Mounthaven

By Bernard Peyton Chamberlain, Jr.

Mounthaven is a multi-layered tale. Four generations and a hundred years of a Virginia family that, having survived the Civil War, acquires a derelict mansion and surrounding acreage called Mounthaven. The year is 1903. The place is already over a century old when Mary Carter Stokes, wife of a failed Yankee gentleman farmer and daughter of Major Moses Carter, late of the Army of Northern Virginia, first sees the property no plumbing, no electricity and the grounds a total disaster -- and it begins to sink in that this is to be where she will eventually die.

Thus it becomes the story of Marys elder son, Edmund Carter Stokes and his Yankee but wealthy bride, as Ed, using Mounthaven as a base, struggles to complete the mission laid upon him by his mother-- to restore the family to the place in society it occupied before the war while Eds own son, Carter, flounders to free himself from these very values, for most of which Mounthaven serves as a decaying metaphor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477293706

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© 2013 by Bernard Peyton Chamberlain, Jr. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/18/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9371-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9369-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9370-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922219

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Introduction

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Bibliography

Other books by B. P. C., Jr.

Phoenix Flower 2001

Don’t Look at Girls Who Drive Volvo Station Wagons 2002

Five Card Draw, Volume One, The First Two Cards 2004

Five Card Draw, Volume Two, The Last Three Cards 2004

To my father, Bernard Peyton Chamberlain, who wrote:

But no, alas, I dream in vain.

The moving finger makes it plain

That life is fashioned in a mold

Which I can’t break till I’m too old.

Acknowledgements

I owe so much to so many in the writing of this book, I cannot name them all. However, for conspicuous service to this endeavor, let me call attention to the following:

To Barbara Collett for constant and unwavering support of every kind, for criticism, for endless proof reading, my gratitude is unending; to Susan Yates, not only for her very welcome support but for her extremely valuable criticism as well; to Bev and Barbara Orndorff for their untiring support and most welcome and scholarly criticism of the manuscript as it developed; to David Zuckerman for his allowing me to read so much of it to him, as did the Orndorffs also; to Ann Gatterer and her daughter, Suzy Proctor for much appreciated help and support; to Patty Steurwald for the same—the list goes on.

Carter Stokes, Charter Oaks. Sometimes I feel so much has been written in me and stored.

Edmund Carter Stokes, Jr.

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Chapter One

On a bright May morning in 1903 a brilliant sun shone down on Albemarle County, Virginia, out of a cloudless sky. A grand day to be on horseback, but the quick ride over Lewis Mountain would have been difficult and Mary had refused. Not so difficult for Ed perhaps. He was a man and a good horseman and, naturally, he rode astride; while she, in the manner of ladies of what her mother called breeding, rode side saddle. One could not negotiate steep slopes so well in a side saddle. So they were to take the buggy, an all day excursion, there and back, the county roads being what they were.

But how must they go, she wondered? Ed was being singularly uncommunicative. Of course that was Ed these last few years, so blank and helpless looking, so taciturn.

Well, obviously, they must set out on the Staunton Road. There was no other. And in the direction of Charlottesville. Climb Carr’s Hill to where Rugby Road joined it, and the two became University Avenue, but turn instead onto the campus. McCormick Road would then lead eventually to the new observatory, of which her father had told her before he died, and off it there’d be a road, somewhere, to this place where they were going—Mounthaven. She knew absolutely nothing about it.

Mary’s mother had died only the year before. And although Mary, a sad and grave looking woman for her age, which cast a shadow on what beauty she might have been thought to possess, sorely missed her mother, she was glad her mother had been spared having to witness this latest in a string of disasters in her daughter’s married life. Ed, who had spent ten years of his life learning about sheep in Montana, to which he’d been sent by his family as a remedy for a spot on his lung, had come to Virginia recovered and full of piss and vinegar to raise sheep here, as Mary’s mother would have said, in fact did say, she being capable of forgetting she was a lady at times. Anyway, it had been a dismal failure from start to finish. There was no other word. No one, to Mary’s mother’s knowledge had ever tried such a thing in Virginia. The colonists had bought all their wool from England and so did people today. The fact there was a woolen mill in town notwithstanding. All they made and sold were uniforms. Meanwhile wild dogs plagued Ed’s efforts from the outset. And then there were dishonest employees, lack of a ready market for the wool, which was more suited to ladies’ outer garments than to uniforms, and no one experienced to shear it in any case. Ed had bought the place, Briarcreek, between Lewis Mountain and the Staunton Road, 500 acres and a fine house for $25,000.00, an outstanding price since southern real estate had not yet made it back to its pre-war values. This year, though, practically bankrupt, his inheritance from his wealthy New York parents all but gone, he’d sold Briarcreek. And for only $23,000.00. Ed insisted it was the condition of the county roads.

That’s what keeps real estate values down, don’t you see? Confound it, if he was going to sell he had better do so, before they sunk even lower. But Mary knew the truth. He could no longer afford the place. He had so hopelessly bungled the sheep raising business in Virginia.

