(1835-1884)
The bride was only
eighteen, and her slight figure and girlish face made her seem even
younger as she stood in front of the dining room fireplace to take her
vows. The bridegroom, at twenty-three, was solidly built, and his girth,
combined with a ruddy, bewhiskered face, gave an impression more of
protector than lover. As the groom stood close beside the bride, her face
practically glowing from the light of the fire, they were both nearly
upstaged by their surroundings. With Christmas only three days away,
Bulloch Hall, the childhood home that the bride would remember fondly long
after she had grown up, had been lavishly decorated with ribbons, candles,
and green mistletoe and red holly berries that grew in abundance on the
plantation just north of Atlanta. The entire household had worked for days
to prepare for the Thursday evening in 1853 when Mittie Bulloch, the
youngest daughter in the family, married Theodore Roosevelt of New York
City.
At first the bride had
wished for a small wedding, one that would not cost her widowed mother too
much effort or money. But then, rethinking the matter, she had decided to
splurge. A girl married only once, she reasoned, and she ought to make the
most of it. When her parents built the house fewer than twenty years
earlier, they had insisted on a fireplace in every room, and on this
evening Mittie wanted every one of them blazing. And blaze they did.
She might be young, but
the bride had already developed a strong will of her own. Before Theodore
arrived in Georgia for the ceremony, she taunted him with the fact that
she was receiving attention from other men. It was her right, she
insisted, even as an engaged woman to dance with whomever she pleased. She
even presumed to dictate his behavior, writing him careful instructions to
arrive one day before the nuptials "and not a day sooner." Later
it would be said that she possessed her own unique way of doing things,
but even in her teens she showed a headstrong quality that set her apart
from her contemporaries. For this occasion she had boasted to the
bridegroom that she meant to show everyone in attendance how such
celebrations should be staged.
Mittie's self-confidence
showed in her choice of bridesmaids: she selected local women all slightly
older than herself. Besides sister Anna, three girlhood friends stood
beside the bride that evening: Evelyn King, from the impressive Barrington
Hall a half mile down the road, and two others who came from only slightly
farther away but from equally stately homes. All of them wore white, but
Mittie's sanguine manner left no doubt about which one deserved center
stage. It is sometimes said that every woman is beautiful on her wedding
day, but Mittie was extraordinary. Barely five feet tall, she had the
clear blue eyes and tiny hands and feet of a mannequin. But her most
remarkable features were her complexion, described by her granddaughter as
"more moonlight white than cream-white," and her mass of shiny
black hair.
Definitely the bride's
party, this celebration drew guests from all over that part of Georgia but
only a remarkably small contingent of Roosevelts. None of Theodore's four
brothers or their families had made the trip south for the ceremony; only
his parents, the severe Cornelius Van Schaack Roosevelt, a prosperous New
York merchant, and his Philadelphia-born wife, Margaret Barnhill,
represented the clan. This marked the first time either Margaret or
Cornelius had ventured into the Deep South. Evelyn King sensed some
discomfort on their part, and many years later, as the last surviving
bridesmaid, she told a young reporter, then known as Peggy Mitchell but
later famous as the author of Gone with the Wind, what she thought
of the Roosevelts: "Like most northern people of that time, they were
very ignorant about the South. Goodness only knows what they expected us
to be like."
Immediately following
the ceremony, the celebration began. The bride's family had been preparing
for weeks, and now tables throughout Bulloch Hall displayed an array of
hams, turkeys, and cakes, alongside a huge assortment of salads and
pickled vegetables. Most dazzling of all, the "frozen cream"
attracted a string of gawkers. Ice cream, known in England since the
mid-1600s, had been introduced in the colonies around the time of the
Revolution, and Dolley Madison served the delicacy at her husband's second
inaugural ball in 1813. But places like Roswell, Georgia, where
temperatures rarely fell to freezing, had less acquaintance with the cold,
creamy dessert. For Mittie's wedding the ice had to be shipped in from the
North, and then, using the newly invented ice cream freezer, servants
cranked several gallons of cream, sugar, and flavorings into a luscious
concoction in just a few minutes.
