Washington's Lady (35 page)

He leaned back in his chair and a smile escaped. I allowed his amusement because I knew he had listened to my words. He always listened . . . whether he would heed my requests was variable.

I decided upon one more action before the moment passed. I reached for his hand and pulled. “Come with me.”

“But I have work—”

I held fast and did not give him option. He removed himself from his chair and let me lead him to the outside, to the covered veranda that had been built the length of the house on the river side.

He stepped over a pile of scrap wood being used for various fixes. “Martha, I have seen the progress of the repairs. I do not—”

I stopped before a bench I had seen the workmen rest upon. “Sit,” I commanded.

“Sit here?”

I pressed upon his shoulders until he succumbed to my wishes. “Now move over. For I wish to sit beside you.”

“’Tis a bit cramped,” he said with a smile.

“I will assume you refer to your own girth, not mine?”

“Absolutely.”

Once we were settled, I linked a hand through his arm and with the other pointed to the Potomac beyond. “Is it not beautiful?”

“Yes, of course. Which is why I am so adamant about finding wise solutions to our problems.” He began to rise.

I yanked him down again. “The first solution to any problem is to count our blessings. We are home. We are together under our own vine and fig tree. All else is incidental. “

I felt his body relax. For the first time, he truly allowed himself to gaze upon the sloping green before us, the gray of the river below, and the mass of trees edging its banks. He raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes. “We
are
blessed . . .”

Remember that, George. Above all else, remember that.

*****

George found me in the dining room finalizing the table for three o’clock supper. “Who is the couple in the parlour?” he whispered.

“Mr. Quarrier from Richmond and Miss Eliza Tomkins from Philadelphia.”

He raised an eyebrow, awaiting more explanation.

“I do not know them either. Apparently Mr. Quarrier had a nephew who fought a battle somewhere, at some time, and was just passing by and wished to pay his respects to General and Mrs. Washington.” I adjusted his fresh cravat. George always returned to the house from his rounds across Mount Vernon at quarter to three in order to freshen himself for supper.

“Strangers.”

“Until now, yes.”

“Are they staying the night?”

“They have given such indication.”

“But the house is full.”

“Which is why it is a good thing we are having extra bedrooms put in the attic.” I brushed a speck off the tablecloth. “Last year we had six hundred seventy-seven overnight guests.”

“You counted?”

“I did. And with only half a year gone, we appear to be testing that mark for this year. Perhaps if we put a shingle out, ‘Washington’s Inn,’ and charged a fee, our money problems would be over.”

“A hefty fee,” George said.

“As for now, I am having pallets set in the hall.”

George looked over his shoulder toward the parlour, but leaned low for my ears alone. “Mr. Quarrier does not look to be the sort who is used to a mat on the floor.”

“If his tastes deem him otherwise, then I will ask him to go elsewhere—and pay for his lodging and sustenance.” I straightened a knife and spoon just so. “The expense of guests, George . . . they all believe we have a great plenty.”

“And are willing to part with it, at
their
will.”

My thoughts sped to the rigid schedule I had been forced to implement in order to take myself through the day-to-day regime of constant guests. “The authoress Catherine Macaulay and her husband, William Graham, are coming tomorrow.” I took a step closer and lowered my voice. “Much younger husband, I have heard. She is forty-seven and he, but of age.”

George shook his head. He did not like gossip. “Will you have a pallet made for them, my dear?”

I picked up a stack of extra napkins to take back to the pantry. “Unless a guest leaves, or you are willing to give up our bed.”

“I choose the former, my dear. Unless you will relinquish your spot beside me?”

“Do not tempt me. The way you awake in the morning, so suddenly, with a rush . . .”

“Old habits from the front. I still awake ready to confront some wartime essential.”

“Weary we are, and relaxed, we are not.” I found his eyes. “Will we ever be allowed to relax?”

He kissed my cheek. “The perils of fame, my dear.”

“I thought with fame came fortune,” I replied.