Sitting beside her on the buggy seat now, glum and silent, the way he’d been, or should she say become, more and more sullen each day, month, year as his business began to crumble while his money dwindled, Mary thought back to when she’d met him. St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Ivy. And why Ivy when downtown Charlottesville was within reach by streetcar? Well, for one thing, they’d lived in that community after the war while the Major was doing his county map. And another, because Charlottesville at that time had no Episcopal church. Christ Church was not yet ready and the university’s Gothic chapel, completed in 1890, was non-denominational. Her mother had warned her of this tall, handsome Yankee newcomer. It might be 1894 but Yankees were still thieves and carpetbaggers, she said. Look out, missy. He only wants to get your petticoats off.

For several Sundays he sat in the pew behind them. Right behind her, as a matter of fact. And at some point during the service she could feel her ears begin to burn. At last he introduced himself. And it was her ears, he said. He’d found them fascinating. So small and delicate, like the inner surfaces of sea shells. You’ve been to the coast, Miss Carter? You’ve seen sea shells, I should think, rosy pink and glistening clean, such convoluted yet graceful conduits into… into the… He broke off, blushing, while Mary’s mother glared at him ominously.

Well, he’d said, recovering himself, confound it, I’ve bought Briarcreek, don’t you see? Did so a few months ago. I’m going to raise sheep there.

Yes, we know. Everybody does, replied Mary, indicating her mother. This is Mr. Stokes, Mother. Mr. Stokes, my mother, Mrs. Moses Christian Carter, and my sister, Mistress Maude Carter. My father, the major, couldn’t be here today.

Mrs. Carter nodded stiffly.

Your father. Oh yes. A Confederate officer, I believe. Is he well, I hope? Oh, most certainly, Mary answered, thank you. He’s surveying. He and his partner are updating a map of this county they did. It’s going to show every house and every estate. All the new ones. He’s an engineer, actually, but he enlisted as a lieutenant in the artillery when the war began. He was on General Rodes’ staff at the end. In fact he surrendered General Rodes’ brigade near Appomatox to a Yankee general. I forget his name.

George Armstrong Custer, interjected her mother icily. Good day, Mr. Stokes. My daughters and I must get home to fix Sunday dinner. We’ve a six mile buggy ride to make.

Mary’s mother never did approve of Ed, although she allowed him at her table some two Sundays later.

He’s a bachelor, Mary had said. Aren’t you always reminding me I should marry?

But not to a damnyankee. My stars, aren’t the young men of this county good enough for you?

Well, they aren’t as handsome. And he’s so well dressed and spoken too.

They teach that sort of thing in Yankee schools, my dear. They have all the money after all. You can’t tell a Yankee gentleman from any other swindling damnyankee thief.

The major, her father, had been more tolerant. You’re attempting to raise sheep, I understand, young man? her father had asked, stroking the beard about his chin as he spoke.

Yes sir. I bought 400 head. Briarcreek is practically all pasture, as you know, I imagine. One great pasture in fact, with a house in the middle of it. There are outbuildings, of course. So that works out to almost an acre of grass per animal.

Ah yes, to be sure. One would not want to run the risk of overgrazing, I suppose.

Quite true, sir. Indeed not, Ed replied promptly. He was sitting up so straight, handsome, alert, clean-shaven, save for a carefully groomed mustache and he seemed so knowledgeable. Sheep can eat the grass right down to its roots, did you know? Frequently do in fact. It’s best to be sure they have plenty of it.

I see, said the major. And do you plan to do this for the wool or for the meat, sir?

Both. Either, I should think. Charlottesville has a woolen mill after all. Were that not so I shouldn’t be here. Naturally, I must find men who can help me with the shearing.

To be sure. I quite understand. But I must point out, young man, I do not think the ladies of these parts will suffer much mutton on their tables. Lamb, of course.

And, as you must know, the Yankees destroyed that mill in the last month of the war. It’s principle output has always been uniforms, actually. Custer and Phil Sheridan. They were trying to destroy the Virginia Central tracks, I believe—the C. & O. now, of course—and they must have mistaken the mill buildings for railroad buildings. Little did I know that within a month I’d be facing that posturing popinjay again.

Indeed? Custer? How interesting. The mill buildings were rebuilt, however. Twice, if I remember, for did they not burn again in 1882? But you, sir? Are you too averse to mutton?

I am not a woman, sir, rejoined the major. And, besides, I’ve served in the army, don’t you know. We were right glad to get fresh meat of any kind, when we could, I can tell you.

Ah yes, the army. I was too young, obviously. You must tell me about it sometime.

Nothing to tell, said the major. We lost.

Mary’s elder sister, Maude, didn’t like Ed either. And for the same reasons as her mother. But as for Mary… ah, as for Mary, he was handsome, he was attentive, he brought her flowers. How could she care that he was a Yankee?

