America's First Daughter: A Novel(150)

Those were words that started duels. Words that demanded satisfaction. But Bankhead was so drunk I’m not sure he heard. Instead, he was transfixed by the sight of my father, who emerged from his rooms in stern disapproval.

“Enough,” Papa said, very quietly, very severely. “We value domestic tranquility, here. Charles, I must ask you to reside under your father’s roof for a time, not mine.”

At my father’s quiet show of thoroughly presidential authority, Bankhead seemed to suddenly shake free of his madness, and he sank to his knees and wept. Bankhead was being banished, and he knew it. He begged my father a thousand pardons, sobbing that he’d tried to stop drinking but never was able to. That it was something in him, like a demon.

I didn’t care. I fetched Ann, took her upstairs, bandaged her ribs, and cleaned up her mouth and jaw, which were bruised and swollen. Then I put her in my bed, dosing her with some laudanum so she could rest. Bolting the door, I leaned back upon it like a guard.

That’s when Jeff came up the narrow stairway with murder in his eyes. “You keep away from Bankhead,” I said, keeping my voice low in case children might be eavesdropping from the nearby nursery or their bedrooms on the third floor. “And when your father returns, don’t tell him what happened here today.”

“Why not? Cracking that monster’s skull is the finest thing my father ever did—too bad he botched the job, like always.”

“Stop saying things like that, Jeff. Disrespect from a boy is one thing, but you’re a man now.”

He nodded grimly and leaned back on the door next to me. “Then you won’t object to my taking Jane for a wife?”

“I’d think you’d rather marry someone who’ll bring no more strife into this family.”

“Jane isn’t her mother,” Jeff said, reasonably, staring at his feet. “I’m set on Jane. She’s the prudent choice.”

I stared, remembering my own seemingly prudent choice. “Oh, Jeff, be careful.”

“I know what I’m about. My future prospects from my father I consider as blank. From my grandfather, not very cheering.”

That my husband’s fortunes were negligible, I knew. But since Papa retired from the presidency, Monticello had never seemed more fruitful or alive. “Why would you say that?”

Jeff crossed his freckled arms. “I’ve seen grandfather’s books. Monticello is large but unprofitable and, unless judiciously managed, will probably consume itself.”

My father was a sunny optimist, and I was neither entitled nor desirous to know the extent of his debts. But my son was pragmatic and clear-headed. And I believed him. “Even so, marrying a woman you don’t love—”

“You won’t tell my sisters to marry for love. You want to, but you won’t. You don’t want them to end up at the mercy of a penniless drunk like Bankhead. It’ll be a miracle if they find husbands with their promised thirty cents per annum. Though, with Ellen’s caustic tongue, no amount would be enough.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” I said, reaching for his hand.

Our shoulders touched in the doorway.

“My brothers are still boys,” he said. “I’m going to have to provide for all of them. My sisters and brothers. So I can’t marry anybody but a rich woman, and Jane’s sweet. If I can make myself love her, you can do the same.”

I glanced up at him, shamed that he should have such burdens. But I’d raised a man who could be relied upon, and that filled me with pride. So I never uttered another word against Jane, not realizing that she’d cost us everything.





THE NEXT MORNING, I rocked my grand-baby in his cradle as Ann continued to sleep fitfully in the nearby bed. The movement of the rocking was a comfort when so little else was. Everything seemed in a turmoil.

Ann awoke on a gasp. “Where is Charles? I have to go to him,” she said, her words slurred because of the swelling around her mouth.

“He must’ve kicked the senses out of you if you’re even considering going with him,” I said, my heart hurting that this was the reality of my daughter’s life.

She struggled to sit up against the pillows. “Where else can I go?”

“You needn’t go anywhere,” Papa replied from the doorway, surprising us both, for he so seldom mounted the steep stairs that the crowded upper floors in which my family lived must have seemed to him like another world completely.

Papa crossed the room and rested an age-spotted hand on her shoulder. “You’re always welcome here at Monticello, dearest Ann.”

Bravely wiping away the tears that flowed down her bruised face, Ann said, “But my place is with Charles. By law, he can take the children. You know he can.”

“He’ll soften, fearing the loss of you,” Papa said. “His family will talk sense to him.” All his life, I think my father believed, in principle, that a woman belonged to her husband. But now he tried every way possible to encourage Ann’s separation from Charles. Every way but telling her she had a right to do it.

Maybe that would’ve made the difference.

“It was my fault,” Ann insisted. “He worries when he can’t find me.”

My heart sank to my stomach, where it weighed like a stone when, later that day, Ann rode off with Charles, their children, and belongings. “Patsy, I had to send him away,” Papa said from where we stood upon the south terrace, overlooking the garden, the vineyards, and the breathtakingly broad vista beyond.