Chapt Two- Under God- but divisible

                 

John Brown's body lies

a-mouldering in the grave

John Brown's body lies

a-mouldering in the grave

John Brown's body lies

a-mouldering in the grave

His soul is marching on

Glory, Glory, Hallelujuh,

Glory, Glory, Hallelujuh,

Glory, Glory, Hallelujuh,

His soul is marching on...

                    1861- Fourth Battalion of Rifles, 

                                 13th Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers

Chapter 2

Under God- But Divisible

Mariah took a deep breath. She could make another fire, after Mary was gone. Mary seemed to be in some kind of trouble. She closed her eyes and dreamed back, to when they were just children, and used to light-heartedly play with Mary's beautiful china dolls. And to when she helped Mary into her first low-cut lady's dress. And then made a lace collar to cover her ivory white shoulders. They shared a deep history. She smiled inside as she remembered Mary's beaming smile the time when she helped her, almost sisterly, into her wedding dress, borrowed from Mrs. Custis, her step-mother. It had been a first for anyone in her family. She settled her mind for this surprise visit... and suddenly realized that Mary had already begun her preamble...

“Mariah, you may be the only person who can advise me. I don't want to get your dander up... but I am desperate to help my Robert work through his options in the coming weeks...”

“Yes 'um?”

                                                            Mary Custis Lee

“Mr. Lee will be returning, maybe in days- or certainly in a few weeks, and the country has gone MAD. There is talk of war... The Abolitionists have elected Abraham Lincoln, and a bunch of states have already left the Union.”

“Yeah?” Mariah tried to stay in the conversation as she picked burrs from her dress.

“Big Mary, we are all going to be caught in the winepress, right here on this hill looking over Washington City... yet we are across the river... in the Commonwealth. Those two worlds were never more separated.

“Now... you are free, you have been for some time, and your children... I know they have been working in the offices in Washington City... you must be very proud of William and Charles...”

“Yes 'um, an' Colbert and Cornelius... an...”

“Yes, of course, and all the others... I assume all is well with them?”

“Oh yes mam... an' how 'bout yo chillin' ?”

“All well- or mending thank you, I am always concerned more about the their spiritual condition... which is far more dubious! Mariah, we share a lot of the same blessings here at Arlington... good husbands, prosperity, and serenity...  And natural beauty,  and many children!”

“Praise be to Gawd” Mariah offers with a deadpan inflection that could be taken lots of ways... and they chuckle. Mary takes her comment as an invitation to make her pitch.

“And all this “fruitfulness and multiplying”... brings us to some questions... some quandaries... Papa left explicit instructions in his Will to free all of the Negroes pretty soon... And we plan to... but it seems that there is never a good time...” She offers nervously, half-smiling, hoping for some sympathy. “We need a good crop, to set us on solid ground financially, and give each family a little grub-steak... I know that you would agree that would be appropriate... and their freedom would mean nothing without relocation to a safe place... and that means far from here...”

“Mmmmm Hmm. Miss Mary, no disrespect... but you aksed me... an' you say 'nevah a good time?' Dat's what Mr. Pharaoh in ol' Egypt said too.”

“Perhaps...” Mary blurted curtly, “But there is a huuuge difference.. and since we are having Sunday School... Pharaoh had no intention to ever free the Hebrews... And God punished him and his whole land terribly! Many Southerners like us are taking responsibility, educating our slaves, even breaking the law to do it! We are trying to bring our Negroes into our culture as best as we can...”

“Awright... yes you have.” Mariah acknowledged, barely withholding judgment. "Whas yo quetion?" Mary continued...

“But you can see better than anyone the task at hand. It may take a generation or two... That is why I am here...” Mary struggles to stay on point.

“But Miss Mary, again, no disrespeck intended, but if you an' Marse Robert mus' break de law... to educate yo' own “Ethiopians,” it sounds like the Abolitionis' are de only ones wit de plan, to set us free... in my lifetime!”  