After a short courtship, at least for Albemarle County, they were married. Not in St. Paul’s in Ivy but in the University Chapel, under the auspices of an Episcopal priest whom Ed brought in to perform the ceremony. Her father gave her away. And if he did so reluctantly, or with reservations, she wasn’t aware of them. Fortunately for him he didn’t live to see the mistake he might have thought she’d made. Two years later he was dead.

The Carter family lived on the East Lawn of the University, that long terraced plot of grass flanked on both sides by pavilions in which faculty and her father, as proctor, were privileged to live, while students occupied the ranks of rooms behind the colonnade connecting these. There was a similar colonnade on both sides behind the pavilions. And each pavilion behind it had a garden enclosed by Mr. Jefferson’s most ingenious serpentine walls, which by virtue of repeating over and over again the principle of the arch were adequately strong although only one brick thick. It was a long drive from Ivy and back but a good many of their friends from there attended nevertheless. Tired and dusty but everyone seemed to be trying to be happy at the reception.

On the other hand, Ed’s family represented by his two sharp-eyed sisters, one married and the other not, seemed as disapproving of the bridal couple as did Mary’s mother of anything north of the Mason and Dixon’s Line. One of the sisters, Sarah, the married one, came unaccompanied by either her husband or her one daughter, Alycia. Mary suspected Mrs. Darrow and Mistress Stokes, both representing a prominent New York family, might be thinking that she, Mary, representing an impoverished but genteel southern one, could only be after Ed’s money. That the sisters were united in their opinion of their brother as a ne’er-do-well dreamer sort both made abundantly clear. Politely of course but nonetheless clear.

Look out for those two harpies, missy, her mother warned, your new sisters-in-law. Seems to me they’ve little regard for your husband. Probably think him a spendthrift and a wastrel, in which I might agree myself. The idea of squandering all that money on filthy sheep. They’re eyeing you too, my dear, the poor little southern girl who can’t wait to get her hands on their Yankee money.

Well, it’s done now, I suppose, she added, and we must simply make the best of it. But a Yankee, Mary. Well, I just never dreamed.

Are they any different, Mother? Father accepts him.

Your father has… well, your father has had two daughters to support. And, although he has as fine a home as any of the professors of this institution, I daresay, he does not command their salaries. It’s an entirely different thing, Mary.

Mary’s thoughts wandered back to where she and Ed were at the time, and to where they were going. Ed still sat glumly in the seat beside her, lost apparently in his own glum thoughts. The Staunton Road was certainly a fine road, though. Paved for one thing. And few of Albemarle County’s roads could boast as much. And being paved it was quite settled. Fences lined it on both sides. And set back a ways, across pastures, corn and grain or hay fields, one could count numerous houses. Truly, Albemarle County had not suffered the ravages of the Union army as had much of Virginia.

Ed, you haven’t said a word. What is this place like we’re going to?

He lifted his head from where it had settled between his shoulders. Eh? What? he said.

I want to know where we’re going, she said. I want to know what this place is like.

Haltingly he described it to her. It sounded wretched. One big brick house three stories tall, with two front entrances protected from the weather by matched roofed porches. No electricity. No plumbing. And a small wooden house of some sort, unattached to the main house, in which lived a cousin of the former owner.

"Well, just how long does he intend to stay there?" she asked.

Until he dies, I should imagine. He goes with the property.

"Ed! You can’t be serious. The man must go. It’s our house now."

I’m afraid he stays, Mary. I’ve signed the papers and I’ve already given over the money.

Oh, I never heard of such a thing! Oh, God, Ed, do we have to feed him too?

No, he takes care of that himself. He has an old darky servant and his wife who help him. He walks up to the Corner, I’m told (the Corner being two blocks or so of upper Main Street, or University Avenue, that devoted themselves to the needs of the university and its students). He pulls behind him a sort of child’s wagon, I believe, and fills it with his purchases as he makes them.

Oh, Ed, you can’t be serious. Not really. I’ve born a lot, as you must be aware, but this is really too much. What other surprises have you in store for me?

Well, none, I should think, he answered with a measure of smothered embarrassment. Of course, the place does lack a bit of care and general tidiness, as I’ve explained. Grounds keeping. That sort of thing. It seems his cousins from whom I bought the place left him in charge of it for the last few years and he has simply let it go, one might say.

"Oh, Indeed? One might say? Well, I must say, Edmund Stokes, I’ve been a loyal wife to you but you’re beginning to try that loyalty, let me tell you! Let me tell you, do you hear? Now these darkies. Just where do they live?"

With the old man, said Ed, relieved that the ultimatum he’d sensed brewing had not exploded in his face. They, all three of them, live together in that little wooden house.

