The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr

by Susan Holloway Scott

  “Nothing is ending,” he said. “How did you come by such a notion?”

  I nodded, accepting his explanation. But I understood. If he was making grand plans for a future that did not include me, I must begin in earnest to do the same.

  That night, after everyone else was abed, I spread the latest newspaper from Philadelphia on the kitchen table, and wrote my first letter in reply to an advertisement for a housekeeper.

  CHAPTER 25

  City of New York

  July 1799

  There was not much I recalled of my grandmother. I had been very young when Ammatti had died, and more than thirty years, three oceans, and several continents now separated me from my memories of Pondicherry. But I hadn’t forgotten how she’d warned me and my cousins that everything we did, both bad and good, would lead to the next like links in a chain we could never escape. As a child, I’d pictured the enormous anchor chains that I’d seen on the English ships in the harbor, with each massive link as large as I was tall, and my youthful imagination had imagined such a chain wrapping around me, an iron serpent of my misdeeds to drag me to the bottom of the sea.

  Now, however, I saw only the wisdom in what my grandmother said. Everything that had happened in my life was one link after another, impossible to separate.

  If I hadn’t slipped in the puddle in Pondicherry and fallen into the light of Madame’s carriage, she wouldn’t have bought me from my uncle.

  If I hadn’t defended myself at Belle Vallée, then Major Prevost wouldn’t have bought me for his wife.

  If I hadn’t been taken to New Jersey on the eve of the war, then I wouldn’t have been noticed by Colonel Burr.

  If I hadn’t been used by him, I wouldn’t have given birth to Louisa or Jean-Pierre.

  The newer links were bright with my children. Now eleven, my daughter was already sufficiently skilled at cookery to be hired in even the largest of households. I’d even taught her what I knew of curries, so that that part of me, and of Ammatti, and of Orianne, who’d taught me on board the Céleste, would be part of her as well, another link in our shared chain. Yet still I held Louisa back, keeping her safe and close to me for a bit longer, remembering too well the perils to a girl at work where all around her were older.

  Jean-Pierre was now seven. At Richmond Hill we were too far from the city for him to attend the free Negroes’ school as I wished, and instead I taught him as best I could myself. I took books from the Colonel’s room that would link Jean-Pierre to his father and his half sister both and together we read and learned of history, government, great men, and great thoughts. He’d been blessed with his father’s intelligence, and the more he learned, the more he wished to know.

  It grieved me that my son would never be permitted the education that his father had received. Because of me and my blood, there’d be no tutors, no schools for young gentlemen, no university. Already he showed the abilities that would have made him an admirable attorney like the Colonel, or a clergyman like his grandfather and great-grandfather, or even a physician, all fields that were sadly forbidden to him. While his eventual employment would be compelled to be more modest, I did want a good apprenticeship for him, so he could become a skilled tradesman with his own establishment, whatever that proved to be.

  For now I made sure that he worked about Richmond Hill, weeding, cleaning the stable, fetching water to the kitchen, wherever a boy would be of use. I wanted him to understand that he’d never have the life of an idle gentleman, but must work for his living. I was sure he would somehow one day accomplish great things, and I wanted him to be prepared.

  It was one more reason I wished to take him to Philadelphia, where there would be more opportunities for him. Alas, I’d no prospects there myself, nor had I heard further from Mrs. Madison. Although I answered every advertisement I found in the Philadelphia newspapers, I never received a single reply. I do not know if this was on account of my letters going awry, or that I currently resided in New York, or that, more directly, I was not found suitable.

  Still I persevered, and put aside more coins in my little box, which was easier to do with the Colonel now so often away. From afar, through the newspapers that were still brought each week to Richmond Hill and set aside for the Colonel to read later, I followed all he continued to achieve, both in the Assembly and in the wider world as well.