In the style of the
time, the festivities continued for one full week. For guests who had
traveled too far to return home each night, the neighboring houses
provided sleeping space, although hours for sleeping were short. During
the day, luncheons and teas kept the older guests busy while the young
people walked and rode horses. In the evening, all ages mingled in dancing
and storytelling that filled the houses with song and laughter. Mittie's
brother Dan provided the music the day of the ceremony by playing his
flute "in perfect time" and thus making an indelible impression
on the staid Roosevelts. In the days following the reception, hired
musicians joined in, rotating with each other and the guests until it
became impossible to distinguish who among them had come to work and who
to dance. After seven days of fun, the wedding finally ended. As Evelyn
King told Margaret Mitchell many years later: "Everybody packed up
and went home for it was all over and we were very tired."
I
The young Mrs.
Roosevelt, who had written her fiance just weeks earlier that he was the
"only person who could so suit me and I put every confidence in
you," now gamely set out with her new husband for the trip north.
During the journey--partly in a carriage and partly by ship, Mittie
Bulloch Roosevelt had plenty of time to think about what she was leaving
behind. She may have had some doubts about the family she was marrying
into, but not because of any feelings of inadequacy about her own family
tree. Quite the contrary, she had reason to sense a slight edge on her
part, especially if she ignored money and counted up the many achievements
of her ancestors. An unbiased observer might have backed her up. Seven
generations of Roosevelts had lived in America without achieving much
fame, but their star rose quickly after she married into the clan.
By any standard, but
certainly in comparison with the stodgy Roosevelts, the Bullochs were a
colorful bunch. Family lore always included the story of the dramatic
arrival in America of the family of Mittie's great-great-grandmother Jean
Stobo. Had it not been for a remarkable chain of events, the Stobos might
never have left Scotland or settled in the Carolinas.
The story begins in 1699
with Archibald Stobo. Then a young Presbyterian minister, he decided to
join five other clergymen taking religion to a part of the world then
known as Darien but later famous as Panama. Fresh out of the University of
Edinburgh and newly married, he had enormous enthusiasm for the project,
but unlike his fellow ministers, he wanted to take his bride with him, and
she apparently wanted to go. Together the young couple sailed with several
hundred Scots in early fall 1699. The trip must have seemed like a fairy
tale adventure, especially when the travelers got their first glimpse of
land--a tropical island.
But a very different
picture met them when they reached their destination in late November.
Instead of finding the thriving colony they expected, they found a
settlement in ruins: the crude huts, built by the previous missionaries,
had been burned down, and the surrounding area was overgrown with brush.
The new arrivals had too much religious faith to give up immediately, but
as they set to work trying to arrange for the minimum comforts, they were
quickly weakened by tropical diseases.
As the months passed,
the Stobos and their expedition faced a more ominous threat. The Spanish
had not yet relinquished the idea of controlling that part of the Western
Hemisphere, and the Scottish missionaries feared an attack. By February
1700 the young Mrs. Stobo wanted to leave. But that required official
permission from the church hierarchy that had financed the trip in the
first place. On March 10, while the Stobos were still waiting for their
request to be granted, the Spaniards landed ready for battle. Weakened by
months of illness and a meager diet, many of the Scots had already died,
and those who survived had little fight left in them. By the end of the
month they surrendered. The Spaniards, however, raised no objection to
their captives' leaving, and on April 11 the Presbyterians headed home on
a ship called the Rising Sun.
On the way, the Rising
Sun stopped at Charleston, South Carolina, the most important seaport
in the South and home of many transplanted English nobles. During the
ship's stay in Charleston harbor, Archibald Stobo, known as a magnetic
speaker, agreed to preach to a local congregation. That day, while he and
his wife were ashore, a violent storm came up suddenly, completely
destroying the Rising Sun and killing everyone who had remained
aboard. The Stobos took this as a clear signal that they should remain in
Charleston. It was there, one year later, that their daughter, Jean, was
born. It was her marriage to a local man, James Bulloch, that began the
line that produced Mittie Bulloch and, later, Theodore Roosevelt and his
remarkable sisters.
Neither her son Theodore
nor her daughters made much of Mittie's early roots, but from the colonial
period the Bullochs stood out as leaders and doers. Leaving the Carolinas
in 1760 to take advantage of a two-thousand-acre land grant, they moved to
Georgia where they quickly made names for themselves. Archibald Bulloch, a
lawyer (and son of Jean Stobo Bulloch), served as speaker of the Georgia
Royal Assembly, president of the Provincial Congress that took charge of
the state in July 1775, and, later, as the state's commander-in-chief and
one of its delegates to the First Continental Congress.
