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

by Jodi Daynard

  Johnny told him.

  “Miss Burnes, famed beauty and daughter of the obstinate David Burnes?”

  “The same.”

  “Well!” Adams looked impressed, if not entirely surprised. “I sincerely hope he recovers. But if he does not”—Adams shrugged—“fathers are expendable. Ask my own children if you don’t believe me.”

  41

  FOUR DAYS LATER, JOHNNY ARRIVED IN THE new City of Washington. For the trip, Adams had offered one of his carriages, which, Johnny had to admit, was far more comfortable than the cramped stagecoach. The driver wished to skirt the city and go directly to George Town, but Johnny instructed him to enter the city from the north, which turned out to be a mistake.

  The road from Baltimore to the new city had been dismal: a dark forest punctuated by the occasional mean, windowless hut. But when at last they reached Jenkins Hill, Johnny bade the driver to stop a moment. Just below stood the partially finished Capitol, standing as poignantly as a Greek ruin. Below it, Johnny counted seven or eight boardinghouses, a tailor shop, a shoemaker, a grocer’s, and an oyster house. And that was all.

  Below the hill was but a vast swamp. From it, stumps of trees protruded everywhere. Johnny knew not how the horses would manage, or how the wheels would avoid sinking into the mire.

  The carriage descended slowly and carefully. Then the coachman, seeing higher ground on F Street, turned up this route to travel toward George Town. Everywhere Johnny looked, he saw timber and signs of construction but not a single soul.

  How lonely, bleak, and isolated it was! His Excellency must have been mad to insist upon this place as the nation’s new capital. As they turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue, Johnny could hear the suck of the horses’ hooves and the coachman’s angry mutterings. To his left, the forested land had been cleared, and an imposing white stucco house stood in splendid isolation. This was the new President’s House.

  Finally, beneath a canopy of leafless trees, a small derelict cottage appeared. Wooden outbuildings stood on either side of it, and a newer log cabin was perched close to the river. From this cottage Miss Burnes came flying out to greet him.

  “Johnny!” she cried. “Oh, Johnny! I thought you’d never come.”

  “Oh, my love, I’m here!”

  She ran into his arms. He held her close and felt her heart pound against his breast.

  “Well, do come in. Billy!” Marcia called to an old Negro who stood by the stable door. “Take the horses and bring the driver around back.”

  The old man nodded. Billy limped toward the carriage to untie the horses. He must have been seventy if a day; his walnut skin had a waxen pallor, and gray stubble dotted his wrinkled chin. His shoes, held together by twine, were rotted through in several places, and his bare toes stuck through, exposing them to the cold.

  Johnny frowned, but Marcia, overcome by joy at seeing him, did not notice.

  “Come. Papa has been waiting anxiously.”

  She led Johnny by the hand through the low front door that opened directly onto a single great room. Within, it was cozy and warm. At the far end of the room a fire raged in a rubble stone fireplace. But the ceilings were low, and the small windows gave off little light. Several worn Turkey carpets lay upon a bare wood plank floor, and overall there was such a sense of frugality as seemed at odds with owning a fortune of $30,000. Had he not known better, Johnny would have said father and daughter lived on the edge of poverty.

  The room was smoky, too. Not from the fire, which pulled a good draft, but from Mr. Burnes’s pipe. It was fragrant and not displeasing. Yet the overall effect was a dark, smoky, close room, and only the splendid view of the river beyond the windows saved it from feeling airless. Johnny could not imagine remaining there a day, much less the week he had promised.

  An old man sat in a wing chair by the fire, a clay pipe in one hand. His face was pale, but there were two spots of color on his high cheekbones, and he retained a thick head of white hair. A large plaid blanket obscured his body. Johnny approached apprehensively.

  “Go on, Johnny,” Marcia encouraged him. “He won’t bite. I’ll fetch us some tea.”

  Johnny returned Marcia’s smile and soldiered forth until he stood squarely before the sick man. They were alone; there wasn’t a servant in sight.

  “Come here, boy. Let me have a look at you.”

  The man nodded for Johnny to approach. When he had done so, he saw that Marcia’s father was not so old as he at first appeared. He was a handsome man. The skin of his face, though pale and yellowish, was smooth. His blue eyes shone brightly, shrewdly. Now they combed Johnny like a harrow, and, overall, Johnny had the impression of someone about forty years of age with a formidable will.

