Without waiting for my response, he turned and left me with our son. I knew what he intended to do in that half hour, and what would be required of me. I had won in one way, but he’d win in another. I suppose that had been my choice, too.
I shifted Jean-Pierre to my hip, and slowly began to walk toward the kitchen.
CHAPTER 23
Philadelphia
State of Pennsylvania
December 1794
“All you must do, Miss Burr, is sit as still as can be,” Mr. Stuart said, squinting critically at the Colonel’s daughter as he began to sketch, quick flicks of his chalk across the page. “I can already tell you will prove to be a splendid model.”
“I’ve never sat for my portrait before,” Miss Burr said, taking care to move her lips as little as possible. She was seated on a chair on a small, raised platform, her white dress carefully arranged and her hair neatly feathered and combed across her forehead and over her shoulders. “Papa says you are very patient for an artist, on account of having painted many grand people in London.”
“Your papa is most kind,” Mr. Stuart said. I’d never seen an artist before, but to my disappointment he looked much like any other gentleman, with a long, thin nose, pale skin, and gray eyes that seemed to take in every detail around him. “I enjoyed painting him, and I’m honored that he has brought you to my little studio as well.”
The “little studio” was in his home, across the street from the statehouse. It was one of my duties to bring Miss Burr to her sittings each morning when Mr. Stuart declared the sunlight to be most fortuitous for his inspiration.
“Papa says that you should strive for a likeness that captures my intellectual endeavors,” she said. “He doesn’t want me painted like an empty beauty.”
“But you are beautiful, Miss Burr,” the painter protested mildly. “I cannot deny what I see before me.”
“Papa said you’d flatter me like that, too,” she said. “But you are to make certain to include books, instead of a basket of flowers arranged in my lap or other foolishness. Papa says you must stress my intellect rather than my fecundity.”
Mr. Stuart gulped, and seemed to concentrate more fully on his sketch. He might have painted the Colonel previously, but it was clear he wasn’t prepared for Miss Burr’s frankness, another quality suggested by Mrs. Wollstonecraft and much encouraged by her father. There was a reason why the Colonel had hung a portrait of that wise lady in his gallery at Richmond Hill. As a result, however, the directness of Miss Burr’s conversation could take some—like this poor artist—by surprise.
In the end, Mr. Stuart did follow the Colonel’s wishes. Unlike all the other portraits of young ladies that I’d seen in their families’ homes, pictures that presented them sitting against blue skies with pets and flowers, Miss Burr was shown alone against a plain and windowless wall, her gaze direct and her chair surrounded by thick books, which was often the truth of her scholarly life.
At least in the capital city of Philadelphia there were more amusements that her father judged suitable, plays and musical performances and displays of fireworks. Mr. Peale’s new museum offered curiosities gathered from around the world, including the giant bones of fearsome ancient beasts. The entertainment provided by Ricketts Circus might not be as edifying with clowns, dancers, and daring equestrienne feats, but even the Colonel would occasionally relent and take his daughter to a performance. There was also Congress itself. With great fanfare, we went once to hear President Washington’s address, and disappointing it was, too. The president seemed much aged and sadly diminished, and for a general who’d been so commanding in battle, his voice as an orator could scarcely be heard.
Most of my days and evenings, however, were devoted to my duties for the Colonel. While we lived in lodgings, I still had much to do to manage our small transient household, from making sure that the laundry was sent out and brought back to arranging elegant suppers for the Colonel’s guests. He trusted me to make nearly all decisions on my own, from choosing which purveyors and tradespeople to patronize to hiring the extra servants to selecting the dishes and wines to be served when he dined.
I knew his tastes that well. Not only was my knowledge based upon our private friendship, but I’d already been occupying this role for him for many years on account of Mistress’s long illness. In fact, in many ways I did act as much as his wife as his housekeeper, short of sitting at the head of his table. The greatest compliment to me was to be invisible, and my goal was to be able to create the impression of elegant ease and hospitality, without any signs of effort, the way the Colonel preferred. I liked pleasing him, and earning his approval: that was what made me proud. I never wished to call attention to myself in any fashion.