The Roosevelt women in
Mittie's line never had any trouble establishing their credentials for
membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution. On her father's
side, Mittie was descended from James Bulloch, and on her mother's side,
from Daniel Stewart. Both served courageously in the War for Independence,
and Stewart also made a name for himself in the War of 1812.
The Bullochs' move to
Georgia before the Revolution proved fortuitous. Savannah still struggled
to survive when they first settled there, but it quickly grew in
importance as cotton became the region's biggest crop. In 1793 the
introduction of one simple machine, the cotton gin, changed the picture
for cotton since the short staple variety, once deemed unusable because of
its many seeds, could now be cheaply "combed out." As thousands
of acres of cotton were planted across the South, Savannah became one of
the central points for collection and shipment, and it was in this side of
the business that the Bullochs prospered. By the time Mittie was born
there in 1835, Savannah ranked among the top few cities in the amount of
cotton it handled, and her father was one of the shippers.
By that time the Bulloch
story had taken on elements of an Italian opera, with as many unlikely
marriages as a farcical story line. Mittie was the child of one of these
curious matches. Her parents, the handsome and charming James Bulloch
(great-grandson of the original James Bulloch) and the beautiful Martha
Stewart, grew up together in Savannah and courted each other, but for
reasons never clear, they did not marry. Martha had other suitors, which
may have irritated the self-confident James. One of the most ardent of her
admirers was a widower, John Elliott, who came from a distinguished
moneyed family and seemed headed for the U.S. Senate. The prospect of
accompanying him to Washington, D.C., added glamour to his marriage offer
and partly offset the fact that he was old enough to be her father. Still,
Martha put him off, and while she dallied, weighing her options, James
Bulloch married John Elliott's daughter, who at nineteen was just two
years older than Martha. Within a week Martha had consented to marry the
prospective senator, thus becoming, in 1818, the step-mother-in-law of her
former suitor. Although the timing is curious, the motivation remains
unclear. Her granddaughter Bamie later recalled hearing that Martha
Stewart's hasty marriage to John Elliott occurred because her father was
moving to Florida, a part of the frontier where he felt he could safely
take his six sons but hesitated to take his only daughter.
The same year she
married him, John Elliott did indeed win election to the U.S. Senate, and
his young wife--on her first trip out of the Deep South--accompanied him
to the capital. She did not go unnoticed. Extremely beautiful and very
young for a legislator's wife, she called attention to herself by stylish
clothing, often featuring an ostrich feather that "hung down to her
belt." When she went on her husband's arm to church services at St.
John's, just across Lafayette Park from the President's House, she caused
heads to turn, and when she held court at home, she attracted comment on
her style and verve. John Elliott served only one term in the capital, and
then he and his young wife moved back to Georgia. But a century later
their great-granddaughter, Alice Roosevelt Longworth, attracted the same
kind of attention as had the senator's wife.
The glamorous, young
Mrs. Elliott might have anticipated returning to Washington, D.C., if her
husband ever ran for and won a second term, but she never got the chance.
Ten years after Martha married him, the senator died, and then, within a
few months, his married daughter also died. Martha Elliott, now almost
thirty years old, and her former suitor, James Bulloch, once again found
themselves free to wed. They waited five years, perhaps concerned that
some of the family found it strange that "Brother James" would
marry "Mother Martha," and then they married in the Elliott
house in Savannah on May 8, 1832. Americans, especially those of
substantial wealth, frequently chose their mates from within the family
circle in order to safeguard their property, but this union--involving not
blood relatives but relatives by marriage--raised a few eyebrows.
More important to the
story is the apparently joyful mixing of the several families, which was
even more complicated than the proverbial "his,"
"hers," and "theirs." Martha brought two daughters and
one son from her union with the senator; James Bulloch brought one son,
who was already Martha's step-grandson by virtue of her previous marriage
to the senator but now became her stepson as well. Martha and James
Bulloch would eventually have four children of their own, but neither
parent nor any of the children played favorites among the several batches.
Mittie later recalled that she "never knew the difference"
between her Bulloch half-brother and her own siblings. The next
generation, more removed from the scene, had trouble getting everyone
straight; and Mittie's daughter Corinne once wrote in a description of her
first trip abroad, "My grandmother Roosevelt's family has always been
most confusing in its relationships."
