Jack shrugged. “Maybe because everybody is there waiting for us.”
Sophia opened her portfolio and pulled out a sketch of Hamilton pacing in front of George Washington’s house. “Here. This is the only sketch of Hamilton in utter despair.” She pulled out another one. “Here’s one of James Madison dining with Thomas at his house on Maiden Lane. You now have a drawing of the dining room.”
Jack stared at the pictures. “Are you sure?”
“Of what? That the drawing is Thomas’s dining room?”
He smiled. “No, are you sure you want to give them away? I can take a picture of this.”
“You can have them. I’ll sketch several at the dinner tonight.”
Matt studied her for a moment. “Did you and Pete get your issues resolved?”
She gazed at Pete. “I think so. We’re good now, right?”
He rubbed the little bump in her right earlobe. “Sure. We’re good.”
She and Pete sat on the quilt and put their stockings and shoes back on.
“I have something for you.” He dug in his knapsack again. “This is from the entire family.” He placed a small leather pouch in her hand.
She lifted her hand up and down, feeling the heaviness of the pouch. “What is this?”
Jack reclaimed his hat and set it back on his head. “A few gold nuggets. If you never sell another painting, you could live at the Ritz for the rest of your life.”
“I can’t take this. Thank you. But no.” She tried to hand it back, but all three men refused to accept it.
“Here’s the thing,” Jack said. “Braham McCabe married my sister. He was a Union major and a special agent for Abraham Lincoln. After the war, he was one of the men who built the transcontinental railroad. He sold all his stock, traded the cash in for gold, buried it, and came forward in time. Nobody knows the value of the nuggets in his vault. Billions probably. A few years ago, we found the Confederate gold and the treasure hidden with it. Made us a lot of money. We can afford it. So consider it your dowry.”
“But don’t give it away,” Pete said. “The money is for you. We don’t ever want you to be without. And if you ever need us, send a message—”
“I won’t,” she said. “My life is here.”
Matt looked at Jack. “Then I guess our job is done. We should go.”
“Let’s get our gear and head out.” Jack helped Sophia to her feet while Pete shook out the quilt and folded it.
Matt hugged her. “I’m sorry you’re not going with us.”
“I enjoyed our visits, Matt. Thank you for being so understanding.”
Jack hugged her next. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for encouraging us to meet with Hamilton. I interviewed John Wilkes Booth, but believe me, this was the most remarkable experience I’ve ever had, outside of my wedding and the birth of my daughter. I’ll never forget it, and I’ll never forget you.”
“I saw your wedding pictures in a magazine. I would have loved to paint you and your wife. After meeting your grandsire and his wife, I know exactly how I would paint you.”
“Amy has interviewed several artists but has yet to find someone whose vision she likes. It may never be painted.”
“Well, keep looking.”
Pete was last to get a hug. “I’m glad we had this time together. May your life be like good wine…”
“Tasty, sharp, and clear,” she said.
“And like good wine, may it improve…”
“With every passing year,” she said, finishing the Italian blessings she’d repeated many times. “I didn’t know you’d grow up to be a poet.”
“I didn’t know you’d grow up to be Mrs. Thomas Jefferson.”
“Who would have thought it?” She smiled at Pete. “Thanks for coming after me, and please tell Kit MacKlenna Montgomery she made the right call.”
“Goodbye, Sophia,” they said in unison.
She left them standing on the beach because she didn’t want to watch them walk away. She didn’t want to see Pete vanish before her eyes. She’d had an afternoon with him to relive their youth and young love, and she would never forget it.
But finally she could let him go.
At the last possible moment she turned and looked back, but no one was there, only footprints in the sand. And she thought of the last song on the wedding CD Pete gave her—“My Heart Will Go On” by Céline Dion:
Love can touch us one time / And last for a lifetime…
43
New York City (1790)—Sophia
Congress spent July and August hammering out the details of the Residence Act and the Funding Act of 1790. The compromise brokered by Madison, Hamilton, and Thomas would one day be regarded as one of the most important bargains in American history. And Sophia was there where it happened.
