More curious, I suppose, is how well I remember the wedding night.
Tom descended upon me like a storm, sweeping me up in the violent rapture of our coming together as man and wife. He wanted my love and I think some part of him believed he could squeeze it from me with the power of his hands alone. He was superbly athletic—elastic as steel—and his hands and body crowded out everything but basic animal instinct.
I was the daughter of a rational but passionate philosopher. I’d spent my life contemplating the debate between head and heart. But never before had I contemplated the demands of a ravenous body and the ecstatic escape to be found in surrendering to its appetite.
Tom’s lovemaking gave me a pleasure devoid of sentimentality, wrapping a thick gauze of self-delusion over still-bleeding wounds. His tireless passion was an opiate so potent that I became intoxicated on the power I had to arouse. He knew, I think, that though he’d married me, he hadn’t mastered me.
So he had to try again and again.
Thus, I awakened the next day, exhausted, dewy eyed, and a bit in awe that the impossibly handsome heir to Tuckahoe was, indeed, my husband.
Papa was delighted to see me smile. Polly was less so. While Papa took a measurement of the wall in the entryway to plan where he would display his natural artifacts, Polly said, “Well now that Patsy’s wedding is over, it’s so very dull here at Monticello.”
“Perhaps your new brother will take you riding,” Papa suggested, still pondering the space, as if he meant to tear it all out and start again.
My husband, eager to please my father or to win my sister’s affection, awkwardly promised he’d race Polly down the mountain and that if she lost, he’d give her a dunking in the pond. I could see that levity didn’t come easily to Tom, but I appreciated his effort. So did Polly, who dashed away to get a head start in their race. Then Tom followed.
Left alone with my father, I said, “When I complained of boredom at her age you gave me chores and lectured me on the dangers of ennui!”
“You think I coddle her,” Papa said, his tone light and amused before his expression became grave. “And I do. Because I realize now that I was far too exacting with you, Patsy.” He reached for my hand, squeezing it, his throat bobbing with emotion. “After your mother died—what did I know about bringing up children? You taught me more than I taught you, and I thought we’d have more time. If I’d realized how soon I was to lose my precious little girl, I’d have cherished every moment.”
“Papa,” I said, quite exasperated, an odd pressure behind my eyes. “You haven’t lost your precious little girl; she’s merely grown up.”
“If only that were true,” he said, pulling me close. “Having had yourself and dear Polly live with me so long, I’ll feel heavily the separation from you. But it consoles me to know that you’re happier now.” He patted my hand, clearing his throat to give sage advice. “Your new marriage will call for an abundance of little sacrifices. But they’ll be greatly overpaid by the affections they’ll secure you. The happiness of your life depends now on pleasing a single person. To this, I know all other objects must be secondary, even your love for me.”
Hearing sadness in his voice, I rushed to reassure him. “Oh, Papa. I’ll make it my study to please my husband and consider all other objects as secondary except my love for you.”
He smiled, sheepishly, as if it shouldn’t please him so much to hear it. “Neither you nor your husband can ever have a more faithful friend than me. Continue to love me as you’ve done, and render my life a blessing by the prospect that I may see you happy.” He kissed my cheek and smoothed it with his fingers. “Be assured of my constant and unchangeable love. Especially now that I must put such a burden on your shoulders. Polly, and Sally, and the little one—I’ll sleep easier knowing you’re looking after them for me while I’m away.”
“Sally?” I asked, more than a little confused.
My father’s smile tightened. “I can’t leave her to fend for herself. Better for Sally and the baby to stay under your watchful eye until I return. There’s no one but you that I trust with such a precious charge.”
Though he’d kept Sally from the house during my wedding, I’d seen them exchange looks, both tender and intimate. I’d seen, too, the gleam of pride in his eyes for Sally’s newborn boy—the son Papa had always wanted—and I’d feared that he’d take Sally to the capital, where such an arrangement might make him infamous. But now I understood that whether I lived here, or at my husband’s new plantation, I was still the guardian of Papa’s secrets.
Marriage did not—and would not—end my duty to protect my father.
Just like that, my resentments evaporated. “Oh, Papa,” I said, embracing his neck.