It was the saddest homecoming of all.
Robert E. Lee reached Arlington on November 11, 1857, a month after his father-in-law had died. The funereal pall cast by George Custis’s death still remained over Arlington. Even the slaves mourned.
Mary, dressed in black from head to toe, was melancholy in her greeting to her husband. “It was so abrupt,” she said as they talked in the family parlor. “I still feel much of the first shock. Countless times a day I think that he’s still here.”
Lee took her hand—her left hand. Her entire right side had become so crippled by arthritis that she was almost paralyzed, and she was in constant pain. The realization had been an additional blow to Robert, for she had, as always, downplayed the severity of her condition in her letters to him. He hadn’t seen Mary or his children for twenty-one months. Sadly he realized that his wife was now an invalid.
“It’s not surprising that you still feel him here. He was such a part of this home, our home,” he said. “I think that we’ll always be reminded of him here, and I know that in time the Lord will give us His perfect comfort so that the memories will be joyful. But it will take time, dearest.”
She nodded and grasped his hand tightly. “You’re right, of course. Oh Robert, in spite of the circumstances, I’m so very glad you’re home! I’ve missed you terribly. This is the longest time we’ve been separated since we were married, you know.”
“I know all too well. I’ve been very lonely without my Mims. But now I’ll be here for a long while. I’ve been granted six months’ leave, and I promise you that I’ll work very hard to make sure Arlington remains our beloved home.”
A quick spasm of pain crossed her face as she moved to stroke his hand with her swollen, misshapen right hand. But she managed a small smile. “Robert, wherever you are is my most beloved home.”
Six months’ leave was not nearly long enough. George Custis had left an extremely complicated will, and Robert E. Lee was the executor. Custis had several other properties besides Arlington, and he was what was called “land poor,” a common condition when people had large tracts of land and sometimes several homes but had very little ready cash.
Mr. Custis’s will also stipulated that all his slaves be freed within five years of his death. Lee approved of this in principle, but he found it impossible to implement immediately. As it turned out, Lee had to take over two years’ leave to straighten out the Custis legacy, and it took all his time, energy, and the meager savings he had managed to accumulate. Those two years, from winter to winter, 1857 through 1859, were perhaps the bleakest of his life.
Although he was on extended leave, Colonel Lee was, by General Winfield Scott’s order, considered on “active duty” because he still held the position of a military tribune and attended several courts-martial in the two years at Arlington.
Late in May of 1859, he returned from a trial at West Point, and to his surprise and pleasure he saw that Mary was sitting out on the veranda, and she had shed her mourning clothes to wear a light blue muslin dress with satin trim. He rode up and dismounted and hurried to lift her hand to his lips and bow to kiss it. “Mrs. Lee, you look as pretty as nature herself today!”
“Get on with you, silly man,” she scoffed, but her expression was pleased. “Such foolishness.”
“I have many faults and failings, but I don’t believe I’m a fool,” he said lightly. “I’m going to wash and change. Do you think that you’ll be able to wait here for me?” He could still be quite boyish, at least with Mary.
“I’m staying here until night falls,” she said firmly. “Perhaps it’s the benevolent weather, but I feel much better today, and I want to enjoy the outdoors as long as possible.”
He hurried off and soon returned. Arlington had several cane lounge chairs and glass-topped tables for the veranda, and he and Mary sat companionably close together by a table that held lemonade and tiny sandwiches. Robert ate two of the triangles then reached for a third. “Is this one that fish kind?” he asked, lifting it to his nose.
“Can’t you tell? They do have such a distinctive odor,” Mary teased.
“Yes, I know, but after you’ve had one you can’t smell them anymore. I forget, what is this fish kind?”
“Anchovy paste. This half of the platter is anchovy paste, and the other is cucumber for me. Don’t worry, I’m not going to take your sandwiches, Robert, and I’ll thank you to stay out of mine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently.
They both ate for a while, and then Mary asked, “How was the trial?”
Robert grew sober. “It was disheartening, Mary. I suppose they all are. But when the defendants are officers, and supposedly gentlemen, I find it so distresses me. It is very difficult for me to understand how these young men can behave so irresponsibly.”
“Yes, Robert, I know that you find it difficult to understand,” Mary said quietly. “That is because you have never done an irresponsible thing in your life, and I doubt that you ever will. In fact, I doubt that you could even think of something feckless to do. It’s not in your nature.”
