Chapter 18 #2
They had simply been women. Women who had lost children, women married to ambitious men, women trying to find the place where they belonged and could do the most good in their world.
Women who struggled to feel significant while their husbands held important offices.
Women who had to be stronger than they wished in the face of impossible difficulties.
There had been no politics, no nations, no kings, no reputations, and no judgment.
Even Charlotte had softened toward Abigail by the end, and Abigail had felt the same way.
They would exchange private letters despite the distance between them, just as Charlotte and Antoinette had done and continued to do.
Antoinette wanted to hear about Abigail’s life in America, and Abigail wanted her young friend to know she could confide in her about anything she wished.
Nothing would be shown to the husbands unless absolutely necessary.
They would keep to the alliance they had formed in Calais just between the three of them, no matter what was happening in the world.
A secret alliance so that these women could continue to be viewed as women and friends instead of whatever else they were. Vulnerability might vary depending on situation and personality, but they could at least be real and genuine with each other.
They could actually be women and not figures.
It was quite a significant thing for the two queens involved in the group, but Abigail had this feeling about her impending life in the United States that worried her.
She had expressed her thoughts to John during their voyage, describing it as being like getting out of the frying pan and into the fire.
If her husband continued to be involved in politics and policies, especially with the formation of a new government based on the Constitution that had been signed and set into law, she would be dragged along with him.
She might have to become the fine lady that others sought out. The one who was viewed as a route of access to her husband. The one who required others to curb their tongues around her.
Not a queen, as there would be no monarchy here, but as something significant.
She was not a significant woman, in her own mind. She was only herself, and she only wanted her quiet life.
In that respect, she could understand Charlotte and Antoinette in ways she had never anticipated.
They weren’t able to thrust off the responsibilities placed upon them, nor the finery and ceremony that came with it.
They were placed in their situations and, unless they wished to throw their particular government and national security into complete chaos, could not escape them.
It altered her view of the things she had experienced, especially as she had come to know the women on a personal level.
How would she have felt as Antoinette in the christening Abigail had attended in Notre Dame cathedral?
The eyes of everyone in that intimidating, ancient, glorious place as she was expected to walk in that slow, regal procession, weighed down in voluminous robes and gems, without expression or fault. What a dreadful prospect!
And Charlotte, having to engage with ministers and their wives over and over again, faces and facts blurring from one to the next.
Making conversation with people who only wanted to further their own interests or status.
Never forming a genuine connection because no one would ever be genuine with her.
What a rarity it was to find such understanding between them, especially with the disparity in their life situations.
And what a blessing!
John knew she had gone to Calais, but he had not known the details, and she thought that was best. He would have pressed for more information and advised her about what transpired or what could be written to her friends.
She did not want advice. These were not matters of national interest or security.
These were matters of the heart and soul.
Something only other women would truly understand.
“You are quiet, Abigail.”
She blinked and looked across the carriage at her husband, her dearest friend. “I am reveling in being returned home.”
His smile was both bright and tender. “You have been a steadfast and stalwart companion for me in France and in England. I would never have been able to endure so long without you by my side. I know how you longed to be here, so I hope you never feel that your sacrifice went unappreciated or unnoticed. My gratitude for you, Abigail, will extend beyond anything this mortal life can sustain.”
“John,” she tutted softly, praying the slightly impatient sound would negate the rise of tears she felt.
He dipped his chin, the glint in his eyes and the curve of his lips taking on a knowing edge. “You deserve to know. And while I do not know what our future in this place will hold, I do know that it will mean nothing without you with me.”
Abigail’s mouth tightened against the overwhelming emotion coursing through her.
Once their life settled into a routine, John would grow fixated on his tasks and expect her to take care of the matters at home he could not be bothered with.
Likely ignore her in ways that irked her.
Obsess over speeches and policies and expect her to listen to every one of his rants, no matter what might be transpiring in her life.
That was how things had been before and how they had been in Europe, so she had little reason to doubt it would be any different in times to come.
But even with all of that, John saw her, saw everything she endured, and valued what she could offer, even if he could not say so at the time.
He would instead give her these precious moments when she little expected it, when her walls were down and her strength fatigued, right when she needed the reminder that she had chosen life with him for a reason.
Perhaps not the life, but the man she would walk through that life with.
And just as he saw her, she saw him. Knew him. Valued him.
Whatever this madness of life brought, she could never imagine any other version of it because this life had John Adams as hers.
There was nothing else to truly wish for.