She had two dozen sketches of the men yelling and hand-wringing, and at the end she posed them in a Jimmy Carter, Anwar Sadat, Menachem Begin look-alike handclasp for posterity. She would one day paint the final sketch with two hidden pictures. The compromise would have happened with or without Jack Mallory and Matt Kelly, but it gave them a story to tell, and a connection to the Founding Fathers. She smiled every time she thought of those two time-travelers and their childlike glee.
Sophia had an artist friend whose daughter worked at the New York Federal Reserve Bank located on Maiden Lane, opposite the street from where Thomas’s house stood when the compromise was brokered. On the top floor of the bank building there’s a circular conference room, and important decisions that saved the country were made there during the 2008 financial crisis—the room where it happened.
The irony was not lost on Sophia.
She spent the summer painting full-length portraits of Washington, Hamilton, and Adams. She wanted hers to compliment John Trumbull’s paintings, while also being distinctly different. She met with the artist over tea, and they spent hours talking about art and painters he knew, painters she’d studied. They also discussed in depth the importance of painting accurate depictions of events and characters, and where and when it was appropriate to take artistic license for the benefit of the painting.
By September she and Thomas had packed their belongings for the move to Philadelphia, where Thomas had rented a four-story brick house at 274 High Street with plenty of room for Polly and a small studio. Once they moved there, she might rent a shop so she’d have more room to accommodate a few students.
A Parisian milliner who owned a shop on Broadway had been courting Marguerite for the past three months, and Marguerite’s dressmaking business was thriving, bringing fashion and haute couture to New York. She’d even hired two seamstresses to keep up with the work, and she didn’t want to leave the city. Marguerite spent all of August making Sophia’s trousseau, and already had orders for similar gowns.
Sophia didn’t want to leave without her, but Sophia, of all people, would never stand in the way of love.
Together she and Thomas had designed a betrothal ring using one large pearl and several diamonds. It was the most exquisite ring she’d ever seen, and she fell into his arms when he slipped it on her finger. They would have made love that night, but Thomas said he would prefer to wait since they were so close to their wedding.
Sophia purchased a coach and had it modified to accommodate their needs. Then at the last minute, invited Thomas to go see it, and as she’d suspected, he made several alterations. The carriage maker had to work nonstop to complete the job by the day of departure.
John Adams had already advised her to let Thomas select the team to pull the carriage, which was excellent advice. She’d discovered a sort of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when it came to Thomas and horses. He was always polite, soft-spoken, and not given to confrontation, but on horseback a change came over him, and he would fly into a fit of rage and even abuse a disobedient horse.
The first time she saw him do it she was livid. The second time she yelled at him that horses weren’t just chattel, and the third time she told him if he ev
er abused a horse again, she’d walk out of his life forever. She knew she was judging him by her standards and century, and the idea of animals’ rights would have puzzled him, but it was never too early to start a social change movement.
On August 12, Congress met for the last time in Federal Hall. And she was there to sketch it all. Two weeks later, on August 30, Washington stepped onto a barge moored at Macomb’s Wharf on the Hudson and left Manhattan, never to return.
Abigail Adams was not happy about moving to Philadelphia—it just wasn’t Broadway, And Sophia, a born and raised New Yorker, had to agree.
Passage of the funding and assumption bills restored millions of dollars in worthless certificates of indebtedness to face value, and an influx of wealth bathed New York speculators in prosperity. Investors eagerly bid up the price of the new three- and six-percent federal securities, dreaming of fortunes to come.
Sophia even considered jumping into the speculative market but was afraid her relationship to Thomas would cause her investments to be highly scrutinized and considered by some to be insider trading. Of course it wouldn’t be, but she had agreed not to do anything to embarrass him, even if it would make him a multimillionaire.
