by Jodi Daynard
Pausing by the window, the old man looked across the lawn at the unfinished work, the dirt and stones, and the snow that continued to fall.
“Information is power. Think of your knowledge as a bomb: shall it explode in your hands or elsewhere? I, for one, have no intention of acting upon this news. Indeed, I would sooner discredit myself. Yet there are others, lad, very powerful others, who have no such scruples. They would reveal their own mother’s secrets if it furthered their aims. That is this filthy business of governing.”
“Do I understand your point correctly, sir?” Johnny’s brain felt slow, sluggish. Tears threatened to replace all rational thought. “You would sacrifice your reelection for the public good?”
Adams looked at him pointedly. “That’s precisely what I’m saying. Don’t worry overly much about that. I’ve heard rumors of ‘dusky Sally’ before. But Jefferson, for all his faults, is a great patriot, father, and citizen. And this particular fault of which you speak, this unfortunate—liaison—I place not on Jefferson’s head but on the evil institution of slavery itself. Know only this: the news you share with me today, Johnny, if true—it will explode. Mark my words. It is only a matter of time. But do not make a second mistake of revealing the weapon to anyone else.”
“Yes, sir.”
Johnny nodded, bowed, and left. But as he walked out into the deceiving whiteness, he knew he already had.
51
A LETTER GREETED HIM BACK AT TUNNICLIFF’S, having been slid beneath his door.
Dear Son
I shall not delay a single moment with news of any prosaic sort. Our dear Kate, who as you may already know, married Mr. Pearce in October and settled into housekeeping in Boston, has disappeared. I shouldn’t blame you for being incredulous, and thus include a faithful copy of her letter, which Martha has kindly shared with me.
Johnny’s mother had been clever to foresee her son’s incredulity. Hardly breathing, he read the letter from Kate to her parents:
Dear Mama and Papa
I cannot give you details of my marriage, not yet, or its failure. Suffice to say I could not remain in it a moment longer. Circumstances require that I absent myself from society for a time. I have gone to New York, where I learn from someone with a great deal of experience. As you know, the first volume of my little endeavor, published last fall, while a critical success, did not earn back the cost of making it. If I am to be successful and independent—which now, it will be obvious to all, circumstances require—I must learn how this magazine business is truly done. I find myself busy and useful, and this itself does me a great deal of good.
This letter sounded like Kate, and Johnny believed it was hers. But what she must have suffered to leave a marriage so! How much she must have omitted!
Marcia arrived at Johnny’s soon after he read this news. Unable to conceal his distress, he blurted, “I’ve had bad news about my friend Kate.”
He had expected solace and advice from his betrothed. But instead, Marcia looked at him pointedly as they stood in the hallway. “She’s now a married woman, and yet you still care for her.”
“Of course I care for her. She is like family to me.”
“Is that all?” Her tone was insinuating. She set the letter down.
Johnny placed a hand upon Marcia’s arm. “How can you doubt me?”
“Men are to be doubted, I’ve found.” She shrugged.
“Indeed?” he asked heatedly. “Have I once given you reason to doubt?”
“Lower your voice, Johnny,” she whispered. “People shall hear.”
“What if they do?”
“All right.” She turned to face him. “No. You’ve never given me reason to doubt you. Tell me, what is this bad news?”
“Never mind,” he replied. “I thought you would understand.” But Marcia proffered her hand, and he gave her the letter. As she perused it, Johnny found a place to sit in the bar.
Marcia set the letter down upon the table, then pulled up her own chair and sat down. “I do understand.” She sighed. “But surely there are others who may get to the bottom of it?”
“I wish to get to the bottom of it,” he said. “But now I take my leave of you, Marcia, for I have a letter to write, and I’m afraid it can’t wait.”
“Go on, then,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. She ordered some refreshment and ate it alone.
Johnny wrote a letter to his mother in which he included a letter to Kate, in the event that they found her. But he had no illusions of their finding her, not if she did not wish to be found. New York was a large city.
