“Why?”
Agreen studied Richard’s profile as his friend continued to gaze northward, his jaw set as if in stone.
“I think you know why, Richard,” Agreen said softly. “She seems more and more withdrawn as the weeks go by. Oh, she still lights up and becomes her old self whenever Diana comes over. And she always has a smile for me, bless her. But she seems content to stay indoors much of the time. Lizzy tells me that it’s hard t’ get Katherine t’ go out ridin’ with her. You know there’s somethin’ wrong there. Before, Katherine would have jumped at almost any opportunity t’ ride a horse, especially with Liz.”
“Are you the one making these observations, Agee? Or is it Lizzy, through you?”
“It’s us both,” Agreen asserted. “We don’t mean t’ pry. But we can’t just sit on our hands and say nothin’ either. You and I, Richard, we’re the luckiest of men. We’ve both won life’s biggest prize. We married extraordinary women who, for reasons only the Almighty can comprehend, find us worthy of their love in return. Few people can claim such a union, much less understand it.”
Richard nodded his agreement. “That was well put. I obviously agree.”
“You and Katherine are our dearest friends,” Agreen continued in a low, urgent tone. “Lizzy and Katherine have been like sisters since childhood. You and I have been like brothers since we signed on t’gether in Ranger. So when we’re concerned about either of you, we speak up. That’s what friends and family do. Lord knows, you and Katherine have done that for us. Hell’s bells, you two are the reason Lizzy and I got hitched in the first place. Without your intervention and wise counsel,” Agreen concluded with a chuckle, “Liz would never have had a mind t’ marry me.”
“I doubt that,” Richard said.
“It’s not only that she seems withdrawn,” Agreen continued when Richard offered nothing further. “She seems frailer and thinner. Her clothes don’t fit anymore; they hang on her. Lizzy and I aren’t the only ones t’ notice these things. I know from what Hugh has told me that he and Phoebe are concerned. So are Caleb and Joan. I suspect your children are too. Maybe they’re convinced that it’s all part of growin’ older. But that’s not the right explanation, is it, Richard.”
That last sentence was not a question but a statement of fact. Richard leaned forward and clasped his hands together. For long moments he stared down at the deck and at the gush of seawater gurgling along the packet’s larboard hull. When the mate walked forward on the leeward side to prepare mooring lines and douse canvas, he said, his voice gravelly and thick with emotion, “Agee, I am not at liberty to discuss this subject with you right now. Besides, we haven’t the time. All I can tell you is that your concerns are noted and appreciated. And they are not without merit. I can assure you, no one is more concerned about Katherine than I am.”
“SO, HOW was your day in Boston, my love?” Katherine asked lightheartedly as she finished dinner preparations.
Richard was sitting at the oval teak table in the dining room off the kitchen as Katherine served their favorite dish of creamed codfish surrounded by whipped potatoes and green beans. Richard had already poured two glasses of Bordeaux. Three candles flickered in the silver candelabra placed at the center of the table; they could hear the comforting snap and crackle of birch and pine logs ablaze in the hearth in the parlor adjacent to the dining area; a strengthening northerly rattled the window-panes, accentuating the comfortable warmth inside.
“It was interesting,” Richard answered as she sat down across from him. Since it was rare these days for their children to dine with them, Richard had removed both leaves of the table, contracting its size by half. Once, that would have welcomed intimacy into the evening.
Katherine took a healthy sip of wine. “How so?” she inquired. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”
He studied her in the soft glow of the candlelight. Agreen’s words to him on the packet boat weighed heavily on a mind already fraught with anxiety and despair. And yet, as he gazed at her from across the table, he could almost discount that conversation. It seemed surreal, out of place. Her fetching smile was still there; her skin still glowed; her chestnut hair still curled about her face, although it was not as long as in former days. Approaching fifty years of age, Katherine Hardcastle Cutler remained a woman of extraordinary grace, beauty, kindness, and courage—to his eyes the very same woman he had married twenty-five years ago. Looking at her in the mellow, dancing light, he could neither believe not bear to accept that inside that lovely exterior her body was being viciously assaulted.