Mary, naturally, was full of questions. After all, she’d never been privileged to even see the place. Nor consulted beforehand either. She was consumed with a burning anger. Resentment, to say the least. After Briarcreek that her husband could do such a thing to her! He who had been so very much the lord of his manor only a few short years ago. A strong vigorous man who’d wrestled the wild cow to the ground when all the other hands had fled to trees for safety. It was the sheep. Those damned sheep that had ruined him. Not just ruined, they’d broken him and then trampled what was left until, except for her insistence, he’d look as ragged and unshaven as any worthless tramp who’d ever worked for him. At her insistence, and only at her insistence, he maintained some decorum in his dress and personal appearance, shaving daily and careful to wear a clean shirt and not a tie he’d let fall in his soup the night before. She thought it best now to keep her tongue in her head, remember she was a lady, and a charitable one at that. Her mother would have chewed him up and spat him out but Mary and her mother were different. Lucky for Ed too. Mary’s mother would give God Himself a piece of her mind if she fancied herself provoked. God rest her soul. How Mary did miss the old lady sometimes.

They had reached the top of Carr’s Hill, or almost the top, for the very top was where the president of the university lived. Here University Avenue began and they turned right onto McCormick Road. West Range, the colonnade fronting the ranked student rooms behind the West Lawn pavilions stretched on their left. One of these rooms had been occupied by Edgar Allan Poe. Then the road swung to the right, by Dawson’s Row, and university buildings became fewer and smaller. Presently the road dipped and when they came up out of the dip they were approaching the cemetery where her mother and father were buried, next to the Confederate cemetery where the Albemarle County men killed during the conflict were interred. Well, she’d been right so far about how they were going to do this.

A little further, having passed some newish looking houses on their left but nothing but woods ahead, a road of sorts angled down into the creek bottom to their right and up the other side. It was densely wooded down there. Hard to tell how bad the road might be but that they were going to take it became immediately apparent.

Oh, good lord, Ed, don’t tell me this is the road to where we’re going?

Yes, he said. It’s not quite so bad as it looks.

Oh, really. Well then, when we shatter a wheel or break an axle you just be sure to remind me of that.

Ed made no reply. They turned onto the bumpy, badly rutted track. McCormick Road had been not much better but at least it was worked on now and then. Mary took hold of the buggy where she could and hung on grimly.

Down through the pines and hardwoods, across the little creek on a questionable bridge fashioned of rough logs and rougher planks and up the other side to where their way seemed blocked by a stone retaining wall. Over the top of this they could see the uppermost branches of apple trees. And she saw no one whom this road might serve. It seemed to go nowhere. And never used.

Her thoughts fled back to Briarcreek. Those sheep. Those infernal sheep. Why, they wouldn’t even let her out of the house! A thousand times she’d asked Ed to fence in the house at least and a thousand times he’d protested it was just too expensive. Thank God she had a telephone, a link with the outside world if the sheep prevented her from being a physical part of it. The phone too would probably have been denied her by Ed, also too expensive or extravagant, but it had come with the house. Not many people had them and most were party lines as this was.

The wood pile was close by the kitchen door. Usually one of the hands had wood and kindling split and ready for her and it was generally safe for her to go out and gather it when she needed it. The sound of an axe, however, drew the rams, two in particular, who’d come practically galloping into the back yard, if sheep can be said to gallop, where they’d forthwith reconvene their endless battle for supremacy, banging their heads together like the senseless creatures they were. Moreover, were she or anyone else to disturb them while they were so engaged and they would turn their wrath upon that person. If the men had been late cutting her wood she’d just have to wait until the two rams had knocked themselves so senseless that they staggered away of their own accord.

She remembered one horrible episode especially. James, she thought it was James; they came and went so rapidly, one hardly got to know them and they were gone. Anyway, James, one of the longer lasting ones, was in the kitchen yard cutting wood and here came those two rams. And, of course, James, being there, they turned their attention to him. And James, holding the axe, began to back away from them. But where could he back to except toward her kitchen door. He was not allowed in the kitchen itself. No help were. Ed was adamant about that. Except Lou, who took care of Carter and Gill, although Lou was only fifteen or sixteen herself at the time.

Thus, poor James, backed up against the kitchen steps and the boldest of the rams lowering its head to butt him, was obliged to defend himself, while Mary cowered horrified on the other side of the door. And with what could the poor man defend himself but his axe? So he threw it. And she watched it travel end-for-end through the air, wondering desperately which end, if either, would strike its target, and then, lo and behold, it was the edge that caught the ram, slicing away a terrible amount of his cheek and nearly taking with it one ear. Also it rendered him all but senseless, staggering around like a drunken sailor, wearing this ghastly bloody grin for all his teeth on one side were showing, and scaring the other to Timbuktu, which was a good thing, actually. Ed was summoned and he and James and a couple of men got the ram into a wagon and off to the vet’s, where he remained a month before he was pronounced recovered. But he was rather tame after his ordeal and Mary could venture out into the kitchen yard without fear.