“Alas, only in novels.”

Knowing the children needed education, we hired a tutor, William Shaw, who was also assigned to help George with clerical duties.

But as Mr. Shaw preferred pleasure to work, and though we gave him many chances, we eventually let him go on his way. Tobias Lear from New Hampshire took his place and proved very satisfactory. Finally, I had someone who could truly help me and not aggravate our arduous days.

Being spring, Tobias took the children to the back lawn for their lessons. Spring was the best time of year at Mount Vernon. I relished the fresh air and had the doors and windows flung wide.

“Done!” In one motion, eight-year-old Nelly set her pencil upon her portable writing desk and handed her paper to Mr. Lear, who looked it over intently.

Soon he proclaimed, “Perfect, Miss Nelly. Once again, perfection.”

I set down my mending and applauded from my chair on the terrace. “Well done, dear girl.” I looked to Harriot, who was lying on her back, using the desk as a pillow. Hopeless. Utterly hopeless.

And Wash was not much better.

“Master Wash? What did you get for your sums?” Mr. Lear asked.

Wash bit the end of his pencil, looked at his sister, then flipped the pencil, sending it end over end till it stuck like a thrown knife in the grass. “Twelve, fourteen, eight? What do I care for numbers? I want to go to the wharf. The herring are coming in and I want to watch.”

Mr. Lear cleared his throat and looked toward me. “Would you not wish to cipher how many fish were caught and in how many nets?”

“Tons and tons. That is all I care.” Wash ran to me, at six, still small enough to crawl upon my lap. “Do not make me learn numbers, Grandmamma. They hurt my head.”

I looked to Mr. Lear, who awaited my response. “Numbers are important, Wash. Especially when you take over Mount Vernon. Your grandpapa uses numbers all the time and—”

“But that is ages and ages from now. Let Nelly do the numbers for me. She does not even have to try.”

It was true. Nelly had an avid penchant for learning that was sorely lacking in her brother. No matter if it was writing, mathematics, geography, or French, Nelly excelled.

And Wash did not.

His little fingers played with the locket at my neck. “Please, Grandmamma? It is too fine a day to be thinking.”

Although pretending to do otherwise, Harriot had been watching the entire exchange with interest. She chose this moment to sit up. “I will go with him, Aunt Martha. I will watch over him.”

He leapt from my lap and they were gone, down the hill toward the river. Mr. Lear shook his head, though out of respect he did not look at me. I knew he did not understand my indulgence of Wash. In truth,
I
did not understand it. Why was I incapable of being stern with young boys? If I was not careful, Wash would turn out as flighty and void of academics as his father had been.

I also felt Nelly’s eyes. Although I loved her every bit as much as her brother, she had to notice my inability to be stern with him while I held her to high accountability in the domestic lessons I offered toward her womanhood.

She looked back to Mr. Lear. “Can I learn about Spain today, Mr. Lear?”

“Certainly. Let me go back to the house and get my geography book and I will show you some beautiful maps of—”

Eustis burst through the door nearby. “Mistress Washington! Come quick! Mrs. Washington is having her baby!”

Fanny.

I ran inside.

*****

Fanny’s baby boy was now two weeks old. Her husband, George Augustine—although his cough and consumption were worse—took great joy in this new babe.

But the boy was not well, and Fanny was weak, and George Augustine was also in bed. My days and nights were consumed with care for them. So much so my husband worried o’er my own health.

“You must get some sleep, Martha,” he said as he intercepted me in the hallway outside their room.

“I must get these linens to them,” I said.

He sidestepped, blocking my way. “Have we not had enough death in the family of late? My brother Jack, your mother, your brother, Bartholomew?”

“We cannot bar death at the door, George. It will seep through the cracks at will.”

He held a finger to my face. “But we need not be reckless. We cannot mock good health any more than we mock death.” He took the linens from me. “Now go. To bed with you.”

“But you need rest too.”

“I will join you shortly.”

