Chapter 22 #2
But he had confided to Abigail privately that he felt useless beside such a capable man.
He was given no true responsibilities, though he had anticipated being more of a partner to the position of president.
In his mind, he would have been a source of advice and counsel to Washington, an active contributor to the framing of their new government.
Every morning, John rode to the Senate and assisted in overseeing the bills and amendments being considered there, and while he threw all his might and effort into those tasks, he viewed something more for himself.
The presidency itself, perhaps.
Abigail would not be surprised if he should have that position one day, but it would not be without effort. John did not have enemies, but he did have those who preferred not to be in his company. He was a forthright and self-made man, which offended some who came from more privileged backgrounds.
There was nothing that Abigail wanted less than to be the president’s wife. Had Antoinette or Charlotte been pleased to be the wives of kings? Or had they felt more aligned with her present feelings? She had met Martha Washington, and the woman was as remarkable and good as her husband.
Small by any standards, hair fully white, plain in dress but lovely in everything, Martha Washington held a gentle heart and an accommodating spirit. She, like her husband, behaved with a calm dignity in every situation.
Abigail was not like that. She made saucy remarks and had a bold spirit.
She preferred frankness, and her opinions were often offered without much prompting.
She could certainly behave appropriately when called upon to do so, and she would never be an embarrassment, but she was not particularly indulgent or patient.
She could hope for dignified but would settle for well-behaved.
Not at all what was preferred in a president’s wife.
And moving into the relatively exalted circles of the political elite of their country frightened Abigail.
She turned in her chair to face John, biting her lip. “May I ask a favor of you, John?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Of course.”
“I shall preface this by saying that I am asking others to do the same,” she said in a rush, “because I require insight from several quarters.”
John’s brow furrowed, but he nodded for her to go on.
Taking a slow breath, Abigail continued. “Would you watch over my conduct? And if at any time you notice any alteration in me with respect to my friends and associates, with our new situation in life, please tell me about it?”
“Why should you be altered?” John asked her.
“I hope I shall not be,” she assured him even as her chest tightened at the thought.
“But we cannot pretend to be uninfluenced by those we will be in company with often, nor the new status we are a part of. I wish to remain true to myself, but I am not impervious to temptation. I want those who I hold dear and who I trust to have the utmost freedom to tell me if my behavior does not meet with my personal integrity.”
John stared at her for a long moment.
Under his silent scrutiny, she began to squirm, knowing he could see more in her and about her than any other person on the planet. He knew her heart and her mind as well as he knew his own, and he would understand her fears better than most.
“It may all be a matter of perception,” Abigail murmured when he did not speak. “I do not view myself as higher or lower than any creature, but the view of others may place me there, and if I do not mind myself, it may appear as though I am changed for it.”
“You cannot control what is thought by others,” her husband said softly.
She shook her head, swallowing hard. “No, but I can do my utmost in behavior to prevent my actions from being misconstrued. It is important to me to keep my friends and connections as warm and true as they have ever been.”
John smirked at last. “Even when they ask you to assist them in their social or political ambitions now that you are married to the vice president?”
Abigail blanched and sank against the back of her chair.
“I do not mind assisting those who are deserving. It is those who seek to renew a lost friendship to advance their ambitions that I despise.” She shook her head, thinking of the few who had already tried to take advantage in such a way, which only served to alienate them from her affections further.
“So will you help me, John? Will you tell me if I am different?”
“Of course I will, Abigail,” he replied with a fond smile.
“But I do not believe you could ever be untrue to yourself, no matter what your position or status. And you will be changed by your experiences in life, but it does not follow that those changes will be detrimental to who you are and who you always have been.”
“And who am I, John Adams?” she asked as warmth and love filled her very being.
He winked. “My dearest friend, of course. And the only one I trust to edit my speeches to the Senate and Congress and tell me when my language is too elevated.”
Abigail picked up a piece of paper from her desk, balled it up, and threw it at John, missing his head but making him laugh heartily.
Which made her smile.