Mariah was shocked at herself. She was rarely this sassy with Mary, or any white person. But since she had already risked disapproval, she added: "Again, no disrespeck, but d'you think dat John Brown, de one dun got hisself arrested and hung by master Lee, do you think he took dem guns and tried to free us fo no reason? Dat he just went crazy? Master Lee scooped him up like a crim'nal, and de law say he had to die fo what he dun... Now you tryin' to make out dat he was'n so wrong as he wuz jus' a lil' ahead ob de gubment! So dey jus' hung 'im fo good measuh? You might be su'prise at dis, but I tell you true, some peoples make him out ta bein' a hero."

Mary suddenly froze, as if she had seen a deadly timber rattler, and struggled to regather her thoughts. This was going to be harder than she thought.

But she would not give in just yet.

“But don't you agree, the Abolitionists like John Brown are so impatient, they just want to turn the tables overnight, to make it impossible to prepare your people for freedom... and won't be satisfied until you are all just set free, harem scarum....” Mary makes this sound as if it is preposterous, as her hands flap upwards like a bird flitting away.

“What do you mean 'your people'?” Mariah asked with an icy stare.

“Well... you know what I mean... the Negroes... And I felt like you would have excellent perspective as to the course we should take.” Mary's eyes brightened, as she found herself quite progressive at this point, asking a Black woman for her opinion, and deftly regaining command of the conversation...

“Well, firs' of awl, Miss Lee, my peoples? You are my peoples. Jus' as much as any Negro on dis plantation! If you aksin', 'bout us ago'in' back tuh Africa? An' I know tha's what yo Papa wanted, Lord he used to preach it... we... they... ain't goin'!” Mariah's firm rebuttal of the “Colonization” movement slammed into Mary's presentation, as it had not been anticipated...

“DIS is our home. Dis is where we wuz raise... where our peoples have live and work and been burrid... jus' like your'n. Some of us been heah longer dan some of “your” peoples!” Mary sat with a paternalistic scowl, and listened respectfully. She knew she might set Mariah off. She had asked for it.

“We are not Africans Miss Lee, we are 'mericans. And mos' of us are treated no better than anima's.” Mariah sat back, satisfied to have finally said what she had always thought. Mary was shaking her head in indignation...

“Oh big Mary! We gave up on that years ago! No, of course this is your home! I wouldn't have it any other way. You belong right here at Arlington! Sure there was once talk about Africa an' all that, until somebody did the mathematics! Lord! it would have taken a huge fleet of ships years to have transported all y'all, back to Africa!” Mary began to laugh, and feeling a sudden release, she laughed and laughed, and Mariah mildly smiled with her, barely amused. “Now... put that thought to rest!”

“Then what?” Mariah interjected, and with that point settled, truly interested now in Mary's proposal.

“Mariah, your family has been free, now for decades, you have done what all other Negroes want to do, live free, live your own lives... And you must acknowledge, you had lots of help... help that many of the others will not get. There will be so many... Papa made sure you and your children were educated, and he got your sons jobs, good jobs working for the government, and gave you this house, your little farm... and still you see, you KNOW how hard it has been...

“How will your people, I mean the darker side, how will they do it? Can they do it?”

Mary pulled open her basket and removed a pear and a cloth full of sourdough buns. “Here have one!” Mariah took a bun, in case she needed something to throw at her guest. She held it up in the air, even with her shoulder, as if it was about to be chunked. Mary nervously carved the pear, and offered her a slice.

“I don' know Miss Mary Lee.” Mariah stared off into the sky, reaching for an answer as she bit into her roll. Her “sister” needed an answer. But she had nothing she wanted to hear. “But I knows they sho wants ta try!”

Mary swallowed and went on the offensive. “But trying will only last a short while, Mariah, and we think, Robert and I, that your people will get discouraged and it won't be like you think. What do your boys say?”

