A More Perfect Union: A Novel (The Midwife Series Book 3)

by Jodi Daynard

  The Martins and Miss Burnes were all at supper when he finally arrived at the house, filthy and exhausted. The twins ran to the door to greet him. “Oh, Johnny! How are you? We were worried!”

  Johnny glanced warmly at Miss Burnes.

  “Was it a good meeting?” she asked. Her voice was cool.

  “Oh, yes. That is, I think so.”

  Upon seeing him enter, one of the servants discreetly whispered to him that a bath was being prepared for him in his chamber.

  “Excuse me, ladies. Let us continue this discussion in an hour. I’m hardly presentable like this.”

  The ladies curtsied and moved back to finish their supper. Once in his chamber, Johnny stripped off his filthy clothing and sank gratefully into a tub of hot water. After dressing, he ran down the stairs to find the family waiting for him in the parlor.

  “There you are!” cried Mr. Martin. “Do tell us more about your impressions of Philadelphia. I was there many years ago. I imagine it’s changed a great deal.”

  “It is the loveliest city I’ve ever seen,” Johnny admitted.

  “You should tell Mr. Martin whom you saw in Philadelphia,” said Marcia, eyes sparkling with cold knowledge.

  “Oh? Who was that, lad?”

  Johnny sent Marcia a questioning glance. What did she know? And how did she know it?

  “The president, Mr. Martin. Mr. Adams,” supplied Miss Burnes.

  “Is it true, Johnny?” the twins exclaimed in unison.

  Miss Burnes addressed Mr. Martin with a knowing air: “Surely you recall how Mr. Boylston came to you in the first place.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied the absentminded attorney.

  To Johnny, this was all most strange. How did Marcia come to know so much about him? Then he felt a chill as he realized: someone must have told her. He looked at her with silent entreaty.

  She went on blithely, “Oh, but Mr. Boylston and Mr. Adams are nearly family. Aren’t you, Johnny? In fact, your mother is a distant relation to Abigail Adams, is she not?”

  Johnny blushed. It was true. His grandfather had been a cousin of Abigail’s mother. Yet Johnny had never meant for anyone to know these facts.

  The conversation turned to other topics, but Johnny was thoroughly unsettled. From time to time, he glanced at Miss Burnes, but she avoided his eyes and affected great gaiety with her friends.

  Johnny finally said, “Well, there is one thing you don’t know, Miss Burnes. I was going to wait to tell you, but perhaps it’s only fair to reveal all now. The president has invited me to Philadelphia, and I have accepted. I leave in two days’ time.”

  “Accepted?” Miss Burnes rose from her chair. The lively, if mean-spirited, conversation died as her eyes immediately filled with tears.

  Mr. Martin frowned. “I take it this is no insult to me personally, to leave in such a precipitate manner?”

  “Nay, nay. My time here has been most, er, illuminating, sir. And your hospitality has been—well, you have treated me like one of your own. But it was Mr. Adams’s particular request.”

  “Oh, in that case, of course.” Martin brightened. “A young, ambitious boy like yourself can’t very well turn down such an offer.”

  Johnny was moved to add, “There are some points of constitutional law upon which I believe Mr. Adams may further illuminate me.”

  “I’d say so!” enthused Mr. Martin, all affability now. “Well, we shall certainly miss you, Johnny. Won’t we, girls?”

  His daughters nodded miserably.

  Now, near nine in the evening, the candles burned low, and Johnny felt a sudden delayed exhaustion. He needed to speak with Marcia, who had curtsied and excused herself, saying she was tired and wished to retire, giving him no chance of asking her to reveal her source of information.

  It was early the following morning, not yet six, when Johnny rose. The house was quiet as a church. Johnny dressed and made his way softly downstairs, where a servant was already about, lighting fires. The girl asked Johnny did he want coffee or breakfast, but Johnny said he would first take a walk and would have breakfast with the others when he returned.

  At the last moment, he could not find his cap and so grabbed one of Mr. Martin’s scarves off the peg by the door. He wrapped it about his head like an old Barbadian woman and stepped abroad, into the whiteness. He had hoped the gently falling snow would steady his nerves, but as he walked, he hardly noticed the landscape.