  “Sit down.” Mr. Burnes nodded to a ladder-back chair. “Tell me about yourself. Ye know the president, I hear. Well, he’s none so bad as the first, I suppose.”

  Johnny was taken aback. Was this fellow the same man who had fought during the Revolution and later negotiated land with George Washington?

  “Why smilest thou, boy? Is Washington a friend, too?”

  “Nay, I’ve never met him, sir.”

  “Very tall he is. And what airs and graces! Fancies himself a nobleman, I expect.” Though Mr. Burnes’s family had been in America for three generations, Marcia’s father still rolled his r’s so luxuriantly that Johnny hardly understood him. “Well, but ye know, if it weren’t for his Martha—Mrs. Custis, as was—he’d ’ave been nobody of consequence. She came to him with two hundred niggers, she did. All tied in a bow!”

  Thankfully, Marcia turned up with the tea at that moment, and Johnny rose to grab the tea table from the corner of the room. He lowered its top, locking it in place. Marcia set the tray down upon the table and began to pour the tea from a china pot.

  “I don’t know how you like it, Johnny. Imagine that!” Marcia giggled.

  “One lump, a little milk, please.” Johnny preferred coffee, actually, but was not so ill-mannered as to say so. He was still reeling from the boldness with which Mr. Burnes had shared his obnoxious opinions.

  They drank their tea in silence. Then, staring suspiciously over his hairy dark eyebrows, Mr. Burnes asked, “And how is it that ye know Mr. Adams?”

  “Oh, my mother lived not far from his family in Braintree. Quincy, it is called now, when I was born.”

  “Your mother, you say?” the invalid asked shrewdly. “And what about your father?”

  “My father is dead. He was a master shipwright. Learned his trade from Colonel Langdon. Senator Langdon, that is,” Johnny could not resist adding. But his boast had the opposite effect of the one he intended.

  “Langdon!” Mr. Burnes scowled. “Well, I suppose a shipwright’s an honest trade. But don’t you know it was nigger-loving Langdon who helped Washington’s own favorite wench escape a few years back?”

  So this was a true Republican, unvarnished by city airs, Johnny thought. He was prepared to give a heated reply when Marcia intervened. “Papa, don’t excite yourself,” she said. But an insult against Senator Langdon was beyond Johnny’s endurance.

  He stood up. “Sir,” he began, ignoring the flash of fear in Marcia’s eyes. “Colonel Langdon is a very great patriot, and my family owes him a vast debt.”

  Marcia placed a forestalling hand upon Johnny’s arm. But it was a slave girl who saved the day when she banged through the front door carrying a basket of eggs. She stopped when she saw the scene: a tall, curly-haired boy standing defiantly before the sickly tyrant.

  The girl curtsied and removed her shawl. Marcia turned to address the girl. “Ginny, would you bring these dishes into the kitchen?” she asked.

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Well,” said Johnny once the girl had left them, “I should like to go to my chamber to wash up. The trip was long and muddy.”

  “Your chamber?” Marcia laughed. “You stay not here.”

  “Oh, I thought—”

  Johnny flushed red at the misunderstanding. He had assume
d he would stay at the cottage. Marcia had not mentioned otherwise.

  “We have booked you excellent quarters at Suter’s in George Town. It’s not a mile down the road, and I dare say you’ll be far more comfortable there.”

  “Your suitor stays at Suter’s, then,” he remarked. Miss Burnes smiled, and Johnny sighed with relief. Another five minutes with the invalid, and they should probably have come to blows.

  42

  AS HE WAITED FOR HIS COACH, JOHNNY stopped to listen to the conversation that had begun within. He moved toward an open window, the better to hear it.

  “If you’re thinking of marrying this fellow, think again, Marcia.”

  “Oh, Papa. Let’s not argue. Johnny Boylston is an excellent young man with great prospects.”

  “Is there an understanding between you?”

  “No, no. He is honorable, I am telling you. He could have no chance of success with me unless he asked you first.”

  “Well, tell him not to bother.”

  “Papa!” Her voice grew exasperated. “I’m not discussing this now. Be grateful for once for your good fortune.”

