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

by Jodi Daynard

  “I simply recalled what you told me. I was flustered, and I told him that you knew something about Jefferson, the very whisper of which could destroy him.”

  Johnny put his head in his hands. He muttered, “You know not what you’ve done.”

  “Protected Jefferson’s reputation, I imagine. But is not that good, now? You have often told me you prefer him to Burr, whom you call a madman. Is that not so?”

  “It is. But the information they learned from you prompted them to unearth something about me. Something they would use to harm me, and by extension all those I hold dear.”

  Here, Marcia threw her head back and actually laughed. “Johnny, what could they possibly use against you? You are the most stainless man of my acquaintance. Why, everyone says so. The Youngs, the Carrolls, even Miss Bron and Miss Scott. They all believe you to be the most honorable, the most articulate, the most—”

  “Marcia.” He took her hands and looked beseechingly at her. “I’m a black man.”

  At that very moment, Ginny entered the parlor; she stopped moving so suddenly that Johnny thought she’d drop her tray.

  Marcia turned abruptly. “Ginny, allow us a moment, please!”

  “Sorry, miss. I thought you’d like some tea. Mr. Boylston looks wet through.”

  “Thank you,” said Johnny. “In a few moments, Ginny.”

  Ginny curtsied and left the parlor. Once she had gone, Marcia whispered, “What mean you, black? Why, you’re as white as I. Black how? Are you speaking in metaphors?”

  Johnny took a deep breath. “Marcia, let us remove to the window.” He pointed to the window overlooking the river, which had the advantage of being far removed from the kitchen and Ginny’s ears. Johnny took Marcia’s hands almost pleadingly. “My excellent father, John Watkins, was a slave. He was born of a young Antiguan slave girl and the royal governor of New Hampshire, a product of his rapine lust. Mama fell in love with Papa when she was living at her uncle’s in Portsmouth. In ’79, my father escaped, and together we fled to Barbados. I was but a babe.”

  Marcia was silent. After perhaps a minute, she asked, “And have you always known this?”

  “I have. My parents never sought to hide it from me.”

  “Why then did you never tell me?”

  “I knew not how.”

  “You thought I’d reject you out of hand.” She looked at him gravely, for he had by now knelt down upon the carpet, almost as if he were proposing to her once more. And perhaps he was.

  “I couldn’t risk that. Not after I had met you again. It seemed that fate had brought you back to me.”

  “Fate.” She sighed.

  “But Marcia, can you still love me, knowing what you do?”

  She looked almost puzzled by this statement. “Why, of course I can, Johnny. It matters not in the least. You are no different from who you were yesterday.”

  “Do you mean it?” He grasped her hand.

  “Of course. But you must be eager to change out of those wet clothes. Would you like the coachman to drive you home?”

  “No. I’ll gladly walk. I could walk a hundred miles, now. Oh, Marcia!” Johnny embraced her.

  Marcia walked him to the door. He moved to kiss her; she turned, alert to a noise behind her, and his kiss landed on her cheek.

  “By the way, Johnny, who else knows? I am merely curious.”

  “Only my nearest family: Kate and her parents, and the Millers. Lizzie Miller is the midwife I told you about. And the Adamses, of course. They have known me since my birth.”

  Marcia nodded thoughtfully. “They—and Peter Fray and James Callender, now.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t see what they have to gain by sharing it. I made it clear to them I would never share what I knew about Jefferson. Indeed, I’ve resolved to burn the letter.”

  “You have an actual letter?” Her questioning eyes dilated slightly.

  He suddenly recalled that he had never told her about the letter to Sally Hemings. He made no reply.

  Marcia said, “Well, no matter. In the end, it’s how one behaves that matters. You are white as ivory. We shall live in a fine home, and if we live as everyone else, our friends shall ignore the rumors.” She smiled and touched his face tenderly. “You will let us keep my slaves, now, won’t you?”

  Johnny moved to kiss her. He was reeling from her declaration of undying love. But as she lifted her face to kiss him, his breath caught in his chest, and he pulled gently away from her.

  “No,” he said. “I cannot go as far as to own slaves.”

