The Seekers (11 page)

Robert Morris—and even Adams himself—murmured approval.

Abraham was beginning to understand the pleasure his father took in associating with these opulently dressed, rather aristocratic gentlemen. They were the movers of the new nation. Abraham sensed an unspoken bond between them. They shared, and enjoyed, power. Philip was happy to be included.

President Washington faced Abraham. But his words were for the older Kent. “And your son? Does he intend to carry on the family endeavor? Will my successor have his support along with yours?”

Philip’s glance challenged Abraham. “I have every hope the answer to both questions will be affirmative.”

Abraham’s jaws clenched. A burst of laughter from the ladies kept him from speaking up, and mentioning his plan to travel west. With the rest of the gentlemen, he turned toward the women. He saw Elizabeth chatting in lively fashion with the beautiful Mrs. Bingham. He was delighted to see color back in her cheeks—

He decided not to reopen the argument with his father in such dignified surroundings.

The Kents stayed a week in Philadelphia, attending the theater and visiting tourist attractions such as Bartram’s famous botanical gardens, the Charles Peale museum with its amazing display of mastodon bones, and the old State House where the Declaration had been presented by the self-exiled Mr. Jefferson. Then the two carriages resumed their journey south. Peggy had persuaded Philip to follow through on a chance remark the day the trip first came up. At her request, Philip intended to show the young couple the prosperous, populous state of Virginia where Peggy had spent much of her life.

The spring weather turned stormy. The roads became bogs. Progress was slow and the carriages stopped frequently. Alarmed, Abraham watched Elizabeth growing pale again. She was unable to travel for more than a few hours without succumbing to fits of nausea.

For the first time, he wondered about her health. She had always been slender and somewhat delicate. Now he asked himself whether she was suited for a long trip west, not to mention the hard work that would follow. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to reject his father’s offer of a good job—

He didn’t express his doubts to the girl. They were having enough trouble just making a few miles a day on the wretched roads.

Their route took them near the ten-square-mile tract of land straddling the Potomac River where the capital would eventually be located. The site had been chosen in a political horse trade. Former Secretary of the Treasury Hamilton had been instrumental in moving the permanent seat of the nation’s government below the Mason-Dixon survey line in return for southern votes for some of his financial measures.

The special district, two-thirds in Maryland, one-third on the southwest side of the river in Virginia, was already being informally called “Columbia,” in honor of the Italian navigator who had reached the continent in the fifteenth century. A French-born engineer named L’Enfant was drawing up plans for a modern city which everyone hoped could be occupied by the turn of the century.

Abraham found Virginia a green and pleasant state, full of handsome homes, large tracts under cultivation—and scores of black men and women owned outright by white planters. Though he was well aware of slavery’s existence, seeing it firsthand was something of a jolt. He’d been brought up in the only state in the union which had reported a slave population of zero in the 1790 census.

As the weather improved, so did Elizabeth’s health. The Kents spent an enjoyable week and a half at an inn in Caroline County, responding to invitations from families who remembered Peggy and her second husband from their trip to Virginia shortly after their marriage in 1781. The family even received a note by courier from a totally unexpected source: a gentleman who had heard of their presence from mutual friends with whom, they’d dined.

When Peggy read the gracious note, Philip exploded. “
What?
Visit that damned republican devil? I’d sooner take a vacation in hell!”

“Come, come, dear,” Peggy soothed. “Mr. Jefferson is an old, old friend of my parents. It would be rude to refuse his invitation to Monticello.” She teased him. “Are you afraid your principles would melt away in his presence?”

“I am afraid I might not be able to contain my temper!”

“I think we should go, Papa,” Abraham said.

“The decision is not yours,” Philip answered in a brusque way. But after twenty-four hours of grumbling, he gave in. He justified his turnabout by saying a man should know his enemy.

The two carriages left the Rappahannock and turned westward toward Mr. Jefferson’s country seat in Albemarle County. There, on the eight-hundred-foot
monticello—
little mountain—near Charlottesville, Philip confronted his intellectual adversary.

He soon had cause to regret agreeing to the excursion.

