Dolley

by Rita Mae Brown

  “You know Chief Justice John Marshall, I be—” Calhoun didn’t get to finish his question.

  “A pompous ass and an obstructionist.”

  Dolley chimed in, allowing Calhoun to turn his attention to the guest on his right. “Mr. Gerry, you must write your memoirs. But I fear you will be prevented from this labor by your duties and by the fact that you can’t resist a political Gordian knot—you’ve untied so many.”

  The Vice President glowed. “Why, I could write a book on gerrymandering alone,” he joked.

  The guests laughed and Clay raised his glass to Gerry. “Mr. Vice President, it’s always the best fruit the birds pick at first.”

  Another wave of laughter followed. As governor, Elbridge Gerry had been instrumental in the redistricting of Massachusetts. His enemies claimed the districts were cut up to favor his party. The new districts resembled a salamander slinking across the state, and Gerry’s opponents called it a gerrymander. If the Vice President had redrawn the lines to ensure his own political base, he wasn’t the first to do so, although his name had become synonymous with the process.

  Dolley glanced over at her husband, seated next to Elizabeth Monroe—a deft move on Dolley’s part. The President liked women and could communicate with them more easily than he could with men. “This day must have emigrated from Scotland,” he said, referring to the snow and the sleet. He was rewarded by a large smile from the attractive Elizabeth for his attempt at humor.

  André Daschkov, his wife, and the Seruriers were there to lend more charm to the gathering.

  Daniel Webster thought he was informing the Russian minister about John Jacob Astor. Daschkov nodded as though Webster’s remarks were news to him.

  Webster’s beautiful voice intoned. “… Astor, Parish, and Girard saved us in 1812 by putting their financial genius and reserves at the service of our nation. It’s interesting that all those wealthy men were born in other countries.”

  “Ah, but that’s the genius of your country, sir; you take the best from everyone.”

  Daniel Webster smiled. He knew that a true aristocrat, which Daschkov was, believed just the opposite: America was peopled by Europe’s rejects and Africa’s ensnared. “Astor is a fascinating man. Started out as a fur trader. He would walk into the frozen North himself and select the pelts. Of course, then he began buying land in Manhattan. Fascinating man.”

  “If the Republicans prove victorious,” Daschkov slyly hinted, “then those businessmen loyal to the Administration will have the advantage.”

  “Quite so.” Webster smiled but did not take the bait. If Daschkov wanted a Federalist to tell him the party’s plans should the Republicans not prove victorious—should this war be lost—someone else was going to tell him, not Webster.

  Far from the Seruriers’ ears Michael Lieb, the Pennsylvania senator, was earnestly convincing Anna Maria Thornton that the states must exert their rights. “I do not believe the nation can be divided into military districts for the purpose of raising troops by conscription.”

  “And what is your plan, Senator?” Anna Maria Thornton egged him on so that she could report every word to her husband later.

  “Each state has a militia, and the President, under certain circumstances, can call out that militia. But those states do not have to agree to send men if they are opposed to the, uh, circumstances. Mrs. Thornton, the states must uphold their authority against the encroachment of the national government. This is imperative.” He lifted his chin. “If the national government can move men about at will, call men up at will, what is to protect us?” He cast his eyes to make certain the Seruriers were engaged in conversation. “The greatest evil of our time is the military despot.”

  “Ah, yes, I take your point, Senator.” She smiled and couldn’t wait to tell William.

  Henry Clay sat at Dolley’s right. When Lieb finished talking, Clay murmured, “I see his new tack is that calling up the militia is unconstitutional.”

  “He’s powerful,” Dolley noted.

  “Power is not a permanent substitute for skill.”

  Dolley laughed. She caught her husband’s eye and he smiled at her. How fortunate to be surrounded by such men, even those who were political opponents. She knew she could never be bored.

  Paul glided in and out. He was helping serve tonight. Dolley noticed that Paul couldn’t take his eyes off André Daschkov. The man wasn’t that interesting. She wondered what that was all about.