“I could be feckless,” he said mockingly. “I can be, right now. Watch this.” He took one of the little triangular sandwiches and threw it out onto the drive. “See? See how irresponsible and capricious that was?”
Mary laughed, and Robert reveled in it. Though she was not ill-tempered, she rarely laughed out loud, mainly because she was so clever it took something very witty or absurd to amuse her.
“It was, Robert, and I am shocked to the core of my being!” she said, her dark eyes sparkling. “I’m so proud of you!”
“Are you? Gracious, I must be monstrously boring if it takes something like that to make you laugh.”
“Don’t worry, I laugh at you all the time, dear. You just don’t know it,” she said slyly. “No, you are not at all boring.”
“I’m gratified to hear it.”
“Good. Now that I’ve complimented you for the day, I’m going to proceed with telling you what to do.”
“Now I know that we have indeed returned to normal.” He sighed. “What can I do for you, my dear?”
She looked out over the gracious Park. “Do you remember when Father used to have the spring sheepshearing here?”
“Of course. It was such fun. And he would always use President Washington’s tent and display all of the artifacts.”
“Yes, and we did it for so many years. I know that Father truly enjoyed the party, but I don’t think he could actually bring himself to have such a large party after we got married, and I wasn’t here to help.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Robert agreed. “He did love social events, parties and dinners and outings, but I know that you and your mother were always the ones to plan and organize them. So, Mims, you want to have a sheepshearing?”
“No, I don’t think people have sheep as they used to. But I would like to have a party in the Park, with dancing at the pavilion. And like the old sheepshearing days, I’d like to make it semipublic, instead of simply by invitation. You know, word used to get around quite easily. I think if we choose the date carefully, we can get the boys here.”
All four of the Lees’ daughters were at Arlington, although thirteen-year-old Milly was attending daily academy in nearby Alexandria. Custis was in the army. Rooney had married, and he and his wife were living at White House Plantation, a property left to him by George Custis. Rob, now sixteen, was at boarding school.
“I long for us all to be together again,” Robert said. “Christmas was so wonderful this year.”
Mary looked down, and her crippled hands clasped in her lap. “And I think we both would enjoy a big party and seeing all of our friends and family, Robert. To forget for a while our troubles.”
He nodded. “You’re right, Mims,” he said quietly.
His eyes searched the city beyond, across the Potomac River, and he thought of the chasm of differences between the politicians there, the underlying hostility between abolitionists and the men representing the Cotton South. Lee abhorred politics and paid as little attention to the political matters of the day as he could possibly manage and still stay knowledgeable. But he could see that the slavery issue was slowly going beyond politics, and the chasm was growing dangerously wide and deep. It was beginning to dawn on him that that rift may in fact cause a tearing asunder.
He dreaded to think of it, and he shunned too much reverie on the subject. And so he agreed with his wife, though the troubles he wished to escape from were not just those of managing Arlington and in fulfilling all of George Custis’s last wishes. He wished to escape the creeping fear that it may be his world that was in danger of being torn asunder.
“Marse Robert,” Perry said apologetically, “I found Miss Mildred over there in the apple orchard. And she’s climbing a tree.”
Robert merely sighed, but seated next to him Mary rasped, “Good heavens, Robert! How is it that all of our children are fullgrown, but they’re still like a flock of wild geese!”
It was an exaggeration, for Custis was performing his duties as a host admirably by dancing with every lady attending the party. Rooney, his wife Charlotte, and Mary Custis were sitting on a pallet right next to the Lees’ lounge chairs. “The Girls,” Annie and Agnes, were also dancing, although eighteen-year-old Agnes had disappeared from her father’s hawklike gaze, and Robert had asked Perry to find her along with Milly and Rob.
“Did you find Rob?” he asked Perry, his manservant.
“Yes, suh. He’s right with Miss Mildred, a-egging her on.”
“All right, I’ll come,” he said resignedly.
But Rooney got to his feet, grinning. “Never mind. I’ll go get them, Father. And Mother, I’m a little surprised at your indignation. What was that story again about the fall from the apple tree…?”
“Never you mind that, Rooney,” she sniffed. “I was only a child. Milly is thirteen and should comport herself in a ladylike manner.”