  He feared she would be annoyed, but she merely smiled. “Oh, well. There’ll be time for us to discuss it. Won’t there?”

  Johnny bowed. Turning his thoughts to that one incontrovertible fact of her love, he fairly leapt out onto Pennsylvania Avenue, hardly caring about anything else. He saw not the snow or ice, he felt not the cold, now that he knew Marcia still loved him.

  53

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, JOHNNY AWOKE EARLY, rose, and was about to descend for breakfast when he realized that he had not yet replied to his mother. He did so at once:

  February 16th, 1801

  Dear Mama

  Have you received any further word from Kate? I expect you will write to me the moment you do, for I shan’t sleep soundly until I know she is well.

  By the time this letter reaches you, the election will have been decided one way or another. I find myself at the mouth of Charybdis, who sucks all combatants into the depths of her watery lair.

  I have only yesterday been approached by a certain blackguard of my acquaintance who has threatened to tell the world about me, that secret you well know. I did not think he would go to that length; he has no reason to do so. But as honor required, I told Miss Burnes. Oh, Mama! If you could have seen her. How brave my lady was! A model of fortitude and virtue! She said, “Are you not the same man you were yesterday?” You know not how my heart swells with love! I long to see you, and for you to meet my soon-to-be wife.

  Johnny then dashed off a message to Marcia asking did she wish to be present when the tailor made the final alterations on his wedding costume. A boy from the hotel, who had been running about with messages since sunrise, came to take the note for him.

  “How fare things at Congress?” Johnny asked.

  “I dunno, sir. But the fellows have been calling for their pillows and nightcaps.”

  Johnny frowned. That was not a good sign.

  After breakfast, just as he headed to the post to mail his letter, Johnny saw a new edition of the Aurora on the hall table:

  BALLOTS DEADLOCKED. THIRTY-FIVE AND COUNTING

  RUMORS HAMILTON AMASSES SECRET ARMY

  Thirty-five times the representatives had cast their votes, and thirty-five times they had returned the same result. When would it end? How would it end? Johnny wondered. He opened the paper. He half expected to find something calumnious about himself, but instead, the editors warned that Virginia and Pennsylvania had mobilized their militias. These states were prepared to fight their own countrymen in order to defend against “legislative usurpation.” This news was quite alarming. But at least it was not about him.

  Without, the air was frigid, the sky dark as coal, and the road beneath his feet icy. No one was about. The entire city, it seemed, remained indoors, awaiting announcement of the new president.

  As he walked to the post office, Johnny became aware of feeling watched; willingly or no, he observed those around him for signs of imminent aggression. It was simple fear, nothing real, he told himself. No one sought to kidnap or to harm him. Still, he felt that somehow he was in danger, his blackness exposed for all to see.

  He mailed his letter at the post and took a meal at the Bunch of Grapes Tavern. There, everyone was talking about the election. Rumors flew that a senator from Delaware had offered to change his vote to Jefferson in exchange for certain Federalist compromises, and that Jefferson had accepted.

  After his meal, Johnny returned to Tunnic
liff’s. There was as yet no reply from Marcia. The young chambermaid was just making his bed. She started when he entered and then whispered, “Good-bye, sir. You’ve been very kind.” Then she curtsied and scurried from his room.

  Johnny frowned. What had she meant? The chambermaid’s words took on a more sinister cast late that afternoon when, descending for a mug of cider, Johnny was met by Mr. Tunnicliff. “Might we have a word?” he asked Johnny. “When you’ve a moment?”

  “Of course,” he replied.

  Johnny gulped down a mug of cider and approached Tunnicliff’s office. The owner was standing in the middle of the room, but when he saw Johnny, he moved behind his desk and sat down. He made a great show of opening his ledger, turning it around, and pointing to the current page. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Boylston, but as you can see, I’m expecting a large party from Virginia. I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid I shall need your chamber.” Tunnicliff looked away.

  Johnny could hardly reply. “But all the other boardinghouses are filled to bursting and shall be for several weeks, as you well know. Where am I to go?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tunnicliff said. “You may remain till the end of the week but no longer.”