  She drew closer to Clay. “Will Calhoun call the vote?”

  “Soon.”

  “Can he lead—really?”

  “What do you think?” Clay already knew she had made up her mind.

  “Yes. His mind is a ferocious instrument, but my fear for Calhoun is that what he doesn’t know he hardly suspects exists.”

  “Brilliant but blind.”

  “Yes.” She brightened. “But not on the war. His blindness will get him into trouble somewhere though. I don’t know if I will live to see it, however.”

  “You’ll live to be one hundred.” Clay was emphatic.

  “I wouldn’t mind, as long as everyone I love lives that long, too.” She hesitated. “I couldn’t imagine life without my husband or my sisters, my Payne or you.” She caught herself before revealing too much. “Even Black Dan. I want to see what happens to him.”

  Clay, a sentimental man, lowered his voice. “Mrs. Madison, to be included in your list of hoped-for immortals is more reward than I deserve.”

  She blurted out, “Isn’t it curious how we go through life, and every now and then someone comes into our world, like an angel, and we know, ah, if things had been different, if—”

  “If I had met you first, Dolley Payne Madison, I would never have let you go.”

  Dolley gasped at his boldness. “Flattery, Mr. Clay. Base flattery. I am a good deal older than you.”

  “The truth? You are the most alluring woman I have ever met. You aren’t that much older than I. And, no, I haven’t had too much to drink.” He held up his hand. “No man can ever replace James in your heart, and small wonder, for you may be the only woman in Washington who has a faithful husband. I know my place, ma’am, but just once I wanted to tell you, just in case …” His voice trailed off. They both knew what “just in case” implied: if the war overwhelmed them both, if his ship never made it to Europe, if the British blasted them all to kingdom come.

  24 January 1814, Monday

  More snow. I refuse to give in to melancholy. I’m not going to write another word.

  Until the morrow, God willing.

  D.P.M.

  “Give it back!” Sukey’s voice ricocheted throughout the presidential mansion. “Give it back, you got no right.”

  “Enough!” French John’s baritone threatened.

  The bellowing reached Paul Jennings’s ears, and the young mulatto trotted out into the hall only to be gruffly ordered back to his post by French John. Paul stared, bewildered, as French John, fingers clasped tightly around Sukey’s wrist, dragged the woman along.

  French John turned when Paul didn’t duck back into the room. “Where is Mrs. Madison?”

  “Last I saw her, she was talking to Tom, the gardener.”

  French John nodded and hauled Sukey along. Sukey wouldn’t look Paul in the face. Paul noticed that French John’s accent was very thick this morning, which meant that he was very angry.

  Dolley, startled when French John located her, put down her needlework. She and her majordomo sensed each other’s moods, often not needing to say a word. His face, dark with fury, belied his voice, which was quieter now.

  “Mrs. Madison, I regret having to trouble you before your audience with the Western ladies this morning.”

  “What is the trouble then?”

  French John, still clasping Sukey with his right hand, reached up to her neck with his left hand and pulled out a heavy, exquisitely worked gold chain.

  “This.”

  Stunned, Dolley stood up and walked over to Su
key. Tears rolled down from Sukey’s large brown eyes as Dolley took the necklace in her hands.

  “This is extraordinary. The workmanship is exquisite.”

  “French,” French John said with pride, and then as an afterthought, “or Florentine.”

  Sukey lowered her head.

  “Where did you get this?” Dolley asked.

  Sukey chose silence.

  French John shook her hard. “Did you steal this, you lazy sluggard?” He lost his temper and then regretted it because Dolley quietly shook her head.

  “Sukey, please. I know you didn’t steal this, but you must admit this is a curious set of circumstances.” Dolley’s contralto smoothed over each word.

  “Missus, I ain’t no thieving girl!” Sukey allowed herself a glare of Devil-pure hatred at French John.

  “I know that with all my heart and soul.”

  “Don’t you lie to Mrs. Madison, girl, or I’ll take the whip to you, I swear I will.” French John lost his patience again. “You tell Mrs. Madison the truth.”