In most ways, I didn’t. The Colonel’s closest friends knew me, of course, and in time I became recognized in the city as Mrs. Emmons, Colonel Burr’s woman, but that was all. I preferred to dress in somber colors and unadorned styles, which also suited my small stature and rounded form. My only visible ornament was not really an ornament at all, but the plain steel chatelaine with the household keys that I wore at the waist of my apron. It was now almost impossible to recall how as a child in slavery I’d worn gaudy silks and spangles and glass jewels. The Colonel teased me by calling me his Quakeress, and I did in fact more resemble those admirable Friends, so prevalent in Philadelphia, than any lady of fashion.
But in the next breath the Colonel would tell me how much he relished being the one man to know my most intimate charms, hidden away from the gaze of all other men like the favorite of some Indian prince kept in purdah. This was foolish and disrespectful in many ways, and I told him so, too. He’d only laugh and kiss me, as if that were enough to make me lose both my wits and common sense.
Perhaps it was. Although keeping our secret was more challenging while living in lodgings, I continued to come to the Colonel’s bed at night whenever I could, to curve my body around his and take him in whatever way delighted us both. Together we found considerable satisfaction in this intimacy, and if there were times when he was more demanding than I would have wished, he always took care to see to my pleasure, too. While I was no longer in my first flower—I was thirty-four, and the Colonel was thirty-eight—our passions were still ripely well matched.
If only there had been a way to have my children with me! I knew the Colonel would not relent, just as I understood the reasons why he shouldn’t. But I couldn’t help but think of them while we were apart, and my heart ached to imagine them both without the benefit of a parent’s love. When the Colonel went to New York for a case in early 1795, to my joy I returned there with him and Miss Burr.
Yet those two weeks at Richmond Hill passed far too swiftly and, instead of relieving my longing, seemed only to magnify it.
“Couldn’t we bring Louisa and Jean-Pierre with us to Philadelphia in the spring?” I asked as the Colonel and I lay side by side in bed soon after we’d returned. It was a cold night, with frost on the insides of the windows and ice in the washbowl, and even with the curtains drawn around the bed, we relied upon each other for warmth beneath the coverlets. “Couldn’t you consider that, sir?”
“I could consider it from now until June, Mary, but I’m not going to change my mind,” he said. “We’ve spoken of this many times, and my answer must always be the same.”
“I know, sir, I know,” I said wistfully. “But this last time, Jean-Pierre didn’t recognize me, and clung to Peg’s petticoat. I’ve been away so much that he’s come to believe Peg is his mother, and . . . and she’s not.”
“Of course she isn’t,” he answered patiently, drawing me closer. “You are, my dear, and a fine mother at that. I’ve often been parted from my Theo, and the separation never grows any easier to bear, whether a day or a half year.”
“But you’ve been able to leave her in the care and education of those you trust, sir.” I couldn’t keep the quavery little catch from my voice. “I do not have that same confidence in Peg, especially w
ith Louisa.”
“You must remember the complete span of our daughter’s life, Mary,” he said, that initial patience changing to mild irritation, “and how small a part this separation will seem to Louisa as she grows older. This will not be forever.”
It seemed like forever to me. I thought of all the things I wished my daughter to know, the things I wished to teach her myself, that were not valued by Peg. There was no reason she should, of course. Born into bondage, Peg was without ambition for betterment, content to scratch out her mark, and nothing more.
“Louisa is your daughter, too, sir, as much as Theo is,” I pleaded. “She has your cleverness, a quickness that is being squandered the longer she remains—”
“Mary, no,” he said, sharp and terse. “I agree that this separation from your daughter is unfortunate, but for now it cannot be changed. Louisa and Jean-Pierre are perfectly well at Richmond Hill. Let that be an end to it. You know I’ve other more serious matters to occupy me at present, and I’ll thank you not to worry at me again on this subject.”
