Aaron smiled wryly. 'Your husband is anxious to carry you away from me to his rice swamps, but I'll be down to see you soon, and in the meantime write me, madam, often and legibly. None of your careless scrawls, please.'
'Oh, I will,' she promised. 'And you, Papa, I shall count the days until I hear.'
Joseph scowled, angrily flicking tiny icicles from a bush. 'You said all that last night. Will you please to get into the coach, Theo?'
'I expect that Joseph is right, my dear,' said Aaron. 'It is never wise to prolong farewells'. He kissed her quickly and hurried away, his footsteps almost noiseless on the wooden planks that formed the sidewalk.
Joseph handed Theo brusquely into the coach; the horses strained forward into yellow mud that sucked around their hocks; the cumbersome vehicle moved sluggishly toward the Potomac ferry. They had started on their sixteen-day journey to Theodosia's new home.
This journey blurred into a tiresome haze of bumping coaches, dirty taverns whose unsatisfactory meals upset even their young stomachs; the general discomfort heightened from time to time by moments of danger when they forded rivers swollen by spring thaws.
Joseph was a difficult traveling companion, intolerant and demanding, treating all underlings in the imperious way that he treated his slaves. By a natural consequence he received grudging service. Post-horses were delayed; he never seemed able to engage adequate accommodations in the crowded inns; he and Theodosia were given the dregs in the wine flask, the last cut on the roast.
Traveling with Aaron had been very different. Theo had had no conception of the effect of her father's lavish use of his personal magnetism upon all human contacts. And on the rare occasions when he encountered discomfort which he could not remedy, he accepted it good-humoredly. But Joseph sulked. Or, if he did not sulk, he fumed, railing against the weather, the roads, the folly of trying to travel in this barbarous fashion.
'If we had waited for a packet to sail from Alexandria, would it not have been easier?' Theo suggested once.
'Certainly not,' retorted Joseph. 'You know very well that I dislike traveling by water. This journey is hard because we are traveling like peasants. I am not accustomed to waiting on myself. It's undignified. I'm extremely uncomfortable.'
And so am I, she thought. But already she had become wise enough not to point out that their lack of private servants was due entirely to his own decision. On this trip to the North he had brought none of his slaves, having found them a nuisance on the previous visit, nor had he allowed her to take any of the Burr servants, saying with truth that more than a plenty awaited them on the plantations. In consequence they shifted for themselves and were a travel-stained, disheveled couple on the morning of March twenty-third, when they finally reached Yawhannah, and left the Lumber ton-Georgetown Mail.
The Alston chaise awaited them, on its box a glistening black coachman resplendent in the family livery—red and green stripes with brass buttons and a tall, shiny black hat.
'This is your new mistress, Pompey,' said Joseph, giving a groan of relief as he stretched his legs in the chaise.
Pompey grinned and murmured something unintelligible to Theo, who smiled helplessly, and, turning to Joseph, laughed, 'I can't understand a word he says. It might be Chinese for all of me.'
Joseph was not amused. 'He bade you welcome and wished you good luck. You must learn the Gullah dialect at once. You will be mistress of more than two hundred niggers and will have many duties amongst them.'
'Shall I?' She was startled. She had had little to do with the servants at home. Peggy and Alexis managed the household and neither expected nor welcomed supervision. Peggy, highly intelligent even for a mulatto, wrote nearly as good a hand as Theo did herself and competently dealt with all emergencies.
How little I know of this life I am going to lead! she thought, and barely suppressed the thought which followed: How little I wish to know of it! She gave herself an inward shake. 'No fears, no nerves, no self-indulgence'. That was one of Aaron's favorite maxims.
'What duties shall I have?' she asked, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'I thought an overseer looked after all the negroes.'
'The overseer is responsible for the field hands and the artisans, not the house servants. Besides, there are many other things——' He sighed. He was tired, and as every mile brought them nearer home, he began to feel misgivings which had never occurred to him up North.
