America's First Daughter: A Novel(100)

“I desire very much to exchange the labor, envy, and malice of public life for ease, domestic occupation, love, and society. Here, where I may once more be happy with you.”

The words lifted an unseen burden from my shoulders. “Soon, Papa?”

“Soon,” he said.

The conversation marked the beginning of a period of happiness at Monticello. We celebrated my twenty-second birthday in grand style, with a fine dinner, and a chorus sung round my harpsichord while I played. Papa lavished love on his little grandchildren; it wasn’t unusual to find him on the floor of the parlor, telling stories and playing at games with Ann and cooing over Jeff. All of us reveled in the bounty of the season, everyone healthy and happy, until the cold of November struck with bad tidings.

Holding a letter, my husband said, “My father is dying.”

He gave immediate orders to fetch his horse, then took my hand. “I must ride to Tuckahoe without delay. Follow as soon as you can with the children.”

“Of course. As quickly as I can.” Not knowing if I should feel grief or relief at the news that the main source of my husband’s longtime suffering might soon leave us forevermore, I threw my arms around Tom’s neck. “Ride safely.”

He grasped my face, kissed me, and departed.

Tom wanted us to hurry, but my maid was so slow and sullen that I nearly shouted at her. Thankfully, Sally took the baby, shooing my maid away before I lost my temper. “Hush now,” Sally said to my baby son. Then to me, she said, “If you like, I’ll go on with you to Tuckahoe, Miss Patsy. Lay some flowers on my baby’s grave before the snows come.”

It would only be right, I thought, so I nodded. Besides, she’d keep out of the way at Tuckahoe, where the Randolphs were surely set to feud again. Oh, I never really worried that the old man was truly dying. I was sure he was entirely too mean to die. This latest crisis was almost assuredly another bit of Randolph theatrics.

So I was stunned when, after more than a day’s travel, we rolled up the long tree-lined drive to Tuckahoe and my husband met us at the gate, overwrought. “He’s dead, Patsy. He’s dead!”

“Oh, Tom,” I said, clutching his hand.

He lowered his head, tears welling in his eyes. “I was too late. Rode as hard as I could, but when I got here John Harvie was in the door, telling me I didn’t get here in time.”

Seeing my husband in such a state, Sally disappeared somewhere with my children, for which I was enormously grateful. I went into the house with Tom, into the very room where the Randolph book of ancestry resided, with its drawings and coats of arms. And the moment we were alone behind closed doors, Tom went to his knees, burying his face in my belly, letting me stroke his hair while he sobbed.

My heart broke for Tom, who had now lost both a mother and a father in only a handful of years. We’d known, of course, that one day it’d come to pass that we’d be master and mistress of Tuckahoe. But neither of us had desired it, nor expected it, so soon. Even as much as I loathed that old man, I hadn’t wished death on him.

At only twenty-five years old, my husband had already taken on the role of patriarch—that’s why he’d been so upset about his sister’s scandal. As the eldest son, his younger siblings already looked to him for guidance, but now they’d look to Tom for everything. And I couldn’t begrudge him his torrent of grief in light of the burdens that were now his to bear.

Once spent of his tears, Tom asked if I’d take on the education of the children. “My sisters look up to you, Patsy. Your learning in France will stand them in good stead. Maybe Nancy will come back to help so she can have a life with her family even if no decent man will have her now.”

My throat swelled with emotion. “Of course I will, Tom. I’ll do whatever you need me to. And with utter devotion.” I meant it with all my heart, because I understood that with Colonel Randolph’s death, our lives would never be the same. We’d have to move to Tuckahoe, lock, stock, and barrel. We’d have to make this bleak plantation, and all its slaves, support the whole family—all Colonel Randolph’s children, and his widow, too. We’d have to mend the quarrels with Gabriella and reconcile Tom’s unmarried sisters to living under one roof again, as family ought to.

I’d have to help him do that. I’d have to be more loving to my husband and his family than ever before. Which was why when I went down the next morning and discovered the widow presiding over the sitting room in fine black silks, I resolved to be kind to her. She’d driven my husband’s sisters away—even the littlest ones, who had lived with us at Monticello ever since. But I was determined to forget that now.

Bleary-eyed after a night of troubled sleep, I sat beside Gabriella and said, “You have my sympathies in your loss, and—”

“Colonel Randolph is with God now,” she interrupted, standing up and walking to the window.

I rose to follow her, imagining she must be frightened, widowed and with two babes, now at the mercy of my husband for her upkeep. “You mustn’t worry about anything. Now is a time for family to come together. Please let me know what I can do to ease your time of mourning.”

Very calmly, Gabriella traced a finger over the windowpane where Nancy had carved the date of her mother’s death. “You think of me as family?”

I hadn’t. Not truly. But I was resolved, henceforth, to do so. “From this day forward—”