Chapter Twenty-Three

Tuckahoe, Virginia, 1806

Ten years later

Nancy woke to the heavy scent of pine and a pain in her left hip. She lifted her head and wiped a smear of sap from her cheek. The makeshift bed of branches she and Phebe had assembled in the dark last night felt like a blessing when she first lay down. Now she rubbed at aching limbs.

Light slid in, spreading a watery reflection of the bare window frame across the floorboards, not yet reaching the shadow by the door where Phebe lay wrapped in blankets.

This had been the room of her childhood. In the bustle of arrival at Tuckahoe, clutching the keys so reluctantly handed over by John Brockenhurst, and with the light of a single candle, she hadn't seen the sadness of the empty plantation house and this room, bare of furnishings. She had found familiarity in the archway leading to the Great Hall, trailed her fingers over the scrollwork, the daisies and acanthus leaves carved in the newel post and climbed the twelve steps to the landing, turning right and up to reach the familiar bedchamber. In the light of day, that warm feeling disappeared. The bones of her childhood were here, but the change was stark. Nancy closed her eyes and filled the room with their belongings. She saw the heavy wooden bed with its pink and gray quilt, frayed at the corner where she'd picked and rubbed a comforting hole that helped her sleep at night. She saw the dressing table and chair and the soft green cushion Judy insisted must stay there, despite Nancy knocking it to the floor whenever she combed out her hair. She opened her eyes as Phebe stirred. The bookcase, the press for their dresses — all were long gone. Had Gabriella kept anything? Nancy doubted it. She had married John Brockenhurst and moved with her young son to Richmond. Tuckahoe would be his one day — should he want it.

"Did you sleep well, miss?" Phebe sat up and stretched.

"Surprisingly well."

"You will need something to eat, Miss Nancy. I should go and see who is still here."

"Thank you." Nancy rubbed her eyes. The house might be deserted, but the Tuckahoe Plantation was not abandoned. An overseer was in place, the land still worked and the slaves still here, including Phebe's family. "Go," she said, ashamed not to have thought of it earlier. "See your people. I'm not so hungry. Take your time. I must take better stock of things, now I can see my way."

She spent the morning wandering, reacquainting herself with places and sights that seemed to belong to someone else. She had left Tuckahoe an angry girl of seventeen. Now she was a woman in her thirties, unmarried and dependent on the goodwill of her siblings for her every need. She'd inherited six thousand dollars at her father's death, but that was long gone, handed over to Judy as part of the never-ending penance paid in the ten years since Dick's death.

Back in the house, Nancy went to the window in their old bedroom. She conjured up Dick as he was all those years ago, riding a tall chestnut up to the north door, leaping from the saddle, calling Judy's name. She leaned her head against the glass and welcomed the numbing cold on her brow.

Her brother, Tom, would arrive soon. What would his answer be? He had helped her so often these last years, taking her in at Monticello for months at a time when the situation at Bizarre grew too hard to bear. He must help her now. Surely? While she waited, she worked on a letter to Mr. Tucker. By the time Tom arrived, she was calm and ready to face him.

"My God, it's strange to see the house like this," he said, following her into the parlor. She could not disagree. The white paneled walls were marked with outlines of paintings and mirrors removed for storage. The mantel, another of her stepmother's additions, was bare of any familiar miniatures and fine china, the grate empty and swept clean. Only a small side table and two well-worn settles remained, presumably not to Gabriella's taste, placed on a threadbare carpet that had once been in her parents' bedroom.

"Indeed it is, brother. I'm sorry to drag you here."

"No matter, no matter." They embraced and sat opposite each other. Tom looked tired. As he set down his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, Nancy's optimism faltered.

"I won't beat about the bush, Nance. Monticello is not an option."

"But Tom—"

He held up a hand. "There's no use arguing about it. Patsy and I have gone back and forth."

"I have not upset her, I hope. I thought she had a fondness for me!"