“Richard? What is it, darling?” she asked.
Richard downed a slug of wine before placing the glass gently back on the table. “Katherine,” he said quietly, “I fear your secret is about to be exposed. I have not said a word to anyone, I promise you. But people are drawing conclusions on their own.”
Katherine did not flinch. “You say ‘people.’ Who, specifically?”
“Agee. And Lizzy. This afternoon on the boat Agee told me that Hugh and Phoebe have their concerns, as do Caleb and Joan. No doubt there are others.”
Katherine let out a low sigh. “Diana was over this afternoon. She asked me if anything was wrong. She said that she and Peter have been worried about me.”
“How did you answer her?”
“I told her that nothing was wrong. I told her I am having some stomach ailments that I’m sure will clear up in due course. She asked me if I felt well enough to go out riding with her tomorrow. When I told her I did, she was visibly relieved. So we’re meeting at Indian Hollow at ten o’clock.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Of course it’s wise,” Katherine snapped. “Why wouldn’t it be? Why are we even having this conversation, Richard? You know it only distresses me. Is that what you want to do? Worry and distress me?”
“Of course not, Katherine. Stop talking nonsense.”
“What, then?”
Richard held her hard glare. “It’s just that I don’t know how much longer we can continue to say nothing. We know your cancer is back. Our friends and family may not know it, but they will soon assume it, if they haven’t already. I had my strong suspicions before you told me about it last week. More to the point, Katherine, you’re weaker than before. You can’t deny that and you can’t entirely hide it. If something should happen and you should fall from your horse . . .” He could not go on. He reached for his glass and drained it.
Katherine’s eyes softened. She reached her right hand across the table. Richard took it in his. “Richard,” she pleaded, “stay with me on this, I beg you. It is what I want you to do for me. People may observe all they want and draw whatever conclusions they will, but that won’t change anything. I don’t want their pity. I don’t want to talk to them knowing that they know. There is nothing that anyone can do to treat this cancer. As good a surgeon as Dr. Prescott may be, he cannot amputate my chest.” She gave him a rueful smile. “It is what it is, my darling, and we both have to accept that reality. We both have to be strong—for each other and for those we love, especially our children. They need not know about my condition for some time yet. I promise henceforth to do everything I can to appear strong and to allay concerns. I can and will endure whatever pain I must, and I promise not to take unnecessary risks.
“But in return, you must promise to stand with me. If I were to confess to everyone, as you seem to want me to do, the life I have known—the life I have loved all these years with you—would end on that day. Who knows how much longer I have? It could be many months. It could be a year or more. So let us please make the most of the days we have left together. Do not deny us the joy of seeing our grandchild. Do not give people reason to avoid us or act uneasy around us. Do not take from me this life I love so dearly one day sooner than is absolutely necessary. Don’t you understand? We’ve been through this before.”
In truth, Richard did understand. But it was the scourge of Satan for him to watch impotently while the woma
n he loved more than life itself suffered so in mind and body.
“I shall do as you ask,” he said to her, his voice resigned. “And I shall continue to pray for God’s blessing and mercy on you and on us all.”
Ten
Washington, D.C., and at Sea off Norfolk, Virginia
June 1807
STEPHEN DECATUR chewed on his lower lip as he read the communiqué lying face-up on the desk of his grandly appointed study. When he had finished reading it, he lifted its upper edges and read it a second time, his eyes narrowing as he took in the very real threat couched in the polished and seemingly collegial words of a highly placed British diplomat. He cursed under his breath and banged his fist on the smooth mahogany finish. Pushing back his chair, he jumped to his feet and reached for the long velvet cord by the window drapes that would summon Martin, his orderly.
Just then, his bride of one year appeared at the open door. “What is it, Stephen?” she asked as she hurried into the room. “I do not mean to pry, but the door was open and I heard you pound your fist on the table. Why so out of sorts?”
Decatur released the cord. “It appears that our British friends are at it again, Susan,” he replied stiffly. “I must confer with Mr. Smith as soon as possible.”
