“That’s kind of you, captain.”
“You’re a kind person, Miss Orsini.”
When the captain returned to his post and relieved Thomas of the responsibility of steering the ship, she shuddered with relief, deep and absolute. She had transportation to New York and a place to live. But it was only her backup plan. She had to believe MacKlenna or Digby had a working brooch. If they didn’t, she would continue to believe the brooch was temporarily malfunctioning, and in that scenario, she would need a place to live.
Transportation to New York—check. A place to live and paint—check. Thomas working in the city as secretary of state—check.
I’ll make a brand new start of it / In old New York.
33
Norfolk, VA (1789)—Sophia
Twenty-three days of swift sailing and perfect weather brought the ship to a dense fog off the coast of Virginia. For three days, the thick November mist clung to the shore, making it impossible for Sophia to get even a glimpse of land. It didn’t matter really that she couldn’t see, but Captain Colley couldn’t either.
Finally, with the aid of a strong headwind, he escaped into the Chesapeake Bay at the same moment another vessel was speeding out of port. The two ships barely avoided a head-on collision, but the outgoing ship grazed the Clermont, taking off part of her rigging.
Sophia was huddled on deck with Patsy and Polly when the ropes, cables, and chains came crashing down. Both girls screamed, but Sophia’s scream froze in her throat. The tension and fear drawing her nerves tight as a bowstring knotted even tighter while the ropes dangled like menacing snakes above their heads. The deck’s ghostly creaking had her lungs straining and struggling for her next breath.
Most frightening of all, though, were the waves pounding the port side of the ship, each one a siren’s call, Come to me.
Sophia frantically searched the fog-shrouded deck for Thomas. His height and air of control identified him, standing head and shoulders above the sailors. He was pointing into the fog, shouting, but she couldn’t hear what he said.
“Can we go below?” Polly asked in a shaky voice. “I’m afraid one of those loose ropes will fall on my head.”
Sophia didn’t want to leave the deck. If another ship sideswiped them or collided head-on, they could be trapped below. “I’m not sure it would be any safer there.”
Patsy took charge, grabbed Sophia and Polly’s hands, and dragged them down the stairs. Inside the cabin, Marguerite and Sally were huddled in a corner of one of the berths, eyes wide with fright. Polly jumped in with them.
“Are we going to drown?” Sally whispered, as if saying it out loud would cause it to happen.
Sophia climbed in next to Polly and wrapped her arms around the shivering child. “Not today,” Sophia said. “But it was pretty scary up top. We’re pulling up alongside the dock now, though, so if the ship goes down, we’ll be rescued easily enough.”
“You’re never afraid, Miss Sophia. Like when we left you in the carriage on the bridge, you weren’t scared.”
“Well, that’s not quite true. I’m afraid of water I can’t walk across.”
The girls laughed. “We’ve been sailing over deep water for weeks,” Patsy said. “You never acted scared.”
“Now you know why I was always drawing. My studious face looks the same as my terrified one.”
They laughed again, and the fear gripping the girls evaporated while the tightness in their faces relaxed.
Thomas ducked his head and entered the cabin, hauling his mahogany traveling writing box, the size of an attaché case, under his arm. The box was quite ingenious, really, and Sophia had used it often during the trip. She hadn’t been at all surprised when he told her he designed it and had it built by a cabinetmaker in Philadelphia. At her request, he agreed to post a letter to the cabinetmaker to commission a smaller one. Hers would have a shoulder strap and a latch to hold the box shut. If he wasn’t improving upon something, she was. What a pair they made.
“Gather whatever you want to take with you. It’s time to disembark,” he said.
Polly climbed out of the berth first. “Papa, did you know Miss Sophia is afraid of water she can’t walk across?”
Thomas propped his free hand on his hip and looked askance. “Why, Polly, I would be afraid if she could.”
“Oh, Papa. She means walking through shallow water. Not walking over deep water like Jesus Christ.”