"Never doubt it. She's most attached. But the truth, Nancy, is that none of us are doing well financially. Money is tight. Look at Molly and David."

"Yes, but Tom—" Nancy broke off, seeing the grim expression on his face. His point about Molly and David hit home. They had sold their plantation and were fixed for the future at Moldavia, their house in Richmond. Molly had written that she was considering taking boarders, and Nancy had been shocked to hear that things had come to such a pass. Jane and her husband were said to be struggling to hold onto their land at Dungeness, Harriet and Jenny were newly married, and her brother John? John was struggling to build a farm and in no position to help anyone, sister or not. She tried to marshal her arguments. "But wouldn't bringing me into your home allow me to be the least strain on your finances? I can help with the children. I can work, garden, sew, all manner of things. I don't eat much—"

"Don't labor it, Sister. Things are difficult and uncertain. We'll always welcome your visits but can go no further. A permanent arrangement is too much of a burden."

She winced, and Tom moved to sit by her, taking her hand. "I've already spoken with David. He's looking for suitable accommodation in Richmond. I'll pay your lodgings. Perhaps . . ." He hesitated. "Perhaps when you are settled, you might find some paid employment?"

Nancy forced herself to shut out a stab of anger toward Patsy. She could hear the word burden in Patsy's voice as clearly as if she was in the room. That one never forgot whose daughter she was. Her father's election to the presidency must have swollen Patsy's pride, but Nancy knew better than to say what she thought out loud. "Find employment? I'm sure I shall. That would be best. I see it now."

"Good girl!" Tom squeezed her hands and got to his feet. "Knew you'd understand. How was our sister when you left her? Things no better between you?"

"Would I be here if they were?"

"True, true. But you have been on the verge of leaving Bizarre upward of a dozen times in recent years and have always returned in the end."

She couldn't argue with him. Every word was true. There had been explosive moments. Harsh words exchanged. Long periods of silence. Lengthy absences — sometimes Nancy spending months at Monticello or with William and Lucy in Richmond. Sometimes Judy visiting Mr. Tucker's daughter, Fanny, or the ghastly Maria, along with regular trips to the Springs for her fragile constitution. Far worse than Judy, though, there had been Jack Randolph.

"The boys no longer need me, Tom. Tudor will go to Mr. King's School in Richmond and Saint is to travel to England, finally. You remember Leslie Alexander? He recommended a school for the deaf and dumb in London."

"I imagine it costs a pretty penny."

"His uncle bears the expense."

"Jack? He is good to his nephews. That is the best I can say though."

"Let's not speak of him. His latest insult to me will be his last." She got to her feet, and they stood at the window, looking out at Plantation Street. Two small boys were in view, struggling with a bundle of laundry so heavy, it bumped the ground between them.

"They'll be in trouble with Old Cilla," said Tom. "Lord, Nancy, it seems a long time since we were children here."

She laughed a little. "Because it was, Brother. You'll be forty soon."

"Don't remind me!"

"I'd like to stay here a few more days, I think," Nancy said. "I owe Phebe some time with her family. Then, perhaps Molly and David will take us in while he secures my new lodging. Will you arrange that?"

"Of course. I would wish to do more but—"

She patted his arm and shook her head. "Don't worry, Tom. There's no need."

His hand covered hers. "This will be a new beginning for you, Sister. A new start, away from Judy's martyrdom and Jack's lord-of-the-manor attitude. I can't abide to be half an hour in the same room as the man. Lord alone knows how you tolerated him at Bizarre all these years. Damned odd fellow."

"Didn't we agree not to speak of him?" Nancy twisted away and walked to the door. "Come. Let me find you something to eat and then send you on your way." She forced herself to affect a lightness of spirit she was far from feeling. "And while you eat, you must tell me how the children are. Is Cornelia still drawing so beautifully? And what of Virginia? Is it true she has lost her front teeth already? They grow so fast. I can barely keep up."