That silenced me, but not my fears, and I was grateful that in the darkness of the curtained bed he couldn’t see the tears of frustration that surely gleamed in my eyes.
The Colonel never did anything without a reason. I couldn’t decide if he kept us apart so that I would be more attached to him, or because he wished to retain our children. I’d always believed that this would become simpler once I’d my freedom. But it hadn’t, not at all. He still seemed to control my life, and our children’s as well.
Nor could I claim that all of it was his doing. I was at fault as well. Remaining with him was by far the easiest path for me, and I couldn’t deny that he offered security. He loved my children, and I believe in some fashion he cared for me as well. But that affection and security and habit, and my own uncertain sentiments, were all so woven together that I could not easily untangle them; even to attempt to do so made me feel foolish. I’d been with the Colonel for so long now that it had become increasingly difficult to imagine parting with him.
Soon after this, however, I was given a glimpse of what my life might be if I dared to break with him.
I’d arranged a small supper for the Colonel and several of his closer friends in Philadelphia. Several wives were included in the party; this was unusual, since most congressmen left their wives at home to oversee their affairs and estates while they were away, and also because of the limited lodgings available in Philadelphia.
One of the ladies in attendance was Mrs. Madison, wife to Representative James Madison of Virginia. The Colonel had known Mrs. Madison when she’d been the widowed Mrs. Todd, and he had been a resident of her mother’s Philadelphia boardinghouse. It was the Colonel who had introduced Mrs. Todd to Mr. Madison, an old acquaintance from college, and when they’d recently wed he’d jovially claimed all the credit for the match.
Mrs. Madison had been raised a Friend, and perhaps that was why she was more direct than many other ladies. She’d taken care to learn my name, and greeted me by it. After this particular supper, however, she drew me aside at the bottom of the stairs as the farewells were being made by the door.
“A word, Mrs. Emmons, if you please.” She was a tall woman, much taller than her husband, with full cheeks and a small, merry mouth, and she lowered her voice in confidence as she addressed me. “Between us alone.”
I drew myself a little straighter, preparing myself to be told of some flaw with the supper: that the soup hadn’t been sufficiently warm, or a footman had been clumsy.
“I’ve observed how well you look after the Colonel,” Mrs. Madison continued. “Poor man, he needs looking after, too, since his wife’s death. But tonight was exceptional. Everything was arranged exactly as it should be, with the precise degree of French influence in each course, and I vow the Colonel keeps the best table in Congress. That is entirely to your credit, Mrs. Emmons. I know how difficult it can be to make a good showing in lodgings, with everything and everyone hired.”
I flushed with pleasure. I never heard compliments like this. Happy guests praised the Colonel, not me, as was to be expected.
“Thank you, Mrs. Madison,” I murmured. “I’m glad to learn that you enjoyed Colonel Burr’s supper.”
“Oh, I more than enjoyed it,” she said, “and so did everyone else. Now I know you are loyal to the Colonel, and loyalty is a fine, fine thing. But if you should ever wish to find a more permanent position within a larger household here in Philadelphia, I hope you shall come to me first. I know of at least half a dozen ladies who would give their eyeteeth for a housekeeper who manages as well as you. I should like to recommend you to them, if you’ll but say the word.”
I nodded, stunned. I had always been puzzled as to how I’d find a position in a household here in Philadelphia, and here Mrs. Madison was offering assistance to me. It surprised me that a woman whose husband kept scores of women and men in bondage on his Virginian plantations would volunteer such assistance to me. Perhaps she didn’t know what I was; because of my dress, there were on occasion people who mistook my light color, and didn’t realize I was mulatto. As the Colonel often said, people saw what they expected.
“I am a free woman, ma’am, and a widow with two young children,” I said, thinking quickly. “Would that change the opinion of these ladies?”
“Given your skill, Mrs. Emmons,” Mrs. Madison said, “you might have a dozen children in tow, and if they don’t hinder your duties, you’d find a new place within a day.”