“Whyever so?” she said, surprised at his sudden desire to see the secretary of the Navy.
He handed her the letter. As she read it, he studied her profile and her elegant features, clouded now by concern at the letter’s content. Long considered a “prize of consequence” for her stunning beauty and keen intellect, before her marriage Susan Wheeler had been pursued by such notables as Aaron Burr, the man who in 1801 became Jefferson’s vice president, and Jérôme Bonaparte, Napoléon’s youngest bother, who had cut quite a swath through Washington society. Ultimately she had settled her love interest on the dashing war hero born on Maryland’s Eastern Shore and raised in Philadelphia. Her father, Luke Wheeler, was the mayor of Norfolk, Virginia, and was well regarded in naval circles there and elsewhere. He had played a pivotal role in the introduction and subsequent courtship of his daughter to the American naval officer who had led the daring raid on USS Philadelphia in Tripoli Harbor. Nor had that been Decatur’s only act of heroism. He had several times risked his own life to come to the aid of shipmates in distress, on one occasion swan-diving off a lower yard of a frigate to rescue a waister who had fallen overboard and could not swim.
Although no one could deny that Susan had married well, her beauty and wit had done much to further her husband’s career. “Yes, I see,” she said as she finished the letter. She handed it back to her husband and, after a glance at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace said, “Stephen, here’s a thought. Why don’t I find Martin and send him off to the Navy Yard with a note to Mr. Smith. Shall we propose a meeting time for four o’clock this afternoon? That gives you six hours to prepare. Even if Mr. Smith should have a prior engagement, he will certainly postpone it once he realizes the urgency of this matter. I will be sure Martin confirms everything with you, of course.”
“That would do nicely, Susan, thank you. I shall start getting ready at once. I want to consult with several people before I meet with Mr. Smith.”
“Of course, my dear. I understand,” she said and left to go in search of Decatur’s orderly.
As Decatur watched his wife leave the study, the thought again occurred to him that what had inflamed his desire to marry this lovely young woman went far beyond physical attraction and her intimate knowledge of social etiquette.
BY THE YEAR 1807 the District of Columbia, the seat of the federal government that had been under the jurisdiction of Congress for six years, was beginning to take shape as a city of international renown. Designed by the French-born American architect Pierre Charles L’Enfant, its north-south, east-west street grid intersected by wide diagonal “grand avenues” named for individual states had caught the fancy of domestic and foreign critics alike. The showpiece of the city was, of course, the President’s House on Pennsylvania Avenue. But other structures were also drawing critical acclaim, among them the Congress House, just now finishing construction on what had become known as Capitol Hill, and the Washington Navy Yard, built under the direction of Benjamin Stoddard, the first secretary of the Navy, and under the supervision of the Yard’s first and current commandant, Commo. Thomas Tingley. The main function of the Yard was to build, repair, and outfit Navy ships of war. It also served as headquarters for the principals and staff of the Navy Department.
Stephen Decatur took scant note of Washington’s many public gardens, rectangular plazas, and intricate canal systems after he left his stylish three-story red brick residence and strode toward the Navy Yard, a brown leather satchel clasped firmly in one hand. When Claude Martin had hurried back to Lafayette Square to confirm the four o’clock appointment, he had asked if Decatur required the use of his private carriage. Decatur had demurred, preferring to walk the mile or so and enjoy the cool, sunny weather that was more typical of a day in early April than one in early June. Besides, he needed to think, and he did his best thinking when strolling alone, either along city streets or, better, on a quarterdeck.
Decatur entered the Yard through a break in the white brick wall that bounded its northern and eastern perimeters. To the west, beyond the handiwork of civilization, he could see vast expanses of spongy marshes and open wetlands. To the south, the slow-moving waters of the Potomac River formed a natural boundary. The 38-gun frigate Chesapeake lay snug against a quay nearby. Decatur returned the salute of a Marine sentinel and was ushered inside a well-lit but slightly musty-smelling sandstone building.