I did as I was told, but feeling as usual—neither sick nor well—I could not sleep. I rarely could sleep. The to-dos, should-dos, and could-dos of life prevented it.

*****

The baby died.

A pall of sadness spread over the house like a shroud. Even the children seemed to sense that now—above all other times—was the time to be quiet.

The constant stream of visitors sensed nothing and continued to invade our home.

Oh, to be anonymous again.

*****

“Can they not do it without you?” I asked George.

He checked the straps on his horse. “They could. But I have given too much, spent too many years, to let others create a system of government without me. We need a government with separate branches that work together: executive, judicial, and legislative. There should be power available to each, yet power that can be checked by the other.” He stopped his work—and his discourse—to look at me. “We are creating a nation unlike any that has ever existed, Martha. We must find a way to unite thirteen disparate states into one mind. We must get it right.”

I tried to think of some other reason, some way to get him to stay. My eyes fell upon the stable to my left, to a plow being readied for a field. “’Tis time for planting. Unless all miraculously agree and make quick work of it, you will be months away. You will miss the growing season. You are needed here.”

He too looked toward the stables. The plow toppled, and he took a half step in its direction, then stopped himself. “I have to do this. It is my duty.”

There was nothing I could do to stop him. “You promise this will make it done? Once the government is established, you will let others do the work and come home to me?”

“I promise.”

He kissed me, mounted his horse, and rode away.

I would hold him to that promise. I would.

*****

Tobias Lear snapped the latest newspaper against his knee. “It appears New Hampshire will ratify soon.”

“They will be the ninth.” George Augustine buttered a piece of bread.

Eleanor’s husband, David Stuart, reached for the jam. “Nine will make the Constitution real.”

General Knox wiped a crumb from his chin. “Real
and
vital.”

“I am very aggrieved,” my George said as he passed the butter along, “that our own Virginia has not chosen to ratify. I should ride to Williamsburg and give them a piece of my—”

I rose from my chair. “There will be none of that.” I proceeded to gather the ten newspapers that littered the table. “I am sick to death of politics. Who has said what, who has done what. For ten months I have endured little else as one by one the states ratify.”

Lucy Knox fluttered her hands. “But it is ever so exciting.”

I gave her an appalled look. I could usually count on her for lively—interesting—conversation. For her to defect to the side of politics . . .

“Well, it is,” she said.

“North Carolina and Rhode Island say they will not ratify until a bill of rights is created,” Tobias said. “The Constitution details the rights of the government, but the rights of the people need attention also. I do not oppose such a thing, but—”

With great drama I dropped the stack of papers to the floor, inches from the grate of the fireplace. I struck a match and held it aloft. “Though it be June these papers
would
make great kindling. What say you, gentlemen? A roaring fire on a hot day or a new conversation?”

“Sorry, my dear.” George held his hand toward me. “Come back and sit down. What would you like to talk about?”

“I know.” Henry leaned his three-hundred-pound frame closer to the table. “Let us discuss how George will be our first president.”

Lucy clapped her hands. “Oh, George. Really?”

“There has been talk,” Tobias said. “The government requires a man respected by all sides.” He turned to George. “The fact you were unanimously elected president of the Constitutional Convention speaks well of your chances at the—”

My mouth had fallen into a gape. It was my turn to address George. “President? You?”

He rose from his chair and started toward me. “Now, Martha. It is not a certainty by any means. And there are others—”

“No, there are not,” Henry said. “Not any in high contention. ’Tis nearly a sure thing.”

President.

So much for retirement.

“If you will excuse me.”

I left the room.

*****

“Martha. Please open the door.”

“Can you not respect my privacy, husband? I am busy.”

I sat in one of the necessaries that was nestled among the tree-lined serpentine walk that edged our circular drive. I had no need for its particular function but only for its solitude. The smell was unpleasant, but after rushing from the house I could think of no other place where I could be absolutely alone.