“Thank you, Polly, for the explanation. However, I don’t believe Jesus of Nazareth walked on water, either.” He nodded at Sophia. “I’ll meet you all topside.”
Thomas was a devout theist. He believed in a benevolent creator to whom humans owed praise, but he didn’t believe Jesus was born of a virgin, multiplied the loaves and fishes, or was raised from the dead. He was brilliant and intellectually curious, and he preferred to make his own judgments, even in matters of religion.
After one religious discussion when he said he was a real Christian, a disciple of the doctrines of Jesus, and called Christ’s teachings the most sublime and benevolent code of morals which had ever been offered to man, she relaxed.
But when he continued with a dismissal of the Trinity, she knew she could never discuss religion with him again. She was a product of Catholic schools, regularly attended confession, and rarely missed Sunday Mass, even while traveling. Her faith was the bedrock of her core convictions. Without it, she didn’t have the foundation to fight for anything. Their differing views on religion created a barrier between them.
“Come on, girls. Let’s not keep him waiting.” Sophia collected the two leather satchels and double-checked to make sure she had the velvet bags with her pearls and diamonds and personal items from home. The contents of which were dwindling fast.
Marguerite gathered her sewing basket. “Sally, will you carry Miss Sophia’s new pillows?”
Sally tucked a pillow under each arm. “Will our belongings be safe here? All the gifts I bought for my family and my pretty dresses are in my trunk. If I lose them, I won’t have any mementoes of my days in Paris.”
Sophia glanced at Sally’s trunk, which was constructed of the same thick leather as all the others. “It’s too heavy for us to carry. But if you want to choose a few special things, you could bring those with you.”
Sally stared at the trunk, tapping her foot. “I’ll leave everything in there for now.”
“Patsy and Polly, grab your books and journals and anything else that’s not packed away,” Sophia said.
With arms loaded, they left their cabin. Sophia glanced over her shoulder, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. What she was leaving behind was irreplaceable—a trunk full of rolled-up paintings and sketches, along with others crated in the hold.
When she reached the deck, she asked Thomas, “Would you send two men to our cabin and have them bring up our trunks? I don’t want to leave them behind.”
“When they unload the cargo, they’ll get them,” he said.
“Please,” she pleaded. “It would ease our minds. My paintings are in there, along with Sally’s gifts for her family. They’re irreplaceable.”
Instead of arguing, he caught the captain’s attention and requested the trunks in the girls’ cabin be removed immediately from the ship. The captain appeared annoyed, but complied with the request, and within minutes their trunks were stacked on the dock.
“Thank you,” Sophia said.
“I’ll have them sent to the inn,” Thomas said.
“I hope there’s a nice Inn in Norfolk where we can wait while Papa arranges a carriage to take us home,” Patsy said.
Sophia sniffed the air. The wharf had its own particular tang, different from Le Havre and Isle of Wight…or maybe it was simply her imagination creating an olfactory difference between Europe and America.
She wobbled as she climbed down the gang plank. Recovering her land legs might take a while. When she reached the dock and could see better through the fog, she nearly wept. “What happe
ned to Norfolk?”
“Is this a town?” Marguerite asked.
“The British governor had it burned the second year of the war, but they’re rebuilding,” Jefferson said. “This is a busy port.”
“Papa, the Treaty of Paris was signed six years ago. What have they been doing since then?” Patsy asked.
“This place is nothing more than a village of shanties,” Sophia said.
“Where are we going to stay tonight, Papa?” Polly asked. “In a tent?”
“We’ll find something more suitable than a tent,” Thomas said. “Norfolk is part of Virginia, and Virginians will open their doors for us.” With his free hand he tugged on his waistcoat and straightened his cravat. “Come along.”
Sophia chuckled. They had all complained about the city except Thomas, who saw the goodness of Virginians over the inadequacies of Norfolk. They followed him through the muddy street to the only hotel in town to discover there was no room at the inn.