A short way down the hall on the first floor, the Marine knocked on a door to the right, opened it ajar, and announced the visitor. At a word from the occupant, the Marine opened the door wide to allow Decatur entry.
“Stephen, welcome,” a cordial voice said as the Marine stepped back and closed the door. A well-presented man rose from behind the room’s large desk and walked over with his right hand extended. In contrast to Decatur’s splendid naval captain’s uniform, the man was wearing tasteful civilian garb. The two men clasped hands, their mutual affection captured in the steady gaze of one upon the other and their lingering firm grasp. At age fifty, Robert Smith was almost twice Decatur’s age; in physical appearance the two men were also quite different. Whereas Decatur sported thick ebony hair and long black sideburns, Smith retained mere wisps of white hair on the top of his head and tufts of white and gray hair along the sides. And in contrast to Decatur’s full, muscular frame, almost everything about Smith appeared thin and frail: his stature, lips, and fingers, even his long, prominent nose. And yet, the austere green eyes that beheld Decatur were full of promise and good fellowship—as well as respect; no one needed to remind Smith that the tall, handsome sea officer standing before him was one of America’s best.
“You are well, Captain, I trust?”
“I am, sir. Thank you.”
“And Susan?”
“The same.”
“I am glad to hear it. I may rely on you to convey my warmest personal regards to her?”
Decatur smiled. “You may, sir.”
“Excellent.” Smith motioned Decatur toward an upholstered chair and then walked around and sat down behind his desk.
“May I offer you a beverage, Captain? A cup of tea? Something stronger, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” Decatur sat down on the chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Please, sir,” he added quickly. “Feel free to indulge without me.”
“Tempting, but no. I shall defer that until my weekly supper with Henry Dearborn at seven o’clock. No doubt he will have another round of information for me that will warrant a strong drink or two.” Smiling, Smith clasped his hands together on the top of the desk and leaned in toward Decatur. “Now, then, Stephen,” he said. “What’s on your mind? Why all the ado?”
“Sorry to add to Secretary Dearborn’s bad news, sir, but I am in receipt o
f this.” Decatur withdrew the communiqué from his satchel and slid it across the desk. “I received it several hours ago. Why the British consul in Washington sent it to me at my home is not entirely clear to me. Mr. Erskine’s message, however, is quite clear.”
Smith studied Decatur’s expression for a moment before putting on a pair of spectacles and picking up the official-looking letter, which he held out at arm’s length. “Permit me a moment, if you would, Stephen. My vision is not quite what it used to be.”
“Of course, sir.” Decatur watched Smith’s eyes narrow as they scrolled down to the bottom of the single page and then returned to the top, repeating the process. When he had finished reading, Smith carefully placed the letter on the desk. For several moments he sat motionless in deep thought, the fingers on his two hands forming a steeple beneath his chin. When he glanced up at Decatur, his expression was blank, as though those few moments of deep thought had produced nothing of value.
“What do you make of this, Stephen?”
Decatur shrugged. “I am not sure what to make of it, sir. Our government’s policies being what they are, I don’t see what course of action is open to us. More specifically, I don’t see what course of action is open to me. As commandant of the Gosport Navy Yard, I have no jurisdiction in this matter. I cannot authorize the release of those three men to the British even had I a mind to do so—which I can assure you I do not.” He stressed the last three words.
“Tell me, how did this come about?”
“Well, sir, there are facts still to be confirmed, but I do know for certain that two of Chesapeake’s lieutenants were out recruiting and one of them signed on the three sailors in question. Chesapeake is short of manpower, as you are well aware, and she is due to sail in less than a fortnight. She is already well past her original departure date, in part because of her need of repairs and in part because of her lack of crew. The lieutenants were out recruiting in Norfolk and Portsmouth. And at the Gosport Navy Yard, which as you read in the letter is where Mr. Erskine contends the three men were discovered hiding in a shed. Whether or not that allegation is true remains to be seen. It may explain, however, why Erskine believes I hold jurisdiction in this matter and why the letter you have before you was sent to my home. I’d wager an identical letter was sent to my office at the Navy Yard.”
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