  He had already resolved to ask for her hand in marriage. But he needed to know: Why did he love Marcia Burnes? He could not fathom it fully, and this disturbed him. After fifteen minutes of walking the empty streets, Johnny turned back. He had no argument for loving Marcia except for how she made him feel: like the luckiest young man on earth. Well, perhaps it was true what they said, that love was a mystery. He was cold, and he wished to warm himself with a mug of coffee. Then, he believed, he would warm the chill in Marcia.

  She was sitting in the parlor when Johnny returned from his walk, nibbling at a biscuit. She had just taken a sip of tea when she saw him enter.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “Are you off to Philadelphia, then?”

  “Marcia.” He frowned. “Finish your breakfast and let us speak in private.”

  “But you haven’t even sat down yet.” She glanced at the seat across from her.

  “I have little appetite.”

  “Well, I have.” She lifted her chin and took another bite of her biscuit. He waited with barely concealed impatience as she chewed it and washed it down with a sip of tea. Did she mean to torment him? He thought so. Finally, Miss Burnes dabbed her mouth daintily and, placing the napkin with excruciating precision by the side of her plate, rose and said, “You have my undivided attention.”

  “Excellent. Come with me, if you would.” He led her into Mr. Martin’s study and shut the door. Unlike his office, Mr. Martin’s study was tidy and elegant.

  Once in the room, Johnny moved to embrace her, saying, “Oh, I missed you!”

  But Miss Burnes stepped away. “Indeed?” she smiled coldly at him. To be alone with a man behind a closed door was most irregular. Was this why Miss Burnes behaved in such a cold manner?

  “But Marcia, what has happened? How did you learn of my visit with Adams, and why has it upset you so? It was no great secret. I would have told you. But I feel—”

  “You feel what, Johnny?”

  “I didn’t mean to keep my connection to the Adamses a secret. But I wasn’t sure if—”

  “Oh, I care little for politics.” She shrugged, taking his meaning. “Though Papa abhors the man.”

  “So how did you know about my visit?”

  “I had a letter,” she said.

  “From whom, for God’s sake?” Johnny was losing patience, for this was not what he had meant to discuss with her.

  “From our mutual friend.”

  “Peter?” Johnny took a step back, astonished. “What concern could my visit to Adams be of his?”

  “He believed it to be a concern to me. He cares about me and has no wish to see me hurt.”

  “Hurt?” Johnny cried. “That is the last thing I would ever wish for. Miss Burnes, you must know why I asked for a private meeting with you. It was not to interrogate you. Nay, it was for another purpose entirely.”

  Johnny soldiered on, though he felt that somehow the mood had soured.

  “What purpose was that, pray?”

  Suddenly Johnny knelt down upon one knee. He was too nervous to notice the look of horror that had crept onto Miss Burnes’s face.

  “Marcia,” he began. “Marcia, dearest, would you make me the happiest man on earth and agree to marry me?”

  “Marry you!” She laughed in his face. It was a shrill, unpleasant sound.

  “Why do you laugh at me?” Confused, Johnny looked up at her. He saw nothing but scorn.

  “That’s rich, indeed, to make me an offer of marriage when you are already betrothed to another.”

  The room wavered around him. �
��Betrothed? What mean you?”

  Miss Burnes did not reply.

  Johnny sighed; he believed he understood. “Do you mean Miss Lee? She’s a dear friend. I’ve not seen her in more than a year. We are not betrothed, nor is there any understanding between us.”

  “That is not what Peter says.” She looked at him balefully.

  “Peter is mistaken. Do you not wonder why he wishes to harm me in this way?”

  “No. Peter and I have known each other since childhood. He does not wish to harm you but rather to protect me.”

  Johnny’s heart pounded. He reminded himself to say nothing that he would later regret. Then, at the same moment, he became too deflated to go on. He could never explain why he’d given his knife to a slave, could never admit to Miss Burnes that this knife had killed Peter’s brother. Instead, he said, “I love you, Marcia. I wish to marry you. I wanted, I’d hoped to have an understanding before I left for Philadelphia.”

