the last time I would ponder such thoughts.

*****

I heard the sound of a horse coming toward the house at high speed. I looked up from my mending to see our neighbor George Mason hurl himself off his steed. He strode toward the house. The door was open to catch the spring breezes. I moved to greet him, but George intercepted him, running up from the four acres he had set aside for fruit trees. George was determined to create hardy varieties and had hired a full-time gardener to graft the trees.

“Is there news?” my George asked.

“Too much,” Mason said.

“Come in and sit, gentlemen,” I said, luring them into the back parlour. I ordered cool drinks for them both before returning to hear their discourse.

“. . . one thousand troops to Boston.”

I had to play catch-up. “British troops?”

“Yes,” Mason said. “Their General Gage had apparently heard we were stockpiling arms and ammunition. It is no surprise Parliament did not take it well. They accuse our Continental Congress of illegitimate plotting.”

“Plotting in our defense, I say. We would be fools to sit by.”

Mason raised a hand, stopping George’s comments. “I agree. We all agree. The British continue to show little respect for any of us. Of our militia . . . they call us a disorganized mob and do not believe we can offer much resistance.”

“I too have my doubts,” George said.

“Doubts or no, there is no turning back.”

“Gage was successful in capturing our arms?”

“Not completely. Paul Revere and William Dawes rode across the countryside warning people the British were coming, so by the time their troops arrived in Lexington, a few dozen minutemen were assembled and much of our ammunition stored there and in Concord was hidden away.”

I had to interrupt. “Minutemen?”

“Colonial militia ready to fight in a minute.”

I nodded and Mason continued. “We were sorely outnumbered, and our commander, a man named Parker, told our men to disperse, but in the dispersing, shots were fired—by whom we do not know—and many were killed. What was started as a political argument between members of the same family had become a blood feud.”

I put my hand on the back of George’s rocker. “Gage and his men?”

“They retreated into Boston with our militia dogging them the entire way, fighting from bushes and barns. Even women took up guns and nearly three hundred British soldiers were killed, as were nearly one hundred of our own. I heard it said Gage is frustrated. It is one thing to have an army fight against an army, but to have an army fight against an entire populace . . .”

“I would take up a weapon to defend Mount Vernon,” I said.

George pointed at me. “No you would not, my dear. You will not put yourself in danger.”

“I may not have a choice.”

George turned back to Mason. “Does fighting continue?”

“The British moved to Concord to find our stores of ammunition, but found little, though they did destroy what was left behind. Boston is amass with red coats, and the countryside has reacted en masse. It is said twenty thousand colonials have camped across the river from Boston, all angry and ready to fight.”

George let out a puff of air. “Twenty thousand?”

“Ready or not, it has begun.”

“We may have twenty thousand men, but twenty thousand men who know how to be soldiers? I doubt it.” George turned his head to gaze over the expanse of our dear plantation. The place was a hive of busyness with people going about their work, ignorant of the chaos happening up north. Would the fighting reach Virginia? Perhaps the proper question was
when
would it reach Virginia?

“Gage has ordered John Hancock—the richest man in America—arrested. As with Samuel Adams—a cousin of John.”

“They have not—”

“Not yet,” Mason said. “And if the good general thinks by arresting two he can arrest the fervor of America, he is sorely mistaken.”

George nodded and I could tell by the furrow in his brow his mind raced. “The second Continental Congress is scheduled to commence in three weeks.”

“A good thing,” Mason said. “Though when the schedule was set, I am certain you had no thought as to the perfection of its timing.”

“There were many things beyond our thoughts.”

Things that now would never be beyond our thoughts.

*****

“I am not convinced of this, Martha.”

George stood before me, trying on his striking red, white, and blue militia uniform. He looked as stunning in it now as he had twenty years before. At age forty-three he was still a handsome man, perhaps more handsome.

I brushed dust from his sleeve. I, too, was not convinced—of much of anything during these trying times. But I felt the need to be supportive. “The Congress is looking to appoint a commander over all the colonial forces, George. As much as I wish I could state otherwise, I know you are that man. Wearing your uniform, your hat, carrying your sword in its scabbard . . . riding in upon your horse . . . there will be no one who can look at another man and think
he
would be a more suitable commander.”

“It is more than appearance, my dear. There are qualifications.”

I shook my head, confused about his sudden reservations. How had our conversation veered from George convincing me of the possibility of his appointment, to my convincing him? “You have worked a lifetime for this, George. The British ignored your talents and never granted you equal status. Is it not time you made them regret their slight?”

“I am over it, Martha.”

“Well, I am not!”

He looked surprised at my vehemence. I was surprised myself. I moved close and hooked my fingers in the coat as it met across his chest. “If I allowed myself to think only of myself, then I would tell you to remove the coat and lock the bedroom door so you would never leave me. But since I believe in our Cause and believe with my entire being you are
the
man to lead us toward victory, then I must . . .” My voice broke and I looked away from his eyes. “Then I must—however reluctantly—relinquish you to others, to the greater good.”

He pulled me close. “
You
are good, dearest. There is no better woman, nor more supportive wife.”