George being named president would not ease this deficiency. “Please, Martha. I want to talk to you, to explain, to ease your fears, to—”

I opened the door and took a breath of fresher air. “Ease my fears? Which means you are not considering it?”

He pulled me out, closed the door, and placed my hand in the crook of his arm. He walked me down the row of trees, away from the house. He turned into the gardens. Three slaves weeded nearby. “Leave us,” he said.

And we were alone. I sat upon a bench. I did not much care if he sat beside me or not. “So? How long have you known of this?” I asked.

He chose to stand, putting his hands behind his back. He also chose to look over my head, into the garden.

Wise man. My eyes would have burned into his in a way most uncomfortable.

“There was talk last summer at the convention that
if
the Constitution was ratified, a president would need to be chosen. A charismatic figure who—”

“What about Franklin? Adams? Even Jefferson? Choose one of those who enjoy the limelight. Someone who has experience in Europe, for wouldn’t a president need to have such connections?”

“Although I have not traveled outside this country, European heads have come to me. Have come here, Martha. Stayed in our rooms, supped at our table.”

“I know. I have washed their sheets and gotten up at dawn to make certain their bread had risen.”

“Lafayette has told us France is in turmoil. There is a revolution brewing there. They have enough to worry about to care about our attention.”

“But perhaps they will need our help as we needed theirs? Tit for tat. A president will have to deal with such decisions. If you are president, will you volunteer to fight over there, in aid of the French cause for freedom?”

“No, no, Martha. I promise—”

I stood and placed myself inches from him. “You promised before! When you rode away to the convention you promised you would let others do the work of the new government.”

He tried to capture my hands in his, but I would not let him and pushed away to my own space along the path. “You are fifty-six years old, George. Too old to start something so new, so encompassing, so stressful. Your joints ache, your teeth are practically falling out of your mouth, you are going deaf, and your eyesight is weak.”

“I have spectacles now. They help.”

I stomped a foot and tears of frustration escaped. “This is not about spectacles! It is about there being a limit. Have you—have we—not sacrificed enough for this country?”

He looked to the sky, his white hair a striking contrast to its blue. “We have sacrificed beyond measure, my dear. We deserve to live here in peace. And honestly, I am finally seeing results in our hard work here at Mount Vernon. It has taken years to repair it from the ruins of war, but it is nearly whole again.”

My words came out as a sob. “Then stay here and finish the work.”

He took a deep breath and swallowed with difficulty. “There is work to be done for all, in developing the country to find its true destiny, in helping it become a great nation. Are there men more capable than myself? More versed in politics? Wiser, better men? Certainly. But as the commander of the army I became a tie that bound soldiers from all states and backgrounds. There is no other man who has that experience, nor who has loyalty to all states. I unified men before; I can do it again.” He moved to take my hand and this time, I let him. “My largest fear is that without a strong leader from the very beginning this nation will fracture into thirteen sovereign states. The government we are on the verge of establishing will dissipate like fog upon the river, and we will be as we were before, thirteen instead of one. In short, my dear, dear wife, I fear if I do not accept this position, all our sacrifice—e’en the whole of the revolution—will be counted for nothing.”

I clenched my jaw and shook my head in short bursts. “’Tis not fair, George. ’Tis not fair that one man take on such repeated burdens.”

He pulled me close. “
If
this position comes to me, I know it will be accompanied by a feeling not unlike that of a culprit who is going to his place of execution.”

I pulled back to see his face. “Then—?”

He pulled me close again. “That being true or not, I must say yes, Martha. The country calls and I must answer its voice.”

And I?

I wished to plug my ears.

*****

Nine months had come down to this day. In the time it took for a baby to gestate and be born, so came the birth of the presidency. We had heard that on April 6, 1789, the votes of the electoral college had been assessed—and were unanimous.

My husband had been elected president. The first president of the United States of America.

You would have thought nine months was time enough for me to accept the notion, to resign myself to that fate, but like a new mother who upon seeing her baby born realizes she still does not have a name for it, so it was with me.