  While President Adams and the Federalists continued to contrive a war against France, the Colonel likewise continued to speak against it, and the outrageous measures instituted against the French people. The army that had lain dormant since the Revolution was revived, with President Washington as commander in chief, and Colonel Hamilton—now raised to be Major General Hamilton—second-in-command. The Colonel’s reaction to this can well be imagined, yet for the good of the country he served with General Hamilton on the military committee in charge of improving New York’s defenses. There was even talk of the Colonel being made a brigadier general, though in the end, nothing came of that, or of the nonexistent war, either.

  The Colonel was also vocal against Federalist legislation that aimed to stifle the free press and criticism of the government, and prohibit foreign-born citizens from holding office. While aimed at prominent Republicans such as the Colonel’s old friend in Congress Mr. Gallatin, the irony of these laws was the now-general Hamilton had himself been born on an island in the Caribbean. The Colonel spoke often, and he spoke eloquently, and while he was addressing the New York Assembly, his speeches were printed in Republican newspapers throughout the country.

  But he was also involved in more local affairs. Because of its location so near to the sea, one of the greatest problems facing the city of New York was supplying drinkable water to its ever-increasing citizenry. A particularly deadly course of yellow fever in 1796 had led to demands for a privately run water company to bring clean water through a system of pipes to the city. The Colonel was a member of the group that was ultimately selected, called the Manhattan Company, and he personally shepherded the Company’s charter through the Assembly to acceptance. The Company was unique in that it counted both Federalists and Republicans on its board of directors, a feature that the Colonel had insisted upon; one of the most prominent Federalists was General Hamilton’s brother-in-law John Barker Church.

  Nor was that the only part of the charter that was noteworthy. As the Colonel himself explained to me, the city of New York had only two banks, both controlled by Federalists. Anyone known to be a Republican had no recourse for loans or other banking needs. But the Colonel wisely added a small and overlooked amendment to the Manhattan Company’s charter that permitted them to open a bank that would serve all New Yorkers, and not just wealthy Federalists.

  The Federalists howled when this was discovered, but to me at that time it seemed both clever and fair, creating services that would benefit many rather than a few. I was proud of the Colonel for his perseverance. Others, of course, did not agree with the high esteem in which I held the Colonel, as I soon learned. To my sorrow, the Manhattan Company and what it stood for would lead to the next link in the chain of my life that could never be undone, no matter how I might wish it.

  * * *

  It was a fine September morning, already warm, with the trees just beginning to change color. Louisa and I were sitting in the folly on the hill, seaming long strips of linen for bedsheets. While the Colonel was slowly beginning to furnish the house again, the grounds were still neglected. The folly was in sorry need of fresh paint and repair, and long, curling strips of old white paint on the arches trembled in the breeze from the river. But the spot was a good place for sewing, shaded yet with plenty of light, and we sat on the benches with the lengths of linen billowing around us like clouds.

  My humor matched the sunny day. The Colonel had spent much of last week in our company, and his presence had made all of us happy. He’d continued to come to Richmond Hill whenever he came down to the city from Albany, and during his recesses, too. The once-grand house remained largely unfurni
shed and neglected. There were no other guests when he visited, either, which, in a way, I preferred, because it meant that my children and I needn’t share him with anyone else. He taught Jean-Pierre to ride and quizzed him on his studies, and he praised Louisa’s pies and showed her how he always carried the fine linen handkerchief she’d worked for him. With me, he was as he’d always been, charming and ardent and demanding, too.

  But this time was different. In my pocket was a secret. To my amazement, I’d finally received a reply to a letter I’d sent regarding a newspaper advertisement. It had come from a woman named Mrs. Tyler, a member of an abolitionist society in Philadelphia, who was particularly interested in speaking further with me. I’d read it first in disbelief, and since then I’d read it over and over with growing excitement and pleasure. This could be the opportunity I’d sought, that I’d always told myself I desired above all else.

  Yet this same letter also changed everything about the Colonel’s visit. When I watched him with my children, I thought of how fine a memory of him this would be for them. When he looked at me and smiled, I thought of how dull my life would be without that smile to brighten it. And when I lay with him, I considered how this could be the final time we were together like this. It now would be my decision when I left, my choice, and the power of that knowledge was exhilarating and daunting at the same time.

