Chapt One - Mothers of a Different Color

Say brothers, will you meet us?

On Canaans happy shore?

Glory, Glory Hallelujah

Glory, Glory Hallelujah

Glory, Glory Hallelujah

For ever, evermore

                       William Steffe, 1856

Chapter 1

Mothers of a Different Color

Mary Anna Randolph Custis Lee

& Mariah Custis Syphax

The following four chapters are strictly the fruit of my imagination, but instructed and bound by considerable research. It features two women, who for me, have come to symbolize the opposing sides during the “War of the Rebellion.” I love these two women for what they represented, and with what we know about them, I am fascinated with what amazing struggles and changes they must have gone through in their awkward, yet intimate relationship; Master and slave, half-sisters, lifelong neighbors, each having their turn as the victor and as the vanquished. Both raised children who contributed importantly to our nation, and left a mark in history which did them justice. So with artistic license I have read between the lines of their lives and fashioned a slice of life which might illustrate them and their extraordinary times...

It was a miserable, barely tolerable winter morning on the Arlington plantation as Mary Custis Lee packed a breakfast basket and climbed aboard her carriage. February was winding down, snow was melting, and spring was imminent, so Mary got out of the house on a mission; Just the way women do when after weeks of illness, one day they get up and break out of the doldrums with super-human strength.

Mary ignored her screaming joints, for pain was now her daily burden. One either ignored it or succumbed to a solitary, monotonous life. Shaking his head in disbelief, old Daniel the driver gave her a hand as she lunged up and onto the seat, her mind a thousand miles away. It took everything she had, every ounce of energy to accomplish this task, but she did it with confidence. She winced quietly and thought of the women in her life who had suffered far greater things. Still she wondered if and when she might be able to get back out. She chuckled to her self. Glancing up and nodding to Daniel, she barely noticed the glorious yellow jasmine on the fence, coming out prematurely, and swaying for her attention. But Mary was not in Arlington anymore. Her pain and discomforts followed her into the carriage, happy to punish her for her indescretions... but now she fought them by picturing her gallant Robert, a straight-backed army colonel, her husband of thirty years, probably sipping coffee somewhere in west Texas, perhaps rereading her last letter, as a cavalry bugle called Reveille.

Daniel immediately broke the morning stillness with his notorious gift of melody. He began to hum a strange, infectious tune to Mary, one which had glided through the cotton bottoms to Arlington on an invisible, underground "grapevine." He hummed happily, ready to share his discovery of it, ending each verse with a brave blast of  "GLOOOORY, GLORY HalleLUJAH" in triplicate, and then "For ever, evermore."...

"Daniel! What in Heaven's name are you croaking?" Mary scolded, indignant that her thoughts had been interrupted so rudely. Daniel was accustomed to her lack of appreciation of his church ditties, and smiled as if she had complimented him.

"Jus wushuppin' de Lawd Mam..." he answered, knowing that she could not upbraid him  for that, no matter how it sounded to her. She shook her head in contempt, and straightened her cloak, taking authority over those things she could in her difficult existence. 

She taunted him further, a sassy tradition after a lifetime of friendly banter between slaves and their masters: "Sounds a bit heathenistic Daniel... what campfire did you glean that from?" Daniel nodded and taking the inquiry as genuine interest, freely launched into the song...

"Saaaaay brothers, will you meet us?

"Say brothers, will you meeeeeet us?

"Saaay brothers, will you meeeet us?

On Canaan's haaappy shoooah?"

Mary's expression changed from sarcasm to perplexity. An invitation to meet on Canaan's shore was innocent enough... Many Christians referred to one another as "brothers." Blacks and Whites often worshiped together under the same roof... but resting on far different plateaus. Underneath that friendly invitation was a suspicious agenda, she mused, for black and white to actually consider one another as brothers; to meet at the "promised land" on equal footing... and that would certainly be a happy moment for the plantation negroes.

"Those are brave words Daniel... but you should be careful that the Colonel doesn't hear such insolence... you know he could ride up any day now..."

Of course there was every possibility that her Robert, Colonel Robert E. Lee, could be surrounded by hostile Apaches, and fighting for his life, on some desert pile of rocks. Or he might have been arrested and imprisoned after the Texans seceded from the Union, suddenly considered an enemy, and way behind the lines in foreign territory. Mary daydreamed on- to more acceptable scenarios, like Colonel Lee leading his cavalry out of Texas in grand style, flags defiantly waving, as the United States Army prudently marched out of the budding Confederate States of America.