  “Good fortune, you say!” Mr. Burnes seemed to consider his daughter’s words. “Well, I suppose I shall be dead soon, and then you’ll do what you fancy with all my money anyway. That’s my good fortune.”

  Miss Burnes sighed. “I must bid him good-bye.”

  Johnny heard her quick footsteps as she left the room, and he hastened to mount the carriage.

  Out of the view of her father, Marcia smiled brilliantly at Johnny, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him. Johnny lingered upon her lips; their warmth seemed the only antidote to the bad taste left by Mr. Burnes.

  “Don’t be bothered by Papa. He’s not as hard as he seems. I have a feeling he shall like you, for he likes a good fight.” As the carriage moved off, Marcia pouted in mock sorrow and waved till Johnny was out of sight.

  Liked a good fight? Johnny shook his head. Within two minutes of meeting Mr. Burnes, Johnny had felt that the sickly figure in the wing chair embodied everything small-minded and hateful he’d heard about the South. Had the great Washington not needed a place to set down a government, Johnny thought, Mr. Burnes would have remained the mean, stingy man he had been born, and not the smug recipient of a vast fortune.

  The sun had set and the air had grown quite cool. When they had made their way down the bumpy lane to Suter’s, Johnny was pleasantly surprised at George Town’s quaint, orderly appearance. The village, situated upon a rising hill to the northwest of the President’s House, had cobbled streets flanked by stately brick homes. They passed a busy wharf, several fine-looking shops, and two churches before arriving at Suter’s Tavern. Yes, far preferable to that Cyclops’s lair!

  As Johnny descended the carriage and walked toward the tavern’s welcoming facade, he wondered, Was Marcia not mortified by her father’s vulgar manner? Was her affection for him sincere? But these thoughts eased when he was shown to his chamber. It was clean and comfortable, and looked out onto busy M Street and the canal below.

  Marcia visited him there the following day. They strolled arm in arm through George Town, across M Street and down to the canal, where they walked along the water. Although the ground was muddy, there was a path by which they were able to keep their feet somewhat dry.

  Marcia stopped suddenly and pointed to the ground. “Oh, look, Johnny!”

  Johnny let go her hand and bent down: she had spotted a purple crocus. He cupped the flower in his hand and held it up to her.

  “Almost as beautiful as you, Marcia Burnes.”

  Marcia grinned happily and took her suitor’s arm. They continued on their walk, following the canal for near a mile before turning back. Later, Johnny was obliged to dine with Mr. Burnes, but Marcia had scheduled an event following their dinner so that they needn’t linger. They met two friends of Miss Burnes’s, Miss Bron and Miss Scott, at the Bunch of Grapes. It was a rustic place where local workers and elite society were thrown together in a smoky room. Miss Scott was older, perhaps in her late twenties, and unmarried. She was a small person with bright-red hair. A fever had left her with a weak heart, and she lived with her parents. But she had a lively personality and found Johnny vastly amusing.

  Miss Bron, from a wealthy Maryland family, seemed haughty at first. She bragged of her dinner with the Madisons and the recent party she attended at Notley Young’s, home of the wealthiest family in Washington. Then Marcia said, “Johnny is a protégé of President Adams.”

  Miss Bron ceased her bragging; in fact, she ceased speaking altogether, so mortified was she. Johnny thought it was cruel of Marcia to put her friend in her place so baldly.

  Miss Scott asked Johnny how long he planned to stay in Washington.

  “Not long at all. I must make my way to Quincy after returning to Philadelphia. I’ve not seen my family in near two years.”

  “And—Kate?” Marcia whispered to him.

  “I know not,” Johnny replied, annoyed. He had not heard a word from Kate since their exchange of letters back in December.

  He assumed she was married by now, settled in to housekeeping somewhere, though his mother’s most recent letter made no mention of it. The subject put Johnny in a bad mood.

  Heedless of Miss Bron and Miss Scott on the other side of their table, Johnny added, “Marcia, have I not made my feelings obvious? Can you believe me so shallow as to replicate them with another?”

  Marcia’s friends, sensing the sudden tension between the lovers, engaged themselves in a separate conversation to give them privacy. Then Marcia placed her hand upon Johnny’s and smiled winningly.

