America's First Daughter: A Novel(66)
How unreasonable and ungrateful I felt for my apprehension.
But I simply couldn’t help myself. “How many years before we could join Papa in Virginia?”
William fell silent in a way that troubled me beyond measure. His thumb stroked the back of my hand. Finally, he swallowed and met my eyes. “I cannot make my home in Virginia, Patsy.”
It took me a moment to understand his words, and even then, I was left bewildered. The breeze caught my curls, and I brushed them away. “You’re a Virginian, William. Where else could you make your home?”
He looked at the sky for a long moment. “Somewhere else. Someplace in America where prosperity can be had without slaves. It cannot be done in Virginia.”
“That can’t be true,” I sputtered. “Your practice at the law—”
“Would fail utterly even if I didn’t mind the drudgery of it.” He bolstered himself with a deep breath. “Perhaps you don’t remember Virginia society because you’ve come of age in France. The gentry will never trust a lawyer who isn’t also well established as a Virginia planter.”
“Then be a planter,” I argued. “Take a small farm, employ only sharecroppers. . . .”
“I’d soon be a very poor, indebted planter, who could, in no way, support the daughter of Thomas Jefferson in the manner to which she has grown accustomed.”
“I can grow accustomed to something else!”
He took my face in his hands and smiled. “If anyone could, it would be you, but I’m resolved. I’ll never run a slave plantation. I’ll never be a part of that evil. All Virginia is stained with it. My conscience won’t allow me to make a home there, and yours shouldn’t allow it either.”
My confusion gave way to a slow spark of anger that took hold and began to smolder. “And neither should Papa’s conscience. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
Staring hard, he said, “I wouldn’t presume to judge your father.”
A stinging pressure pricked at the backs of my eyes. “You think he should free all his slaves.”
“I think he cannot free his slaves without impoverishing himself and his daughters,” William replied, his eyes filled with both sadness and understanding. “Without slaves, he’ll have nothing. He’ll lose it all, right down to the last book. He’s shielded you from this, but when your grandfather Wayles died, your father inherited a portion of his debt, more staggering than we ever imagined. Your father has only this year learned the full extent of it, which is why he’s eager to return home and deal with his creditors.”
My mouth dropped open and I struggled for words. How could that be? For months now, my father had done nothing but lavish gifts upon me. New ball gowns, gold watches, and rings. That was to say nothing of the concerts and horse riding lessons!
This flurry of shopping started when I confessed my desire to join the convent. Had my father been so desperate to keep me with him that he’d driven himself into more dire financial straits? Guilt bit at me. “Poor Papa! How can he satisfy the creditors?”
William sighed. “He’ll have to sell land or slaves.”
A wave of nausea swept over me. “Surely not!”
Owning slaves was an evil, but selling them . . .
“Patsy.” William forced me to look at him, his voice dropping an octave to meet the severity of his countenance. “When it comes to the evil of slavery, the only choice you’ll ever have is in which husband you marry. I want to take you away from plantation life. The government doesn’t enrich its ambassadors, but my salary will be enough. We’ll scrimp and save enough to make wise investments in stocks and bonds. And that’s what we’ll live on.”
I’d never heard of any man making his fortune this way. Every man of wealth we knew had built his fortune with land. All the Virginia gentry. All our friends in France. William had never sounded more like a wild-eyed radical. It was little wonder Papa thought he couldn’t support a family!
He must’ve seen that I doubted him. “When we return to America, we’ll settle somewhere more in keeping with my moral principles. Philadelphia or Boston or New York. If you become my wife, you may have your pick.” He gave a small smile. “We’ll visit your father in Virginia as often as you like. I’d never keep you from him. But I can never settle near Monticello, as he’s pleaded with me to.”
His voice was firm. There was no crack or waver in it to give me hope he might change his mind. And I shook my head, at a complete loss. The sun and the birdsong upon the breeze suddenly seemed to mock my predicament. I would never leave you, or my country, but for God, I’d said to my father. Was love for William to make a liar of me? “What you’re asking!”
He drew my hands to his lips, beseeching me with his eyes. “I’m asking you to make a life with me, not to abandon your duties as a daughter.”
Then why did it feel like that’s exactly what he was asking me to do?
I PASSED THROUGH THE DAYS AND WEEKS that followed in a confused haze, my thoughts preoccupied by my struggle to balance my heart’s desire with my lifelong duty. A confusion made worse by the strangest of tea parties, hosted by the Duke of Dorset. Having expected to be one of many guests, I arrived to find the salon bedecked in flowers, empty except for me and the duke. Dressed as if for a ball and not for afternoon tea, he guided me to the table.