When I explained my plan, Mac laughed like a leprechaun. “My dear lady, you combine the innocence of the dove with the wisdom of a serpent.”
*
“YOU’RE CERTAIN?” MY son asked, as if we were to enter a lion’s den instead of the whitewashed, neoclassical building with ionic pillars that was the President’s Mansion.
I’d been so long in exile from public life that three inaugurations had taken place here without my having witnessed them. And the palms of my hands began to sweat.
You’re Alexander Hamilton’s wife, I reminded myself. I was the widow of the man who created this government. I wouldn’t allow them to make me feel as if I didn’t belong. So I girded my loins to sally forth like a vagabond knight-errant, trusting in Providence for my success. “I’m certain.”
Together, Alex and I alighted the stairs amongst Republican ladies in fashionable high-waisted white gowns, and well-dressed gentlemen with gold-buttoned tailcoats, diamond-encrusted watch fobs, and ivory-tipped walking sticks.
Whereas I, the wife of the so-called High Pontiff of Federalism, wore only a simple black evening gown.
And yet, my resentments at their hypocrisy softened the moment I set eyes upon Dolley Madison—not seated upon a dais where guests might deliberate over how deeply to bow—but in the midst of the sunny, yellow-damasked parlor, mingling with the crowd.
I hadn’t been intimate with Dolley in more than fifteen years, but it still amused me to recall the day she confided that her passionate and honey-tongued beau was none other than James Madison. Now, in pearl necklace, earrings, and bracelets, with feather-plumed turban, she looked more like a queen than a Quaker.
And she was almost pressed to death by people wanting a word with her. Dolley had been midconversation when our eyes met, and she broke into an astonished smile that somehow made me instantly glad I’d come. Abandoning her other guests, she rushed to me, taking both my gloved hands. “We’re honored by your visit, Mrs. General Hamilton!”
At the sound of my name, all eyes swiveled to us under the brightly blazing bronze Argand lamps. And I lifted my chin. “Thank you for welcoming me to your levee, Lady Madison.”
I attempted a curtsy, but Dolley held fast to my hands, refusing to allow it. “We call them drawing rooms, now,” she corrected gently. “And Lady Madison? Goodness. Let there be no formality between friends.”
She said this, of course, to distinguish herself from Martha Washington and Abigail Adams—the supposedly monarchical Federalist ladies who preceded her. But she’d also called me a friend, putting so much emphasis on the word that no one could miss it. “Just who is this handsome young man?”
Surprised at the warmth in her gaze, I nodded to Alex, who stood as stiffly at my side as a sentinel on parade. But before I could introduce my son, I caught sight of the president.
Oh, how the man had aged!
Poor Jemmy Madison had become a withered little apple-john, and cut a figure quite at odds with the supposed majesty of the presidency. But if I was startled by Madison’s appearance, he seemed even more startled at my son’s. Madison had, upon a single glance, abandoned all the important gentlemen in the room, to stare at my fair and freckled son, as if mesmerized by a face he hadn’t seen in years.
At the president’s approach, I finally did curtsy. “Mr. President, I present my son, Alexander Hamilton, the younger.”
With an acknowledging nod, as if coming to his senses, Madison grabbed my son’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Well met, young Hamilton. I remember when you were only as high as your mother’s knee. And look how you’ve grown. Tell me how you make your way in this world.”
“In the law, sir,” Alex replied.
President Madison nodded. “Of course, it would be the law, wouldn’t it?”
Impudently, Alex said, “I’m told it’s my inheritance.”
His only inheritance, he meant. But Madison seemed to miss the bitter implication. And to my surprise, the president’s blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Indeed it is your inheritance, young man. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, your father possessed intellectual powers of the first order, integrity, and honor in a captivating degree.”
To hear this genuine praise for my husband from the lips of a rival was nothing short of astonishing. And the terror that had been coiled inside me in the six long years since my husband’s death slowly unwound.
James Madison will not murder my children.
Of that I was sure. And a rush of hope warmed my breast. I hadn’t made a mistake in coming here. James Madison was the one Republican I needed.