  “If that is true, then you must write Miss Lee at once. You must let her know about me in no uncertain terms. I take it you haven’t already?” She cast him a shrewd glance.

  “No,” he agreed, blushing once more. In this, Miss Burnes was correct. Johnny bowed. “I shall do so. At once.”

  On the way to his chamber, a servant girl approached him. “The post has come, sir, and there’s a letter for you.” She handed Johnny the letter.

  Johnny entered his room, sat down upon his bed, and placed his head in his hands. He now felt only the misery of Marcia’s rejection. It had all gone horribly wrong; he hardly knew how. With a pained sigh he tore the letter open.

  December 17th, 1798

  Dearest Johnny

  I have not heard from you in many weeks and hope this letter finds you well. All my grandiose plans for a lady’s journal were put aside when Mama took ill in October. It was very like Abigail’s own dreadful illness, with a fever that would not abate and a lingering exhaustion. We feared every day that we would lose her, but the Lord was merciful and she has recovered. Papa jokes, now that it is safe to do so, that the dear Lord wasn’t ready for the likes of Mama!

  Ben does well. He is learning to read but it goes slowly. He could use a good tutor to help him. In this regard, he takes after his papa, I fear, rather than our clever mother. Well, but he is a sweet boy, though he likes to pretend that he is hard as Quincy’s granite.

  Speaking of which, I was obliged to leave Quincy when news of Mama’s illness reached me, but I have since had several letters from your mother and also Lizzie, who are both well and send their love. The crops were excellent this year, and though Mr. Miller travels a great deal, Lizzie and your mother manage to keep life and limb together. What they lack in material wealth they more than make up for in love, friendship, and the birthing of babes.

  Johnny set the letter down and closed his eyes. His mother, Lizzie, the children, Kate, and Quincy all returned to him with perfect clarity. He suddenly felt such a longing for them all that he actually groaned. Why had no one told him of Aunt Martha’s illness? What else did he not know?

  But there was more, and he read on:

  And now I come to that difficult part of my letter which I have dreaded to put to pen but fear I must: I have news of which I flatter myself may be of some importance to you. If I am mistaken, I beg your forgiveness. That we are friends goes undisputed, and I hope we shall remain so.

  I have had a proposal of marriage. Imagine that! He is not a bad fellow as men go, though I can’t help but hear Eliot telling me he’s not nearly handsome or poetic enough. His name is William Pearce. Remember when we argued over his visit to me? He is some sort of importer of dried goods—or is it exporter? To speak honestly, I forget! He had a wife previously, but she died. He himself is perhaps thirty-five. I have met him now several times, and he is in a good position to take a poor wife. My parents, however, have assured me that I may do whatever will bring me happiness.

  Happiness? I daren’t raise the topic of my happiness with you. I do not wish to be a burden to my family forever. But the subject of marriage, as it shall be irrevocable, I raise now or you must forever hold your peace, as the parsons like to say.

  I do not ask you to take my feelings into account, only to give you an opportunity to consult your own.

  Yours ever, Katherine Lee

  Johnny set the letter in his lap and finally exhaled, for he had been holding his breath. When he reached up to his face, he realized it was wet with tears.

  38

  HE HAD PROMISED MARCIA HE WOULD WRITE Kate at once, and now, with her letter before him, he had no excuse for delay.

  Dearest Kate

  I received your letter of December 17th just now, having last night returned to Baltimore from Philadelphia.

  That it surprised me goes without saying. Not that I thought it inconceivable that someone should wish to claim you as their own, but that, upon reflection, I have long staked an unwitting claim upon your affection I could have no certainty of reciprocating. This, I understand now, was unfair.

  My own circumstances include those you already know: my essential impoverishment and uncertain prospects. I had hoped to see you in person this Christmas and to be with all my beloved family, but I was called to Philadelphia upon short notice, where I hope soon to be of some real use to one known to both of us. Upon this topic I daren’t say more. If you see my mother, please tell her I shall write her soon with all the news.