Martha's stepson, also
called James, helped insert an interesting twist in the story. At the age
of ten he was sent to boarding school in Connecticut, providing Martha
with an excellent reason to make a trip north to visit him in the spring
of 1835. Although several months pregnant, she made the journey from
Savannah to Hartford accompanied by a female entourage that included her
thirteen-year-old daughter from her first marriage and several slaves.
Traveling in style, Martha settled in at Miss Oakes' Boarding House on
Hartford's Main Street, a place so selective that the other guests had to
preapprove all new lodgers. Once endorsed, Martha made friendships that
lasted a lifetime, and after her death, her children and grandchildren
sustained those friendships through generations. Nine decades after Martha
left Connecticut, her granddaughter Bamie mused over the fact that an old
friend of the family had died: "the one in whose grandmother's pew
our grandmother always sat when at church during those months she spent in
Hartford."
As summer temperatures
rose in 1835, the pregnant Martha Bulloch deferred returning to Georgia,
and on July 8 she gave birth to a baby girl. Whether the new mother had
already conferred with her husband on a name or simply took it upon
herself to choose one remains unclear. She already had two daughters
(Susan and Georgia) by the senator and one (Anna) by James Bulloch, but
now, several hundred miles away from the new baby's father, Martha named
this child for herself. Dubbed "Mittie" from the start, the baby
was introduced by that name to relatives and friends when she arrived in
Georgia that fall. On the return trip, Martha had one less slave in her
entourage, having granted freedom to a woman who requested it. According
to family legend, Martha Bulloch even agreed to support the woman until
she found work, thus showing a concern for others, whether slave or free,
that her descendants liked to emphasize.
In 1838, while Mittie
was still a toddler, her parents moved the family westward, away from the
coast and into the hinterland. With six youngsters and two slave couples,
the Bullochs followed an old Savannah friend to a place on the
Chattahoochee River where a new settlement was under way at Roswell,
thirteen miles north of Atlanta. High enough to be free of swampy patches,
Roswell boasted a waterfall, which the settlers saw as furnishing power
for the cotton mill they hoped to build.
In pioneer fashion the
Bullochs lived in makeshift quarters (later transformed to slave
dwellings) while construction began for the mansion that became Bulloch
Hall. Mimosa Hall across the road and Barrington King's home, less than a
mile away, were both far grander, but Bulloch Hall reflected its owners'
wish for something elegant, yet practical and relatively unostentatious.
Behind the tall Doric columns it featured a main hall with a grand
staircase leading up to the second floor. Planned more with an eye to the
region's oppressive summer heat than to the short but occasionally
extremely cold winters, the house had huge windows to take advantage of
the slightest breeze. The most whimsical feature of this stately house,
visible not to the casual visitor but only to someone with the right
vantage point, was the driveway. Shaped to form a valentine, it led from
the road up to the wide front verandah (situated squarely at the top of
the heart) and then, after another loop, back out to the road.
Every nook and cranny of
Bulloch Hall remained imprinted in Mittie's mind long after she had left
it, and she passed on that love and knowledge of the place to her
children. In 1912, three decades after Mittie's death, her younger
daughter, Corinne, went back to see Bulloch Hall as a grown woman. She
could hardly believe that a place she had visited only briefly at age
seven could remain so accurately recorded in her mind. Mittie's
descriptions were so vivid and affectionate, her accounts of the Bulloch
family so rich and complete, that Corinne felt "everything was just
as I thought it would be--lovely old fireplace, splendid proportions and a
beautiful view from the same back porch." In her mind's eye, Corinne
saw them as clearly as though they stood before her, "and when I
picked a piece of ivy from the same tree where my mother had gathered wet
leaves for her lovely hair," she wrote, "my heart felt tender
beyond words."
During the time that
Mittie's family occupied Bulloch Hall, maintenance of the house and
grounds depended on slave labor, a fact that her Roosevelt descendants
would find "incredible" and, for the most part, avoid
discussing. The evidence, however, is clear. Federal census takers in 1850
listed nineteen slaves at Bulloch Hall, including thirteen adults and six
children.
It appears that each
Bulloch child was assigned a personal slave, or "shadow," to act
as companion. Mittie's "Lavinia," for example, went everywhere
with her, stopping outside the classroom when Mittie went inside, and
sleeping on a mat by her side at night. For the family, the stress was on
the pleasure of the companionship rather than on the hostage implications
in the arrangement or the grimmer side of slavery.