Just how would Theo behave as a plantation mistress? What impression would she make on his family—the family which was even now gathered twenty strong at his father's plantation? They would be cordial and courteous, of course, but would they approve of his choice? In so far as his nature permitted, Joseph was very much in love with Theo, yet these doubts provoked his ready distrust. He was seeing her through his family's eyes—an alien. That she was very pretty and charming and daughter to the Vice-President would, after all, count for little down here. The Waccamaw Neck was a principality in itself. He had married a foreigner, and one without money at that.
He had not known this latter awkward fact on his trip home in the fall. It was not until after the marriage that Aaron had exposed his deplorable financial condition. Nor, to do Joseph justice, had the discovery much upset him. He had money enough of his own. Yet the family might think differently.
Theo, watching, saw him frown.
'You must bear with my inexperience, Joseph,' she said quietly. 'I shall try to learn. But please remember that everything is so different down here. Even the landscape,' she added, shuddering a little.
They had descended into the swamplands that bordered the tangle of rice rivers, the Peedee and the Waccamaw. She looked in amazement at the dense vegetation unlike anything she had ever imagined—vines as big as her arm writhing about twisted black branches, and everywhere hanging fronds of ghostly gray moss. Here sunlight scarcely penetrated; the effect was mysteriously sinister and threatening.
Joseph stirred, crossing his legs. 'Theo,' he said abruptly, 'I've been meaning to speak to you on this subject'. He paused, fingering his cherished whiskers. 'Your upbringing has been quite unlike that of the ladies here. You must guard your speech or they will think you immodest. You discuss many subjects that are not here considered in good taste.'
'Do I? I don't understand what you mean.
'I suppose not. Your father has seen fit to allow you great freedom of thought. For one thing, do not let them know you do not attend church. Down here you will go to All Saints' every Sunday.'
'Of course, if it is the custom. Father and I are not particularly orthodox. He always says he was steeped in too much dogma in his youth. His grandfather, Jonathan Edwards, was a renowned preacher, you know. Still, I have gone to several churches out of curiosity—the Roman Catholic, the Dutch, the Friends Meeting House——'
'Preposterous!' cut in Joseph. 'That's just what I mean. There is only one church for a gentleman—the Anglican. And another thing. You must not refer to—to an expected birth in the loose improper way which seems to be permissible at Richmond Hill.'
Theo colored, but her mouth was mutinous. 'I think what you say is silly. You hinted yourself that your stepmother was expecting another baby; it must be about due now. I don't see how one can ignore the fact.'
'You will ignore the fact,' he snapped. 'You will not mention it at all. They would think you lewd.'
She subsided. 'Very well, Joseph'. For after all, what did it matter? She realized that the approaching ordeal worried him. She, who had met so many different people and gained their liking without effort, found his anxiety to have her appear to advantage both amusing and pitiable.
'Don't look so solemn,' she said lightly. 'I will act pious as a preacher and avoid all inconvenient subjects, I promise you'. She touched his square, blunt-fingered hand with her little glove.
His face cleared. Always he melted at one of her rare caresses. He put his arm around her slender corseted waist and squeezed her tight. She submitted, smiling.
'Are we nearly
there?' she asked.
He shook his head. 'Not for some time, but we are nearing the Waccamaw Ford.'
She gazed curiously at the river of which she had heard so much. She knew vaguely that the fortunes of her new family were rooted in the thick mud that bordered its tidal banks, and that all their plantations depended on it. But she was unimpressed by the small rust-colored stream which they forded without difficulty. Joseph assured her that it grew much larger farther down, but she was disappointed, thinking of the magnificent river at home. She shut her eyes and tried to picture the dearly loved rooms at Richmond Hill, each one pervaded by her father's presence. What was he doing now? He must be back there soon. He was to leave Washington soon after they did.
'You might at least look at the country that is to be your home'. Joseph's annoyed voice startled her.
She jumped guiltily. 'Indeed I have been. But there is not much to see—just trees and swamp and that horrible hanging moss. It gives me the shivers. It looks like a scene from Dante's Inferno; I can almost hear the wailing of the lost souls'. 'I do not know to what you refer,' he said stiffly, 'but we consider the moss beautiful. There is much of it around the Oaks.'
'Where is the Oaks?' she asked quickly.
'A mile down the road, but we shall not stop there today'. She wondered why. The Oaks was Joseph's own plantation, left him by his grandfather, and was to be their home eventually. But today they were bound for Clifton, the home of Colonel William Alston, her new father-in-law.