In his letter, Johnny grieved for her suffering but was careful not to pass judgment. He ended his letter by saying,
I pray you find peace, if not happiness, in your new and most worthy endeavor, my dearest Kate. And I hope I shall see you very soon. It has been far too long.
When he had finished, he returned to the dining room, where he expected to find Miss Burnes. But she had already left.
Throughout Washington, people’s moods were grim, like Johnny’s own. On December 3, the nation voted. Everyone settled in for the long wait, until Congress reconvened on February 11, 1801.
During this time, Johnny heard again from his mother.
Dear Son
Thank you for your last letter(s). We all miss you terribly and doubt whether we can wait till May to see you. I know you cannot get away just now. Perhaps it would be wise for us to come to you? We have not yet located Kate but the men are working on it day and night. She is clever, and it seems she does not yet wish to be found. Martha is frantic, as you may imagine. I worry she will take sick over it . . .
Johnny wrote to dissuade his mother from making the arduous trip to Washington until they heard the election results. If Adams lost, Johnny would probably head to Richmond at once, to seek lodging for himself and his future wife. Mr. Adams had graciously extended Johnny’s small salary through the election, but Johnny would not take advantage of such charity a day longer than necessary.
Marcia, meanwhile, returned to Tunnicliff’s after a few days, just as if there had been no argument between them. She sought to distract Johnny from the election with an endless calendar of social events, beginning with a dancing assembly at the Bunch of Grapes Tavern.
Miss Bron and Miss Scott accompanied them to the event, and they all danced. The ladies were merry. Johnny smiled and bowed, as he knew he must. But as the evening wore on, he felt increasingly ill. He realized this was not due to indisposition but a kind of moral revulsion. A cataclysm was taking place, the conclusion of which would determine whether this America, this unity of diverse states, would hold or crumble to dust. And yet here were these people, dancing to the strains of ancient airs and minuets. It was as if they cared nothing for this grand experiment so long as the music played and the wine flowed!
At eleven, he bade good-bye to the ladies, choosing to walk back to his lodgings alone. Miss Bron and Miss Scott could accompany Marcia home.
Sometime after falling asleep, Johnny dreamed he was submerged in cold, dark water. He felt as if he were suffocating and sat straight up in bed, clasping his throat. He managed to fall back to sleep at around three but was awakened at dawn by shouting in the streets.
“It’s a tie! It’s a tie! Adams has lost!”
Johnny rose and dressed. He quickly descended the stairs and found a copy of the National Intelligencer upon one of the tavern tables. Adams had lost, but the race was not over. Jefferson and Burr were tied. According to the Constitution, a tied election would be placed in the hands of the outgoing House of Representatives. There was yet a small chance that Adams would win, but with many powerful men working behind the scenes to prevent the occurrence, neither Johnny nor Adams had any hope. The question was really whether Burr or Jefferson would be the next president of the United States. The waiting began.
It snowed. Marcia donned her fur-lined cape and hired a sleigh to ride out with friends. Johnny attended a New Year’s ball at
the President’s House. The newspapers were eerily quiet, and conversations around dinner tables and in taverns reflected the city’s tense, undecided mood.
John Adams, on the other hand, looked forward to going home. His last piece of business was to nominate John Marshall for chief justice of the United States. Though he would no doubt be criticized for it, Adams wished to make certain that the Federal cause was represented in the new government. Johnny heard of Marshall’s nomination and had an uneasy feeling that his position in Richmond was no longer a certainty; but Marshall did not write him to say so.
Toward the end of January 1801, Marcia designed and ordered their wedding invitations. Together, they spoke to the minister regarding the details of the ceremony. Marcia wanted it to be flawless. She made Johnny practice what he would say, as if five simple lines and a single “I do” might prove too challenging for the boy who’d memorized Common Sense for Peter Fray.
Johnny purchased a wedding costume and spent an hour one morning at the tailor’s having it fitted. Marcia looked on from a chair in the corner of the messy George Town shop.
