I knew what it cost him to ask that of me. To ask me to fetch his mistress. The mother of his child. The woman he had plainly fallen in love with.
His head. That is what he said ailed him. But it was his heart. How many times had I seen this before? The passionate heart he always forced to submit to his surpassing intellect. His heart, like all of France, was in rebellion against its ruler.
And that’s why he asked again so sheepishly for her. “Tell her to come to me. Unlike King Louis, I’ll treat fairly with her.”
He meant to give her up, too, then. Though he felt abandoned and unloved, he meant to give us all the freedom we desired.
And I worried it would destroy him.
Chapter Fifteen
Paris, 17 July 1789
From Thomas Jefferson to Thomas Paine
A more dangerous scene of war I never saw in America than what Paris has presented for five days past.
THE BASTILLE HAD FALLEN and Paris was aflame. Men had been beheaded, their corpses dragged before the mob, and tens of thousands of citizens now marched about with pistols, swords, pikes, pruning hooks, and scythes. The only hope of peace rested upon the shoulders of Lafayette, who had assumed command of the National Guard.
And our tree was gone. The one William had carved. It’d been smashed by cannon fire or hacked to pieces by the hordes of angry citizens in the streets, I knew not which. There I stood at the balcony window, staring down at its fractured stump, mesmerized by the violent destruction of something so dear to me—and the city in which it was born.
“Come away from the windows, Patsy,” William urged, his voice strained with worry.
I choked back a sob. “It’s all torn apart. Everything is going wrong!”
William dared to fold me into his arms, saying again, “Come away from the window. There is no telling with what violence the king’s processional will be met.”
I couldn’t be made to budge. If there was violence, I would see it. I’d bear witness to it as I’d been witness to everything else. Like all of Paris, I was caught up in the spell of waiting. Waiting for something to happen, not knowing if it would bring liberation or despair.
William’s eyes fell upon the ruin of our tree and he held me tighter. “We’ll carve another tree.”
Turning, I blurted, “I have to go back to Virginia.”
“I know you’re frightened—”
“I’m not frightened,” I said, which wasn’t entirely true, but I feared my father’s debilitated emotional state even more than the cannon fire we’d heard outside. I couldn’t tell William about Sally’s pregnancy. Unlike me, he was unlikely to be surprised to learn she’d gotten with child. And Sally’s condition would soon be obvious to everyone, so why couldn’t I tell him?
It was the shame.
William had once asked if we should object more to a man’s affection for his slave than to the fact that he holds her in bondage. But it felt altogether objectionable, even though I somehow felt as if my father needed my protection more than ever.
Which is why I bristled to hear William say, “You cannot go back to Virginia with your father, Patsy.”
“Papa has asked it of me—it’s all he’s asked of me.”
“He’ll never bring you back to France.”
I stared at William, half-forgetting to breathe. “Surely, you aren’t saying he won’t keep his word.”
“He’ll ask me to return to Virginia to fetch you,” William said. “I know he says that he’ll finish out his term as minister in Paris, but your father will be offered a position to serve in America as a member of President Washington’s cabinet.”
This was nothing short of stunning news. “Who told you such a thing?”
“It was in a letter I read from Mr. Madison.”
I fumbled for a reply, fumbled to understand what this meant for our future. Or if there was a future for any of us in a city on fire. “Even if Papa is offered such a position, he won’t accept it. He wants to retire from public life. You’ve heard him say it many times.”
“And I wagered a beaver hat that Mr. Jefferson will refuse the appointment. But it’s a bet I’m going to lose. I haven’t the slightest doubt that your father will accept a cabinet position in the new government no matter what he says to the contrary.”
I gasped. “That’s twice you’ve questioned my father’s honor.” The words came uneasily off my tongue, even though Papa’s liaison with Sally had called his honor into question all on its own. And I knew it. “You think he’s lying when he says he wants to finish his work here and return to Monticello forevermore?”
“If he’s lying, it’s only to himself,” Mr. Short replied evenly. “Your father will let his friends persuade him, because his mind’s already made up. He’s the only one who doesn’t know it.”
Heat came to my cheeks. “I cannot agree.”