Never in his life had Abraham inhaled such a heady combination of fragrances—nor seen so many different kinds of trees.

Mr. Jefferson had arranged to receive them in the garden adjoining his orchard. A burly black servant who met the carriage pointed out the varieties: walnut and peach; plum and cherry; olives and almonds and figs. There were even a few of the exotic orange trees from the far Floridas. Deer could be glimpsed grazing here and there in the orchard. Only Peggy acted uninterested. She gave the slave guide a peculiar, nervous look from time to time.

On the carriage ride to the hilltop, Abraham had been startled to see that Monticello seemed to be in a state of disrepair. Now, at close range, his original impression was confirmed. Scaffolding rose everywhere. Slaves pushed barrows of bricks from the kilns on the property. Carpenters’ tools made a racket in the soft morning air. Peggy explained that since the death of his wife and the decline of his political fortunes, the man who had played such a large role in shaping the new country had withdrawn from public life and now occupied himself with his two passions—architecture and agriculture.

Abraham touched Peggy’s arm. Was the man approaching through the orchard Mr. Jefferson? Yes, she said, it was. The man’s clothing instantly drew a disdainful comment from Philip, who was formally dressed. Jefferson, ten years younger than the president, and standing well over six feet, wore a linen shirt sticky with sweat, and workman’s trousers tucked into dusty boots.

Jefferson’s face had a gaunt quality, as if from illness or personal strain. But he greeted Abraham’s stepmother warmly, taking both her hands in his. “My dear Peggy! How wonderful to see you! When I heard you’d come home, I wanted to welcome you in grand style”—chagrined, he indicated his filthy clothes—“and look at me.”

“You’re remodeling the house, Tom—”

“Again,” he said, and pointed. “Tearing down most of the façade. There’ll be a new foyer and balcony, and an octagonal roof I’ve patterned after the Roman temple of Vesta. Unfortunately, a scaffolding collapsed yesterday. One of my nigras—the husband of my cook—nearly lost his life. We’ve been in a turmoil—so all my plans for setting you a good meal inside have gone away.”

In the sunlight, Jefferson’s graying hair still showed faint glints of its original red. He swung toward Philip, who was gazing at the blacks pushing the barrows. Jefferson had often spoken out against the evils of slavery. Yet he continued to keep slaves on his own property, making him vulnerable to the criticism of New Englanders.

If the former secretary of state understood the meaning of Philip’s pointed stare, he was polite enough to overlook it.

“And this is your husband—” Jefferson reached Philip in two long strides, grasped his hand. “My honor, Mr. Kent.”

“Mine, sir,” Philip said.

Peggy introduced Abraham and wide-eyed Gilbert. Then she resorted to the convenient falsehood used by the family. “And my niece who lives with us, Miss Elizabeth Fletcher.”

Jefferson raked a muscular wrist across his sweaty jaw. His eyes lingered on Elizabeth’s face. “Fletcher,” he repeated. “A familiar name in the district where you grew -up, Peggy. The Fletchers of Sermon Hill come to mind—”

Pale, Peggy answered, “There is no connection other than coincidence, Tom. Elizabeth is kin to my mother’s people in Massachusetts.”

“Yes, I suppose we have no monopoly on good English names in Virginia,” Jefferson smiled.

Philip shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. Abraham had been a bit startled at his stepmother violating protocol by introducing Elizabeth last rather than first. Now he suspected the reason—fear. He recalled that Elizabeth’s father had spent a short time in the Second Continental Congress, as an alternate for his older brother. Jefferson, attending the same Congress—had he known the long-dead Judson Fletcher? If so, it might account for his momentary surprise when Elizabeth was presented.

But any echoes of the past had been stilled by Peggy’s statement and Jefferson’s tactful acceptance of it. He led his guests to benches in the breezy shade. A moment later, a huge-breasted black woman brought a tray of refreshments into the garden. Abraham took a crystal goblet of tea with chips of ice floating in it. Philip gave Gilbert permission to run off and explore the orchard, but warned him to avoid the frantic construction activity near the house.

Jefferson sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together beneath his chin. Philip remained standing. Jefferson said, “Your newspaper is well written, Mr. Kent.”