Or... her Robert might already be on a boat headed for New Orleans, having gotten out of Texas as a precaution before a shooting war started. A veteran of many military operations, even Robert knew that the better part of valor was discretion. She could not know which scenario was remotely accurate, but hopefully a letter was soon to arrive and might put her at ease, and certainly the Colonel would insist that she not worry. He was always very capable of taking care of himself. But right now the world was turning upside down, and she was not inclined to trust in her confidence, or even her Faith; that all things work themselves out. What was it that the Bible said? “...all things work together for good to them who love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.”

Mary Custis Lee was often bedridden, unable to walk on her own.

Somehow, Mary had to find out, if at all possible, what in the United States of America was God's purpose at this time in history.

Mary needed to seek some sound advice, woman to woman, from someone she respected, someone close whom she trusted and who would understand. Few people in the world were that close to her, whom she trusted to ponder her inner thoughts, her very moral compass, the ideals essential to shape her convictions. And there were few at Arlington plantation who could dispense these kinds of answers like “Big Mary.” Besides, it would be wonderful to see the old girl, to lift both of their spirits, if that was possible in these circumstances.

The country was going to war. That seemed as real and ominous and unavoidable as an Atlantic Hurricane. Her Robert would be in the thick of it, that was a given. Robert E. Lee was a very respected officer, a brilliant army engineer, a former commander at West Point Academy... Oh yes, he would be right up there. Who had come out of the war in Mexico with glowing reports of cunning and courage? Who had they sent when John Brown the radical abolitionist raided the armory at Harper's Ferry? No, Robert was popular and would be sucked into the conflict quickly... and it could mean many things.

He could be killed. He could survive and be hailed as a great patriot. Even run for president. And Mary had grown accustomed to these kinds of possibilities. But what she feared was something else... Not what might happen if Robert typically answered the call which had always governed his loyalties. Mary was more concerned about the Colonel if he did not. Since her great-grandmother, Martha Washington had first kissed General Washington farewell, to lead rebelling Americans to Independence, her family had always been at the forefront of risking their blood and treasure for America. And they had done it before there was a Constitution, or a Bill of Rights... or an electorate to divide the nation, or a Supreme Court to exacerbate that schism. Now America, her foundations and her loyalties, were twisted out of recognition.

The Lees, like the Washingtons and the Jeffersons, were Virginians. Mary's beloved Arlington mansion was the grand home of Martha Washington's grandson, and a veritable monument to the “Father” of the country. Mary had grown up with treasured national artifacts collected by her proud father, once belonging to George Washington, laying around like quaint decorations. People regularly came to Arlington from afar and paid money to see it all. George Washington was as real to her as her own parents. And probably just as influential. Her father, “Wash” Custis, George Washington's step-grandson, was a popular artist and Capital celebrity, often asked to give patriotic speeches. There was no more authentically American family in the land. But they were Virginians, and incredibly, Virginia could vote to secede from the Union any day. The Lees were in a horrible fix. And Colonel Lee faced a horrific, immeasurably consequential decision.

As Daniel turned down into a narrow road with fairly faint wagon tracks, Mary could see the little Syphax house sleeping in the drizzle, smoke spiraling up and out from the chimney. Someone must be home, or thereabouts. Chickens hunted about, and a few dogs stood and stretched and wagged their tails. Papa Wash had given the house and the land it sat on to the Syphaxes when they married. He also gave “Big Mary,” now respectfully known as Mariah Syphax, her freedom. So there the couple made a life, as best as they could, knowing full well that Mariah could not venture far from it, or risk being captured and sold into slavery again. It was the best anyone could do in a country where slavery was a legal and popular enterprise. Anchored to the land as they were, to Arlington like the proverbial ball and chain, the Syphax family prospered in this protected envelope, and raised ten fine children. The Papa Wash ad sponsored several of them to prestigious emploments at the U. S. Capitol.

Mariah favored her white father, "Papa Wash," George Washington Custis, the step-grandson of George Washington.

The two women had grown up together, but Mariah was four years older, and a lifetime wiser. She had often been left in charge of the younger Mary, when she was little. Mary grew up as an “only child” and had not realized that they were half-sisters until a few weeks before Mariah and Charles Syphax were married. It was never actually said to her... But she heard her father explaining his plans to her mother one day, to free Mariah and give her a home when she married. It was an extraordinary thing to do for an average slave girl. There were scores of them on the plantation, and no other slave ever obtained her freedom like that, much less a house and fifteen acres... But Wash Custis had done the right thing, the only decent thing, if Mariah was his own flesh and blood. And there was no other explanation.

In Virginia, in those days, people did not need explanations. For generations there had been an unspoken yet pervasive complication in American life. A marital and sexual and inter-racial scandal, now working its way to the surface like hot magma about to blow. It had almost become a secret institution- and it was very common for male slave owners to pursue sexual relations with their female slaves. But no doubt Mrs. Custis did require some explanations and assurances. Out of naivete she had avoided putting the pieces of the story together before that day, and now that it came out, she demanded to know if there were any more surprises. There were, after all, scores of vulnerable slave girls at Arlington with whom he might take a fancy. Mr. Custis was humble and typically disarming, and she was too infirm and tired to scold or threaten divorce. Wash, the creative master, had always had a knack for painting himself into a corner. And then out of it.