“I believe you were twelve years old at the time,” Robert said innocently.
“Twelve is not thirteen. Rooney, stop standing there gawping and grinning. Hurry up before she falls and breaks her head.”
Rooney went across the plantation road in the direction of the apple orchard.
Mary returned to her knitting, and her pleased composure returned. “Oh Robert, this is wonderful. I’m so glad we decided to have this party. We simply must start entertaining again.”
“It does seem to be a success. It’s good to be back in touch with the family.” Between Robert’s family and Mary’s family, they were related to practically all the First Families of Virginia. Although they had literally hundreds of cousins, neither Robert nor Mary viewed any relation as “distant” or “close.” If people were related to them in any way, they were family.
Rooney soon returned with his younger brother and sister in tow. Milly and Rob came to stand in front of Robert and Mary, their heads bowed, their hands crossed in front of them. Robert reflected with amusement that they looked guiltier than many criminal defendants he had seen.
Mary said in an even tone, “Milly, what were you thinking? Climbing a tree?”
Without looking up, she said in a small voice, “But Rob said I couldn’t, and I knew I could, but I had to prove it to Rob.”
Rob faced his father, his cheeks crimson. “It’s true, sir. I teased her into it, and it’s all my fault.”
“But it’s not,” Milly argued. “I decided to do it. It’s my fault.”
“You’re both right. Both of you are responsible, and I’m glad to see you own up to it. Now go on with you. It’s too pretty a day for me to be fretting over my children acting like circus monkeys.” Mary settled back in her chair again, her mouth twitching.
“How do you know what circus monkeys do?” Robert asked. “You’ve never been to a circus.”
“I’ve read about them,” Mary said indignantly. “And I wish I had seen a circus. If there is ever one near here, Robert, I would very much wish to go.”
“You never fail to surprise me, Mims,” he said with amusement. “You, at a circus! But if one does come here, it would be my honor to take you, my dear.”
Perry appeared again and slid in front of Robert. “Marse Robert, suh, Miss Agnes, she’s in one of them little sailboats, chasing around in circles and giggling, it appears to me.”
“Is she by herself?” Robert said alertly.
“No, suh, there’s a young gentleman with her. I b’lieve it’s that Taliaferro boy.”
Robert relaxed. “That’s fine then. Thank you, Perry.”
Mary Lee hummed. “Circus monkeys.”
Mary had chosen a glowing day for the party. The dance pavilion that George Custis had built many years before had received a new coat of white paint, and it gleamed brightly in the benevolent sunshine. They were at the foot of the hill that Arlington House was built upon, on the banks of the Potomac River. Just across the road was the apple orchard and the stretch of actual farm fields belonging to Arlington.
During George Custis’s time they had lain fallow, for he was not a man to be a dedicated farmer. He was interested in agriculture, and often had grand plans for crop rotations or watering systems or new methods of fertilization, but implementing these imaginative ideas was too mundane for a man with such a mercurial mind.
In the previous year, however, Robert E. Lee had managed to bring in a corn crop that actually made the estate some money. Now the corn plants were only knee high, but they were verdant and shone as if they had been polished.
Just by the dance pavilion was Arlington Spring. It was not at all connected to the river, for the water bubbled up clean and icy cold. Cheerily it splashed into a small pool that had an underground outlet, for the pool stayed always about six feet in diameter.
George Custis had collected large rocks and had made a border around the fountain-like spring and pool, arranging them artistically rather than functionally. It was the kind of project he loved and would stick to until the end.
For the party, Robert had had low benches built to set around the pool, and now at least twenty young people sat there, catching mugs of water to drink and sometimes splashing each other. “I think there must be about fifty people here,” he told Mary.
“I’m sure more will come along,” she said with satisfaction. “All I did was tell the Fitzhughs, the Bollings, and two of the Carter families to spread the word, and I see many more of our cousins here.”
Most everyone had arrived by boat, for sailing and punting on the river was a favorite entertainment of the young people that lived on both sides of the river. Arlington was a well-known stopping point, to get a drink of the refreshing spring water and rest or picnic in the shade of the pavilion. George Custis had always intended the landing to be semipublic, for he had enjoyed visiting with anyone who happened to stop at the landing.
