Just then my husband came in the front entrance. “Betsy, I’m home,” Alexander called, slamming the door shut. “Is Madison—”
“In here, charming our child,” I said, and my husband appeared in the archway, blowing warm air into his hands.
I finished setting plates and silver, then took the baby as the men settled at the table and dug into their meal as if they hadn’t eaten all day. And given what I knew of Alexander’s schedule, there was some likelihood that was true. Even as they ate, they spread letters and ledgers out on the table between them. And afterward, I brought them a tray of tea and my mother’s shortbread I’d saved in a jar, for I’d learned to always keep a supply of some baked goods on hand for just such occasions.
While I poured tea, Madison pulled a well-used notebook from his pocket and began to write. As the two men collaborated, Alexander stabbed at a page with his fingers. “Our debt stands at forty million. The state of our finances has never been more critical. There are dangerous prejudices in particular states opposed to giving stability and prosperity to the union, thereby weakening us in our peace negotiations with Britain, which could yet fail. It is the first wish of my heart that this union may last, but feeble as the links among our states are, what prudent man would rely upon it?”
Madison listened intently as my husband then rattled off all our problems at length, and then nodded and said, simply, “All of this can be solved with a federal tax. Congress must have power and autonomy in financial matters.”
Alexander opened his mouth as if to protest that the matter was more complicated but then seemed content with Madison’s simplification. Their personal friendship and political alliance worked well because if Alexander was a born orator, able to lay siege with a barrage of impregnable arguments, Madison was skilled at quickly and quietly cutting through the weeds.
Moreover, as I was later to learn, Madison could have a dry and wicked sense of humor when it was just the three of us. Or four of us, more truly. “What is your magic formula?” I asked one night when Madison was able, with more whispering, to lure my son to sleep.
“Bawdy jokes,” Madison quipped with a wink of which I would not have thought such a shy little man capable. “As I said, secrets between gentlemen.”
In the weeks that followed, Madison’s nighttime visits to our home became more frequent, and I found myself enjoying the company, as the bachelorhood of many of the other delegates meant that I hadn’t yet found much society of my own despite the size and affluence of this city. In Albany, I’d had my sisters and our friends from our childhood troop of Blues, not to mention the Burrs, with whom we’d had the pleasure of becoming close.
But in Philadelphia, my society was all politicians—which was how I came to meet the primary author of the Declaration of Independence for the first time.
On short notice, Alexander asked if I could host a small dinner party for a friend of Madison’s, a widower who temporarily resided with his young daughter in the same boardinghouse where Madison stayed. I thought nothing more of it until Mr. Madison’s friend stood before me in my parlor. Tall with fiery ginger hair and a refined southern accent, the man gave me a soft smile and a graceful bow. “Thomas Jefferson, at your service, madam.”
Oh, my husband. Some friend, indeed! It was not yet widely known that Jefferson had penned the immortal lines of our Declaration, including all men are created equal. But because of my father’s service in the war and Congress, I did know of Jefferson’s powerful contribution. I also knew that as one of our foremost statesmen, he’d been chosen to help negotiate the peace proceedings in France. And I managed a curtsy despite my shaking hands and trembling knees. “Mr. Jefferson, it’s an honor to welcome you to our home.”
“Thank you. May I introduce my daughter, Patsy?” the Virginian asked. “I fear she is too infrequently in the company of ladies, as I’ve dragged her from seaport to seaport searching for a ship that might take us to Paris despite enemy vessels still in the waters.”
A tall, strapping girl of about ten stepped near her father. In a yellow calico frock with white bows, she shared her father’s coloring and had his intelligent eyes. She gave a quick curtsy. “Madam.”
“Hello, Patsy. You must be having quite an adventure with your father.”
She smiled with an adoring gaze at Mr. Jefferson. “Oh, indeed. Papa and I have been everywhere searching for a ship. I have seen Baltimore, New York, and even Boston.”