But when word passed through Hotel Lindsay that Thomas Jefferson had just arrived, several patrons insisted on vacating their rooms. Thomas sat at one of the long oak tables and drank ale with them while the girls went upstairs with their trunks to settle in.
Marguerite hung the new dresses on pegs in one of the bedrooms. “How long will we be here?”
“Hopefully just overnight,” Sophia said. “Although I doubt Norfolk has a livery, so I’m not sure where we’ll find transportation.”
“If Mr. Jefferson is right about Virginians, then maybe they’ll open their stables, too.”
“You’re very astute, Marguerite,” Sophia said. “And if you ask him, it’s probably what he would say.”
A pounding on the door preceded Patsy’s panicked voice, crying from the hallway, “The ship’s on fire.”
Sophia yanked open the door. “The Clermont?” The news gripped Sophia’s gut, as tight and relentless as a vise. Her framed paintings were in the belly of the ship.
“Look.” Patsy pointed out the window, but all Sophia could see were flashes of fire in the fog.
“Come on. Let’s hurry. They’ll need help with the bucket brigade.” Sophia locked the door before hurrying after the girls, who were already flying out the inn’s front door.
By the time they reached the dock, fast-moving flames were spreading through the cabins and smoke belched from cracks in the walls and open windows. A bucket brigade had already formed, and men were heaving buckets of water onto the fire.
“It’s no use,” the captain yelled. “It’s moving too fast.”
“We can’t quit,” Jefferson hollered back, filling another bucket with water from the bay. There were only about a dozen men on the line, and to douse the flames they would need a dozen more.
“All of Papa’s papers are in his trunks. He’ll be devastated,” Patsy said.
“Thank you, Miss Sophia, for having our trunks removed,” Sally said.
Sophia hugged her. “I just had a feeling. I hope Mr. Jefferson’s papers survive.”
She was fighting back tears, though, over the possible loss of his books and papers and her paintings and supplies in the hold.
But Sally and her brother had left France, where they had a legal right to claim freedom on their own terms only to return to slavery in Virginia. If Sally had lost her trunk, she would never be able to share her mementoes with her mother or hold them to remember her adventures. Even if Sophia lost every painting she ever painted, she would never lose as much as Sally.
“Sally,” Sophia said, wiping her cheeks. “Go back to the hotel. This smoke is not good for you and your baby.”
Sobbing, Sally said, “I’ll wait at the end of the dock. The wind’s blowing in the opposite direction.”
“Come on, Sally. I’ll go with you,” Polly said.
Dozens of men ran toward the ship, but it appeared the fire was too far out of control to extinguish. Thomas trudged away, his head hanging, and Sophia’s heart broke for him, too. Five years of papers, a portion of his book collection, and crates of wine and furnishings were all lost.
The men fought the fire tenaciously and saved the ship, but the cabins had been heavily burned. When it was safe, Thomas and Captain Colley boarded to survey the damage. Sophia and Patsy waited on the dock, hugging each other and coughing from the smoke in the air.
Twenty minutes later, Jefferson joined them on the dock. His flushed face was coated with a sheen of sweat, his clothes dusted with ash, his neckcloth a dark gray. “As far as I can tell”—he coughed—“our trunks didn’t burn. They all survived the fire intact.”
Sophia was flabbergasted. “The flames were shooting out the windows of our cabins. And you’re saying nothing burned? How’s that possible?”
He wiped his brow with a handkerchief, already a dirty gray. “Everything in the cabins burned—furniture, bedcovers, lamps, wall hangings.”
“Except the trunks?” Patsy asked. “Your papers are safe, Papa?”
“Yes. Captain Colley will have my trunks delivered to the inn. The fire didn’t reach the belly of the ship, so all the crates are safe as well.”
“Patsy, go tell Polly and Sally the good news.”
“Here comes the captain,” Thomas said. “He’s one lucky soul.”
“Miss Orsini. May I speak with you?”
“Go on,” she said to Thomas. “I’ll meet you at the inn.”
