Chapter Twenty-Three
brAINTREE
Massachusetts
Nabby was crestfallen. “I presume you don’t ask whether I consent to your leaving this country without me with any intention
of being influenced by my reply.”
“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” I said.
“I wish you hadn’t,” Nabby said, turning away. “I wish I had no choice in the matter at all.”
“I don’t understand you, Nabby.”
Hugging herself, she said, “I’d rather go from necessity than choice—the latter would never carry me, the former must.”
Nabby felt it was her duty to go with me. She’d been the constant in my life, and I’d been the constant in hers. She feared
for my life and didn’t wish me to face the sea alone. “For you, Mama, I’d willingly sacrifice my happiness, my peace, pleasure,
and every agreeable idea, if only it didn’t cause Mr. Tyler such pain.”
Oh, hearing this shattered my resolve! “Then forget this madness. I’ll appeal again to your father to come home.”
Nabby shook her head so vehemently that one errant auburn lock escaped its pins. “It’s my opinion that by going to him, my
father will return much sooner than otherwise.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because he can ignore our letters, but not our tears.”
I thought my daughter might be altogether too optimistic about the powers of our persuasions in the flesh, but then she met my eyes.
“Mama, I’ve known your sacrifices. I’ve shared them with you and dread their continuance.
So, I will go with you. What I have said is all I shall ever say on the subject. ”
With that, she made ready to face the ocean.
She broke the news to her Mr. Tyler, who took it hard, though eventually he conceded. “It’s your duty to obey your parents—mine
to obey my honor. Let us, therefore, both follow the path of rectitude; and if we’re not happy, we shall, at least, deserve
to be so.”
A few days later, he was in better spirits, proposing marriage. My poor girl nearly swooned, both overcome by the romantic
suggestion and fearful of its consequence. “But—my father—my papa—”
This made Mr. Tyler laugh. “I’ve written to ask his blessing. If he agrees, will you?”
No heart of ice had she! My daughter went pink with pleasure, nodding before she looked to me to know whether I’d countenanced
it. In truth, this development took me quite unawares. It also gave me a great deal of relief, for I thought it proper that
the young man should finally address her father directly.
But what would John say?
The happy bride had no father on hand to give her away, and I didn’t know what traditions must be observed in this unusual
circumstance, but given my love for her, I’d done my best to ensure that marital bliss should be celebrated to everyone’s
satisfaction.
As the fiddlers took up their instruments and the scent of Indian pudding spiced with cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg wafted
from my kitchen, the groom paced nervously by the pine-garland-festooned fireplace.
Then all eyes turned to Phoebe as she entered wearing her best dress—an English-style pale cotton robe embroidered with sprigs
that matched her brown eyes.
We all liked Phoebe’s choice in groom well enough, for Mr. Abdee was a respectable gentleman. Certainly, I couldn’t fault
Phoebe for seeking love and companionship. But I remembered that she’d once said marriage had much in common with the enslavement
from which she’d just been freed.
When I reminded her of this, she had said, “It’s my heart that’s the trouble.
Since the defeat of the British, it’s gone soft with hope.
By my reckoning, it’s a new world. If the Commonwealth of Massachusetts has seen fit to grant human rights to enslaved people, they’ll someday have to give women equality, too. ”
I hoped she was right, however far off that day might be. But then Phoebe said, “In any case, Honey, you’re the very last
person who should be questioning what a woman might do for love.”
I laughed, helpless to deny it. No one in the family truly wanted me to cross an ocean for John Adams. I still wasn’t sure
I wanted to, either. Nevertheless, I’d spent recent weeks putting my affairs in order, including this one.
I wanted to host Phoebe’s nuptials as a token of my love and a farewell to family and loved ones. So, the vows were made,
toasts were raised, bread was broken, and jigs were danced across my floor.
Nabby, however, did not dance. She was sad in anticipation of our forthcoming trip and held back from the celebration, no
doubt wishing this was her own wedding feast.
“Be of good cheer, my dear girl,” I whispered. “When you demonstrate that your love for Mr. Tyler can survive a trip to Europe,
you shall have your father’s consent and your heart’s desire. The sooner we go, the sooner you’ll meet marital bliss.”
Nabby nodded, trying to reassure herself. “Yes. I have given Mr. Tyler—as a token of affection—my portrait in miniature, and
he swears he’ll keep it close to his heart and write every day.”
“Good. Now join the celebration, because you don’t wish for Phoebe to think you begrudge her, do you?”