Was James still there when the tamed ram returned? She couldn’t remember. They came and went. They came and went. Nobody but Ed really knew anything about sheep. And he alone couldn’t get them shorn to sell the wool in anything like profitable quantities. He could slaughter them for meat but who would buy it? Mutton had a reputation for being both strong smelling and unsavory. And the lambs, although they came, to be sure, and Ed at least could sell their meat, it wasn’t enough to sustain them. Thus one reason he’d had such trouble keeping reliable hands was his inability to pay them regularly. It wasn’t Ed. Not any lack of forcefulness or leadership on his part. Nor patience either, although he could be rigid enough at times. His afternoon naps, for instance, during which he was absolutely not to be disturbed. Which order was religiously obeyed. He showed no lack of forcefulness in his character either. His men all seemed to respect him. Yet look at him now. It was the sheep. Those horrid sheep that had done this. Not only destroyed the man but robbed her of a husband.

The buggy took a sharp turn to the left, scraping past the stone retaining wall, and there it was: Mounthaven. And so much worse than Mary had ever imagined. She’d been prepared for its overall run down condition, the lack of care the grounds so rampantly demonstrated. The corn and green beans and squashes struggling to grow amid the weeds. But the rickety stable on the point of collapse, the pigpen in similar condition, and both only yards from the main house itself. These things she was not prepared for. She could not restrain a gasp as she looked for the house where the old man must live.

Evidently it hid behind the main house and was invisible from their vantage point at the moment. They had entered the property near the top of a sloped and overgrown hill. Behind them an orchard. This hill fell away from them toward a creek that wound behind the house below. Apparently the creek flowed from its origins in the mountains rising to the north and west of them. The same creek they had crossed lower down to get here. The mountain to the north she knew to be Lewis Mountain, the other side of which lay Briarcreek, but the other she wasn’t sure. The university had begun construction of an observatory some years ago. She remembered her father telling her so just before he died. Perhaps this was where they’d put it. Observatory Mountain then.

Well, she said, putting the best face on it she could think of, the first thing we must have is a telephone. The rest will just have to take care of itself in time.

Chapter Two

After the major died in 1897 Maude and her mother could no longer live in the Pavilion on the Lawn. Nor could the widow force herself to accept her Yankee son-in-law’s hospitality at Briarcreek, where there was plenty of room for them. Instead the two ladies rented a house on Virginia Avenue, a block north of University Avenue and the Corner and began life anew as keepers of a student boarding house.

Maude, however, Maudie to her family and few friends—was constitutionally ill-suited to the conditions of their new life. There had always been servants to do what she was called upon to do now. Even in the hard times of Reconstruction the major had been able to provide his ladies with what help he felt they deserved. Not like the old days, to be sure, but a cook and a maid at the very least. In a word, Maudie had been spoiled. The most housework she’d ever done was to make her own bed. Then too she lacked the tough resilience of her mother. Nor had she either the bravery or the patience of her sister. Maudie was no caretaker by nature. She was meant to be cared for and cherished.

So, to help make ends meet, or so she put it to her mother, Maudie took a job as librarian at the Miller Manual Labor School, a county boarding school whose mission it was to give orphaned and indigent county lads some start in life. The school, however, was 15 miles west of Charlottesville, thus obliging Maudie to live there, since the major’s horse and buggy had been among the first things the ladies had had to part with when they moved into town. Well, 30 miles a day would soon have done in the poor old horse anyway, not to mention his tired and dusty passenger.

Anyway, the arrangement suited Maudie just fine. She wanted to be away from both her mother, as well as the menial housework. Her mother in particular, for with one daughter wed, but not at all to the old lady’s satisfaction, that good and determined matron was all the more determined to have a son-in-law who suited her. And Rupert Sayles, who’d shown an interest in Maudie, even before Mary had met Ed, seemed to fill the bill, by Heaven. That Rupert had not been seen or heard from in over two years did not dampen the old lady’s hopes for a union between them, this splendid young man and her remaining daughter.

He was a handsome young man from a good South Carolina family, which, if they were not rich, they were hardly impoverished either. Not from what Rupert had given Mother Carter to believe. Rupert dressed well, if occasionally a little threadbare, and his manners were impeccable. And he simply adored the major. Being too young to have served the South in the war, he seemed to consider it an honor whenever the major found time to speak to him.

But my dear boy, the major would try to console him, "you missed nothing, believe me, you missed nothing. Four long years of filth and lice and privation. It was hell. Not to mention blood and pain and death. And all, as it turned out, for nothing. What have we now? Where is the South my generation knew and loved?

Of course, the horses, if they survived, faired not too badly.

Rupert nodded respectfully. One could not be in the major’s presence in any other frame of mind. Unless afraid, of course, for was he not the proctor after all, at once the university’s police force, judge and jury? Only honor offences were left to the students to deal with, such as lying, cheating, stealing, for examples. Riots, drunkenness, vandalism and the like were the provinces of the major. And, as the story went, he quelled one riot by calling out its ring leader and promptly bashing him senseless with his cane.

