Tempest at Dawn (2 page)

“
Some would judge the outcome
immoral,” I blurted.

The next few seconds felt like a minute.
“May I ask what novel view you intend to propose to your
publisher?”

“
An accurate account. You’re the last
of the founding fathers. You can explain the
travesties.”

“
And what travesties might those
be?”

“
The victory of property rights over
liberty, elitism over representation, and—the worst blasphemy—the
endorsement of slavery in our country’s most sacred
document.”

“
You’re an abolitionist?”

“
As are all righteous men.”

Madison gave a dismissive shrug. “We were
driven to find common ground by need.”

“
I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but
the goal should have been to guarantee liberty for everyone,
including slaves.”

Madison sat quietly, looking at me with an
unblinking stare. I could feel the old man taking my measure.
“You’re young—and perhaps a bit naïve.”

He scrunched up in his chair. I
unconsciously shifted in my seat as well, stretching my long legs
in a new direction. The old man looked as delicate as a ripe
dandelion. How could someone so weak intimidate me?

Madison finally said, “What are they
teaching young people today? True, it’s been nearly fifty years,
but how could such important events have become so distorted?”

“
Perhaps I’ve been misinformed. That’s
why I requested this interview—to get a firsthand
account.”

“
I presume you’re aware that I own
over a hundred slaves and that your breakfast is even now being
prepared by a slave.”

“
I’m uncomfortable with the situation.
Nor do I understand it. You have repeatedly condemned slavery. I
can only presume that you had no choice in your lifetime. But
change is coming.”

“
Some adulate change; some abhor it. A
few see a degree of change that exists only in their
imagination.”

I bristled. “I see myself as one who incites
change.”

“
Meaning you’re not a tavern
abolitionist?”

“
I am a revolutionary, as you once
were.” I took a sloppy sip of tea and wiped my chin. “Excuse me,
sir. Of course, you have not grown passive in retirement. You
support the expatriation of slaves to Liberia. I simply work for a
solution closer to home.”

“
And what solution might that
be?”

“
Complete abolition. Unless I
misunderstand your writings, you support the same goal.”

“
You presuppose, young man.” Turning
slightly to look over my shoulder, Madison said, “Paul, I assume
breakfast is ready?”

Paul had walked onto the porch and stood
quietly to the side.

“
Yes, sir. Mrs. Madison asked me to
bring you indoors.”

“
Of course she did. Very well. Mr.
Witherspoon, please precede us. You can assure Mrs. Madison that we
are making our interminable way to the dining room.”

The seat at the head of the table and those
on either side had been set at the end near the fire. Mrs. Madison
stood behind one chair, so I stood behind the chair opposite.
Despite Madison’s protestations, I welcomed the warmth from the
fire. We kept our places as Paul helped the former president of the
United States traverse the length of the room.

As soon as Madison took his seat, Sukey
placed a large plate in front of him. The broad expanse of china
dwarfed the thin slices of jammed bread accented with a slender
wedge of melon. I couldn’t help staring at the plate. My long trip
had famished me. Surely, more food waited in the kitchen.

Seating herself, Mrs. Madison scooted her
chair toward the table, giving me a radiant smile that engaged
every feature of her face. In repose, she looked ordinary, but her
face when lit up stunned and captivated. I had never before
encountered anyone who could shed so many years with a smile.

“
James eats little these days,” she
said. “It doesn’t take much to nourish his body. Nourishing his
mind, however, is an endless task he still relishes. He’s been
looking forward to your visit.”

Glancing toward the kitchen door, I ironed a
linen napkin across my lap with the flat of both hands. “Sir, I
must apologize for my comments on the porch. I’m here to learn, not
preach. I meant no offense.”

“
Relax, my boy,” Madison said. “Do not
fear challenging me. Charge in, question notions, but argue with
logic and consistent principles.”

Mrs. Madison beamed at me. “James hates
sophism, but he lives for sound debate. Your visit has already
sparked his mood. Proceed, proceed. No need to apologize or
equivocate. James only looks fragile. You’ll soon discover the
orneriness of a bobcat.”

“
Dolley exaggerates. A scraggy house
cat can challenge the prowess of this weathered
creature.”

Sukey burst through the door, carrying a
large tray. I felt relief at the sight of the hearty meal as she
distributed plates and bowls filled with generous portions of
porridge, bacon, boiled eggs, biscuits, gravy, and pineapple. The
aroma pulled the trigger on my appetite.

“
I don’t force my habits on my
guests,” Madison said, looking amused.

Sukey gave me an impish grin and an
abbreviated curtsey, and retreated toward the kitchen. Why did I
feel that everyone knew my disposition, while I remained baffled as
to the temperament of this household?

“
Mr. Witherspoon,” James Madison said,
“there were many hurdles we had to overcome at the Federal
Convention—what today people call the Constitutional
Convention.”

“
Mr. President,” I interrupted, “shall
we save our political discussion until after the meal? I’m sure
Mrs. Madison would appreciate lighter conversation.”

“
Thank you, Mr. Witherspoon,” Dolley
said. “I never grasped politics, not even after sixteen years in
the White House—eight as Jefferson’s hostess and eight more with
James. A young man such as yourself, with all your schooling,
understands these issues so much better than a woman. Perhaps we
can talk about the latest European fashions.”

“
I apologize, madam, but I know little
of women’s fashions.”

James Madison chuckled. “Mr. Witherspoon,
let me save you from an embarrassing moment. Dolley enjoys playing
the harlequin to humble male conceit. While president, I found few
advisors more astute.”