I noticed that she continued to overlook the color of my skin, so perhaps it truly didn’t matter to her. But to keep house for a family without all the complications of the Colonel, to have my children with me, to be regarded as a respectable widow here in Philadelphia, where there were so many other free men and women like us—what a heady dream that would be!
“Thank you, Mrs. Madison,” I said, my thoughts spinning fast. “Thank you for your—your kindness.”
I made a small curtsey to her from gratitude, and caught the Colonel’s curious expression over Mrs. Madison’s silk-covered shoulder.
“What was that about with Dolley, Mary?” he asked later, when we were alone and he was having a final cigar as he reviewed some letters delivered earlier in the evening. “What conspiracy were you two brewing, eh?”
“You see conspiracies everywhere, sir,” I scoffed, employing his own useful habit of deflecting difficult questions without answers. “Mrs. Madison was merely praising the quality of your dinner.”
He smiled through the smoke, the cigar clenched tight in the side of his mouth.
“As it was, and as you knew, since I’d already praised you to the skies,” he said. “I’m still not discounting a conspiracy among you women. I’ll have to be sure to warn Jemmy to guard himself at home.”
“Hush, sir,” I said mildly. “I’d think that you have enough to battle with Colonel Hamilton and the rest without taking on all the women in Philadelphia, too.”
He sighed wearily, no longer teasing. “You can’t begin to conceive of all I must battle, Mary.”
But I could, because each night I listened to him recount the events of his day. Those events often were battles, too; he was not exaggerating. The conflict between the Federalists and the Democratic-Republicans had continued to grow wider and more vicious, with accusations and slanders both in the press and in person. It seemed impossible to believe most of these same gentlemen had been of the same accord less than twenty years before, unified for the sake of the new country born from the war, and the people who were its citizens. That spirit was entirely gone, and not even the noble figure of President Washington appeared able to heal the ruptures.
With their support of merchants, bankers, and other wealthy gentlemen, the Federalists held the balance of power in Congress, and appeared determined to push through policies and laws that benefited only these same individuals. Representing most everyone else, the Republicans attempted to push back against the Federalists as best they co
uld, and still with little success. Yet still the Colonel remained their leader in Congress, always speaking so eloquently and logically that the Federalists were made anxious, even as they continued to vote as a bloc.
It was clear that support among the more common people for the Republicans was growing, and growing loudly. One of the least popular policies that Colonel Hamilton had concocted as Secretary of Treasury to support his federal banking schemes was a series of taxes upon the people, including a tax upon whiskey. Even I knew that no man likes to have his spirits threatened, whether that spirit is a costly imported port or canary wine, or whiskey distilled by the drinker in his barn. Most whiskey drinkers resided to the west, far from the cities along the coast, and when Colonel Hamilton’s tax collectors appeared at their farms and small towns they were not welcomed, some being tarred and feathered and lashed to a rail before being forcibly banished. Liberty Poles—those familiar signs of defiance from the Revolution—began to sprout from various village greens. There were even rumors of some towns importing French-made guillotines, with the intention of removing the head of any Federalist politician who dared come poke his nose in their affairs.
In private, the Colonel and his associates found this more than a little entertaining. Nor were they above inflaming these frontier passions to suit their own purposes, and to increase the popularity of the Republicans. But the Federalists were not so amused. Encouraged by Colonel Hamilton, President Washington called out a large force of militia, once again put on his uniform, and rode out to put down the rebellion, with Colonel Hamilton preening and puffing at his side.
As the Colonel said, this was a sad picture all around, with the federal government forcing the citizen-soldiers of the militia to confront other citizens for the sake of taxes. The whole affair leaned disastrously close to a civil war. To the relief of sensible people, the resistance melted away at the sight of the militia, and there were no casualties because there were no battles. Everyone came trooping back home to Philadelphia again, including the poor old president, so infirm that he returned not on his familiar white steed, but huddled in a carriage. It was scarcely the victory that the Federalists tried to claim.
The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr Page 48