It was not just young people who had come, however. So far there were four carriages lined up behind the tea tent next to the barn. Close by Mary was her aunt Fitzhugh, who lived in the fine country home of Ravensworth; her cousin Melanie Byrd; and another cousin Katrina Page. Other older couples were dancing or were sitting on one of the many canvas pallets that Arlington provided. Though the sun was bright, it was not hot even at high noon.
Mary glanced up the road and then shaded her eyes. “There’s a crowd coming up the river road now, Robert. I wonder who that could be.”
“Six people, one of them a black boy,” he murmured after searching the distance. As they drew nearer, Robert said, “Oh, it’s Edward Fitzhugh and his two daughters. I haven’t seen him for at least two years. I must go and meet them.”
He got to his feet, but before he walked away he gave Mary a sly glance, and she almost, but not quite, made a face at him. This was the Edward Fitzhugh who had been courting Mary for two years before Robert E. Lee had become her fiancé. He had seemed gravely disappointed when he found out that Mary was engaged to Robert, although Mary had never given Edward the least reason to suppose that she would consider marrying him. Even now, twenty-eight years later, Robert still gently teased her about Edward Fitzhugh.
He went to meet his guests and saw that Edward’s two daughters were riding, both dressed in attractive riding habits. A man on a giant black horse accompanied them, along with a black boy riding a fine mare.
The company turned up the plantation drive road. Edward and the other two men dismounted, and Edward greeted Robert with obvious gladness. Shaking hands heartily, he said, “Robert, it’s so good to see you. I didn’t even know until last week, when Aunt Fitzhugh told me about this party, that you were still here at Arlington. For some reason I’d got muddled and thought you were back in Texas. Certainly we would have called before now. You remember my daughters, Frances and Deborah? And may I introduce to you our friend, Mr. Morgan Tremayne? Mr. Tremayne, this is Colonel Robert E. Lee.”
Robert shook hands with him and “took his measure” in the few seconds their eyes met, a gift of discernment he had that he was completely unaware of until he had been told he possessed it.
Tremayne was about twenty-five, with a slim build but with wide shoulders. He was distinctly patrician in looks and bearing. His auburn hair was thick and carefully styled, his dark blue eyes were well spaced under neatly arched brows, his nose was thin and high-bridged, and his mouth was as full and well shaped as a woman’s. However, he was as tanned as a farmhand, and the hand that clasped Lee’s so firmly was rough and calloused. His eyes were keen and quick, surveying Robert and the surroundings alertly.
“Welcome to Arlington, Mr. Tremayne. Edward, please, come sit with us. Mary is anxious to see you, and Aunt Fitzhugh is here. Miss Frances, Miss Deborah, are you ladies going to ride the bridle paths or come to the party and dance?”
The girls looked gratified at Colonel Lee’s courtliness. Their father, Edward Fitzhugh, was very plain, and he still had his cast eye, but he was a kind and gentle man, and he had won the heart of a beautiful woman. His two daughters took after her, with lush chestnut hair, heart-shaped faces, velvety dark eyes and complexions like magnolia blossoms. Frannie was nineteen, and Deb was seventeen, and they were very close.
Frannie said, “Oh, Colonel Lee, I simply must show off my new mare, so I don’t want to disappear into your lovely forest. May I ride her over on the other side of the spring?”
“I want to show mine off, too,” Deb said. “May we ride them over there, sir?”
“Of course, if you feel confident of controlling them,” Robert answered. “They are both very handsome, I must say.” Admiringly he stroked Frannie’s mare. Her coloring was distinctive, a uniform silvery gray, which was rather unusual. Deb’s horse was a dark chestnut, almost a mahogany-red color, with dramatic black points. Both mares had small neat heads and petite alert conformation.
Edward murmured, “Oh, I don’t know, Frannie. You’ve only had them for two days.”
“Father, we’ve been riding since we were four years old,” Frannie said lightly. “And besides, Mr. Tremayne’s horses are so well trained and behave so admirably, I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”
“All right then.” He relented.
Morgan turned and said to the black boy in a low voice, “Go with them, Rosh, and bring them up to the barn when the ladies are through with them.”
“Yes, sir,” he said and handed the reins of both his horse and Tremayne’s stallion to Morgan. Then discreetly he followed the ladies around behind the gatherings of partygoers and the tea tent.