“They don' talk about Abolition wit me... I won' 'low it. I won' 'low no bad talk 'bout de Custis, or any good white folk. But I know they sees it. The Abolition's don' mix wit 'em... dey talks freedom, but dey don' say whur... it's allus “someday”... or “somewhur else...” My boys ain't welcome anywhere but where a slave can go... eben in Washin'ton.

“ 'Foxes have they dens, an' buds have dey nes', but de Son o' Man got no place to lay his po' head...' Guess dat makes “my” peoples like de Lawd Jesus...”

“So you understand what I am saying Mariah.” Maybe Mary had finally gotten through. Now for the big question: But Mariah would not be rushed.

“Maybe... maybe not...” Mariah chided... but Mary ignored her obstinacy. She was reminded that this was why they hardly ever had these conversations.

The drizzle had stopped, and Mariah suddenly stepped down out of the carriage, as she needed to shed herself from the awkward place Mary was putting her. She casually removed the two Rhode Island Reds from the nail they had been hanging on, patiently. She separated them, wings flapping helplessly, and studied each of them carefully. She raised them up an down, weighing each of them in her mind. She peered over to see if Mary was paying attention. One had an appointment today with destiny, in the kitchen pot, the other would live to run another day. She looked straight at Mary and suddenly swung one of them several times in a blur of circles, like a baton, until it was limp. The other one she set down and it ran free. Mariah watched it run under her house and then looked back at Mary, and with a dead-pan expression pulled a handful of feathers from the dead bird, and let them fly away in the breeze. It was as if the chicken's soul evaporated right in front of them. “Which one wouldjou ratha be?”

“Did'n ouwa great gran'pa say: 'gib me libetie, o' gib me death'?”

Mary was ready to answer by now. “Cute, big Mary, but that was Mr. Patrick Henry... Mariah! The Commonwealth of Virginia is on the cusp of secession! And if and when they do, there will be a war! And no chicken will have a roost! The foxes will be let into the henhouse!

“The men who die will not be free, but dead, forever, and their families will be devastated. Friend will be shooting at friend! Brothers will be killing brothers! Robert has been a loyal soldier, for thirty years, all of his adult life. He fought the Mexicans, John Brown's insurrectionists... the Apaches...” Mary's list amazes even her. “He went willingly and obediently wherever he was sent for our country. The last thing he would ever want to do is forsake his country... and...

“Turn his guns on it...

“So if his country... asks him to fire... on his own neighbors, his own kinsmen...” Mary was now exhausted... and nearly in tears.

“I see.” Mariah sighed as she continued to pull chicken feathers, which were filling the yard, sticking to everything in the dampness. It was amazing how many feathers could emanate from one hen.

Now Mary began to beg... “Perhaps you are the only person, maybe in the whole world, who can tell me, and help me help Robert, to make up his mind... I trust your wisdom Mariah... you are... family." Mariah appeared to be distracted,  engrossed in stripping the hen. Mary resumed.

“Are the Negroes actually ready, right now? Ready enough to justify firing on, even killing other Americans, even bankrupting them if necessary to end the evils of slavery? And understand Big Mary, both of us hate slavery and everything about it, and wish we had never inherited it. But a WAR? Secession and destruction of the Union? And all of that to put the slaves out on their own, and maybe to worse suffering?

“With no homes, no educations, no trades, hundreds of thousands wandering jobless, hungry...”

Mary let her rationale ring in the air for a moment, before resuming. “We doubt very seriously that they are ready... First there would be a war, then wretched, desperate hordes... and then perhaps a race war for decades...

“You know better than anyone, the revenge that will be in men's hearts... especially black men, for what was done to their mothers, their sisters... and the justifiable fear of it by many a plantation owner...”

Mariah set her dead, plucked hen on the porch floor. A few stray flakes of down, still attached, flipped and flapped in the breeze. She took a hatchet leaning against a small pile of firewood and chopped of its head. “I'm listenin'!” She was more than listening, she was absorbing every precious word of validation which she thought she would never hear. She held the hen out and let it bleed out. Mary ignored it all, she had done the same thing thousands of times. She would not let go...