  After he left Tunnicliff’s office, a bizarre silence followed Johnny through the hotel’s hallway and back into the tavern, where he ordered another cider. A few souls glanced up at him when he entered but then quickly looked away. Marcia had still not replied, and by the time he returned to his chamber, a dark mood had descended upon him. He read for a few hours but could not fall asleep. Then, no sooner had he succeeded than he was awakened by a great fanfare of church bells ringing and by shouting in the streets.

  Jefferson had won.

  Johnny heaved a sigh of relief. Now, he thought, it hardly mattered what he himself knew or did not know about the man. The battle had been lost and won.

  Half an hour later, the sun rose upon a changed city, one half jubilant and the other miserable. In the taverns, men already argued about the legitimacy of Jefferson’s victory. By nine, having still received no word from Marcia, Johnny decided to walk to her house. The sun was bright and the ice, while treacherous in patches, had begun to thaw.

  At her cottage door, Johnny met Ginny, who curtsied but did not offer to see him in.

  “I’ve come for Marcia. I have my tailor’s appointment this afternoon.”

  “Oh, yes. But, well, the missus, she’s not in just now.”

  “Not in? Do you know where she’s gone?”

  “No, sir.” Ginny shook her head slowly.

  “But she received my letter, did she not?”

  “I believe she did, sir.”

  Ginny began to shut the door, but Johnny forestalled her.

  “Kindly inform Miss Burnes that I stopped here, and that I shall be at Pringle’s in George Town at three this afternoon.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Johnny walked to George Town, where he stopped at Suter’s for some refreshment. He then moved on to the tailor, where he was fitted for his wedding suit.

  Pringle chatted with Johnny, pins in his mouth. Standing erect in his fine blue silk suit with its brocade red waistcoat, white gloves, and impeccable trousers, Johnny could have passed for a king’s courtier. The tailor made no mention of the election until the very end of the fitting, when he said, “Watch yourself heading home, lad. There’s people gone mad out there. Stark raving mad.” Then, looking at Johnny, he smiled proudly at his own excellent work.

  When he arrived back at his hotel after a long, muddy walk, Johnny found a letter slipped beneath his chamber door.

  Dear Mr. Boylston

  As you must have been apprized, two weeks ago, the president did me the great honor of appointing me Chief Justice of the United States. I find this changes somewhat the prospect of my future needs. I shall be obliged to spend much of my time here in Washington and thus most regretfully must rescind my offer of employment in Richmond. I wish you the very best in finding a satisfactory situation elsewhere, and have no doubt that such an able young man as yourself will do so.

  Yours most respectfully, J. M.

  Johnny stood there with the letter in his hands, bewildered. He did not doubt Marshall’s word. This was a man of unimpeachable integrity. He had made Johnny an offer one year earlier and stood by it. But why then had he not written weeks ago, when Adams appointed him? Without the promise of that position, Johnny knew not how he could support a wife, much less continue to live in the South. The thought occurred to him that he might in fact need to return to Boston and prevail upon his friends. Perhaps an unscrupulous man could live off his wife’s income, but Johnny would not consider it.

  But, oh, how would he ever convince Marcia to leave her friends and head north? She had never evinced the least curiosity about New England. Now that her father was gone, Marcia delighted in those gay society events at the Notley Youngs’ and the Carrolls’ of Duddington. Without her circle, she was simply a woman with money but no great lineage or standing. Still, Johnny needed to tell her that the offer from Marshall had been rescinded.

  Johnny sat down at his desk and wrote another letter to her. He read it over and was reasonably satisfied. He then took a new sheet of foolscap, over which his pen hovered until the ink on the tip was nearly dry. Finally, he dipped the nib in the bottle and wrote,

  Dearest Mama,

  There has been a turn of events since Jefferson’s election, and I believe you shall find my news welcome. After the wedding, my bride and I shall have the joy of returning to Quincy with you.

  Bolstered by his own hopeful words, Johnny sealed the letters, grabbed his coat, and descended. He gave the letters to one of the servants with instructions on their delivery, then stepped abroad. It was already near half past six, and the sky had grown dark. He thought he would head to the Bunch of Grapes. Apart from his refreshment at Suter’s, Johnny had not eaten since breakfast, and he was hungry. At the Bunch of Grapes, he could have a meal and ask about lodging at the same time.

