“Sir,” I said, drawing closer. “I’ve such fond memories of watching you work at my dining room table with my dear Hamilton. In Philadelphia, in New York—”
“I recall those days very well, madam,” the president replied. “And all you were obliged to put up with besides, with little children underfoot, and our comings and goings at all hours . . .”
We both smiled in remembrance, which emboldened me to mention the biography and ask if he had kept any of my husband’s papers. “I realize it’s a great deal of trouble—”
“It is no trouble at all,” said the president, promising to deliver copies to me of my husband’s notes.
I’d not expected this easy agreement—in fact I worried this would be a promise swiftly forgotten in the frenzy of business that occupied a president’s mind. But I was encouraged when Madison put a hand on my son’s shoulder, and whispered into his ear.
And Alex—my always earnest, twenty-three-year-old son—actually laughed for the first time in years. He blushed, too, to the tips of his freckled ears, as if the president had said something bawdy. And just like that, Jemmy Madison charmed another of my sons. “Young Hamilton, if the ladies will excuse us, I should like to introduce you to some influential gentlemen.”
Both the president’s wife and I quickly nodded our assent. Then Dolley looped her arm through mine as we watched the men go. “How like Hamilton he looks.” I only smiled, suddenly too emotional to speak. “And how swiftly they grow up! My little Payne is eighteen now. No longer banging on copper pots but causing trouble all the same at his boarding school.”
I laughed. “With five sons, and all the orphans now under my care, I’m well acquainted with such antics.”
“Indeed,” Dolley said with a sigh that reminded me she’d never been able to give Madison the gift of a child after all. Then, as if to shake herself free of that disappointment, she said, “Let me show you the President’s Mansion.”
With that, Dolley led me into the oval room, where I expected to see French furniture, an homage to the revolution the Jeffersonians so admired. Instead, I found the style very different. “Greek?” I guessed.
Dolley’s plume bobbed with her nod. “Yes. Because the Greeks were free. Every citizen thought himself an important part of the republic.” A sentiment that I would never argue against. “Do you see those curtains?”
I nodded, because I could scarcely fail to notice the vivid red velvet draperies that so dramatically gave the impression of blazing splendor. Dolley ran her fingertips over the soft fabric. “I insisted on these, over every man’s objections. I’ve become quite the libertine. And I suppose I have you to thank for encouraging me to embrace my destiny as Mr. Madison’s wife.”
She seemed much happier in her role as first lady than any of her predecessors. And much happier, I knew, than I would have been in her place. So I didn’t hesitate to tell her a story that was making the rounds. “Do you know what our Federalist candidate said when asked how he lost the election to your husband?” Dolley stiffened, as if expecting a partisan barb. But my story was a compliment. “He said, ‘I was beaten by Mr. and Mrs. Madison. I might have had a better chance if I faced Mr. Madison alone.’”
We laughed at that together. And we sat for quite a while reminiscing. There was once a time when Dolley was the needy widow, and I’d helped her. Now I hoped she’d help me in return. I’d prepared an argument. Partisans would accuse me of greed, assuming that Alexander had stolen so much money from the treasury that I must now be living in luxury. I couldn’t admit my husband had died deeply in debt. And even if I did admit it, the most rabid Republicans might deny my request for a veteran’s benefits out of spite. So I confided to Dolley only, “My farmland provides me no more than seven hundred fifty dollars a year. And though I have a roof over my children’s heads and food in their bellies, we’re beholden to the generosity of others. In exchange for the service my husband provided this government, does it not seem just that his children are recompensed?”
“Congress will take a hard line against you,” Dolley said thoughtfully, as if the president had little influence with Congress.
Perhaps he did not. Madison was not, like Jefferson, a tall and handsome politician of immense if wily charm. And he seemed, already, to be having trouble steering Congress. Madison was once my husband’s most fierce opponent in the establishment of a national bank, but he’d since come to realize its necessity, yet partisans in Congress were determined to let it lapse. Perhaps it was ill-advised for me to ask the president to use his influence on a private matter when he was fighting larger battles. But he wouldn’t have had to fight them if he hadn’t thrown in with Jefferson in the first place.