  Then, because Marcia had insisted, he added,

  All this aside, I esteem you too greatly to be false, and must confess that while I shall always love you as a dear friend and “cousin,” I have grown close to another, a woman whose name I might have mentioned to you years ago, having first met her at Peter’s home in Virginia.

  He finished.

  Not for a moment do I wish to stand in your way of attaining that happiness you so fully deserve, and I hope that we shall remain the best of friends.

  Yours ever, Johnny Boylston

  As he sat by the fire in his small chamber, Johnny read over his letter. He was not very satisfied. He had told the truth, though not scrupulously so. For one, he knew full well that upon several occasions he had behaved as if he would court Kate. That Christmas Eve kiss, for example. Then he had omitted the fact that his impoverished state had not prevented him from proposing to Miss Burnes.

  No, he was not proud of himself.

  Johnny finally descended the stairs, letter in hand. He walked to the post and returned to Mr. Martin’s in time for dinner.

  Marcia was waiting for him.

  “Is the deed done?”

  “It is,” Johnny confirmed bleakly. “I had a letter from her as well. She told me she had an offer of marriage, and that she has accepted it.”

  “An offer of marriage?” Marcia beamed. “Excellent news!”

  Johnny frowned. This exchange darkened an already very bad mood. He excused himself curtly and went to his chamber, where he undressed and lay down upon his bed. He shut his eyes and dozed.

  Johnny dreamed he was a child, walking home from the shipyard. His father held his small hand in his rough one. His father was laughing happily. John Watkins worked so hard, and they had only a few trusted friends. Yet every day his father seemed happy. Johnny always thought this was very mysterious, and in the dream he asked, “Why do you laugh, Papa?”

  His father placed a large hand upon Johnny’s small curly head. “I have everything I could wish for. I have the whole world right here, in my hand.”

  The dream had been so real that Johnny believed his father was alive, even after a quiet knocking upon his door woke him. It was Miss Burnes. As Johnny sat up and rubbed the image from his eyes, she boldly entered and took him by the hand. Her hand was soft, so unlike his father’s.

  “Come with me,” she said. Johnny followed, still heavy with sleep.

  Marcia led him down the servants’ stairs at the back of the hallway. It was dark, and she clung to the railing, stepping carefully. Final
ly, finding the bend in the staircase, she motioned for Johnny to sit beside her.

  “I’ve been hard on you, Johnny,” she began in a soft voice. “I do love you, but I must be careful. You must understand that my marriage involves not only me but my dear papa, and he isn’t well. I fear he hasn’t long to live.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear it.”

  “I had a letter from him and, since your own departure is imminent, I’ve decided to return to Washington for good.”

  “Excellent timing,” Johnny muttered bitterly.

  Suddenly, in the stairwell’s darkness, he felt Marcia’s hand upon his face, felt her warm breath on his neck.

  “I mean only that we should delay. If you truly love me and still wish to marry me, that is.”

  “I do,” he said at once, though not very happily.

  “Me, and no one else.”

  “Yes.”

  “Let us delay. A year, no more. By then Papa shall either have recovered or—or not. You shall probably be a member of Congress by then.”

  “I shall be one year closer to that dream, perhaps.”

  “Well, you are closer to this dream than you think, my love.” Marcia took his hand and placed it upon her breast. She untied her bodice and wordlessly beckoned Johnny to undo her stays. He obliged her.

  Marcia moved onto his lap, took his hands, and placed them beneath her loose stays. Heavens! He felt the soft mounds of her breasts, felt her nipples harden under his touch. His lips sought her mouth in the darkness, and she kissed him and pressed her body closer to his. After a few minutes, she guided Johnny’s hand beneath her petticoats, placing it on her inner thigh. How incredibly warm her flesh was!

  Marcia moaned and urged Johnny on to more and deeper caresses. His reason vanished at her sounds. He reeled with something akin to drunkenness. But, oh, how pleasurable it was!

  Approaching footsteps from upstairs froze them in midcaress. Johnny stood up, and Marcia nearly fell back down the stairs, stays exposed. She hastily pulled her chemise across her breasts.

  The footsteps paused. Then they retreated down the hallway in the other direction.

  “That was too close,” Johnny said gravely.