Chapter 18
I have lived long enough and seen enough of the world to check expectations, and to bring my mind to my circumstances, and retiring to our own little farm to feed my poultry and improve my garden has more charms for my fancy than residing at the court of St. James’s, where I seldom meet with characters so inoffensive as my hens and chickens, or minds so well-tended as my garden.
Surely you understand the selective exceptions more than anyone.
’Tis domestic happiness and rural felicity in the bosom of my native land that has charms for me.
Yet I do not regret that I made this excursion since it has only more attached me to America.
Abigail
The approaching dock was the most welcome sight Abigail had ever known in her entire life. Better than any home, husband, children, food, or bed, of that she was absolutely certain.
Boston Harbor. Infamous for its precociously named Tea Party some years ago as their revolution had begun heating up. But today, it was nothing more than the final destination of her years abroad, and the last place she would need to be before embarking for home.
If she ever wanted to know anything more about the world, she would learn it from books.
No more travel, especially over oceans. None.
They had departed London at the end of March but had been forced to delay for three weeks before actually leaving on their ship from Portsmouth.
Maddening to wait for the weather to cooperate with their travel plans, but there they were.
Nabby and Colonel Smith, as well as baby William, would follow shortly, though their destination was New York, where the colonel intended to make his career.
The separation from Nabby was painful, as Abigail knew it would be for some length of time.
In London, they had been neighbors and then housemates, so there had been no great difference with Nabby becoming a wife and mother.
But now that they would be back in America and life would be moving forward, the natural division of their family unit was at hand.
Would Nabby grow ill again on the voyage over? Would Colonel Smith know how to best tend to her? What about little William?
The Lucretia had taken two months to cross the Atlantic, and Abigail had felt every single day of it in her bones.
Of course, knowing they were returning home had diminished the mental torment of the experience, so she was in happier spirits than she had been on her original trip.
There was always an improvement to be found when on a journey one has longed for.
But John was even more desperate for home.
It had been ten years since he had been in the United States.
Ten years of straining against the bindings that Europe had placed on him for being from an infant country.
Ten years of working tirelessly despite the opinions of others.
Striving every day for the good of the land he loved so well, even if the prospects were bleak.
And now he was returning home with some moderate success, ready for a reprieve.
Well, probably not an actual reprieve, if she knew John.
He would likely get as involved in the politics of their homeland as he had been prior to his assignment in Europe.
There was already speculation that he would become vice president once they had established positions in the nation’s hierarchy, and John, with all his established pride, was surprisingly humble about the idea.
Nabby had quietly told Abigail that she did not think John was suited for private life, nor would he be happy with it.
Abigail agreed, much as it pained her. She would adore a private life for them. That had been the life she had envisioned when they had married, the one where she would have been a lawyer’s wife and focused on raising children and working the land.
There had never been a version of their married life where he would become involved in politics and governance.
The dock was filled with crowds cheering in anticipation of their arrival, which was bewildering.
They had not been anywhere near this popular when living here, and no one had cared this much when they had left.
John had not secured any notable deal with England, so why was his return being treated as a hero’s welcome?
A cannon boomed, making Abigail jump as she surveyed the waiting crowds.
“What is the point of that?” John muttered beside her with a shake of his head. “Munitions should be reserved for those with a military background, which I have not. What is Governor Hancock thinking?”
Abigail glanced at him wryly. “Governor Hancock? He is the one responsible for all this folderol?”
John nodded slowly, but firmly. “He had a letter sent to the ship once we were spotted by the lighthouse. He wants us to join him for a reception at his home once we disembark. His carriage will be waiting for us at the end of the Long Wharf. And he hopes that we will tarry there with him until we have settled on a residence.”
“Good heavens, why would we do that?” Abigail cried with distaste.
He chuckled at her reaction and shrugged.
“He is either unaware that we dislike him or is setting it aside to give him an excuse to pander with celebrations. I am a minister of the United States government, and he seeks the connection to increase his own influence. Even if we are not inclined to be connected.”
Rolling her eyes, Abigail gripped the railing, watching closely as the ship nestled into its holding place. “Do you think Charles and Thomas will be waiting for us? Or John Quincy?”
“I doubt it, my dear,” came his weary reply. “They will be too occupied with their studies, and John Quincy with reading law. We shall likely not see them until Braintree and our new house.”
That was certainly reasonable, but still disappointing. She wanted to see her sons sooner rather than later. The years had gone on too long and letters had been singularly lacking in comfort.
And there was no way she and John were going to stay at Governor Hancock’s home for any length of time beyond this evening.
Abigail had spent quite enough time being forced to mingle with people she did not like and could barely tolerate.
Now that she was back in the United States, she was not about to continue that pattern.
Especially while her husband had no official role that she had to support.
Would it be strange for her to beg him to remain unoccupied for a few months just so she could enjoy that time?
Especially as they had the old Borland place as their own home now.
There was no telling what condition the place would be in, and, though she was familiar enough with it from living close, she had never resided in it.
They had packed up all the things they had collected in Europe and transported them across the ocean, and now she would need to find proper places for them all.
She would need to make this new house feel as much of a home as Braintree had always been for them.
That was going to take time, and though her children were all grown, she wanted them to feel comfortable enough to call this new house their home as well.
There should always be a place that someone could call home, no matter where they were in their life.
The crew of the Lucretia secured the ship in the harbor and prepared for the passengers to disembark. It wasn’t too long before Abigail’s feet were back on land.
Land they had sacrificed so much for.
Tears filled Abigail’s eyes, and she found herself blinking them back as the crowds cheered to welcome them.
Hopefully they would believe that she was overly emotional about the reception they were receiving and nothing more.
It would be difficult to explain her relief at being home without making her time in Europe seem like a wretched experience.
It wasn’t, of course. There had been some wretched moments, perhaps, but not a wretched time.
The governor’s carriage waited for them, as promised, after they had finished all the greetings and handshakes required to satisfy the crowd.
A blessed silence filled the carriage as it rolled away from the harbor.
“Did the governor arrange the crowd too?” Abigail asked John as she leaned her head back against the seat of the carriage.
“Of course. We will have to express our gratitude, if you can choke it out,” John scoffed without reserve. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”
Abigail smiled almost sleepily at him. “I am grateful. Not for a crowd, since I do not care for those, but for a reception of welcome when we have been gone so long. It was very touching, even if it was excessive.”
“And to think, you hated all the fuss we endured to meet with our audiences and occasions with royalty in Europe,” John teased.
She speared him with a dark look. “That is not the same thing at all. We did not ask the people to be there at the harbor. We are not governing anyone or viewed as a leader blessed by the Almighty. We are not dressed in finery, we are not at a palace or cathedral, and no one is bowing or curtsying to us.”
“And there weren’t any cannons greeting the royalty when we saw them.”
“Exactly.” Abigail sniffed and looked out the window, smiling at the sights passing by even as her thoughts raced back across the ocean to the queens she had met during her time abroad.
Charlotte and Antoinette were so different from each other, and so different from her, but those two days in Calais had changed everything she had thought about them.
Well, perhaps not everything. Charlotte was still sharp and impatient, while Antoinette was sweet and emotional.
But they hadn’t been queens during that time together.