Chapter Twenty-One #2
I had no reason to disbelieve it—especially since he was never found but with books under his arm. Nevertheless, I felt compelled
to inform him, “Even if my daughter were willing to be wooed, my husband and I must speak in one voice, and he’s across the
sea. Besides, now is the time to build your practice. You’re not yet established enough to form a connection with any young
lady.”
Though clearly heartsick, Mr. Tyler professed to accept this. He said he could be patient. “Whether I’m blessed in my wishes
or not, I’ll endeavor to be worthy of consideration for your daughter.”
I was impressed and wrote John about this, never suspecting the effect it might have upon him. At first, my husband flew to
his pen to deny that our daughter was old enough for a suitor—never mind that she was older than I was when he met me. In
the next letter, which came swiftly upon the first, he was wroth at the notion that I might’ve encouraged Mr. Tyler, who he
imagined to be a wastrel, a scoundrel, and a prodigal son. “My child is not to be the prize of any rake, even a reformed one.”
He forbade any attachment between them, demanding an end to the entire affair. Then, his letters—a veritable avalanche of
them—became sweet and tender, gently advising his daughter. “I am so uneasy about this subject that I’d come instantly home
if I could with decency.”
It seemed that after nearly four years away, the realization had finally struck him with a forceful blow that everyone he’d
left behind did not simply stand still whilst he was gone. We all went on with the business of living, and if he wished to
have any place in his family’s affections—or to have any part in guiding his daughter’s heart—he must be more attentive.
So now he wrote and wrote and wrote. Unfortunately, his letters came too late. For with the coming of springtime, Nabby was
in love.
“You are impertinent, sir,” Nabby said to Mr. Tyler.
“To the contrary. When a young gentleman is alone with a young lady he must say soft things to her fair cheek—indeed, the lady will expect it.”
“Only if you mean these soft things. Otherwise, how cruel to win the affections of an amiable girl and, though you leave her
virtue unspotted, discourage men of decency who suppose her heart engaged!”
Mr. Tyler inclined his head. “May I ask the names of these rivals you fear might be discouraged?”
“You may not,” Nabby said, with a laugh.
He laughed, too. “Ah, Miss Adams, from the moment I first saw you, you struck me as the lady whom I have long loved in imagination
and never dared hoped to see.”
As the young couple conversed, they’d forgotten the open windows, unmindful of an audience. Now they paid the price, as Charlie
and Tommy made a pantomime show inside.
With a mop on his head and a fist full of flowers he stole from my table, Charlie pretended to be his sister. And fluttering
his long pale eyelashes, he broke into high falsetto. “Oh, Mr. Tyler, how dare you romance me!”
Tommy—less talented at such plays—took the part of the suitor and dropped to one knee. “But it’s your fault, Miss Adams, for
you have bewitched me.”
“Boys,” I said mildly.
From outside, their sister gathered her skirts and flung open the door, giving chase. “Oh, you little brats!”
She’d forgive Charlie, no doubt, for he was too sweet to hold any grudge against. But Tommy was such a rogue, the grudge might
last a bit longer.
For my part, I was highly amused. Both by the antics of my sons and by the unexpected fervor with which my daughter befriended
Mr. Tyler, eventually defending him even against the mild criticisms I’d heard. “Mama, those days when he is said to have
squandered part of his fortune were spent serving with the militia in defense of our country.”
She was both heartbroken and indignant when she read her father’s admonishment. “The man to whom you give your heart must
be a thinking being, and one who feels another’s woe. One may dance or sing, play or ride, without being good for much.”
Having been silent for days upon the receipt of these letters, my daughter finally ventured to say, “It wasn’t dancing, singing, and playing that led me to like Mr. Tyler. I didn’t know him when those were his amusements.”
“I understand,” I said, well aware of how deeply her father’s disapproval could cut. Especially when delivered from leagues
away, without the softening comfort of voice or touch.
Her cheeks pinkened. “And when my father says that he’s not looking for a poet for a son-in-law, does he not know my friend
was his class valedictorian at Harvard and is now a prospering country lawyer, just like Papa used to be?”
“Your papa is just venting his spleen,” I said to reassure her. “He can be stern and acerbic, but he has only your best interests
at heart, my dearest.”
She paced before the fireplace. “Well, I have so few memories of my father and such meager evidence of his affection that
I shall have to take your word for it!”
“That is unfair and untrue,” I said, though I wished I could’ve said it with more conviction.
Chastened, Nabby apologized. “But is it right for Papa to form a bad opinion about Mr. Tyler without knowing him?”
“That is the trouble,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “Your father cannot be happy without knowing the man to whom he gives
his daughter. And you cannot be happy without your father’s approval.”
She was too dutiful to gainsay me. “Then what’s to be done?”
“Don’t give up hope of a future connection with Mr. Tyler. But until your papa returns home and sees for himself that you
have a worthy suitor, you must put a pause on this romance and be patient.”
Of course, patience was not a family trait.
The pendant John gave me was meant to inspire patient endurance and acceptance. But it had sat unworn in my jewel box for
nearly three years now as I took my life into my own hands. So, I felt quite the hypocrite for telling my daughter she must
sit idly by and let others determine her fate.