“Those are your horses, Mr. Tremayne?” Robert asked, puzzled.
“They were until two days ago, sir,” Morgan answered good-naturedly.
“I bought them for the girls,” Edward said. “Both of them love to ride, and I admit I’m proud of them. They are excellent equestriennes.”
“They are,” Morgan agreed. “It makes me very happy to know when my horses have good owners.”
“Come,” Robert said, “I’ll walk with you to the barn. In the back is a lean-to roof where we’re tying up the horses.” He loved horses. Everything about them interested him, and he wanted to talk to Morgan. “Edward, will you walk with us?”
“By your leave, Robert, I would like to go visit with Mrs. Lee and Aunt Fitzhugh. And, I admit, have a nice cup of tea. Mr. Tremayne, would you mind taking care of Rutherford?”
“Not at all, sir,” Morgan replied, taking the reins of Mr. Fitzhugh’s horse.
“Go on then, Edward. We’ll join you shortly,” Robert said, and he and Morgan turned toward the barn.
Morgan Tremayne was glad he was getting an opportunity to look over the horses of all of those present. In his business, it was important to know what horses people liked and thus bought.
Eyeing the stamping, snorting stallion behind them, Robert asked, “And so you are in the business of selling horses, Mr. Tremayne?”
“I have a horse farm, and yes, sir, for the last two years I have done well,” Morgan answered.
“That great brute behind us is one of your horses, I take it.”
“Yes, sir. This is Vulcan. He’s my prize sire. The mare is from my farm, too.” Vulcan tossed his head so far that Morgan almost lost all of the reins he held.
Hastily Robert said, “Here, Mr. Tremayne, perhaps I’d better take Edward’s horse.” After fumbling around until the reins were straight, he went on, “I assume Vulcan is acting up because of the mares.”
Morgan rolled his eyes. “Sir, for Vulcan this is not acting up. This is fairly calm for him.”
“Really? You must have spent many hours training him, if he’s this manageable around mares. He’s quite a striking horse. If you’re selling his bloodline, he must be very good advertisement for you,” Robert said shrewdly.
“Yes, sir, he is, when he behaves like a civilized horse,” Morgan said. “That chestnut mare that Miss Deborah is riding? Vulcan is her sire, by a fine brood mare named Bettina that I have. In my opinion, their offspring are the best of my breedings.”
They went on talking as they watered the three horses then tied them up in the shady lean-to. Morgan quickly checked the other four horses there and saw with satisfaction that they were geldings. Vulcan wouldn’t be too pleased with his company, but at least there were no other stallions. Morgan knew that Vulcan would almost certainly start a fight if there were.
Robert led Morgan back under the great spreading live oak tree where the lawn chairs had been placed for the older people. Robert said, “Mary, I want you to meet Mr. Tremayne. He is a friend of Edward’s. Mr. Tremayne, this is my wife, Mary.”
Morgan bowed over her hand and said all the usual pleasantries.
An empty chair was next to Mary, and she motioned Morgan to sit down. “Welcome to Arlington, Mr. Tremayne. I’m so pleased that you came today. Edward was telling me that you sold those two excellent mares to him for Frannie and Deb.”
“Yes, ma’am, it was my distinct pleasure to be able to provide the Misses Fitzhughs with what I believe to be superb saddle horses,” Morgan said enthusiastically. “And I was just telling Colonel Lee that it always gives me great pleasure to sell my horses to someone I know will be a good, caring owner.”
Mary nodded. “Yes, Edward was telling me that you flatly refused to sell any of your horses to one of the planters in your area. It seemed you found the care they would receive was not up to your standards.”
Awkwardly Morgan said, “Um—er—I apologize, Mrs. Lee, but you caught me quite off guard. I wasn’t aware that the details of that little incident were generally known.”
Her mouth curled upward in a small smile. “All of northern Virginia is like a small town, Mr. Tremayne. Generally everyone knows everyone else’s business. I understand that you are from Fredericksburg?”
“No, ma’am, I have a horse farm outside of Fredericksburg, about ten miles west on the Rapidan River. My family is originally from Staunton, in the Valley.”
“And how did you come to these parts, sir?” Mary asked politely.