'But isn't the Oaks on the way to Clifton?' she insisted. 'Couldn't we just look at it?'
'No,' said Joseph shortly. 'The family are waiting for us'. The family. Only in the last week had she begun to realize the importance of that phrase. As Joseph neared home, it appeared with chilling frequency. Still, one would have thought that the family, having waited all day, might have spared an additional half-hour while a bride inspected her own new home. She was far from guessing that Joseph was ashamed of his plantation and its small tumble-down house. It had been untenanted since the death of his grandfather in 1784, and seventeen years of Carolina weather had not improved its appearance. Moreover, the slaves, laxly supervised for so long, had run wild over the whole estate.
Clifton, on the other hand, was a well-regulated plantation with a mansion hardly inferior to Richmond Hill. Had not General Washington stayed there in '91 and written that it was 'large, new, and elegantly furnished'?
Accordingly they passed the entrance to the Oaks without comment and continued south on the river road. The tiring horses plodded ever more slowly on its sandy surface. The sun beat down upon their carriage top, converting the interior into an oven. On either side the trees, now scrub pine, now live-oak, pressed in on them, shutting off any possible breeze.
The Waccamaw Neck, a narrow finger of land, pointed south to Winyaw Bay and Georgetown. On the west ran its river and the rice plantations, while on the east, five miles across the peninsula, was the sea.
I shall go there often, thought Theo. I love the ocean. For a moment she imagined that she caught the tang of salt.
'I smell the ocean,' she said eagerly. 'How soon can we go and see it? Tomorrow?'
'What for?' answered Joseph. 'We never go to the seashore until May.'
'But I want to go. It's only a few miles.'
Joseph mopped his dripping forehead and scowled. 'Theodosia, I trust that you will conform to the wishes and plans of the family. I beg that you won't upset them with sudden impulsive whims.'
Theo suppressed the retort which rose to her lips. After all, they were both hot and tired. She would manage 'the family'; and anyway, surely she and Joseph would be in their own home in a day or so. She would be her own mistress.
She felt faint and her head throbbed when at last they dragged around a bend in the road and came to high wooden gates. A cluster of blacks slouched against the posts or sprawled limp on the scrubby grass. At the sound of carriage wheels they sprang to attention—a motley handful, big and little, some in the Alston livery, some in cotton shifts. They waved and cheered. 'Welcome, Maussa Joseph! Welcome, Mistiss!'
Joseph smiled and, leaning out of the carriage window, greeted some of the grinning negroes by name. Such ridiculous names, thought Theo—Romeo, Cupid, Orpheus, Amoretta. She tried to copy Joseph's air of affable condescension, wondering how in the world he ever told one black face from another. Each seemed to have the identical assortment of protruding lips around enormous white teeth, slate-black skin, and rolling eyes.
As the carriage turned into the plantation drive and headed for the river, the negroes shuffled along behind them, laughing and chanting snatches of a rhythmical song. Soon the cavalcade entered an avenue of enormous live-oaks so lavishly festooned with gray moss that the trees were almost obscured. Pompey flicked the horses into a trot and they drew up with a flourish at the steps of a large white-pillared house.
'Clifton,' said Joseph majestically, but Theo noted that his voice trembled. With sudden sympathy she squeezed his moist hand as he helped her down.
At once they were surrounded by an exclaiming, gesticu lating throng, adults and excited children. So many, that Theodosia, dismayed, stood uncertainly beside Joseph waiting for guidance.
In the babel of welcome she heard her own name many times repeated and prefixed by different tags of relationship—'Cousin Theodosia,' 'Sister Theodosia,' even 'Aunt Theodosia' and 'Daughter.'
'I'm so very glad to meet you all,' she laughed, turning from one to another, 'but won't you please tell me which is which?'
'Of course, my dear'. A spare middle-aged man with grizzled hair detached himself from the group. He took her hand.
'I am William Alston of Clifton, Joseph's father. Mrs. Alston is awaiting you upstairs in her chamber. She is unfortunately ailing today. Now for the others—Maria, my child——'
A tall, decided-looking young woman in her twenties stepped forward.