As a young child,
Mittie's brother Irvine (always the "little brother" because he
was seven years her junior) developed a close and mutually dependent
relationship with his personal slave, Sarah. The two became nearly
inseparable for the very practical reason that they depended on each other
for comfort and protection. Since she feared the darkness outside the
house as much as he was terrified of the darkness inside, they huddled
together on the back porch after the sun set, speculating on how the moon
"crawled" and how thousands of fantastic creatures swarmed and
swirled in the void just beyond what either of them could see or touch.
The sinister aspect to
the slave system lay only slightly below the surface, even in the Bullochs'
paternalistic accounts. One of Mittie's brothers shot and killed a slave
in a fit of temper, and then in a not unusual rendering of
"justice," he took a short vacation abroad rather than face the
repercussions.
Mittie's children and
grandchildren repeated her accounts of what it was like to grow up in the
South. Since the "master" family had stressed the colorful
personalities and individual strength of "the people" who worked
the place, generations of Roosevelts passed on stories about "Daddy
Luke," the accomplished and reliable coachman, and "Mom
Charlotte," his handsome, elegant wife who left no doubt but that it
was she who supervised the house. Much less was said about the murder of
the young slave.
James and Martha Bulloch
no doubt anticipated an easier, more relaxed life when they completed
their spacious mansion, but it seemed tainted with bad luck almost from
the beginning. Their first son, born at Bulloch Hall in 1837, died before
his third birthday. In 1849 tragedy struck twice. First, daughter Georgia
died at age twenty-seven, and then, less than five months later, James
dropped dead while teaching a Sunday School class. Only fifty-five, he had
enjoyed his new home for less than a decade. In his will he left his wife
a considerable estate, including the plantation, a house in Savannah, and
stock in a company that sent the first steamship across the Atlantic.
Having served as president of the Savannah branch of the United States
Bank, he had helped fund a textile factory that was still under
construction at the time of his death but could be expected to produce
income in the future.
Widowed at forty-nine,
Martha Bulloch soon found that her life was being shaped more and more
around her adult children. Daughter Susan's marriage to a Philadelphia
physician, Hillbourne West, meant that she had moved north, but this union
provided an important link in the Roosevelt story. To entertain her guests
in Philadelphia, Susan would tell enchanting stories about growing up in
the rural South. And because wealthy families of that era tended to
socialize primarily with other family members, rather than neighbors or
friends, among the frequent visitors to her home in Philadelphia were her
sister-in-law from New York, Mary West, and Mary's husband, Silas Weir
Roosevelt, occasionally accompanied by Silas's younger brother, Theodore
Roosevelt. Here the plot thickens.
*
Theodore, it seems, was
smitten enough by Susan West's tales to want to see Bulloch Hall for
himself, or at least that was how his family remembered the story. Susan
may have harbored other thoughts when she described her loving family life
and, in particular, her younger, extraordinarily beautiful sister, Mittie.
Whether Theodore's thoughts ran in the same direction, family letters do
not reveal. What is clear is that in 1850 the Wests invited
nineteen-year-old Theodore to join them on their next trip home, and he
accepted.
Love at first sight it
was not--at least for the fifteen-year-old Mittie. For one thing, Theodore
appeared so determinedly serious that she found him boring. He insisted on
referring to plants by their Latin names and showed little appreciation of
the frivolous activity and witty remarks so prized by the fun-loving
Bullochs. Perhaps he was merely compensating for the insecurities of his
childhood. As the fifth son of Cornelius Van Schaack and Margaret
Roosevelt, he may have felt a bit neglected. Later he regaled his own
children with stories of what it felt like to be the "fifth wheel to
the coach" and unwilling recipient of his brothers' cast-off clothes.
His mother evidently had her hands too full to give more than a distracted
nod to her youngest, and she was routinely described around New York as
"that lovely Mrs. Roosevelt" with "those five horrid
boys."
One story, perhaps
apocryphal, described Cornelius and Margaret Roosevelt, dressed in their
Sunday best, walking out of church services one Sunday morning to face the
spectacle of their youngest sons astride a pig and riding through the mud
holes down the middle of Canal Street. Unfortunately, none of that
mischievousness appears to have survived in the Theodore who visited the
Bullochs in 1850.
But Mittie clearly made
a permanent impression on him. With that creamy complexion that is so
notable in person but cannot translate into words or pictures, she struck
her contemporaries as "fascinating looking." She was relatively
untutored, but Theodore apparently liked what he saw. According to family
lore, he sent her a gold thimble after returning to New York.