“Would the bloodshed and sacrifice be worth it?” Mary now raised her voice... “Worth it enough that Robert would not later regret leading a Union army against his own beloved Vuginia?” The two women stared into each others eyes, barely blinking.

There was a long moment of silence. There was no convenient answer hanging from the porch rafters, waiting to be plucked by these two honest women, who truly wanted a solution to prevent a imminent national calamity.

There is an old adage, that in the negotiation of a horse trade, after the proposal has been offered, the first one to speak, loses. Both women waited for the other to speak. Mary had said enough already... in her mind... and she had asked the questions which she had come to ask. Somebody had to give in. It was way past Mariah's turn to speak. And Mary came for hard, irrefutable rationale.

In a pecan shell, DID the CAUSE of Abolition justify its possible cost?

Mariah waited a few moments... hoping there was another variable in the equation... But she knew there wasn't.

“That I cannot say, Miss Mary. God only knows. But men are aluss ready to be free, whetho' not they undahstan' what dat mean. Or what it might mean ta otha's. They don' undahstan' what it might cost... and no disrespect Miss Mary, but dey don' care.” Then she had a spark...

A few birds provided a little musical relief to the tension in the air.

“The slavers don' have ta fight, they could jus' let 'em go. Let 'em be free and they'll find out... and they will probly come back afta awhile.. a beggin'! Even these chickens ain't no fools... they neba go fah from de house... even when I kills one.”

Mary shook her head, almost weary... “But there will be no going back, big Mary. The cat will be out of the bag. Mr. Lee believes it will spell disaster for everyone. Everybody will be free, but there will be little work getting done, and the economy in the South would fail... we will all be poor and hungry and... Mariah, we need time to educate the Negroes, so they can do real jobs, stand on their own two feet, and not have to beg and borrow... or worse. And what's more, we need time to save our money, so we can afford to pay them, when it comes to that...”

“I hear whatchou sayin, Papa Wash always been land po... ” Mariah had always thought she knew what should be, could be, but now Mary was sure about how it would be: a classic stand-off between liberal and reactionary. She contemplated the familiar dilemma as if there had been some remedy which had been overlooked. It wasn't that complicated. “But let me aks you sompthin'...” 

Mariah tapped into her heart, which always had a useful angle...

“Aks yo'self 'bout ole' Gawj Washinton, you own gran' pappy. Did he worry hisself 'bout the 'mericans, who been slaves of de King? Did he aks dose quetions? I don' think so, Miss Mary, he jus' fought that mean ol' king an' set 'em free!

“An' dey wuk it out. Maybe you and Marse Robert a'worryin' too much!”

“Oh, Mariah, I wish you were right. But it's much more complicated now, and half of us would lose a great deal. I know you don't see it our way... but our slaves are our wealth. Abolition means bankruptcy for all of us. And besides, some slaves in the South speak very little English, have no idea where they are, or how to begin to graft into our American culture. You were set free when the time came because Papa saw that you were ready...”

“NO! No Miss Mary, stop right there.” Suddenly Mariah's English was perfect for a moment. “That's whur you are so bad wrong!” Mariah rose up as if she would devour her little, self-righteous half-sister. “Maybe you don' know Miss Mary, and Gawd fo'give me fo' sayin', but yo' papa... MY PAPA, free me cause he knew it was right! He could'n enslave his own daughta', an' could'n sell huh, someday he have to face Gawd Awmighty!”

Then there was no sound but sparrows playing in the bush, and then the horse whipped his tail to shew some flies. Mary looked down. It was true. Mariah saw an awkward hole in the air and so she continued...

“He knows I'm his own dawtah... and he talks freedom. But I be free- really walkin' free when de Custis and Lees bring me in on Thanksgiving dinna'... ME an' my family...” Mariah peeked quickly to see Mary's eyes. “An sit us down... an' me next to you, not servin' you unnahstan, and the res o' my family too. Guestes at yo table!