  “Johnny, I do but tease.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Very well.”

  They were silent for quite some time, wherein Johnny endeavored to recover his good humor. Finally, he mastered himself and said, “As I was saying, Miss Scott, I shall spend the summer at home, studying mainly. I plan to leave in several weeks’ time. I wish to be prepared to take—to pass—the bar in September.”

  “The Philadelphia bar?” asked Miss Burnes.

  “Yes. Why?” Johnny was puzzled. She knew his interests full well. Was this yet more parading of his excellent prospects before her suitor-less friends?

  “Well, do they have a bar of that kind here?”

  “There is a Maryland bar, I suppose.” Johnny frowned. His mood had not yet fully recovered, and more teasing from Miss Burnes would not be welcome. “Marcia, do not toy with me,” he said.

  “I don’t. I’m perfectly serious. How might you take, or pass, this Maryland bar?”

  “I would first pass the Philadelphia one. Then I would need to study for the other. It would take another year at least.” Johnny did not bother to tell her that three years was the usual period of study, because each state had its own laws.

  “Why don’t you plan to do that, then? That is, if you still wish to.” Her voice trembled slightly on these last two words. Johnny’s bad mood had made him slow-witted; he failed to grasp Marcia’s meaning: that if he still wished to marry her, he would need to find employment in Maryland.

  Meanwhile, the friends stared, mouths agape, having also lost the drift of this conversation.

  “Marcia, what are you trying to say?” he asked moodily.

  Marcia suddenly dropped her handkerchief upon the floor beneath the table. When Johnny stooped down to pick it up for her, she bent down and whispered, “Let us marry next June.”

  43

  JOHNNY WORE HIS SMILE ALL THE WAY back to Philadelphia. I’m to be married in June, he thought, and to the most beautiful, the most sought-after young lady in all of Maryland.

  Oh, how his heart sang with joy! It would not stop singing. In marriage to Marcia, Johnny saw not merely endless love and a happy domestic life, but the kind of meaningful engagement with others that would serve as a reward for all his hard work: a successful law practice; lively evenings with senators, congressmen, judges, and diplomats; and
the warm and charming Marcia Burnes Boylston by his side.

  There were a few obstacles, but none that Johnny believed to be insurmountable. For one, he would need to take the Maryland bar. For another, he would need to remain in the South for the foreseeable future. But such was Johnny’s joy that neither of these obstacles could diminish it.

  When next Johnny saw the president, about two days after his return from Washington, he found the man reading the Philadelphia Aurora, the most prominent Republican newspaper in Philadelphia. Adams was in one of his rages and did not greet Johnny.

  He said, “In your absence I’ve been obliged to read everything myself. Why, look at this!” Mr. Adams fairly poked his finger through the paper, pointing to a recent editorial by James Callender. He was a slanderous rogue whom Adams abhorred, a conscienceless scandalmonger who, in 1796, had exposed Alexander Hamilton’s adulterous affair with Maria Reynolds. This piece insinuated great evils on the part of Adams without supporting any of its claims.

  “The storm shall pass,” Johnny said dreamily, staring out the window at the stately Lombardy poplar trees lining the square.

  “Political storms never simply ‘pass,’” said Adams. Suspicious of his protégé’s sudden equanimity, Adams asked, “How did you find Washington? I hear it is a veritable swamp.”

  “It has great potential, I believe.”

  Mr. Adams frowned. “I find you very unsatisfactory today, Johnny. Close-lipped as a clam and altogether too sanguine. I can’t get a thing out of you.”

  “That, too, shall pass, I’m sure.” Johnny turned from the window and flashed the president a broad smile.

  “Humph!”

  Mr. Adams left Philadelphia for Quincy soon after this conversation, to rumors of his having abdicated. He had offered Johnny transport, but the boy feared he could not bear six days of constant conversation, much less six nights in bed, with Mr. Adams. He thanked him but said he wished to remain a few weeks longer to study.

  On April 23, Johnny set off in a hired coach bound for Quincy. The weather was cool but fine, the roads far better than when he’d traveled to Washington. The trip was uneventful until Trenton, where Johnny had to help push the carriage out of a ditch before they could continue. In New York, he posted a letter to his mother telling her of his imminent arrival. She could expect him, he said, on or around April 28.