Guilt forbade me from raising my face to look at him. For beyond the essence of my support I was a realist. If others saw only the man George had become, I had known him when he was fresh from the French war—a defeated man with nary a victory to brag upon. I had seen him as an ambitious man who needed funds to further his dream of a great plantation. I knew he had risen above both disabilities by marrying me and gaining the Custis social standing along with my wealth. And thinking of the future instead of the past, I also knew we were sorely in debt. Though Lund was a good manager, there was a lesser chance of rising above our challenges under his tutelage rather than my husband’s.

But . . . but . . . George did not need to be reminded of such issues. He was going to do this. He
had
to do this. And so, I had to support him.

I spoke into the wool of his coat. “You must know that e’en if I were not your wife, I would choose you to be the commander.”

He held me closer still and we stood as such until our breaths in and out found rhythm. To send him away, knowing I was sending him into battle, into danger . . . for I knew by his stories he was not a general to sit in safety and watch. As he was a plantation owner who toiled in field and foundry, so I knew he would be a general who would fight
with
his men, and as such . . .

I pushed away from him to ask a question. “Who are the other men in contention?”

“John Hancock is under consideration. With his riches gained through shipping, added to his experience in the forefront of the issues that have plagued Massachusetts . . .”

“But?”

“But he is a politician and has no military background.”

“A necessary qualification, I would think.”

“There is one military man whose name has been mentioned. Charles Lee. He was a British soldier under Braddock and Gage against the French and also commended himself in Europe before coming back to the colonies a few years ago and joining our Cause. He has the most experience . . .”

“But?”

“These next may sound trifling, but I assure you they are not. He is careless in hygiene and dress, and is abrasive in manner. Plus, he is known to use the foulest of language with a thick British accent, both of which may rub the American-born militia wrongly. And, as he was once a British soldier . . .”

I understood the implication and had a new thought. “Perhaps it was Providence you were never offered a commission with the British army. Surely that position would taint your qualifications as it now taints Mr. Lee’s.”

George considered this a moment. “All things do happen for a reason.”

Generally, I agreed with him, though I still saw no reason in the deaths of so many of my loved ones. I pushed such painful thoughts into the room of my memories that I kept locked but for private, pensive visits.

I smiled at my husband, who was very much with me in the here and now. “You, my dear George, a true gentleman from Virginia, are an amiable contrast to the officers who have already been involved in skirmishes in New England.”

“My Virginia roots, coupled with the support of other strong Virginia men like Henry, Jefferson, and the rest,
and
the abundant resources of Virginia . . .”

“
And
your qualifications as a businessman, a man who knows the necessity of details and economics and organization.
And
your knowledge of how a British soldier fights and ways to counter it. Not many men have such complete intelligence at their disposal.”

George laughed softly. “My, my, I am quite the perfect candidate.”

I pushed against his chest. “You are! Was it not Adams who stated that no one looks more the general than yourself?”

George glanced in the mirror. “Looks will not win a battle.” He removed his coat. “How can I ever turn this band of citizens into real soldiers? The pockets of England are deep and the pockets of the colonies are empty. England can put hundreds of ships to sea and we have no navy. They can hire mercenary soldiers from other countries. We have no allies. We are alone, with few funds, no training and—”

“One glorious Cause.”

He folded the coat and set it over the top of a chair. “But is that enough?”

Perhaps as a good wife, I should have said,
Of course it is
, but I could not alter the honesty that had held our union together for sixteen years. “Is it enough? We shall see.”

“If another man comes forward as the leader, I will happily relinquish the chance,” he said.

“There is no other man.”

He bit his lower lip, staring at the blue uniform. “That is what I fear the most.”

*****

With George away, Jacky and Eleanor often came to visit me at Mount Vernon. There was nothing that made me happier, especially now that Eleanor was with child. She was five months along, and though happy with the state, did not feel well. I was more than willing to offer her encouragement and comfort as I could.

“Some tea, Eleanor?” I asked. “It might ease the inner churnings.”

She lay stretched across the settee, one hand thrown upon her forehead and the other protecting her womb. “Anything,” she said. “I am willing to try anything.”

I sent for some tea and returned to my chair by the fireplace, though no fire was needed in the early summer warmth. Instead, a breeze blew into the room off the Potomac. Occasionally I smelled honeysuckle or lilacs as the breeze filtered past plantings on its way through the window.

Jacky read a copy of the
Virginia Gazette
. Usually an avid reader of the news—since George was living in the heart of it—I had not had time to keep abreast. It had been three days since I had received a letter from my husband.

Suddenly Jacky exclaimed, “He got it! Poppa got it!”

“Got what?” Eleanor asked.

My chest tightened beneath my corset. “They made him commander?”

“They did!” Jacky lifted the paper and read aloud: “‘The representative from Virginia, Mr. Washington, stood before the Congress and outlined the traits he deemed necessary toward the position of commander of all the American army. Never once did
he
state he possessed these qualities, but it was by near unanimous acclaim he was appointed to the post himself. John Adams, a representative from Massachusetts, stated, “There is something charming to me in the conduct of Washington. A gentleman of one of the first fortunes upon the continent, leaving his delicious retirement, his family and friends, sacrificing his ease and hazarding all in the Cause of his country.” Upon accepting the position Washington said, “I this day declare with the utmost sincerity that I do not think myself equal to the command I am honoured with.” As a native son, we applaud General Washington’s appointment.’” Jacky put the paper down. “General Washington? From colonel to general?”