Her enthusiasm was charming, and her presence eased my surprise in hosting the voice of our independence at my little dining table. “Well, you’re already much better traveled than I am,” I said, extending a hand that she took when her papa gave her an approving nod. “You must tell me everything.”
As they were wont to do, the men turned to politics over dinner. Alexander spoke candidly about the need for federal revenue and standing armies and permanent navies, and I didn’t think I imagined the way Jefferson’s lips pursed and his brow furrowed, even though his replies were always polite and measured. I sensed, in Jefferson, a fundamental disagreement about the nature of our country’s government, citizens, and future. Worse, I noticed the way Madison deferred to Jefferson’s thinking as the conversation progressed.
And it made me worry.
Though Madison’s patient solicitude and my husband’s fiery passion had always seemed to make them an odd team, the two men used their differences to attack the same problems and achieve the same ends from different directions. I thought it a great partnership. Moreover, I was learning that my husband didn’t make friends easily with men outside of the army. And yet he’d taken to Madison straightaway.
Now I worried for Mr. Jefferson to come between them.
As the tulips and hyacinths bloomed all over the city, and Congress finally ratified the provisional peace treaty in mid-April, marking the end of eight years of hostilities, Alexander and Jemmy Madison—as I heard my husband sometimes call him—took to organizing a series of secret nighttime meetings with select members of Congress. The Quaker culture of Philadelphia meant that the streets, well lit by whale-oil lamps, tended to empty at night, creating a special challenge for men attempting to sneak about, yet secrecy was more urgently needed as rebellious troops threatened to march upon the city to get the pay long owed to them.
I didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation until, on a rare summer night when he came home alone, Alexander said, “You must go, Betsy. You and the little one. First thing tomorrow.”
At sixteen months old, our Philip was now a toddling, talking, curious boy who already promised to have his father’s good looks. “Why must we go?” I asked, handing Philip over as he reached out for his papa.
Alexander showered his son’s little face with loud kisses that made Philip giggle. “Because the army is coming from Lancaster, and picking up men along the way, and the government of this state refuses to do anything to stop them or protect Congress.”
Another mutiny, I thought, for lack of a better word to describe it. But it seemed much more serious than any of the others—with our own army ready to attack our fledgling government after having so recently toppled King George. How had it come to this? “What about you?”
“I’m not afraid,” he said. “I’m a friend to the army, zealous to serve them, and espousing their interests in Congress. I trust that they know this, and will listen.”
But I still remembered how my father’s soldiers turned on him, suspecting him of the blackest treason. “Alexander—”
He embraced me then, little Philip between us, and tangled his hand in my hair as he brought our faces close. “You must go. Both of you. I can’t have you in harm’s way. Worry not about me, for if Pennsylvania won’t protect Congress, we’ll flee, too.”
After a sleepless night, I set out the next morning with little Philip in a carriage of others fleeing the oncoming threat. During the journey to Albany, I had little idea what fate had befallen Alexander, Congress, indeed the country itself. And it was then that I realized just how fragile this thing called independence really was.
*
June 1783
Albany
“Peggy’s eloped!” Angelica said before I’d even alighted from the carriage in front of the Pastures. “After a fashion, anyway. Mama and Papa are in a state.”
“Not again,” I said, recalling the turmoil Angelica’s elopement had caused all those years ago. “Did you speak to Peggy? What did she say?”
Angelica took little Philip from my arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Peggy said that since Papa had already given his blessing, she simply tired of waiting. And it’s a good match for both of them. Stephen’s to be the ninth patroon of Rensselaerswyck, after all.”
That much was true. Peggy’s new husband stood to inherit a vast ancestral estate passed down from one of the founders of New Netherlands. I couldn’t help worrying over the scandal it might cause for two of Philip Schuyler’s daughters to have run off this way, but that wasn’t my greatest concern. I put a hand on Angelica’s arm. “Does she love him?”