Chapter Twenty-Three #2
The primary drafter of the Declaration of Independence had, even then, a developing reputation as a mathematician and philosopher.
My husband had always spoken highly of Mr. Jefferson’s role in Congress during the grim years of the revolution, but somehow
John had never mentioned that the Virginian was so very agreeable to the eye.
With the ginger hair and freckled complexion of a Scotsman, he towered over me at such a height as I’d never seen in any man
but George Washington. Which left me to wonder: With what elixir did Virginia water her sons to grow so tall?
Mr. Jefferson bowed to me with a gentlemanly flourish. “Mrs. Adams, I beg your pardon that I carry no letters of introduction,”
drawled the man who needed none. “They were forgotten in my rush to reach Boston.”
“Why, Mr. Jefferson, you’re as well known to me as if we met eight years ago. My ears still ring with the immortal words you
penned in our Declaration of Independence.”
“You are too kind,” he said, though I think he was pleased by the praise.
“What brings you to Boston?” I asked.
Jefferson inclined his head, genteelly. “I’m sent to Paris to join forces with your husband on a commission to negotiate treaties
of commerce with France. When I learned that you and your daughter were to sail there also, without the protection of father,
husband, brother, or son, I hastened hither in hopes of having the pleasure of accompanying you to Paris and of lessening
some of the difficulties to which you may be exposed.”
“How gallant, sir,” I said, genuinely touched.
“I also took the liberty of making arrangements on the French packet, which will sail early next month aboard which I’ve ensured your choice of accommodations.
” Then, to reassure me of the propriety of the offer, he added, “I shall have with me my daughter Patsy, who along with her younger sisters has had the misfortune of losing a mother.”
I knew little about the circumstances of his loss—only rumors that his wife had died in childbed two years ago in consequence
of having to flee the British invasion of Richmond. Now I couldn’t help but think back to the last time I was in childbed—alone
and frightened, birthing a dead child.
It was only providence that spared my husband from the same widowhood as his Virginian friend. And in the realization of it,
a certain tenderness stole over me for Mr. Jefferson. “Sir, you do me a great favor in making this invitation to travel with
you. But alas, I’m thirty-six hours away from setting sail for Paris by way of Deal, then London. I’ve already booked passage
and don’t think these arrangements can be changed at such a late date.”
The gentleman’s surprise at my having made all my own arrangements was evident from his intake in breath, but he recovered
himself well enough. “Then perhaps I can change my plans and see if there’s room for my daughter and me on your vessel. Is
it a good ship?”
“It is,” I promised. “But you cannot possibly re-order your affairs to accommodate mine. I’m certain you must have many preparations
to make, given that you didn’t intend to leave for another two weeks.”
“I did hope to visit the cities of New England before I go. If I’m to negotiate a commercial treaty on their behalf, it seems
advantageous to understand their manufactures.”
“Not only advantageous, sir, but necessary for the good of your country. You must keep your plans, even though it deprives
me of your amiable company.”
Either truly disappointed or a very good actor, he said, “I surrender to the necessity of my country, but might I at least
be of service to you in some way before you sail? Is there, perhaps, something you need for the journey that I can procure?”
“I believe I have everything,” I said, before remembering, “except something good to read.”
“Ah,” he said, countenance brightening. “I’m also in need of good reading. Might you accompany me to a bookshop? Which do
you recommend?”
“I’ve not found one I like since Henry Knox closed his store. But he’s gone on to grander things.”
Jefferson smiled a little tightly, for I gathered he was as concerned as my husband about the new fraternal organization of
revolutionary war soldiers styling themselves the Society of the Cincinnati, in which Knox was intimately involved.
I was careful not to criticize Knox, but I did tell Jefferson my worries that this society might usher in the sort of hereditary
noble titles we’d just fought a war to extinguish.
“I share your worry, madam,” Jefferson said, holding the door for me, as somehow, without realizing it, I’d already assented
to join him on a shopping trip. “We shouldn’t risk an American aristocracy.”
“Still, my heart bleeds to deprive these soldiers of ribbons and decorations they earned. Especially when they’re otherwise
so poorly rewarded for their service.”