  “French John, I believe Sukey and I can unravel this mystery.” She winked at French John, who bowed and left.

  He stalked down the hall dreaming of swatting Sukey’s behind with a good cane switch.

  Dolley returned to her seat and picked up her needlework. She calmly tipped the needle in and out of the fabric. Sukey remained standing. Dolley plied her with no further questions; she just continued her sewing.

  “I’m not a thief,” Sukey cried again.

  “I never thought you were. Now why don’t you tell me all about it before there’s more of a rumpus.”

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “So you said.” Dolley’s patience was genuine.

  “André Daschkov made me a present.”

  Dolley glanced up from her needlework. She started to say something but bit her tongue. Even Uncle Willy was unusually silent, and any drama generally sparked tremendous squawking from him.

  Sukey continued after a long pause. “He likes me.”

  “So it seems. Has he given you other presents?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “A bracelet and bolts of cloth.”

  “I take it, Sukey, these gifts are not the result of your conversational abilities.”

  Sukey couldn’t tell if she was being mocked or not, but she was in no position to worry about a slight. “No.”

  “And how long have you been in Daschkov’s company?”

  Sukey shrugged. “Weeks. A month. I forget.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman. That’s a kind of power. I should think it would be almost impossible to resist that power … in your position.” Dolley stopped her needlework and spoke directly to Sukey. Her gaze was unwavering, and finally Sukey met the deep blue eyes. “I am responsible for you. Perhaps I’m not doing a good job of it.”

  “I don’t belong to you.” A rush of emotion tumbled out of Sukey’s mouth.

  Dolley folded her hands together. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Legally, you belong to Mr. Madison.”

  “You don’t own me. None of you own me. You just think you do. You can order me about. You can catch me if I run away, but my soul is my own!”

  “And apparently your body is your own, too, up to a point.” Dolley, moved by the outburst and the anger, tried not to be angry in return.

  Sukey had expected a blast, and the sweetness in Dolley’s tone undid her. She started to sob. Dolley rose from her chair and put her arms around her.

  “Child, I didn’t make this world and there are times I don’t like it any more than you do. If I had the power to end slavery, I would. If I had the power to end this cursed war, I would. Sukey, I can’t vote any more than you can.”

  Sukey put her head on Dolley’s shoulder. “It ain’t right, missus. It ain’t right.”

  “No.”

  “Daschkov’s rich. I want those pretty things. I want money.”

  “So do I.” Dolley wiped her eyes. Sukey’s tears brought up her own. “Sit down. Let’s sit down and talk this over.”

  At first Sukey hesitated because it wouldn’t do to sit down with the Missus. Sitting behind her or sitting along the wall waiting on her, that would do, but to sit opposite her, that was strange.

  “Come on.” Dolley led her to a chair.

  Sukey dropped into it with relief. “My looks ain’t gonna last forever. I got to get what I can whilst I got ’em.”

  “I quite understand.” And she did, although Dolley did not approve of sex out of wedlock. But how could she hold Sukey to the rules that held for whites if the rewards were not the same for the African race? Then too, how many of the white race obeyed those rules? “You know I can’t approve of what you’re doing. I’d like to see you marry a good man, Sukey.”

  “I’ll die before I marry.” Sukey’s lips clamped tight. “I’m not being the slave of a slave.”

  “I thought that, too. You have to meet the right one.”

  Sukey shook her head defiantly. “Never!”

  “Do you care for Daschkov?”

  “No. I don’t care no more for him than a sack of hammers.”

  “Is he attractive to you?”

  Sukey laughed. “No.”

  “Does he promise you things?”

  “No, but he gives me stuff.”

  “Does it affect you that he’s married?”

  “If it don’t bother him, it don’t bother me none.”

  “I see.” Dolley breathed deeply. “Does he ask you questions about Master James?”

  “He wants to know who comes and goes in this house.”

  “Like Louis Serurier?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Do you tell him?”