Mary had listened and quietly kept her composure, frozen in astonishment, hiding in the shadows of the dining room, while her papa spilled his guts and begged for forgiveness. The whole sordid tryst with Airy Carter, the housemaid had happened seventeen years ago, way before she was even born. Of course, Papa Wash did not offer too much detail, such as how long it had gone on... But his giving Mariah some kind of inheritance was proper, and actually betrayed a rare measure of compassion for a slave owner, and being a man of honor, he would now have to face the consequences... starting with his long-suffering wife. And he did.

Southern men prided themselves in their concept of honor. Sometimes honor demanded sacrifice, or even humiliation. The only way that true honor could be witnessed was for a man to show it, even though some tried to purchase it, often by taking an action to his own detriment, regardless of personal cost. A man was nothing in those times without the public perception of his honor. Duels were commonly fought between insulted men trying to bolster their personal honor. This sometimes devastating obsession with an abstract trait of character often separated Southern men from their friends, their women, and especially their enemies. Sometimes permanently.

Suddenly that day when Mr. Custis's honor prevailed, several curious mysteries were simultaneously answered. Mariah was inexplicably a light-skinned "Mulatto," and no one ever spoke of her father. She and her lovely mother, a favorite house maid, had been inexplicably relocated, years before, after winning the whole family. Serena Gray had been brought in... the nanny who had practically raised Mary, and then after Papa's confession Airy and Mariah had been seemingly banished forever from the Arlington mansion... their names seldom mentioned. Years before they had melted into the crowd of “Ethiopians” as Papa Wash liked to call them, living in a slave cabin down at the spring.

Then there had been a very long silent period between the Custis's... 

For about fourteen years, it seemed. But now all of the drama and intrigue from those days was ancient history. Life went on, and only fools allowed the past to spoil the future. Now the sins of the past threatened to turn everyone's future upside down.

Mariah's mother, Airy Carter, once young and quite pretty when she was the house servant, and Mrs. Custis, broken and infirm, would never have a moment's peace after Papa confessed. And now Mrs. Custis, permanently dishonored, somehow had to save face, while giving a wedding ceremony and reception for Mariah right in her own home. That too was the honorable thing to do... for your step-daughter, legitimate or not. In fact there was a kind of dignity in it, no matter how unorthodox. It was plain and simple; her husband was an adulterer, or a bigamist, but this was the burden
of many Southern women, Black and White, to endure the sexual improprieties of powerful Southern slaveholders. 

 Endure as they might, humiliation never grows stale, but festers like a cancer. So Airy the housekeeper and Mariah, one of Mary's favorite childhood playmates, were suddenly family, and yet ostracized, when she was around twelve. They had visited from time to time, mostly about the weather or the gardens... and Mary watched with a mixture of disgrace and envy as Mariah Carter married Charles Syphax and started a home, and began her family. Mariah shared the Washington legacy without any of the pressure. And none of the guilt now so obvious. In a way, Mariah sat on the highest moral ground, above the Washingtons, above the slaves, even above Arlington.

The two half-sisters still shared many unspoken affinities... and Mary had always noticed how mature and wise Mariah seemed to be. And that was why she endured this tortuous buggy ride.

Mariah Syphax knew many things about the plantation, about their father, about life, and had become a sort of intermediary between Black and White. She was a rare kind of person, who had acknowledged roots in both cultures, and a peculiar status within both. In truth, Mariah was a person without a culture which truly claimed her, and was often treated with suspicion by both sides. But just as often she provided essential knowledge useful to both. Mariah always had her finger on the pulse of the slave population, and was the most accessible outlet of the plantation grapevine. “Little” Mary had learned to ask her rather than wait for the word to eventually come around. As they had gotten older, and both had a house full of children, they had neglected their relationship, but the intimacy between them had stayed as potent as aged whiskey.

Dan'l stopped the carriage almost abruptly, as Mary's childhood memories evaporated into the mist, and they stared at the door. Nobody came out, and finally one of the dogs let off a belated howl. If humans do not break the doorway within three minutes, holler like you sniff a raccoon.

“Oh Miss Syphax!” Daniel roared, very demanding, as if the queen were waiting.

                  "Saaay, brothuhs will'ya meet us?

                   Saaaay SIStah will you meeeeet us?

                         Say brothuhs will you meeee..." 

"Daniel! That won't be necessary!" Mary had no desire to call attention to herself, or to be associated with a clandestine African camp meeting.