“My mother inherited a townhouse in Richmond, and the family travels there quite often, because we have many old friends there. Actually, I inherited my farm from a great-uncle on my mother’s side. She was a Carter, and my property was in the Carter family for almost fifty years.”
Mary’s face lit up. “Oh, is she one of the Richmond Carters?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why, then you’re family, Mr. Tremayne! Please, you must tell me all about your mother’s family. And your father’s, too, for since you are surely my cousin I must hear all about this new connection.”
Her delight and interest was obviously genuine, and Morgan readily began to explain his mother’s genealogy. They had not been talking for very long when Morgan saw out of the corner of his eye that the Misses Fitzhughs had come up to them and made their curtsies to Mrs. Lee.
As it was unheard of for children to interrupt their elders, she kept talking while the girls stood patiently waiting. “…and later I shall determine if you and my husband are actually third cousins or third cousins once removed,” she finished thoughtfully then turned to the girls. “Good afternoon, Frannie, Deb. You both look lovely. Are the riding habits new?”
“Oh yes, ma’am,” Frannie gushed. “Father bought us horses, saddles, tack, spurs, and riding habits. Which do you prefer, Mrs. Lee, my blue one or Deb’s green one?”
But Mary ostensibly knew these two girls too well to fall into that trap. “In my opinion, that deep shade of blue particularly complements your complexion, Fran, and that dark green flatters yours, Deborah.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” they said in unison, though they obviously were dissatisfied with Mrs. Lee’s diplomacy.
“Anyway, Mrs. Lee, we wondered if we might steal Mr. Tremayne,” Deborah said mischievously. “Everyone wants to know all about Serafina and Delilah, and also we were hoping that he would get Vulcan to do his tricks.”
“Just who, pray tell, are Serafina and Delilah?” Mrs. Lee demanded, her brow lowering.
“That’s what I named the mares, ma’am,” Morgan said hastily. To the girls he asked, “You aren’t going to name them? They’re very intelligent, you know. They would catch on quickly.”
“No, no,” Fran replied. “We like their names. So, Mr. Tremayne? Will you come meet everyone and tell them about Serafina and Delilah? And then will you and Vulcan please perform?”
“I’ll be glad to talk horses with anyone anytime, ladies. But I doubt very much that Mrs. Lee wants a circus starting up at her nice party.”
“I gather that Vulcan is that great black horse you ride, Mr. Tremayne? And he does tricks?” she asked curiously.
Morgan grimaced. “Well, I would say that he shows off when he wants to. If he doesn’t want to, then he just balks and sulks.”
Mrs. Lee laughed.
Morgan thought that she had a very youthful laugh for her age. He couldn’t quite tell how old she was, because he could see that she was sickly. He only thought that she looked older than Colonel Lee.
Mrs. Lee said, “As a matter of fact, Mr. Tremayne, I was telling Colonel Lee just awhile ago how much I wished to see a circus. So please, if Vulcan agrees, I would love to see you perform. I assume that the drive will do?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Morgan said resignedly. “We don’t require three rings.”
“Hurrah!” Deborah cried. “Please go ahead, Mr. Tremayne, and get Vulcan. We’ll introduce you to everyone after.”
Morgan went to the barn and untied Vulcan, who showed his annoyance at being crowded into a lean-to with other lesser horses by irritably chewing on his bit. Morgan checked the saddle, the cinch strap, and the bridle, to make sure they were secure. Then he led Vulcan out onto the plantation drive.
To his bemusement, most everyone at the party lined the wide gravel road. He saw Colonel Lee standing behind Mrs. Lee, and realized with a start that she was in a wheelchair and had evidently wanted to come have a ringside seat.
He stopped in the middle of the drive and stepped in front of the prancing horse. He put his hands on both sides of Vulcan’s head, just under his ears, and stepped very close to him. “Listen, Vulcan. I know you’ve never performed for a crowd before, but there’s no reason to be nervous. Just do what I’ve taught you, okay? Okay?”
To Morgan’s relief, he bobbed his head enthusiastically, as if he were saying, “Yes.” It meant that Vulcan was in a good mood. He hoped.
He swung up into the saddle easily and sat motionless, the reins slack, for a few seconds. Vulcan shifted, bobbed his head again, then stood perfectly still.
