Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray by Dorothy Love Page B

cottage and disappeared from view. Robert and I tramped on.
    A cardinal perched on a branch above us, a slash of crimson against the copper-colored leaves still clinging to the oak trees. A ribbon of song spilled into the cold air. It was a sweet time, passed without the need for words. It was enough simply to be together on such a blessed day, with our whole lives ahead of us.
    The new year arrived. Robert returned to his post at Fortress Monroe, but I stayed on at home to look after Mother, who had taken a chill and was too weak to oversee the house. One morning just after prayers I took her a tray of tea and toast and settled myself in the parlor to answer a letter from the Reverend Gurley.
    He was president of the Colonization Society and had taken a keen interest in the activities of our Washington City members. He had asked whether the ladies of our chapter might sponsor a parlor concert to raise money for passage of freedmen to Liberia. We must not let the loss of those unfortunates who perished from fever deter us from our mission of sponsoring new settlers , he wrote. I am most anxious that this early failure not doom our cause.
    I had just begun my reply when there came a tapping sound at the window. I looked up and recognized the face of the boy who had appeared at my schoolroom window back in the spring. I motioned him to come inside and went to the door to meet him.
    He shook the caked snow off his shoes and stood shivering on the porch, his teeth chattering.
    “My goodness. It’s William Burke, isn’t it?”
    “Yessum. William Custis Burke. We been belonging to the Custises for many a generation.”
    “Well, come inside, William Custis Burke, before you catch your death of cold.”
    He came into the entry hall, uncertain of where to go next.
    “Is something wrong, William?”
    “No, Miss Mary.” He took a deep breath. “I came to ask you something. I was wondering if you might could teach me to read.”
    “All children here are welcome to learn. I must leave Arlington soon, but Missus will teach you whatever you wish to know.”
    He shook his head. “I can’t come for lessons with the others. Pap is against it.”
    “Your sisters attended lessons quite regularly before my marriage.”
    “Yessum, but he says it’s different for a boy. He says they’s places where a book is more dangerous to a Negro than a nest of rattlesnakes. He says I’m twelve now and too old to learn.”
    “That’s nonsense. One is never too old to learn.”
    “That’s what I told Pap, but he threatened to take a whip to me if I didn’t stop talking about it. So I ain’t said any more.” William shoved his hands into his pockets. “I already know all my letters, and I can make out a few words. My sisters write words in the dirt for me when Pap ain’t around.”
    My heart ached for the child. “We don’t have much time, but we can make a start. And I will speak to Lawrence. He reads very well. Perhaps he can help you after I’m gone.”
    A grin split his smooth brown face. “I sure would like that, Miss Mary.”
    “All right. I must finish writing some letters, and then I will send for you. Your pap need not be told the reason why.”
    We began that afternoon, just the two of us sitting side by side in the small room at the back of the house. While snow collected in the corners of the windows and the wind rattled the glass, William Custis Burke, age twelve, began to unravel the mystery of words and sentences and paragraphs.

11 | M ARY
    1835
    F orever after that sweltering July day when my second child was born, I would remember the scent of lime. A small dressing room off my bedroom at Arlington was converted to a birthing room, whitewashed and disinfected with lime. The window was open in the hope of catching a cooling breeze, and every breath of air stirred the faint acrid smell.
    Our firstborn, a son we named Custis, had arrived easily and without warning nearly three years earlier during our stay at Fortress