They were seated in the parlor of Pavilion VI. It was afternoon and tea had been served. The lowering sun shone more on the front of the house and the shadows cast by their chairs defined themselves darkly on the oriental carpet on the floor. Maudie had done the honors. Well, of course. Rupert was there. Besides, there was no one else. The servant situation these days was just simply intolerable. She didn’t mind really. No one had enough servants anymore. Rupert knew this as well as she.

But Rupert was also paying attention to the furnishings of the room, the drapes hung in the tall windows. All looked pre-war and in good repair. As if the Carter family had salvaged more than most from the wreckage of the conflict. Money? One had to wonder, by God. Rupert knew Charlottesville, except for sporadic raids to cut the rail lines, had suffered little compared to South Carolina. And his family there, living now in converted slave quarters that had survived the burning of their plantation. Perhaps this was because of Thomas Jefferson. The University. Even the Yankees considered Jefferson part of their sacred heritage.

Rupert was also aware that the time was fast approaching when he must declare himself. Either ask Maude’s hand or cut it off. Not her hand, obviously. Their relationship. She attracted him. She was slim and pretty enough. Little if any of her mother in her, thank heaven. My God, if that woman didn’t have a potato for a nose!

But there was such a reserve about Maudie, as if she were locked in a cage of her own making. Spark. Spontaneity. By God, that’s what the girl lacked. A silver vixen peering timidly, half frightened, through the bars of a tiny cage.

Rupert was his father’s only son. All hope of restoring the family, consisting of his failing father, his mother and his two sisters, to anything like their pre-war standard of living—without the darkies, of course, but with just enough food on the table and the horrendous Yankee imposed taxes paid, or they would lose the land. All their hope rested upon Rupert, who was studying to be an engineer. The South needed engineers. Roads, bridges, rail lines especially had to be rebuilt. Rail. Rail. That was the thing. No sooner did a new line go into service these days than the need for it outstripped its carrying capacity. Look at what was happening in Atlanta. And here in Charlottesville too, for that matter. Two major rail lines, the Southern and the C. & O., both with yards and shops and roundhouses and passenger stations, all in what, before the war, had been a sleepy little college town and county seat. There was a future here, by God, for a man with the stuff to seize it, and a wife strong enough and willing to put up with a few years of hardship while he was getting started. And a little money too, clearly, for a man couldn’t hope to make much while he was trying to establish himself. A name. Credibility as an engineer. In truth, however, the temptations of Atlanta were greater for him.

And then there was the matter of his degree. An engineering degree from the University might serve him well enough as a road builder or to design and construct creek crossings. But for a man with his eyes set on railroading, laying track where no track had gone before, spanning chasms and blasting tunnels through mountains, the Virginia Military Institute seemed more like the idea. But how would he like life as a cadet? And would Maude wait for him? Or, consenting to marry him, could she accept life in some rented little room in Lexington? Would they even have the money to do such a thing? He must talk with Maudie about these things and soon.

The opportunity had come sooner than expected. They were enjoying a pair of the still new Coca-cola drinks at the University Drug store on the Corner. The syrup dispenser had just recently been installed. Coco-cola, known in Atlanta since 1886, was a newcomer to Charlottesville,

Maudie, he began.

Yes, dear Rupert. What is it?

If I were to ask your father… ask him today for your hand in marriage… to me, that is, what would you say? Would you be willing?

Why, of course, dear Rupert. Whatever could make you think I wouldn’t? She reached out to take hold of his hands.

Well, there’d be certain conditions, naturally. You know. By God, I just don’t know how to explain this very well. Would there be a… would there be a dowry? I wouldn’t need much. I…

Dowry? Money, you mean? Oh, Rupert, there might be silver and china and perhaps some furniture, but I don’t know where any money would come from. Nobody has any money these days. Except the carpetbaggers.

Oh, God, don’t I know that? But I thought, I thought 30 years after the war… the thing is, Maudie, I’ve my mind made up to be an engineer. Not like your father. A railroad engineer. And it may mean V.M.I., I’m afraid. And the army after that. And then it would take a while to get started as a civilian. I might need some money. My family hasn’t a penny, unfortunately, and they face the damned Yankee taxes year after year. Pay them or lose the land. And the land is all they have now, Maudie. The house is gone. Everything. They have the land and they have me. I have to make some money, dear, or they’re ruined.

"Oh, Rupert, how terrible for you. How terrible for them! she gasped, gripping tightly his hands she still held. But they could sell the land, couldn’t they?"

You don’t understand. It’s been in the family for generations. Why, if we gave it up we’d be nobodies, no better than poor white trash, by God.

Now Maude seized his hands, an expression of vehement pride on her small delicate face. "And just what do you think we’ve got, Rupert? Our name. That’s what. And that’s all. But Carter is a name respected in Virginia."

Yes, dear Maudie. Yes, of course. But as you’ve made only too clear, you can’t buy a penny’s worth of groceries with it. You have to have money.