“But the cuffs are far too broad. And those tucks at the back must lie flat.”
The tailor, an old Scotsman, nodded silently, no doubt inured to overbearing fiancées. At the end of the fitting, Marcia clasped her hands together delightedly. “Oh, but it does bring out the astonishing blue of your eyes!”
Back at Tunnicliff’s, Johnny found another letter from his mother.
Dear Son
I hope all is well with you and that you have not taken Adams’s defeat too hard. Abigail says that she is positively jubilant. Meanwhile, I have had news from your aunt that Mr. Pearce has sold his house in Boston and sailed for England! Nothing is known, but the Lees are vastly relieved to learn that the man has no intention of bringing a suit against their daughter. Abby tells me that your nuptial preparations move apace. I cannot wait to meet the esteemed Miss Burnes and to call her Daughter ere long.
Johnny felt none of his usual joy upon receiving this letter from his mother. He could not help but imagine the scene in which his mother, Lizzie, Martha, and Abigail finally met Miss Burnes. He pictured Marcia standing there in her fine silks and ironic smile as Martha Lee, Quaker; Lizzie, the midwife; and Eliza, wife of a former slave, endeavored to converse with her. Was it possible? The thought of such a dissonant scene made him cringe. Fortunately, his imaginings were soon interrupted by a knock at the door. It was the servant girl, wishing to clean his chamber.
February 11, 1801. It was the day that Congress would reconvene to break the tie for the next president. Through a crippling snowstorm, delegates from every state of the Union made their way to the Capitol. They filled the cramped, dark Senate chamber in the half-built building, where the vice president himself tallied the votes.
Johnny was at his desk. He had just finished a brief editorial he meant to publish in the event of a deadlock. In it, he urged each delegate to vote his conscience and not to barter.
There is more than an election at stake. The question you vote on is no less than whether this democracy of ours can work.
He was just finishing when a knock at his door disturbed him. Annoyed, he rose and opened the door to find Mr. Tunnicliff.
“There are some men to see you, Mr. Boylston.”
Johnny was puzzled. “Indeed? Who, pray? I’m not expecting anyone.”
“No, but they’re expecting an audience with you. A Mr. James Callender and one other, name of Fray. To see a man they call John Watkins.”
52
WHEN JOHNNY ENTERED THE BARROOM, CALLENDER GLANCED at Peter, who nodded. Callender stood up. He was a short, almost deformedly ugly man of perhaps forty-five. His eyes were dark and observant; a long, pointed nose seemed to be their rudder as he gazed warily around the room.
Peter continued to sit at the table nursing his cider. “Hello, Johnny,” he said, raising his mug.
Johnny did not greet either of them. He turned to Callender.
“Out of jail so soon, Callender? I thought Mr. Adams put you away for a long time.” Callender had been tried and sentenced to nine months in jail for sedition the previous spring.
“Mr. Who?” Callender replied. “But to the subject of our visit. May I?” He sat back down, but Johnny remained standing. “It wasn’t difficult to find out about you,” Callender said. “I had merely to ask a friend in Portsmouth. Any old crone on the street will share the ‘scandal of the era,’ as they still call it there. Your family moved to Portsmouth after the death of your mother’s brother. Your mother, but nineteen at the time, thought her uncle’s slave Watkins most handsome. Yes, the slave’s blue eyes are still whispered about among the pious old ladies at church.”
Here, Callender looked into Johnny’s own glaring blue eyes.
Fray finally stood. “And how coincidental that your mother left the country at almost the same time as Watkins escaped. But then, all I really needed to do was to write our friends in Barbados. The Cumberbatches and the Alleyns both knew John Watkins personally. Everyone there did.”
Despite his steady demeanor, Johnny could feel himself giving way from within. It would not take much more to bring him to violence. The men in the tavern looked on with an eager air, as if a real Southern cockfight were about to begin.
Suddenly, in a last effort to repair their rift, Johnny addressed Peter, “Why is it you despise me so? I’ve told you before I meant no harm.”