“
I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to denigrate
your knowledge of political matters. I was only trying to be
polite.”

“
Of course, Mr. Witherspoon. Your
limited perspective isn’t entirely your fault.”

“
Dolley, I believe your egg is getting
cold and your mood heated,” James Madison said. “Our friend was
simply unaware of your interests.”

The old man smiled with his eyes as he took
a small bite of toast, clearly enjoying the exchange. I felt
deflated. I saw my mission, and myself, as more important than
merely providing entertainment for an old man.

Madison, apparently done eating, sat back in
his chair and watched me devour my breakfast. When Sukey
reappeared, he asked for coffee.

“
Mr. Witherspoon, we did compromise,
but compromise greases the axle of governance.”

“
One should never compromise
principles.”

Madison’s expression didn’t change. “Our
goal was to build a functioning republic. We approached collapse.
Anarchy was the only other course.”

“
I find it hard to believe the
situation was that dire.”

James Madison looked irritated for the first
time. “If we had not acted, the Revolution would have been for
naught.”

“
Men died in that Revolution for
liberty—liberty that your convention denied to half the citizens of
the South.”

“
Do you mean women?” Dolley
asked.

“
Women? Well, uh, no. I meant
Negroes.”

“
Negroes aren’t citizens,” she
said.

“
They are in the North.”

“
Women are citizens in the North and
the South.”

“
Women know nothing of
politics.”

“
Slaves do?”

“
They can learn.”

She leaned back. “I see.”

“
No. I mean …”

“
Should we free male Negroes and keep
their women slaves?”

“
Of course not.”

“
Then what would you have?”

I glanced at James Madison. He seemed to
enjoy my predicament. Without thought, I reacted emotionally.
“Slavery is an abomination. It has nothing to do with suffrage. A
man shouldn’t own other human beings.”

“
Mr. Witherspoon, what are your
intentions with this book?” Dolley asked.

Her directness flustered me. “I made that
clear in my letter. My intention is to document the founding of our
American republic. Many different accounts have circulated, but all
are suspect. The rule of secrecy allowed different participants to
paint self-glorifying portraits. I want to present a true
account.”

Madison rubbed his hands, massaging what
looked more like huge fleshy walnuts than knuckles. “You don’t
intend an abolitionist tract?”

Obviously, I wasn’t good at deception. “I
won’t mislead you. I want to expose the deceit that ingrained
slavery into our society, but that isn’t my sole aim. I sincerely
wish to document the founding of our republic.”

Dolley gave me one of her radiant smiles.
“Do you intend an expansion of the pamphlet you published last
spring?”

“
You’ve read it?”

“
Of course. Did you imagine Virginia
part of the hinterlands?”

“
Of course not. It just, well … the
pamphlet sold poorly.”

“
There are always a few copies around
to embarrass a supplicant,” Dolley said.

I turned to her husband. “You knew my views,
yet you still granted an interview?”

“
You seem a sharp, passionate young
man. And I owe a debt to your grandfather.”

I hesitated and then blurted, “Denying women
the right to vote is wrong, but slavery is evil.”

“
We heard you before,” Dolley
said.

“
But I didn’t say it so
eloquently.”

“
A writer should be good with
words.”

“
A writer has the opportunity to
rewrite.”

“
You mean you don’t always get it
right the first time?” Dolley’s smile had turned coy.

I felt embarrassed. These two old people,
one quite enfeebled, had made me look foolish.

“
The consequences of what you suggest
would be catastrophic—then, now, or in your children’s lifetime,”
James Madison said. “I suggest we put aside the issue of slavery
for a time. I’ll give you an opportunity to examine this
institution and to gauge the tenor of our agrarian
culture.”

Dolley said, “Mr. Witherspoon, you should
attempt to understand our way of life before you instruct us on how
we ought to live.” Now the smile. “Perhaps European fashion would
have made a more appropriate breakfast topic.”

Her kind face, full of goodwill, erased my
embarrassment and created an urge to please rather than irritate. I
wondered what would have been the fate of two administrations,
absent Dolley’s rare gift.

After we had resettled in the sitting room, Dolley
asked, “How would you like to start your inquiry?”

I directed my answer to James Madison.
“Before my grandfather died, he told me that you took extensive
notes during the convention. I’d like to study them.”

“
No.”

Madison’s abrupt answer startled me. “May I
ask why not?”

“
You may ask any questions you like,
but you may not have access to my records.”

“
But that is why I came.”

“
You requested an
interview.”

“
I thought your notes would prompt my
questions.”

“
They will be published after my
death.”

“
I don’t wish to publish them, only to
use them to educate myself on the proceedings.”

“
I shall educate you.”

“
Your memory

”

The president’s firm expression stopped me.
After a deep breath, I continued, “Sir, I know delegates engineered
compromises that eroded your republican intent. I want to document
their obstructionism.”

“
That’s not a question.”

Another deep breath. “Why did you
compromise?”

“
We crafted perilous paths between
differing opinions,” Madison said, “that allowed us to leave
Philadelphia with something to present to an anxious nation. I have
no doubt that today we would be under the yoke of a European power
if not for the success of the Federal Convention.”

“
Why did you not include a bill of
rights?”

“
An error. One I corrected in the
First Congress.”

“
The Bill of Rights does not extend to
slaves.”

“
That would have meant
emancipation.”

“
Justice, and our character as a
people, demand that we should consider slaves as human beings, not
as mere property. Yet slaves remain in spite of declarations that
all men are born equally free.”

Dolley’s chin lifted. “Those are my husband’s
words.”