New York City’s future seemed secure, federal capital or not. This separation of powers—government and finance—had no parallel in the Western world. London, Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Vienna, Rome, Madrid, Lisbon were capitals in the fullest sense. Those cities were hubs of politics, business, and culture.
Although no longer the capital city, New York’s destiny was to be the city of capital.
44
Mallory Plantation (1790)—Sophia
Sophia and Thomas rode out of New York City in high spirits. He and James Hemings rode on horseback while she had the carriage to herself. She missed Marguerite already, but presented the most positive, cheerful face she could when they said goodbye. Sophia had taught her all she could about being a modern woman and managing a business, and her door would remain open if Marguerite decided later to move to Philadelphia.
Sophia thought back to the day she and Marguerite and the girls left Paris, and how much fun they had playing I Spy. This trip would be so lonely, but she would see Patsy and Polly at Mallory Plantation, and the three of them would plan Sophia and their father’s wedding.
Thomas had already written General Mallory to let him know they’d be stopping by on their way to Monticello, and Sophia penned a short postscript to let him know she had a personal request she hoped he would consider. Thomas also wrote to Mr. MacKlenna and Mr. Digby, advising them they would be at Mallory Plantation, and that Sophia would like to visit with them again.
During the ride to Virginia she spent the time organizing hundreds of sketches, looking for the few she would paint.
“Inside my journal / My best work shines / Page after page of the most sublime / Sketch after sketch / Eyes go blind / Five, six, seven, eight / Nine / Loses herself / One shot one shot / Once in a lifetime / Never let go / In a Philadelphia state of mind.”
She would be so embarrassed if anyone ever read her songs or, for that matter, heard her spitting fire. She had a former student to thank for introducing her to rap. She smiled thinking about him. He just completed his second year at The Florence Academy of Art and had a bright future ahead of him. Her smile quickly turned to a frown at the thought of her other students. Students she’d never see again.
I can’t think about them now. If not now, when?
She shook her head and turned her attention back to organizing her sketches.
She double-checked to be sure the sketches she intended to paint were duplicated in her journal. In her time, she would have scanned them into a computer as her backup, but now her journal was all she had. Losing it would be like a computer crash, so the journal was never out of her sight.
Marguerite made several small, elegant cross-body bags for her out of different fabrics, matching or coordinating with her dresses, and sized to fit her pencils and ever-expanding journal. The bags had even become a fashion statement. All the ladies in New York had begun carrying them. And soon the fashion would show up in Philadelphia.
As they drove up to Mallory Plantation ten days after leaving New York, she had the strangest sensation that she was coming home. She couldn’t explain it, describe it, or understand it. It was just simply a total body experience. And she thought about Jack and Matt and, most of all, Pete.
Was there a way to leave a message? Maybe a painting of the willow oak with hidden pictures, but it had to be interesting enough to survive the two centuries between now and when Jack and Amy occupied the house, between now and when Matt and his family would build a house nearby, and between now and when Pete would come for a visit.
Thoughts of her time-traveling visitors flew away with a pair of osprey gliding over the mansion toward the river. She laughed when Thomas opened the carriage door and swept her into his arms.
“You are beaming, my darling. I hope one day you’ll be as happy to be at Monticello.”
She whispered. “I’d kiss you if it wouldn’t be so scandalous.”
“I don’t care,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the lips.
General and Mrs. Mallory met them on the porch. “We’re so pleased to welcome the future Mrs. Jefferson and her betrothed.” The general kissed both her cheeks and shook Thomas’s hand.
Mrs. Mallory hugged her. “I’m so happy to see you again. Mr. Jefferson already informed me Miss Bonnard is remaining in New York. I am heartbroken.”
“She made my trousseau and sent patterns along. If there’s anything you like, your seamstress will be able to make the gowns for you.” Sophia and Mrs. Mallory locked arms and entered the mansion talking about fabrics.