The fire that had been in her eyes a moment before winked out. Not even an ember remained. She looked stricken in fact as she raised her eyes to his and said, Rupert, are you trying to tell me you’d marry me if I were rich but you cannot if I’m poor?

Oh, Maudie, Maudie. Oh, God, I just knew I was going to make a mess of this. Maybe I can find some way on my own to make it. I want to leave for Lexington at the end of this semester. Another month and I’m gone. Get into railroad engineering down there just as soon as I have the money for tuition and books, by God.

He needn’t have said another word. Somehow Maude knew in her heart she would never see him again. He didn’t even come by their pavilion to say good-bye when the spring semester ended and she knew he was gone.

Then in the summer two years later the major died. Not before knowing his first grandson, however, Edmund Carter Stokes, born in 1896. The major’s death was a blow to them all. Even the students turned out in great numbers for his funeral. And Martha Champe Carter, already something of a tough old bird but even more so by that time, yet still resilient, adapted to her new circumstances far more readily than did her younger daughter.

The widow Carter took to running a student boarding house almost like a duck to water. She surprised even herself. Her students naturally were bound to test her. And particularly because of who she was. There were new bounds to be established, as it were, what they might now get away with that hitherto had been inconceivable. Or so they thought, plotting secretly among themselves. But the old lady handled these situations much as her husband might have. At the slightest infraction of her rules the kitchen simply closed down. There were no meals for anybody until whatever the infraction might have been ceased to occur. Thus her students themselves became a self-disciplined lot, leaving the widow free not only to acquire but to practice all the new skills she must master if she hoped to keep them a loyal and happy bunch. She did in fact become quite a competent cook and, since meat and potatoes became staples in the diet she offered, she not only got few complaints but it became a common occurrence to see a strange face or two at her table. Not one to be done out of any dollar she thought she’d earned, the widow made sure these faces paid for their meals. She would politely confront them and just as politely ask if they were a guest or did they intend to pay for their meal themselves? And if a guest, whose? And if that were the case, she’d just add the cost of the meal to that boarder’s weekly or monthly bill. She ran a quite successful business. She did, indeed.

The laundry she sent out. The house cleaning she did herself. She’d collect the clothes and sheets and all once a week. All students were instructed to identify everything by sewn in name tags. Either that or risk losing it with no recourse. The colored lady whose business it was to do the widow’s laundry, for there were many in Charlottesville who made a living this way, owned a patient old horse and a retired milk wagon and it was with this combination that she made her weekly pick-ups and deliveries. It worked out well for both ladies.

Maudie, meanwhile, feeling betrayed by her precious Rupert and vowing never to love again, unable to become a nun, or not realizing that the Episcopal Church even offered her that option, did her duties as librarian at the Miller School and, other than that, just sort of languished. She kept to herself. She did not socialize with other members of the staff, most of whom she considered beneath her anyway, and she dealt with the boys only as her job demanded. She read a lot, though. That or go mad. Most of the books in the school’s library were either technical or practical in one way or another. But there were novels, some works of poetry and a little history. In the five years she spent in the school Maudie read many of these books several times. Then in 1902 her mother’s health failed and Maudie’s life took a turn in a whole new direction.

Chapter Three

Unwillingly, bitterly Maudie returned to Charlottesville. To the house on Virginia Avenue where not only did she find her mother almost unable to carry out the work of running a student boarding house but it fell upon Maudie to perform many of these odious tasks herself.

These were hard years for Maudie and they embittered her. Never very social, she belonged to no clubs and had few friends. One of her most loyal being her cousin Amelia who was the widow of another Carter cousin. The two of them got together frequently, drank tea laced with cheap brandy or gin, or just simply gin, and talked of the good old days before the war neither of them had ever known. The days when their families had property and darkies and there was genteel society and everything was just so much nicer.

Maudie could not manage the boarding house without help and what help she could get was black. Not that this in itself presented a problem. It was that they had to be paid. She was fortunate in finding a cook who had worked for her mother, who out of loyalty to the latter, put up with Maudie and her stingy wages. For, additionally, Mistress Maude was given to berating her help over trifling oversights and errors that at best merited only mild and affectionate scolding. It was the boys who gave the help reasons to stay. Young and away from home for the first time in their lives, many of them missed their mothers, and there is no heart so warm and open and welcoming as that of a black woman who has not suffered so much hardship and heartbreak as to have become hardened and defensive. The boys living in Maudie’s boarding house spent as much of their time in the kitchen as they did in their own rooms.

Certainly the necessity of having these servants, as opposed to doing the work herself, proved costly to Maude. And the students came and went so she was unable to count on any given number upon which to base a budget. The result of such circumstances, she was more often in the red than in the black. What could she do? She would call Mary.

This had become much easier, thanks now to her sister’s new private line, a necessity being as remote and isolated as they were at Mounthaven. Before, when Maude had had to make calls on the party line to Briarcreek, one could never know when some rude neighbor might interrupt to know just when exactly did you intend to get off this line, please, she had an important call to make to her niece in Duluth. And naturally they would all know the content of any conversation taking place over the line. The private line was still a sore spot with Ed. The cost of it. But he had promised and he’d been stuck with it.