Nabby flushed. “Of course not. Though it seems some people do . . .”
Her eyes shifted to neighbors who were apparently reluctant to celebrate due to the unusual social mix gathered round my hearth.
A sizable portion of the local population of enslaved and freedmen had come to see Phoebe pledge her troth. And, of course,
people had biases and bigotries.
Lord knew I still had my own.
But it was a new year, and I hoped it really could be a new world. So, I simply behaved as if it were the most natural thing
in the world for different races and religions to celebrate a wedding together and hoped to lead by example.
I started by being downright pleasant to my dour brother-in-law Reverend Shaw, who opposed any dancing at weddings. To distract him from discomfiture, I said, “Thank you for the marvelous job you’re doing in educating my boys.”
The reverend gave a barely perceptible nod, which was as close to a smile as the man was capable. “I think well of your lads.
Charles wishes to be ready for college at fifteen, and Master Tommy is determined that he shall not be outstripped, requesting
that he take the same lessons as his brother.”
“It’s wonderful to hear,” I said. “My mind is put at ease knowing that their morals and manners will be strictly attended
to while we’re abroad.”
“Yes, strictly,” he said.
I hoped he’d not be so strict that he sucked all the joy out of my boys. But having settled nearly all my affairs, now all that remained was to
reassure those who relied on my generosity—my nieces and nephews, and other pensioners.
They were frightened to see me off. Not only for me, but also for themselves to be left in want. I made presents to my poorer
neighbors, reassuring them they’d have a friend and a welcoming presence here in my house while I was gone.
To that end, I spoke to the bride before she was whisked away. “Phoebe, would you and your new husband be willing to live
here as caretakers while Mr. Adams and I are abroad?” Not much surprised my old nurse, but this did. And she covered her mouth,
which made me regret my presumption. “You mustn’t feel obligated,” I hastened to say.
“Oh, I’m happy to do it, and I know Mr. Abdee will agree. I’m simply sensible of the honor. You could’ve asked one of the
tenant farmers.”
“Oh, I’d never trust a man to look after my teacups or keep the damp out of my furniture. They’re always throwing the windows
open at night without a single care!”
Phoebe laughed. “Better to ask a kinswoman.”
“You are my kin,” I told her, though I knew it was facile to say. Nevertheless, it felt true. Papa was gone, and she was free without any formal tie or obligation to our family anymore. But I felt a family obligation to her and I wanted her to know it.
Phoebe squeezed my hand as her voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s something I didn’t think was my place to tell, but if
we’re kin . . .” Her eyes flicked to where Nabby sat by Mr. Tyler. “Miss Nabby can do better.”
I was uncertain how to respond. “You must say more. Do you know something about Mr. Tyler that makes him unworthy?”
Phoebe sucked her teeth. “It’s the way he rides.”
“The way he rides? He’s a skilled horseman.”
“Skilled,” Phoebe agreed. “But he applies that whip mighty regular. And you can tell everything about a man by the way he treats living creatures in his power.”
I couldn’t argue that. “You’ve mentioned this to Nabby?”
Phoebe shook her head. “Might not matter to a girl so much in love, but her mother ought to know. Fortunately, your journey
will give you a chance to think.”
“Our journey,” I said, with a rueful headshake. “I will only admit this to you, Phoebe, but I’m terribly frightened.”
“Of the ocean or of the man you might find on the other side of it?”
“Both,” I confessed. “Decidedly, both.”
I won’t recount in much detail the pain of taking leave of my boys and other loved ones. Fourteen-year-old Charlie sent us
off with a few token locks of his still-golden hair. Eleven-year-old Tommy broke down blubbering that he’d never been so far
from his mama and wanting to know why he was the only Adams who was never to see foreign shores.
“We’ll be gone only twelve months,” I said, kissing away his tears. “Eighteen at most.”
Alas, that was an eternity to a child.
Suffice it to say that mine was truly a house of mourning, neighbors, honest yeomanry, and their wives and daughters almost
like a funeral procession, all come to wish us well and to pray for a speedy return.
Good Heaven, what were my sensations on this occasion? I’d fortified my mind, determined to possess myself with calmness, but this was too much, so I shook them by the hand, mingling my tears with theirs, and left them.
The next morning in Boston, Nabby said farewell to friends in town while I occupied myself with several important personages
who called upon me, including the honorable Thomas Jefferson, esquire, former governor of Virginia.