Mary White Morris
August, 1773
I hate this life. It has been a year since my marriage to Robert Morris. Already I despise him and everything this union has brought.
As I write this, Robert is sitting in his study, going over the finances of one of his many ventures. I swear I can feel his contempt for me, leaching through the parlor door, and piercing my heart. I can practically hear his chubby fingers grasping a quill and scratching away, trying to cheat his employees out of a dollar or two. There is his sickly face, a cold bowl of porridge, hunched over his desk, showing no emotion.
It was not always like this. I met Robert when I was nineteen, and he was thirty-four. I was living in my family’s home in the outskirts of Philadelphia. Before we married, I passed my days with my three younger sisters. We spent long afternoons reading poetry, playing music, and going to dances. I had no idea my bucolic life would come to an end upon saying my vows.
When I first met Robert, I was smitten. My father oversaw our relationship, and I trusted his judgment completely. Like my father, Robert was from England, yet was an avid supporter of the patriot cause. At first impression, he seemed incredibly smart - and somehow even more charming. We married quickly, and moved to a gorgeous house in the heart of the city.
I quickly became disillusioned with my new life. Robert’s true side, the scheming, manipulative businessman, soon came out. He rarely says a word to me, and when he does, it is a snide remark about me or my family. He holds the threat above my head that we will move back to England, and I will never see my beloved family and city again. Even Robert’s supposed wealth has brought nothing but shame and misery to me. Despite his impassioned speeches on freedom and man’s natural rights, he keeps two slaves, who he treats worse than me. I have come to realize that his only interest in impending conflict with England is for personal gain.
Today, I spend my days isolated in our home. I am a day’s ride away from my family, and even if I could visit, Robert will not let me unless to discuss another business proposition with my father. Robert’s friends’ wives, the gorgeous and well versed Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Powel, are no consolation to my sisters. When I see them on occasion, they turn up their noses at my apparently childish attitude and interests. Instead of living a fast paced life with a revolutionary, I am holed up in this dreadful house, waiting for something, anything to change. I feel so insignificant, the world may as well burn in a few years time, and I will have done nothing. There's a verse I once heard, written by the Greek poet, that reads,
“I declare
That later on,
Even in an age unlike our own,
Someone will remember who we are.”
I cannot imagine a world where I will be remembered. And even if I were to be remembered, what would it be for? The daughter of a long gone man of society? The wife of a greedy merchant? Perhaps that’s all I ever will be. Perhaps not. Until then, I will remain in the house, waiting.
I liked it, she wonders if she will be forgotten and the way she describes her husband I can imagine his personality clearly like I know him myself.
ReplyDeleteYou so vividly portray the sense of being surrounded by luxury and yet being very alone, especially because Robert is shut away in his study and she’s outside of it, imagining what is happening inside—it encapsulates her isolation and represents the way he keeps her separate from that part of his life. I find it especially cruel that Mary lives only a day away from her family, but they may as well be much further because she can’t see them. There’s a clear sense that she takes solace in reading and writing, though, since she quotes poetry. There’s a sense that she lives in the world of literature and he lives in the world of finance.
ReplyDeleteAnna- I was moved by your story surrounding the life of Mary white Morris. One cannot help ,but feel pity over her relationship with her distant husband ,Robert Morris. I especially like the way you used the Poem about being remembered in the future. I always enjoy reading a story that makes you feel empathy for the main character.
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