Mary, dear, how are you? I just thought we might talk for a minute and then I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.

I wasn’t doing anything, really. Ed is out taking down that horrid old stable, or whatever, and those disintegrating pig pens. He wants to keep the cows for the children but I’m not going to have a barn in my front yard.

Well, of course. I should say not.

"Yes, and the pigs. They’ve got to be somewhere else too. Do you have any idea how pigs smell?

Well, I got a whiff now and then at the Miller School, of course. They had an agricultural course after all. But, naturally, the animals were all kept a good distance from the library.

How fortunate for you. Well, anyway, how’s the boarding house doing?

Well, to be truthful, that’s what I called about, Mary. I may need a little money. Do suppose Ed could let me have another loan?

The word loan in this case meant gift, of course. Maude invariably expressed intentions of repaying any money Ed saw fit to give her but both sisters knew she’d never be able, not and continue to run her boarding house the way she did, which both sisters also realized she would continue to do, Maudie being Maude after all.

Maudie hated being beholden to Ed. Not only a despised damnyankee but Maudie felt he’d betrayed her sister as well. As only a Yankee would do. The loss of Briarcreek, which at least was a residence acceptable to the society to which Mary properly belonged. That was unforgivable. If Maude had slipped into social ignominy herself, no longer able to keep up, as it were, it was a sacrifice she felt she’d taken on willingly that Mary might still maintain some position in society. But living at that wretched, run-down place Ed had bought for them, how could anyone, no matter how well bred, hope to remain a lady? Would Maudie herself consider giving up the boarding house and moving in with them there? No! Never! She’d bare the shame forever of living off Ed’s charity before she’d even think of living under his very roof! Which probably leaked anyway.

Oh, poor Maudie, I know how hard it is for you. How much do you think you need this time?

Well, it’s not as if he didn’t have it. Y’all must have plenty of money. I’ll pay him back, Mary. Someday. I swear I will.

Oh, Maudie, do you still think Ed has money? Not anymore. Are you like all the rest? You think that’s all I married him for?

Well, why then if not for the money?

Oh, God! I hope Papa had a better opinion of me than that.

The Major was a southerner, Mary. Let’s not forget, God rest his soul.

Yes, thought Mary to herself. And you have what’s left of his pension. Not his will but mine and Mother’s. Doesn’t that absolve the Yankees of anything, that they still see fit to honor Confederate pensions?

But Mary would bring the money on her next trip into town, she having the means of getting it there which Maude did not. They would visit briefly. Mary would explain that Ed would give more if he could but fixing up Mounthaven was costing them a good deal and, besides, there were the two boys. Indoor plumbing and electricity were still far down the road. For now it was just clean-up and basic repairs.

Well, you’ve been out here. You know what a mess the place is. And then there’s that horrid old Mr. Emerson. I wish he’d just die!

Oh, Mary, that’s a wicked thing to say. But, believe me, I know what you mean. I’d come out there more to help you if I could, but I have no way. The Major’s buggy was all we had. And then who would run the house while I was gone?

Maudie, my dear, you keep enough help around to run this house and two more like it. It’s not my place, I suppose, to suggest that you’re extravagant…

Well then, don’t. I do the best I can. I’m only one poor woman tending to the needs of a hoard of spoiled boys, most of them Yankees. Ed should be relieved that his money goes to the aid of his own kind.

And with this they’d commence to fence with one another but in an entirely ladylike way, being unwaveringly sisterly toward one another. Mary being the older and the married one took the offensive, forcing Maudie to defend herself. But Mary found she had not the heart to press her advantages and Maudie lacked the stomach to defend herself as viciously as she might have. So they would break off and Mary, changing the topic, might ask, And that nice man, Rupert? Have you never heard from him?

Mary, that was ages ago.

I know, but you loved him, didn’t you? Have you never thought to write him?

I couldn’t. Besides, I don’t even know where he is.

Which doesn’t mean you couldn’t find out. Write the V.M.I. alumni office. It would be a start.

I don’t want to start. Rupert left me. For that I cannot forgive him. If I loved him, I’ve learnt my lesson. I shall never do so again.

Is that the way it is in all the books you read? Are all the heroines as unforgiving as you? Don’t the women in your novels fairly bloody themselves, tearing down whatever barriers stand between them and the men they love?

But, Mary, he wanted me to leave Virginia, don’t you know. Couldn’t he find enough to do here? Go live in some crowded, dirty Yankee city, alone, while he laid his precious rails and bridged his rivers and gorges and bored his tunnels through shining mountains. Anyway, who are you to talk? Married to a Yankee.

Oh, Maudie, give this up. Go after him. Do you want to be a lonely old maid, for God’s sake?

"No, no, I shan’t. Never. Rupert had his chance and by now