Now it was Philip’s turn to be startled. It took him a moment to reply, with a shrug whose involuntary impoliteness made Peggy frown. “The
Bay State Federalist
is only a minor part of the activities of Kent and Son, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Yes, but politically, it’s the most important part.”

“I’m surprised the paper has circulated this far south.”

Jefferson’s smile was vaguely pained. “Why, Mr. Kent, I never close my mind to the views of the opposition.”

“A noble sentiment,” Philip mumbled, put off by the other man’s polite and winning manner.

“Not a sentiment—conviction!” The tall Virginian stood up. “The basis of our government is the opinion of the people, Mr. Kent.
All
the people—”

Philip stiffened. Jefferson returned the pugnacious stare with an equally steady one. He immediately began to undercut Philip’s obvious irritation. “So the very first object of government must be the maintenance of free circulation of ideas. From all quarters. If it were left to me to decide whether we ought to have a government without newspapers, or newspapers without a government, I shouldn’t hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.” He smiled that charming smile again, and drank his tea, leaving Philip nonplussed.

Jefferson turned his attention to Abraham. “What’s your role in Kent and Son, young man? Are you connected with the book side? Or the newspaper?”

“I work in the book printing department. But I don’t have an official position. My”—he decided to test the water—“my presence in Boston is only temporary.”

“How so?”

Ignoring Philip’s hostile stare, Abraham went on. “I served with General Wayne’s Legion in the northwest. I was taken with the spaciousness and abundance of the country. I find the idea of settling where there’s plenty of land—and few people—more appealing than city life.”

He was about to add that the girl Peggy presented as her niece shared that opinion, and would share whatever future it led him to as well. But since neither Philip nor Peggy had raised the subject of marriage, he held back; the introduction of one more irritant wouldn’t help the already strained situation.

“You plan to take up farming, then?” Jefferson asked.

“Quite possibly.”

“Do you know anything about agriculture?”

“No. But I imagine a man can learn that, can’t he?”

“Indeed he can—if he has the back for it.”

Peggy’s soft laugh was forced. A bird trilled in a nearby walnut tree. Philip didn’t bother to hide his unhappiness over the course of the conversation.

Jefferson, however, showed genuine enthusiasm all at once. He snatched up a stick, sat down and started to trace a rectangular shape where the grass had worn away in front of his bench.

“I’m glad to hear your plans, young man. I think they’re praiseworthy.” As he talked, he changed the outline of the rectangle, angling it here, adding a jutting peninsula there. All at once Abraham realized Jefferson was drawing a crude map of the North American continent.

“We must fill the west with settlers as fast as we can. In the west, there’s room for families to multiply. And an increasing population of farmers and craftsmen will strengthen America immeasurably.”

“That is the democratic view,” Philip said in an arch way. “The French view.”

Jefferson didn’t rise to the bait. “Unfortunately, the French have carried liberty to the stage of license—but yes, you’re quite right. They have also shaped my views—as perhaps mine shaped theirs.”

Drawing a vertical slash from the bottom of the rectangle two-thirds of the way to the top, he tapped it with the stick, saying to Abraham, “Our boundaries extend only this far—the Mississippi. But beyond”—he moved the stick left, toward the irregular coastline—“the land mass is immense. All of this territory is currently the property of Spain. In fact, a Franciscan named Serra has established missions all up and down this shore—”

He jabbed several times at the western perimeter, then moved the stick back to the right.

“But it’s my conviction that the Spanish lands physically connected to, these United States must one day belong to the United States. Somehow, somehow—!”

“And what about British land, sir?” Philip demanded. “What about Canada? Would you covet that too?”

“I might.”

Jefferson cast the stick aside, standing again, splendidly tall and commanding. “At the very least, we must know for certain what natural riches lie between the Mississippi and the ocean. I’ve tried for almost a decade to generate funds for a transcontinental exploration—all the way to the Pacific. A few years ago, I almost succeeded. The Philosophical Society agreed to send Michaux, a French botanist. The president himself gave the largest single contribution—twenty-five dollars. Which shows you the popularity of exploration. Or should I say the insularity of those of us who live east of the mountains?”