Bettina sat up straight. “Lord, Miss Catherine!”
“What is gained by another woman being a slave? This little baby has a chance.” Catherine’s eyes shone brightly.
Ruth, smiling, looked down at the sleeping newborn. “Then we must all help her.”
—
One hour later, Catherine and Piglet had herded John into Charles and Rachel’s house. Working on his drawings, Charles reluctantly stopped, but he wasn’t peevish about it.
Catherine explained everything that had just happened.
A long silence followed.
“What can we do?” Charles was dumbfounded.
“We fight a scandal with a scandal,” said Catherine. “First, we tell Father that this is the illegitimate child of a townswoman. We feel we must not reveal her name to protect her, but I rashly promised to take the child.”
Rachel smiled at her sister. “Better I do that. You never do anything rash. You’re too logical.”
“Well, one of us has to do it. All right. All right.” Catherine pushed on. “We take the baby up to him, put her in his arms. We all four ask him to protect the child, to allow you two to raise her as your own.”
“That’s the scandal?” John wondered.
“The beginning. The next time there is a gathering, we take the baby. Naturally, everyone will buzz, and we tell them this is our cousin’s child and she was unable to raise it. They won’t believe it. They know we haven’t had children, but they’ll believe we’re protecting our cousin with a lie. We do have Mother’s cousins down in Charleston. Won’t be long before the rumors fly. And yes, people will know she’s illegitimate, but we will deny that, hotly deny it.”
Piglet barked.
“You, too,” Catherine said, breaking the tension.
“Is Ailee in an unmarked grave?” John asked.
Surprised, Catherine answered, “She is.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” he somberly replied.
“It doesn’t, but we can’t put her name on anything,” Catherine said.
“We can place slate over her grave. She’s in the servant’s graveyard with the others, right?” Rachel asked.
“That’s where Bettina said they buried her. We’ve all promised never to speak of Ailee or Moses or any of this. I know of no other way.”
“Well, let’s do it, then,” Charles resolutely said. “Ewing’s had his lunch now and is smoking his second pipe of the day.”
Ewing looked up from the broadsheet he was reading. Bettina had been informed when Catherine walked through the back door. Bettina sent Serena to fetch Ruth.
The four sat down with Ewing, who was aghast at the sordid story. Why should they take this baby? The girls pleaded. He thought it highly irregular. Someone else can raise an illegitimate child. They also told him they’ll use the cousin tale to protect the townswoman so close to home.
Ruth came in with the girl. She held the baby for Ewing to see, and at that very moment, the baby girl opened her eyes, appearing to look directly into Ewing’s. She managed a tiny smile. He smiled back. Then he held out his arms. Ruth put the baby in his arms. Ewing Garth had fallen in love at first sight.
That sundown, Ewing visited his wife’s grave. He told her everything.
“I don’t know if I did the right thing, but, my love, is not life the most precious thing?”
As he spoke, a great blue heron flew overhead, looked down at him, uttering his croaking call. Ewing believed his wife had answered him.
Within six weeks of Rachel and Charles taking in the baby, Ruth being the wetnurse, Rachel became pregnant. It took Catherine and John a bit longer, but Ewing’s dream of having a house filled with grandchildren came true.
Marcia West, as Rachel and Charles named the adopted baby, grew into a unique beauty, famed for her cat eyes. She lived a fabled life, bequeathing to her own offspring two things: high intelligence and a physical weakness impossible to control.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Flags across Virginia flew at half mast. Governor Holloway’s funeral cortege started at the statehouse. Various civic worthies praised him. Edward Cunningham delivered a fulsome speech in which he promised to continue the work of his grandfather. Subdued though it was, the whiff of campaign clung to it. His sister Pauline and her husband and children had flown in from Montana, and she, too, gave a short speech with an engaging story about her grandfather teaching her to fish. She caught one, cried when she pulled it out of the water and saw it wiggling. So Sam took the hook out of its mouth and threw it back, saying he hoped the fish was a Democrat. Millicent chose not to speak.
Finally, the motorcade rolled down Monument Avenue as people lined the streets to say goodbye. Some knew him. Others remembered him from their youth, and for others, it was a good excuse to get out of work. A parade is a parade, even when the lead vehicle is a hearse. The overcast day could have been hotter, but it was hot enough.
Once out on I-64, cars pulled over as the police motorcycles preceded the funeral cortege. Some people honked their horns as a farewell. Most watched, and those who remembered his career felt the breath of time passing.
Two hours later, due to the slower pace, the line of vehicles had thinned out to twenty. The shiny black hearse pulled up to the graveyard. A tent placed by the open grave offered shade. Penny and her children and grandchildren sat under it. As childhood friends of Susan’s, Harry and Fair sat in the rear, along with some of Eddie’s old friends and Pauline’s. Oliver Wendell Holmes sat at Penny’s feet.
The graveyard service, the true Episcopal funeral service, was brief and dignified. It seemed a more-than-fitting goodbye to a war hero, a public servant, a man who made his mistakes in public, finally learning from them. Sam was a man who continued to serve, even out of office. Any historical group could depend on him. The Miller Center for Public Affairs benefited from his presence, as did the American Cancer Society, which he and Penny supported fully. Given the many eulogies spoken in Richmond, none were spoken here. The huge spray of lilac-tinged roses, Sam’s favorite flower, covered the walnut casket. Bound with gold and white ribbon, it was taken off and the casket lowered into the earth.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—”
A Navy honor guard fired volleys, and then, instead of taps, a bosun blew a ship’s whistle, which the governor had requested in his precise funeral instructions. He didn’t want eulogies, but given his status, there was no way to avoid that in Richmond.
Millicent Grimstead was on one side of her mother, Pauline Cunningham on the other; the three women walked slowly back to the house, where the parting reception would be held. Susan fell in behind her mother, as did Eddie, the spouses behind what Sam always called “my girls.” How alike they looked.
Harry had often noticed this, but it truly struck her at this moment.
When Harry’s parents were killed in an auto accident, she came home from Smith to find that Miranda Hogendobber had arranged everything. Susan had also come back from her own college to help. Millicent and Penny stepped in, too. Pauline had already moved out of state.
Looking around, Harry saw so many friends of Susan’s, from all over the country. As was the custom, in a time of crisis or sorrow your friends stand by you.
A TV camera rolled at a discreet distance. Sheriff Shaw, Cooper, and others on the force remained on the periphery. Other officers tended to traffic out on Garth Road.
Once inside the house, Harry found Mignon, a hat covering her bandaged head. The new part-time nurse, Rebecca Coleman, was also there. The place was bursting at the seams.