“Mr. MacKlenna and Mr. Digby will be here for supper. They said Miss Orsini wanted to visit with them,” the general said. “And Polly and Patsy both sent messages that they would be at Monticello preparing for the wedding and couldn’t wait to see you both.”
“I’m disappointed, but there’s no reason for them to make the trip just to turn around and go back,” Sophia said. “I can’t wait to see them.” She glanced up at Thomas. “Did you know?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. They wanted to decorate the house and prepare the food as a surprise. They couldn’t get it all done if they met us here.”
“I’m thrilled to know Mr. MacKlenna and Mr. Digby are coming. We didn’t have time to talk about family connections, and I want to trace the Digby family line to discover where it connects with the MacKlennas.”
“I didn’t know it did,” the general said.
Sophia waved her arm. “It’s waaay back.”
“Our connection to the MacKlennas also goes way back,” the general said. “Michael Mallory, the founder of Mallory Plantation, came to America from Ulster in 1613. He married Mr. MacKlenna’s two-times great-aunt.”
“So if I can find how the Digbys are related, we’ll be kissin’ cousins,” Sophia said with a laugh.
“We’re all related somehow, sweetie,” Mrs. Mallory said. “Now let’s go upstairs and get you settled. I’ll send my maid in to assist you.”
As Sophia followed Mrs. Mallory up the stairs she said, “Later I’d like to present my request to the general.”
“He’s been so curious,” Mrs. Mallory said. “Mr. Jefferson didn’t give any hints in his subsequent correspondence, so the general has been unusually gleeful, convinced it has something to do with your art. He’s even suggested to me privately that it might be a full-length painting to hang at the House of Delegates in Richmond.”
“Oh, dear,” Sophia said. “It’s nothing so grand, but if he has his heart set on a full-length portrait, I’d be honored to paint one.”
Two hours later, Sophia joined them in the drawing room, wearing a blue silk brocade gown. When Thomas saw her, his eyes lit up. “Marguerite has outdone herself with your gown. You look like an angel.”
“Wonderful,” Sophia said. “Maybe the
general will find it more difficult to say no to my request if he also thinks I look angelic.”
The general stood. “I agree with Mr. Jefferson. But Miss Orsini, my dear, I would be hard pressed to deny you anything in my power to give you. You have become like a daughter to me.”
She dabbed at the corner of her eye. “I thought…” She stopped and started again. “I thought we had developed a special bond during our painting sessions, and I certainly look upon you as a father image.” She smiled at Thomas. “Which is why I’d like to ask you to give me away at my wedding.”
The general’s jaw dropped, and when he recovered from the shock, he hugged her. “My dear, I would be so honored.”
Thomas stood back, plucking at his chin in thought, his eyes twinkling. “Excellent. I will expect a sizable dowry from the bride’s father.”
The general laughed outright. Then he stopped and gave Thomas a sober look. “I will provide twenty-five acres toward her dowry.”
“No. No. No,” Sophia said. “Giving me away is all I want.”
Mrs. Mallory patted her arm. “Now, now. Don’t be hasty. I’ve known my husband for fifty years. I suspect he’s hoping you’ll build a home here so he’ll have you nearby in his doddering old age.”
“I don’t need land to build a house. I’ll just stay here in the mansion, and I promise to come once a year. We’ll sit under the willow oak, watch it grow, and I’ll sketch both of you. And we’ll drink wine and talk late into the night.”
The general slapped Thomas on the shoulder. “If land is out of the question, I’m sure we can settle up with a payment of…let’s see. Ah, a crate of wine, perhaps? Since your last visit, I’ve ordered everything you suggested, and it has only just arrived.”
Jefferson laughed. “A crate of wine it is!”
“Now that we’ve settled that matter…” The general dusted his hands together. “Miss Orsini must participate in a Mallory family tradition.”
“Please call me Sophia. Miss Orsini is so formal.”
The Pearl Brooch Page 56