“Miz Syphax!: Daniel cried out, "Miss Lee come a'callin'!” Daniel knew that it might take some noise to locate any of the Syphaxes in the middle of the morning. Most of them would have been off before sunrise. “I don' know, Miss Mary, they's all prob'ly workin'...”

Suddenly all of the dogs let off a crescendo of howls, as if they decided to lend Daniel a hand. Daniel chuckled and slapped his knee, finding the commotion very satisfying.

Still they waited for some sign of life. The mist in the air became a sporadic drizzle. A young boy carrying a long stir stick came from behind the house, and was immediately mistaken for one of Mariah's grandsons. There were so many now that Mary would not know his name anyway. Daniel took charge...

“Hey young'un, whur is Mar-eye? Miss Custis-Lee come callin' ”

Dan'l announced the situation as if he was carrying the Queen of England. But the boy spoke softly, flatly, as if unimpresseed. “She took some soup an' conebread to Mama... she been down lately... I'se watchin' her pot...” He stretched a an unhappy grin from ear to ear, as an iron cauldron in the back steamed furiously, boiling the Syphax's work clothes.

Mary was perturbed but accustomed to such delays, it was the way of the plantation South, and she decided to make use of the opportunity to catch up on Mariah's family...

“Come over here boy and tell me who you belong to.” Mary said with friendly authority. “What's your name? Who's your mama?”

The boy smiled and moved slowly towards the carriage, acting as if he was afraid of the horse. “They calls me Shorty.” He held his hand out to push away the horse's head and approached the carriage carefully. “Miss Celie my mama.”

“Miss Celie? I guess I don't know her...” Mary pondered out loud, as she suddenly realized the boy was blind, and feeling his way towards her voice.

“She belong to dat borrud man from 'cross de way, Miss Lee.” Daniel explained. “His mama is wit chile.”

“I see.” Mary would not learn much from him, since he was new. Then she heard a feint voice behind her...

“Lo! I'se heah... Don' go! I'se comin'!”

It was Mariah, scooting across the meadow in the thickening shower, carrying two flapping chickens by their feet. She lumbered barefooted through the weeds, carefully avoiding various obstacles like nettle and horse dung.

“Miss Mary Lee!” She smiled with large perfect teeth. Her kind, sad eyes met Mary's and they instantly fell back into childhood roles, and quietly made shrill, nervous giggles. “Come inside!” She turned to Shorty and gruffly ordered him: “Help de lady down! What's wrong witchou?”

Mary shook her veiled head, and refused Shorty's hand. “No, no Mariah I can't.” The Southern lady winced a half-smile as she was forced to explain her predicament. Decades of infirmity had made her movements the picture of painful determination. But Mariah scurried on to her little wooden porch to string and hang her hens. Bright-eyed they looked about, tethered upside down from a chord dangling on the porch. Ignoring Mary's protests, she sped inside, to quickly put her house in order. Soon she was back to the door, but Mary had stayed put... waiting for her return. “Dan'l, call her back...”

But before Daniel understood her, Mariah was coming down her porch steps... her mental wheels turning.

“Miss Mary...”

“I'm fine right here Mariah, come sit in the carriage and talk with me.” Mary smiled but there was a firmness in her voice. Mariah could tell something was up, and she had best go along. But she shook her head, trying to get the fragile woman out of the chill.

“I kin put some wood in the farplace... you could get wawm... make you some bay leaf tea...” Mariah offered her meager hospitality with a gracious, pleading smile. She seldom had a guest to come "calling."

“No really, please come sit down, Big Mary, I need to ask you something, and I won't take long.”

“All right, “lil' Mary”! Please don' tell me sompthin' happen to Marse Robert with de Injuns!” Mariah queried as she reached into the carriage and nimbly pulled herself inside. Even as she did, she made a mental note that she had just crossed a cultural barrier. One that she never believed that she would ever live to surmount. Here she sat, privately, but an equal to the lady of the plantation. Mary ignored the situation and wasted no time with small talk.

“No, No. Nothing like that. It's just that... you know Mariah, I don't have any sisters... well, you know... in my house... and sometimes a person needs one, you know how things can be at my house?” Mary disarmed her older sister with a little self-deprecation.

“Yes um.” Mariah had played this part before... the black half-sister pretending to just being a friend, who was “pretending” to be... her sister.

 “I'm here. Guess I'm all de sistah you eveh gonna have!”

Suddenly a chill blew through the carriage, and both women tightened their wraps. Mariah stared at her chimney, now barely smoking. It needed some wood or her fire inside would soon go out. Suddenly she felt the morning chill, and she wanted some hot tea. In fact she wanted to be anywhere else. If Mary had come calling, and needed to talk, and she was perched with her in her carriage in the cold, well, the words to come would probably be as unpleasant as the morning.