  He had spent the last few days at Partition Street, there for the opening of the Manhattan Company for business on Wall Street. I’d wished I’d been with him for the inevitable dinners and other celebrations, but he’d told me that others who could afford it better than he would be the hosts, and that he’d only be a guest.

  “Is that the Colonel?” Louisa asked when we heard a rider in the distance, and at once she jumped up to look through one of the arched windows to the road below. “He said he’d come back if he could.”

  “I’d be surprised if he returned this soon,” I said, but joined her at the window. It was in fact the Colonel, greeted at once by Jean-Pierre, who’d been raking leaves before the house. The Colonel pulled the boy up before him on the saddle, and together they trotted back to the stable to water the horse.

  “We’ll finish here, Louisa,” I said, beginning to bundle up the strips of linen, “and then join them in the house.”

  With the seams finished a short time later, we carried the baskets with the linen back to the house, and then went up the stairs to the Colonel’s bedchamber. I could hear the Colonel talking to Jean-Pierre, his voice calm and measured as he explained something. I smiled, for I loved to hear them together. The door was ajar, and not wanting to interrupt whatever lesson he was imparting, I gently pushed it the rest of the way open myself.

  The windows were open wide, and sunlight filled the room. The Colonel stood in his shirtsleeves behind Jean-Pierre, bending slightly over his son’s back, their profiles nearly identical.

  With his arm outstretched and taking aim through the open window, my son held one of his father’s dueling pistols.

  “Oh, sir, no!” I cried, appalled. I shielded Louisa behind me in the doorway, determined to keep at least one of my children safe. “What are you doing with my son?”

  Startled, Jean-Pierre looked to me, and let the heavy pistol wobble in his hand. At once the Colonel reached down and took the gun from him, pushing back the safety on the gunlock.

  The gun had been loaded. He’d given my son a loaded pistol—a loaded dueling pistol—to fire.

  “No harm,” the Colonel said mildly.

  “No harm?” I repeated, all I could do in my fury. “No harm?”

  “You shouldn’t have interrupted us, Mama,” Jean-Pierre said, disappointed and resentful. “The Colonel said I’d the aim exactly right, and all I had left to do was to squeeze the trigger.”

  The Colonel smiled proudly. “It was exactly right,” he said. “Level and true. I couldn’t do better myself.”

  “You will tomorrow in Weehawken, sir,” Jean-Pierre said, his eyes filled with adoration. “Mr. Church won’t have a chance against you.”

  The Colonel chuckled. “Now, now, don’t say that. The goal is to redeem lost honor, not to murder the other gentleman where he stands.”

  “What are you talking about, sir?” I demanded, though they’d already told me enough that I knew. “Tell me. Have you planned a duel with Mr. Church?”

  “Mr. Church said Colonel Burr’s guilty of bribery in the Assembly,” Jean-Pierre said, delighted to have this knowledge that I didn’t. “Colonel Burr had to challenge him to make him apologize.”

  I stared at the Colonel, my heart racing so fast that I could scarcely breathe.

  “Is this true, sir?” I demanded. “That you have challenged John Barker Church to a duel?”

  He tipped his head to one side, and smiled. “It will amount to nothing, Mary, I promise you. I wouldn’t have troubled you about it at all, except that I’d left my pistols here. Church has no more wish to harm me than I do him, but he cannot be allowed to speak of me in that fashion.”

  He smiled, trying to coax me into agreement. On this day, it didn’t work. I’d seen too many deaths that could not be helped, too much agony and suffering and sorrow, and I couldn’t bear to watch him now taunt death as if it were one more gamble, one more game. All I could imagine was the breast of his white shirt and waistcoat splattered with a great, growing blotch of his blood as the ball from this gun tore through him and I could do nothing as his life spilled away, one agonizing drop after another.

