To Martha Jefferson Randolph from Thomas Jefferson
I receive with inexpressible pleasure the news of Jack’s proposal of marriage to your sister. After your own happy establishment, which has given me an inestimable friend to whom I can leave the care of everything I love, the only anxiety I had remaining was to ensure Maria’s happiness. If she had the whole earth free to choose a partner, she could not have done so more to my wishes. I now see our fireside formed into a group, no one member of which has a fiber in their composition which can ever produce any jarring or jealousies among us.
“I do believe you’re faking,” I said to my limping sister, helping her with her stomacher. “If you don’t stay still and let me finish dressing you, I’m going to tell everyone that you turned your weak ankle on purpose to force Jack Eppes to carry you over the threshold of your wedding chamber.”
“I’m not that clever,” my sister protested, radiant in her best gown, and blushing. “Besides, why would any bride willingly forgo dancing at her own wedding? It’s not my fault that Papa’s house is in perpetual disarray. Silly me for expecting there to be a stair under the door to step down onto!”
I’d regretted the dangers of returning to Monticello’s permanent chaos of construction as Papa’s Italian-inspired architecture took shape into a domed manor house that would have three stories while appearing only to have one. And yet, we were still happier here amongst hammers and plaster dust and tarps than we’d been at Varina. When Tom discovered that I’d left, he’d been enraged. But I’d only meant to strike a little fear into his heart, not mount a rebellion, so I lied to him about the reasons why. I told him that in his shamefully drunken state, he’d commanded me to go so he could put all his attention on the harvest.
And when Polly—who disapproved of men who drank— confirmed my story, Tom was too embarrassed to admit that he couldn’t remember what he’d said. I sensed there lingered in him a fear that he had a willful wife who might not always tolerate his outbursts, which suited me.
And I saw some of the same sincere regret he’d shown after he’d struck me. But more happily, our return to Monticello had coincided with a visit from Jack Eppes, our country cousin with whom Polly had spent many years. He’d proposed marriage, and she’d agreed straightaway.
Jack Eppes wasn’t as handsome as my own husband, but then few men were. Still, Jack had a sunny disposition. He seemed amenable to my father’s plan to have us all live close together when he retired from office. And so we were all very optimistic that autumn. We anticipated long sojourns here at Monticello, which would—Papa promised—be completely renovated and habitable by New Year’s Day.
Sally herself was with child again, which seemed to give my father great pleasure, though he never said so. He guarded the privacy of his rooms, which must have been their lovers’ sanctuary, but I wondered where Sally took herself on days like this one, when our country neighbors and relations gathered for Polly’s wedding.
Kissing my sister’s cheeks, I said, “Mon Dieu, Polly. You are a beautiful bride.”
“It’s Maria!” she cried, laughing in exasperation.
“Maria,” I agreed, with a grin.
She beamed, taking up a bouquet of lavender, feverfew, and coneflowers. “You are my very best sister, and I promise, when we live apart, I’ll write you every day.”
At this, I snorted back a laugh. “That’s what you said when you went off with Papa to Philadelphia, but I can scarcely count one letter you sent me. I’m afraid you deal much in promises, but very little in deeds performed with a pen, Maria.”
“I’ll do better,” she said solemnly, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
Though I doubted it, I kissed her again, for it was a day for joy.
Alas, after the vows were exchanged, I found my husband miserable, leaning against the rail of the gallery, a glass in hand, watching everyone else dance in the entrance hall below. “Martha,” he said stiffly.
Since the day I’d left Varina, we’d scarcely spoken a word, so I simply answered, “Mr. Randolph.”
“They make a handsome couple,” my husband said, eyeing Jack, who whirled my sister around so that her petticoats swirled up under her skirt, heedless of her injured ankle. “Your father says Jack’s a talented lawyer.”
Truthfully, Jack wasn’t terribly talented at anything in my opinion. Certainly, my sister’s new husband didn’t have Tom’s intellect or scientific curiosity. And where my husband had a manly swagger, Jack still presented himself as a pudgy-cheeked boy. There wasn’t anything better about Jack Eppes but his temper.
Yet, he had a patrimony and a father who loved him.
Two things Tom envied.