“Are you sure?” There was a distinct note of disapproval in his voice. “I’ll stay with you, just the same.”
She glanced back at the captain, who had been stopped by a sailor, and then she turned to Thomas, summoning a casual smile. “Captain Colley commissioned a painting. He wants to discuss details. I’ll be along shortly.”
“You didn’t mention that. I’ll negotiate for you. How much do you hope to get for the painting?”
She hugged her elbows with her palms to keep from swatting him. “I’m quite capable of negotiating this. I’ll meet you at the inn as soon as I finish with the captain.”
His brows slanted down like an angry hawk, and they glared at each other over a bristling silence. Finally she said, “Thomas. I’m an artist. I paint, and I sell my paintings. I’ve been negotiating with patrons for years. I know the value of my work. I know how much I want for a painting, and what I’m willing to accept.”
“I’ll listen and offer—”
She gave up on the thought of swatting him and instead pressed both hands on his chest. “I’ll take care of this, and I’ll meet you at the inn when I’m finished.” Instead of waiting for additional protests, she squared her shoulders and left him scowling.
Sweat dribbled down Captain Colley’s leathery cheeks, and he pushed his disheveled hair away from his face. “I won’t be going to Charleston now. It will take at least a month to make repairs, so I’ll miss picking up the shipment in South Carolina. Instead I’ll head straight to New York. If you need to sail sooner, I can—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I can wait, and I’ll certainly have the painting completed by then.”
“I’ll send a message when the ship is ready to sail. Where will you be?”
“I don’t know yet. As soon as I reach my destination, probably Richmond, I’ll write and let you know. When you’re ready to leave, you can send a message to me. Will that work for you?”
“It should, yes, and I’ve already penned a letter to my sister-in-law and should have a response before we leave Norfolk.”
“Thank you for agreeing to take me. I hope the damage isn’t extensive.”
“It could have been much worse.”
Sophia glanced around shantytown, wondering again why the town wasn’t more developed, since it was a major shipping hub. “It looks like there’s a shortage of building materials. Will you have trouble getting what you need?”
“There’s an abundance of raw materials for ship construction around Norfolk. We won’t have a problem.”
“They must use all the materials for ships instead of building a c
enter city.”
“The shipwrights stay busy. There’s an impressive shipbuilding and repair depot nearby. You’ve been living in France where buildings are centuries old, but old around here is a handful of years.”
“Well, it’s obvious I have a lot to get used to. I’ll see you in a few weeks,” she said.
By the time she finished with the captain, Thomas was nowhere to be seen. If he asked how much the captain agreed to pay for the painting, what would she say? A free trip to New York? No, it would spark an argument she wasn’t ready to have. But he was going to New York after Christmas. He just didn’t know it yet.
Boisterous voices spilled out of the inn’s open windows. A celebration was in progress. When she entered and spotted Thomas in the middle of the throng of men with raised glasses, she knew the cause of the good cheer.
Patsy and Polly were seated at a nearby table. “What’s going on?” Sophia asked.
“The mayor, the recorder, and aldermen from the borough of Norfolk are here to formally greet Papa, congratulating him on his safe arrival, thanking him for his eminent services to the trade of his State, and fervently wishing him happiness and continued success in the important station to which he has been called by a grateful country.” Patsy handed Sophia a week-old copy of the Virginia Gazette. “There’s an article in the paper saying President Washington nominated Papa for secretary of state, and the Senate confirmed him.”
“What did he say?” Sophia asked.
“That service to his country was the first wish of his heart.”
Sophia sat down next to her. “So the politicians are here to greet a high official of the new government, not merely a diplomat.”
“You knew he’d be offered this position, didn’t you?” Patsy asked in an accusatory tone.
“Your papa is too valuable to be left in Paris right now. President Washington needs him in New York.”
“But he’s needed at Monticello. He’s given the government five years. He should be allowed to go home and take care of his farm,” Patsy said.
The Pearl Brooch Page 42