  Even worse, I imagined my son, my beautiful, innocent son, trained by his father to do this same dreadful act. To imagine Jean-Pierre holding this gun as he aimed at some other woman’s beautiful son, and the moment he squeezed the trigger . . .

  I was crying now, hot tears sliding down my cheeks unchecked, because I knew what I must do. In a matter as important as this, the Colonel hadn’t cared what I believed or wanted. As always, he’d put his own desires before mine, and I couldn’t deny it any longer.

  With Mrs. Tyler’s letter in my pocket, he’d left me no choice.

  “No more, sir,” I said, my voice breaking and my heart with it. “You’ve gone too far, and—and no more.”

  Before he could change my mind, before he could make me forgive him one more time, I turned away and ran down the stairs.

  * * *

  Having found the pistols he’d come for, the Colonel departed for the city later that afternoon. I didn’t see him again, though both Jean-Pierre and Louisa said he’d been very sorry he’d upset me. “Upset”: I suspected that was their word, not his, and pathetically insufficient for all that I felt toward him.

  We all were quiet at dinner in the kitchen, wondering what would happen the next evening on that flat stretch of ground in Weehawken, on the far side of the North River in New Jersey where New York gentlemen went to do their foolishness. After my children had eaten, I told them to pack their clothes and belongings, one trunk for each. I could see the question in their eyes, questions that they didn’t dare ask of me.

  They learned soon enough. I woke them early, before dawn, and bid them climb sleepily into the wagon, using their trunks as benches. I paid Jem to drive us into the city and to the docks, where I quickly found us passage on a sloop bound for Philadelphia.

  The tides and winds were with us, and within three days we’d found our way to a lodging house on Dock Street that I recalled as welcoming to free people. The following morning, I presented myself at Mrs. Tyler’s door with her letter in my hands. She knew I’d been last employed by Colonel Burr, but she was much more concerned with my abilities in the kitchen than my history. She agreed to take me on trial with Louisa as my scullery maid. Included in my employment were two large rooms behind the kitchen, more than enough for the three of us. I could not believe my good fortune, and at once resolved to prove my worth to my new mistress through industry and skill.

  As soon as I could, I enrolled Jean-Pierre in the Negro school, and I made sure we began to attend th
e Christian services held by the Free African Society every Sunday. My children had lived too long apart from others at Richmond Hill, and I wanted them to have friends who were free like them, among people they could grow to trust and respect.

  It took twenty-two days for the Colonel to find us. I knew because I kept track, counting off each day I’d been away from him before I slept. I had left him no letter of farewell or explanation, in part because of my anger when we’d left, but also because I hadn’t wanted to give him any clues as to our whereabouts.

  He came himself to Philadelphia and the Tylers’ house, and called not upon me, but Mrs. Tyler. She’d recognized him at once. Senators were celebrated in the capital city, and the Colonel had been one of the most memorable. Mrs. Tyler had impressed me from the first as being a practical lady, and I suspect she’d quickly guessed both my past and the role of the Colonel in it. She’d shown him to her front parlor and given him tea, and then had a maidservant summon me to meet her in the smaller back parlor, where the family dined.

  “Mrs. Emmons,” she said. “Senator Burr has called, and wishes to see you.”

  I stood before her, my hands tightly clasped over my apron. I resolved to be strong, yet to think that he was here, waiting in the next room for me, was almost too much for me.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “But I do not wish to see him.”

  “He predicted you’d say that,” Mrs. Tyler said. “He told me that if you did, then I was to give you this.”

  She held a letter out to me. I recognized the creamy white stock he ordered from London, and the crimson wafer stamped by the gold seal he habitually wore on his watch chain. Only two words were written on the face, in his familiar slanting hand: Mrs. Emmons.

  How it tempted me, that letter! In all the years I’d known him, he’d never once written to me. With his dread of committing things to paper, the fact that he’d done this was proof of how much he wished me back. I knew what would happen if I took that letter, cracked the seal, and read what he’d written.