  “I tell him enough to throw him off the scent.”

  “Does he ask political questions?”

  “No, but he ax me if I reads and writes.”

  “Sukey, do you understand why we are at war with Great Britain?”

  “They stealing our ships and mens, too.” She corrected herself. “Men.” Sukey listened to the powerful whites speak. She was training herself to imitate that speech. That was power, too.

  Dolley brightened. If thousands upon thousands of men in New England couldn’t grasp one of the reasons for the war, a female slave from Virginia certainly had. “Yes. Do you understand that André Daschkov is a representative from another country? His primary concern is his country and only his country. If he can find an advantage in this war for Russia, he will seize it like a crow a June bug.”

  Sukey nodded that she understood, and she did. That Sukey was intelligent somehow made slavery even more hateful to Dolley. To waste this woman’s intelligence, to waste anybody’s intelligence, seemed beyond crime. It drifted into sin.

  “Daschkov says that his estate is big as Rhode Island.”

  “Anything is as big as Rhode Island,” Dolley laughed.

  “He don’t think much of us. He don’t say it but I can tell.”

  “Europe doesn’t think much of us, Sukey. That’s another reason we’re in this mess. Now listen to me. I can’t live your life for you. Sometimes people do things that aren’t right, but they may learn from those things and become better people. I like to think so.”

  “You think he’s using me? Men don’t use me. They thinkin’ they do but they so dumb, Missus Madison. They easy as pie.”

  “For you.” Dolley smiled. “Have there been other men like Daschkov?”

  “Uh-huh.” Sukey smiled. She relished her exploits like a hunter recalling the big game he’s killed. She thought a moment, then leaned forward. “If Daschkov be for Russia, then Madame Serurier be for France.”

  “Madame Serurier is a personal friend of mine but politically, yes, she must be for France even if she disagrees with her husband, the minister.”

  “You trust her?”

  “Yes. We both recognize where the line is drawn.”

  “You goin’ to tell Master James?”

&nb
sp; “I must. It’s my duty.”

  “What do you think he’ll do to me?”

  “I don’t know.” Dolley drew her shawl around her shoulders. “Sukey, I don’t expect you’ll believe anything I say, anything any white person says. The Fates play tricks on us. They made you beautiful, a dusky Venus. They made you intelligent and then they made you a slave. I abhor slavery. I thought that by being a Quaker I was free of the stain of this terrible sin—but I’m not. We are all”—she searched for a word—“responsible. But I don’t know what I can do except to tell you life is unjust, people can be cruel, and yet if you harden your heart, you will lose what little love there is in this world.” She reached over and took Sukey’s hand in her own. Dolley knew slavery was the worm in the apple of democracy.

  25 January 1814, Tuesday

  The court-martial of General Hull proceeds, casting an unfavorable light not only on the Army but on this Administration. John Armstrong has had no communication from the generals in the West Florida territory of Alabama or from Louisiana. He is taking this as a good sign, and Jemmy is taking it as something else.

  My poor Jemmy. I added to his cares today by telling him of Sukey’s affairs, most particularly the one with André Daschkov. I can be angry with Daschkov. I can’t be angry with Sukey. She can’t possibly understand how she may have compromised us. If only James would free his slaves!

  How I hated to tell him about Sukey. He was dumbfounded. Truthfully, I was, too, when French John dragged her into my room, but being a woman, I can understand this situation better than my husband can.

  His first thought was to dispatch her immediately back to Mother Madison. I said yes, we could do that, but Sukey, once roused from her lethargy, is a good lady’s maid and she knows our routine. It would take some time to break in a new girl. He considered this and then told me that she could stay, but she absolutely must stop seeing Daschkov. Because he thought she had earned the necklace, he didn’t tell her to return it.

  What has made this especially painful for Jemmy is that he has always liked André and his wife. When we moved into the presidential mansion, the Daschkovs knocked on our door and, according to the Russian custom, presented us with two wine coolers: one filled with bread, the staff of life, and one filled with salt, the essence of life.