“That’s just it, old mole. You did mean harm. Admit it. Deep down, you’re all violent. Just waiting for the chance to cut our throats.”
Johnny glanced down a moment. Upon a nearby table, a dinner knife lay poised. Johnny reached for it and slowly closed his fist around it.
“If you’re right, Peter, then you are indeed in grave danger. You should leave.”
“Now, now.” Callender smiled and showed Johnny his palms. “You haven’t heard our offer.”
“I have no need of hearing any offer.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. Tell me what you know about Jefferson, and who else knows, and the truth of your mongrel blood shall ne’er reach Miss Burnes’s virgin ears.” Peter sneered the word virgin as if he knew differently about that as well.
Johnny felt a click in his brain. He raised the knife to his hip and growled, “Get out of here before I can no longer account for my actions. A duel would be too good for you.”
Peter took a step back and wound up falling backward onto the floor, taking the chair upon which he had been leaning with him. Several diners stopped eating, and two men who had been watching the scene now stood up as if they might join the fight. Johnny pointed the knife in their direction, and they backed off.
Callender grinned. “A death threat, too! Isn’t that just grand! So much to write about these days.”
“We’re going,” said Fray. He rose and dusted off his pale-green coat. Then he placed a forestalling hand on Callender’s arm. “Please give my regards to Miss Burnes. It has been too long since I’ve seen her. Nearly five days.”
The moment they had gone, Johnny dropped the knife back on the table. His palms were wet, and his hands shook. For several moments, he just stood there. Then he sprang into action. He raced up the stairs, grabbed his coat, and ran out of his lodgings. On Pennsylvania Avenue, he leapt over the snowy stumps and tripped over hidden holes, heading toward Marcia’s house. He needed to tell her the truth before the Examiner did.
Johnny was covered in snow and out of breath when he arrived at her cottage. He could hear her at her pianoforte, playing a lovely ancient air. Hearing his frantic knock, she stopped midphrase and came to the door. The snow began to melt the moment Johnny stepped into the room.
“John, remove your coat and shoes at least, or my house shall become a lake.”
“Oh, sorry.”
In his stocking feet and wild hair that had curled from the melting snow, Johnny looked a fright.
“But what is the matter? What has happened?” She held on
to his sleeve and gazed searchingly up at him.
“Let us sit,” he said.
He trusted her; of course, he did. Had Marcia not, in giving her most intimate self to him, proven that she cared little for convention? But he needed to understand the precise manner in which she had been indiscreet, and with whom.
“Marcia, I’ve just now had a most unwelcome visit from Mr. Fray.”
At Fray’s name, Marcia frowned. “Peter? What did he want?”
“He wished to blackmail me.”
Johnny told Marcia how the two men had arrived at his lodgings demanding to know what Johnny knew about Jefferson.
Johnny turned to Marcia entreatingly. “Marcia, know you how he could have known that I had information about Jefferson? You didn’t happen to say anything, did you?”
“Of course not,” she said, her eyes shifting evasively.
“This is important.”
“Oh, well,” she said irritably, “if you must know, Peter and I quarreled.”
“He was here?”
“Why, yes. He’s been in town these past several months, to follow the campaign.”
“You knew he followed the campaign?”
“Of course.”
“I only suspected it,” Johnny muttered. “And you did not think to tell me? Do you not understand that Callender and Fray work together to destroy Mr. Adams?”
“As you would destroy Jefferson?” she replied.
Johnny bit his tongue to keep from saying anything he would later regret. He allowed several heartbeats to pass before asking, in a quieter tone, “What did you tell him?”
“All right!” she exclaimed. “If you’ll not be so brutish as to interrupt me, I shall tell you! He stopped by, and we got on to the subject of the tie between Burr and Jefferson. I said it was perhaps not a certainty that Jefferson would win. My doubt seemed to annoy him.”
By this point, Johnny’s jaw was rigid. “You know not what blazing fires burn in the hearts of our men. Marcia, there is talk of invasion, of armies, even assassinations!”