'This is my daughter, Lady Nisbett,' said Colonel Alston, stressing the title with evident satisfaction. Maria kissed Theo coolly on the cheek, made a civil murmur.
'These are your brothers-in-law, William Algernon and John Ashe'. He presented two beardless young men who resembled Joseph, though their complexions were far lighter. They bowed one after the other, eyeing her admiringly.
'And this is Charlotte, youngest of my children by my poor lamented first wife,' continued the Colonel.
A plump and giggling miss of fifteen bounced up to Theo, delivered a shy smack, and retired to a corner, where she stared openmouthed at her new sister-in-law.
These, then, thought Theo, arc Joseph's full brothers and sisters. But there were still a dozen adults unidentified. Nor did she manage to remember their exact status after she had met them. They were, it seemed, Middletons, McPhersons, Flaggs, and Hugers, all related in some way to the Alston family.
Her face ached from smiling, and her back could scarcely support her by the time her father-in-law indicated the assorted children with a careless wave of the hand. 'Little John Nisbett, Maria's son, and my children by my present wife—Rebecca, Thomas, Pinckney, Charles, and Jacob Motte.'
Six small faces looked up dutifully. 'How do you do, Sister Theodosia,' they chorused, before rushing thankfully back to a far corner of the piazza where sat an enormous turbaned negress, swaying and crooning to herself. One of the small boys flung himself onto the vast aproned lap. 'She's real pretty, Mauma, ain't she?' he shrilled, 'but she got mighty queer clothes. She got naked bosom.'
The old negress gave him a reproving shake. 'Hush yo' mouf, yo' naughty chile! Plat-eye goin' ter git you, effen yo' talk like dat.'
Theodosia laughed. Her clothes probably did look queer to the child, in that, though rumpled and travel-stained, they were of the latest Parisian cut and very different from those of the Alston ladies. They still wore modest fichus, sashes around the waists of their muslin frocks, and their hair fell in loose curls, product of both art and as much of nature as possible—a fashion of three year
s ago.
Theo, with her hair piled high, and elaborately embroidered violet velvet traveling gown, cut low in the neck to outline her breasts, drew surreptitious and scandalized glances from the assembled ladies. And her scanty skirt exposed two inches more of ankle than did theirs.
'Ah!' cried Colonel Alston. 'Here comes the lime punch, at last.'
Theo turned with the others to see a procession of servants filing onto the piazza, a solemn parade headed by a butler bearing an enormous cut-glass bowl, while three pickaninnies followed behind with trays of glasses.
Theo, appalled at the prospect of a lengthy drinking ceremony, rose to her feet, murmuring tentatively, 'Perhaps I'd better go upstairs and repair my costume——' She looked around for Joseph, but he was of no help. He lounged against the railing, discussing the rice crop with his uncle by marriage, Benjamin Huger, who came from the adjoining plantation of Prospect Hill. He would not look at her and her imploring glance was wasted. Her father-in-law ladled out the punch.
She gulped down the sour-sweet liquid and put her glass definitely back on the tray. But the family were not to be hurried. They drank toasts to the bride and groom, to the absent Mrs. Alston, to a great many other people of whom Theo had never heard, as well as to President Jefferson, Governor Drayton, and belatedly, with bows to her, to 'Our illustrious Vice-President, Colonel Burr.'
Oh, Father, she thought, I never would have believed that I should be laggard in drinking a toast to you, but in truth I shall disgrace myself before my new family if I touch any more of that concoction. The punch mingled with her exhaustion to produce giddiness and nausea. She longed for the cool and quiet of a secluded bed somewhere, anywhere.
But when Lady Nisbett arose at last, Theo found that her ordeal was not yet ended. Mrs. Alston awaited her; she must of course pay her respects to her new mother-in-law at once.
'Are you fatigued?' asked Maria Nisbett, noting Theo's lagging walk. Her cool voice was clipped and affected in imitation of the English accents in her husband's family. And where the rest of the Alstons showed a typical Southern languor, laziness bred half by climate and half by the superabundance of service which they commanded, Maria stood out sharp, decisive, and self-important. She always knew what she wanted and managed to get it.