Morgan steadily pulled the reins back tight. Under him the horse rose until he was in a picture-perfect rearing stance. Morgan heard “Ooohs” from the crowd. Vulcan pawed the air once, twice, then came back down in a collected stand. Then he began his gaited trot.
It had taken Morgan many, many hours to teach Vulcan this tightly choreographed gait, and this time Vulcan did it perfectly. He lifted his right hoof, brought it up until it almost clapped against his chest, then kicked it out smartly. It was a proud gait, and Vulcan arched his neck while holding his head perfectly straight. Morgan reflected that he had never done so well. Perhaps he ought to have an adoring crowd all the time.
Morgan reached the crossroad then pulled on the right rein. Vulcan made a sharp about-face and landed, still in his gaited trot, heading back up the drive smoothly. When he reached their starting point, Morgan pulled on the left rein then pulled on both simultaneously. Vulcan turned, reared again, then came back to a show horse stance.
The crowd applauded and shouted. Mrs. Lee was smiling with delight.
Morgan dismounted, said another word to Vulcan, then led him to stand in front of Mrs. Lee. “He does one more trick sometimes, Mrs. Lee,” Morgan said. “I hope he shows you the proper respect now.” Morgan bowed, and after a second, Vulcan tossed his head, bent his left leg back, and bowed.
Mary Lee said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Tremayne. I will never forget this day.”
Morgan did meet everyone, all fifty-seven of them.
Soon after Fran and Deborah Fitzhugh started introducing him, they got sidetracked and disappeared when he was dancing with Miss Mary Custis Lee. He thought the Lees’ eldest daughter was charming and vivacious, and he soon found out that all their children were warm and gracious, much like Mrs. Lee.
Colonel Lee was certainly a courteous, gallant gentleman, but in many ways he stood apart. Part of it was that Robert E. Lee had an innate reserve, and part of it was that he inspired such a great deal of respect that it bordered on awe. At least that was the way Morgan saw him, but he could see that Lee laughed much more when he was talking to his family, so he could tell that he was much more approachable to his wife and children.
Morgan had danced with Mary Custis, Agnes, and Anne and had just finished a vigorous Virginia reel with Milly when he begged a chance to have a cup of tea.
As he was heading to the tea tent, Colonel Lee fell into step beside him. “I find tea to be so much more refreshing than coffee in warm weather,” he remarked pleasantly.
“I agree, sir.” A jolly-faced black woman served them tea in fine china cups.
Lee took an appreciative sip then said, “Mr. Tremayne, will you sit with me for a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”
“Of course, sir.”
They went to two lounge chairs that were set apart from the ladies and settled into them. “That was quite a performance you and your horse put on, Mr. Tremayne,” Lee said, his eyes lit with amusement.
“Thank you, sir, but it is Vulcan that does the performing,” Morgan said. “He just allows me to sit on his back while he shows off.”
Lee nodded. “He is spirited, I can see. A fine stallion. And really, Mr. Tremayne, that is what I wanted to talk to you about, your horse farm and your horses. You see, I am considering buying a horse, maybe two.”
Morgan blanched. “Oh, sir—Colonel Lee—please don’t think that I put on that show just as a…a…vulgar sales pitch! I assure you—”
Lee held up one hand, shaking his head. “No, Mr. Tremayne, that is not what I think at all. If it were, I certainly shouldn’t be interested in buying anything from you. No, I have been talking to Mr. Fitzhugh, and he gives you the highest recommendations. Truthfully I have been thinking of buying a good saddle horse for the girls, and now that Rob is sixteen, I think he’s ready for his own horse. So I would like for you to consider if you have any three or four-year-olds that would suit.”
With vast relief, Morgan said, “Sir, I have eight three-year-olds that would suit.”
“Good,” Lee said, settling back in the comfortable chair. “And I will tell you, Mr. Tremayne, that Mrs. Lee would never allow me to buy a horse from a stranger. But she has assured me that you are either our third cousin or third cousin once removed, so she has given me permission to purchase two horses from you. In fact, I think that if she were still riding, she would try to buy Vulcan from you.”
Morgan grinned boyishly. “Colonel Lee, I will never sell Vulcan. But I would give him to Mrs. Lee.”
A small smile lit up Lee’s face. “Don’t tell her that, please, Mr. Tremayne. It’s better for all of us if she doesn’t know.”