  The tavern was quite crowded when Johnny arrived, but eventually he was seated in its smoky barroom and served an excellent meat stew with potatoes. His eyes and throat burned from the smoke, but the conviviality, even of those celebrating Jefferson’s election, was better than the deep silence elsewhere. However, inquiring after lodging, he was disappointed to learn that they had not so much as a single bed to share.

  When Johnny finally left the Bunch of Grapes, it had begun to snow. The snow came ever thicker as he trudged the mile back to his hotel. He had not worn his mitts, and his hands were stiff with cold by the time he pushed open the front door to his lodgings. Mounting the stairs, he thought he felt hostile eyes upon him from the other lodgers who were taking their supper in the public room. This must be his imagination, he told himself. I am imagining enemies where I have none.

  As he moved to open his chamber door, he noticed a letter partially visible beneath it. His heart leapt—Marcia, at last! He would have to scold her for keeping him in such suspense as to her whereabouts. He stooped to retrieve the letter.

  It was not a letter but rather a pamphlet, composed of several pages.

  THE FEDERALIST MONGRELS

  At first glance, he knew not what it meant. Then he clutched at his cravat and fled with the pamphlet back down the stairs. He sat down and ordered a pint of beer. But the server, a bent old man who might have been Tunnicliff’s father, did not seem to hear his request. He ignored Johnny despite several loud calls. In a burst of frustration, Johnny cried, “Well, come on, man!”

  The old man finally moved off and Johnny was able to open the pamphlet:

  It is now an incontrovertible fact that certain men in the Monocratical Party, whom it delighteth the people to honor, keep, and have for several years kept, certain dusky boys to do their secret spying. What a sublime adherence to the Hyppocritic Oath for American ambassadors to place before the public eyes! Who doubts that, had he been King, they would have fanned him like a pasha . . .


  The article went on to name John Watkins in particular and several other men of Adams’s “secret hoard of Federalist slaves.”

  Was this some joke? He knew it was not. Adams never kept a slave in his life, and never would. Many already knew this. But they had named him. Why? He thought there could be only one reason. Peter Fray.

  Johnny’s beer arrived; the old man set it roughly upon the table. He glanced at the pamphlet, then at Johnny, and was gone without a word. Johnny drank the pint and ordered another. It tasted sour; he frowned. He felt light-headed almost at once. Yet he drank it quickly as well, for the room appeared to have fallen silent all around him. Johnny stood, slightly unbalanced now. Did the old man know? Did the chambermaid know? Did the entire company in the bar know?

  He cried to the scant crowd, “What cheerful fellows you all are!” and stumbled out of the hotel. He soon made his way to another tavern on Jenkins Hill. Here, Johnny drank a third and fourth tankard of beer. Then he stopped in at the new townhouses built by George Washington, which housed many of the arriving statesmen. To the butler and a small crowd behind him, Johnny angrily insisted that he was a personal friend of the president.

  “Former president!” someone laughed and shoved him out by the shoulders. After this, things grew shadowy. Johnny recalled nothing until the following morning, when he found himself in his bed but knew not how he got there. He felt a stabbing pain behind his left eye.

  February 20, 1801. It was the day he was meant to leave Tunnicliff’s. But where to? In those remaining hours, he sent off another letter to Marcia. Johnny knew that the roads were slick, making for a treacherous journey down F Street. Perhaps the message had failed to reach her. Or maybe Ginny, out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to her mistress, was not passing his letters on to her. In his final letter to Marcia, Johnny let her know that he would be staying just near her, at the President’s House. The way he phrased it made it sound prearranged, when in fact Adams knew nothing about it.

  Why had Marcia not responded? Had she not told him that his black blood did not matter to her? There had been no ambiguity, no dissembling on her part. Surely he would have seen it, felt it? Johnny resolved to confront her later that day. He would listen patiently to her explanation, for surely there would be one. After all, she still loved him. She had told him so.