I didn’t know Lafayette’s wife, but we were both married to revolutionaries. And we were both mothers. So I was determined to take care of her hunted son, no matter what.
*
“THE PRESIDENT WILL not stand for reelection,” Alexander announced as he guided me into his law office. We were supposed to be on the way to a dinner party to be held in the home of his new law partner, Nathaniel Pendleton, and we were both dressed very grandly for the occasion, but he’d insisted we needed to stop to retrieve some papers.
My stomach dropped. Not at the news, for I think I remain one of two people in the entire nation who was not surprised—the other being Martha Washington. No, my foreboding stemmed from knowing that Washington’s presence at the helm of the government was what allowed Alexander to retire. After six long months, we’d finally sent Georges off with our love and best wishes to be received by President Washington. The boy was so studious, helpful, and sensible that it left us both a little bereft to part with him, but I’d also been hopeful that it was the last political crisis in which we’d be embroiled.
Now I feared to be embroiled in another. Absentmindedly shoving teetering stacks of books and papers out of his way, Alexander was despondent. “President Washington says he can no longer endure to be devoured in the prints by a set of infamous scribblers.”
“Who can blame him?” I asked, taking note that one whole shelf of the wall-length bookcase behind Alexander had been devoted to storing the latest gazettes. No one wanted to serve anymore. Not when, under our new government, any man, whether a gentleman or a scoundrel, could say whatever he pleased and print whatever libels he wished without consequence. And the ignorant populists, spewing tobacco juice as they ranted, took full advantage. As if the notion that all men were created equal somehow meant that one need not aspire to knowledge and ability—all distinctions of class, breeding, or merit discarded, all notions of civility deserted.
Months ago, the president had persuaded James McHenry, Hamilton’s old friend and fellow aide-de-camp, to serve as secretary of war. And Mac couldn’t find it within himself to disappoint his old general. But six of the most talented men in America had turned down the post of secretary of state simply because the irrational calumny heaped upon the heads of public officials was so calculated and unrelenting as to put a man and his family in fear for their lives.
The distrust and hatred of anyone who attempted to govern for the benefit of society could drive lesser men than my husband to their knees. And it had once driven my husband there, too.
“Who will replace President Washington?” I asked as I took one of the facing seats, more than a little wary that my husband might feel compelled to put himself forward.
I’d sipped from the cup of glory and found the taste bitter. So I was grateful when he answered, “By seniority, John Adams is the heir apparent. But lacking Washington’s majesty, popularity, and wartime experience, Adams is no fit replacement. Personally, I have always thought his temper too high and . . . unhinged. Still, all reservations must give way to the great object of keeping Jefferson from the presidency.”
The Virginian had bided his time in retirement and become the leader of a genuine political party. They called themselves Republicans, a name that offensively implied the present government was comprised of monarchists. But we still called them Jacobins, since they seemed to have so much in common with the terrorists who controlled France.
They could not be allowed to come to power here. Still, I nearly shook with relief that my husband wouldn’t be the man to oppose them. “Let it be John Adams then,” I said. Alexander puffed out a snort of disgust, so I continued, “Washington’s retirement is the most eloquent answer any man could ever give to those who paint him a monarchist. Someone else must now take the helm. Alexander, if you have faith in a republic where no man is king, then let it be tried.”
Alexander took very little on faith. Certainly not this republic.
He’d never liked the ugly misshapen compromise that had come out of the Constitutional Convention, but no man had fought harder to bring forth a government from that parchment. And perhaps no man knew better how difficult it was to bring such a government into being, or how easily it could all collapse.
Sullenly, he said, “In any case, there is no persuading Washington against it. He’s always been slow to take his ground, but once decided, he cannot be shaken. And he’s determined to leave the presidency.”
I reached across his desk to him. “Then you mustn’t make it any more difficult for him by standing as an obstacle. Besides, John Adams was instrumental in bringing about our independence and has been the vice president all these years. That’s experience no one else has. He isn’t Washington, but no one is. And that doesn’t mean he can’t succeed.”