Our conversation continued down the street and into a bookstore where, between the rows of pamphlets, we found our tastes
and opinions in nearly perfect accord. I caught Jefferson wistfully eyeing a copy of Tristram Shandy. “A favorite of mine,” he admitted.
“Mine, too. I enjoy its affectionate humor and its indulgence of human foibles.”
With a hand over his heart, Jefferson feigned surprise. “Truly, madam. You astonish.”
“How so?”
“Because my friend Mr. Adams, while courageous and honest, has led me to believe all New England must be filled with misanthropes. Yet here we find in his wife the picture of true benevolence.”
I couldn’t even take offense on my husband’s behalf. Someone who had served so intimately with John—surely experiencing daily
his irritability—had the right to poke gentle fun. And together we chuckled at John’s expense.
Later, laden down with books and pamphlets, Mr. Jefferson saw me back to my lodgings. “Bon voyage, madam. I hope to enjoy your company again soon in Paris. Au revoir.”
I smiled and laughed in parting. It was the first time in a very long while that I’d smiled and laughed so easily. And I was
grateful to Mr. Jefferson for easing my anxieties for the journey ahead.
To those who’d never been at sea it’s impossible to imagine the nausea arising from the smell of the ship. The continual rolling,
tossing, and tumbling. I could not count the times Nabby and I retched into a bucket or over the side. It was days before
our sickness abated, allowing us to go on deck, where we beheld the vast and boundless ocean before us with astonishment and
wonder.
Naturally I had less awe about the filthy ship. To fill the time, I demanded a mop, bucket, and brushes with which Nabby and
I could scrub the ship from stem to stern. I believe the captain was grateful for our service, but the cook didn’t appreciate
my advice about how to spice the food or store his utensils.
“Mother,” Nabby said, thinking me particularly meddlesome.
“I only offer friendly advice,” I protested. “Everyone can stand a little improvement.”
“Even you?” she asked
“Especially me,” I said, newly apprehensive. “I’ll have to better myself. For one thing, I shall have to learn how to engage
in a parade of debauchery and nonsense at a royal court, where I’m likely to make an awkward figure if my manners remain those
of a mere colonist’s wife still dressed in homespun.”
Nabby looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know you worried about such things. You’re otherwise a person of such certainty.”
If only she knew. “It’s true I’m not apt to be intimidated, but now we enter upon the world’s stage . . .”
In truth, I looked forward to seeing such places as I’d always dreamed of—yet also wondered how I might be received on our
stopover in England, for that country had called my husband a traitor not long ago.
After a passage of thirty days from Boston, my daughter and I rejoiced to set our feet again upon land.
Standing there on the British shore, I was overtaken by the enormity of our undertaking.
Never in my life had I thought I might travel so far.
Most American women lived and died in their own towns.
Visiting a city like Boston would be the grandest adventure one might ever attempt.
I remembered when even riding to Plymouth had seemed an exotic delight.
Now here I was in England, a place that used to be my mother country, then my enemy—and now what was it?
She felt like an estranged mother. One with whom relations were still frosty, but from whom I’d learned much—good and bad.
So, what were our impressions after leaving behind forbidding white cliffs battered by the sea? Along the way to London we
saw cathedrals of Gothic construction—so gloomy I mistook them as jails for prisoners. Then we came to London, quite unprepared
for the crush of people, but I was better pleased with London than I expected. It was a large, magnificent, and beautiful
city, with wide streets built straight, the houses uniform, and many fine open squares where the nobility and public buildings
resided.
The stalls of Covent Garden featured such a wide array of fruit, vegetables, and flowers that Nabby said it must rival the
Garden of Eden. We took a meal of hot pies from a passing vendor before settling into our hotel, where ladies swanned past
with decorative fans, lace sleeves, and summer gowns in every pastel shade from carnation to mint, apricot to periwinkle.
While Nabby gawped at the gowns, I gawped at the hotel bill! “These expenses frighten me. The sooner your papa comes to fetch
us, the better.”
Of course, it wasn’t only the expenses that made me anxious for his arrival. It was also the state of agony and doubt in which
I’d dwelt for so very long. If I was to find, in reuniting with John, that our hearts had been irretrievably severed, then
I should like this blow to strike me swiftly rather than leave me trembling any longer under the hammer.