“MY PEOPLE? We be free- when my sons go fishin' wid yo' sons- an when dey dun, Yo sons gots to clean de fish... and my son brings 'em up to my house! THEN we be free!”

Now even the sparrows went silent. Mariah's words hung like daggers over Mary's whims. She was tearing up, crushed and a little confused, that she came for affirmation and instead found latent condemnation. She stared into Mariah's eyes to see if there was even an ounce of give in them. But there was not. Mariah sought to end the confrontation, before it came to blows... words said which would never heal.

“But like you say, Miss Mary, there never is a good time. For you white folks... y'all seem to bide yo time, when it comes to freedom... y'all kinda' like dat hoss there... all harnessed, goin' where he's been tol' to go... an' you see what he got on his het?”

Mary welcomed a change of subject. “You mean the halter?” She said sarcastically as she wiped a tear.. She was wretching from the severity of the dichotomy between them.

“Yes'm, an' what's on de halta, dat keeps 'im on de road, and he nevah gits spooked aw confuse?...”

“The blinders.” Mary had walked right into that one.

“Tha's right. You bawn wid 'em. You like 'em an' cain't 'magine a worl' widout 'em. An y'all put one on yo'selfs... and on yo' slaves... an' spect us all to get use to it, jus like dat ol' hoss.... But you ain't no hoss, Miss Mary, an' neitha' am I. An neither is “My Peoples.” You put off doin' what you knowed was right, God be my witness, and now the Abolitions' got plen'y o' folks upset.. and my sons is some of 'em, and they is ready to fight!...” Mariah could not believe what she was hearing herself saying. Neither could Dan'l, who was trying to slump in the carriage seat as if trying to avoid a bolt of lightning.

“...For de same freedom, Miss Mary, de Gawj Washin'ton FREEDOM, yo papa preached about from evah roof top! It was the ONE THING he was eva' right bout... eben IF he did'n do right by all of us...”

Suddenly the rooster crowed as the sun peeked between some clouds, and the sparrows, a mockingbird, and some passing crows punctuated the moment with a jumble songs and cheeps and caws, like an audience emerging out of the winter gray, at once alive with reaction to Mariah's performance. This gave the older sister an extra nudge of momentum and she fired one last shot...

“OUR PAPA was so puffed up and proud to have the blood o' Gawj WASHINTON in his veins... even though I heard he really did'n, but if he do then I do, an' if I do den half de slaves on dis heah plantation... An' de time is UP, an' someday dey ALL goin' ta cum a'callin Miss Mary... an well, you betta hab an estra tu'key in de pot!”

Mariah had said it, but was not sure whether or not she was glad that she had. She found no pleasure in the prediction, which nestled upon Mary like a toxic gas.

“An' Mary, you might as well get use to it... dat's way it gonna be someday in Heb'm.” Mariah offered that last fact as a consolation, but it sounded almost bizarre to her heartsick half-sister.

“Yes Mariah, I suppose... and now it may be too late for all o' us down here on Earth.” Mary did not get the answers she needed or wanted. But they were answers. “Thank you... I guess...” Mary looked into Mariah's tired, humble eyes. The fire in them had already gone out. There was no hatred. No revenge in her eyes. Only trepidation. She also knew that bringing down the Lees and their kind, in any way, would bring her down as well.

“And for the record Mariah, my papa, myself... and you absolutely are the descendants of Martha Custis Washington... which is just as important!” Mary's voice began to disintegrate. “Thank you … sister. I'm so sorry we ever have to discuss such awful things”

Mariah looked down and teared up. Daniel, who had been ready to go for thirty minutes, slapped the horse awake and they were off... And Mariah held her hand up... a salute of sorts... immediately wishing she could have some of her words back...

Little could they know the two women would scarcely ever speak again.