Twelve months later,
while traveling through Europe, he wrote a letter home in which he
admitted he was seriously looking for a wife but did not mean to settle
for less than the best. To his mind there were still plenty of fish in the
sea "as were ever caught," and he wrote his aunt Lizzie that he
had his eye on a young woman from Philadelphia by the name of
"Stuart." As soon as he returned to the United States, he meant
to look her up again. Although he had both her name and hometown
incorrect, he surely meant Mittie Bulloch, daughter of Martha Stewart
Bulloch of Roswell, Georgia, and half-sister of Susan West of
Philadelphia. Perhaps he erred on purpose, aware that many of his family
would be disappointed to hear that he had fallen for a southern girl.
Theodore's failure to
court Mittie immediately (other than sending the thimble) is
understandable in light of her age. Since she was only fifteen when he met
her, he thought he had plenty of time to travel on his own, something that
his four older brothers, who were married with families, rarely did. After
a trip through the Midwest to look at family real estate, he sailed for
Europe in June 1851. In London he saw the usual sights and then proceeded
to hit all the cities traditionally part of the Grand Tour, including
Paris, Florence, and Avignon. After eighteen months on the continent, he
headed home, accompanied by a fellow bachelor from New York, John Carow.
The two young men, very different in personality and goals, would cross
paths many times, but only one of them would live long enough to see their
children married to each other.
While Theodore was
traveling in Europe, Mittie did what most wealthy young southern women
did, and there is no evidence she gave much thought to him. Her mother had
decided to send Mittie, along with her sister Anna, who was two years
older, to a young ladies' academy in South Carolina. It is a remarkable
decision because it meant that of all her children, only Irvine remained
at home. After two years of studying at the academy, the sisters made
their way to Philadelphia to visit Susan and Hillbourne West. As soon as
Theodore learned that Mittie was a guest in the West household, he wasted
no time in arranging an invitation to Philadelphia for himself. This time
Mittie took more notice of him, if subsequent events are any indication,
and the acquaintance of the two young people, renewed on neutral
territory, quickly blossomed into romance. He invited her to New York
City, where she stayed with Silas and Mary West Roosevelt, and had her
first introduction to Theodore's parents.
Once in New York, Mittie
evidently caught a glimpse of a special quality in Theodore that his
children would later relish--a combination of spirit and goodness, of
vitality and charity. They would call him the best man they ever knew, and
they singled out the times with him as the most cherished of all their
childhood memories. As Mittie got to know him better on that New York
visit, she kept postponing her return to Georgia. Finally, sister Anna,
who had gone on ahead, wrote back, inquiring into the causes for the
delay, and the young couple, still in New York, had to decide what to do.
Mittie returned to
Georgia, and days later, on May 15, 1853, Theodore wrote a letter asking
her mother for permission to marry Mittie. Martha Bulloch must have had
some misgivings about a second daughter marrying a northerner, but she
kept them to herself. Replying immediately to "Mr Roosevelt Dear
Sir," she recalled his previous visit with "much pleasure"
but left the matter of marriage up to the principals: "I have never
interfered with the matrimonial designs of my children and never will when
the object chosen is a worthy one. Therefore I refer the matter back to
Mittie and yourself." Theodore quickly arranged a trip to Georgia,
and by the time he left Bulloch Hall a few weeks later, the engagement was
official.
Now the tables turned a
bit. The prospective bridegroom was nearly twenty-three, a typical age for
men to marry at that time, but he may have had second thoughts once his
fate seemed assured. In his correspondence with a friend, he jokingly
referred to marriage as a "trap." Mittie, on the other hand,
could hardly control her girlish exuberance. After her "Dearest
Thee" left Georgia to attend to some business in New York, she wrote
him that she loved him "tenderly." Try as she would, she could
not help but cry when she saw him ride away. Tears came to her eyes with
such force that she had to "rush away and be alone with myself.
Everything now seems associated with you."
Mittie's tiny, regular
script bespeaks a cautious, precise woman, and her vocabulary of carefully
chosen, long words signals unusual intelligence. But she would soon have a
chance to test how far that intelligence and self-confidence would take
her. It was not a good time for a southern woman to marry a northerner,
just when their respective regions of the nation moved toward civil war.
Other eighteen-year-olds might have hesitated to move so far away from
home, but it had already been demonstrated that Mittie did not do things
like other people. |