“I assure you that sitting for a painter is not a painful experience,” Alexander said, teasing me solemnly. “Besides, I’ve always wanted a portrait of you, just as you so fervently demanded one of me. Ah, here we are.”
The head gaoler himself ushered us back to a tiny closet of a room that had been converted into a makeshift studio. Mr. Earl greeted us shyly, ducking his head as he bowed; he had the woebegone look of a man down on his luck, from the droop of his shoulders to how the latchets of his shoes were tied with scraps of string instead of the fancy buckles that he’d likely been forced to sell against his debts.
He scarcely spoke, but bade me sit in the single armchair, turning me slightly. I was aware of the thickness of my waist on account of my pregnancy, and he thoughtfully suggested I rest my hand on the chair to take attention away from my belly. Then he went to stand behind the canvas on his easel to begin his work, and soon the only sound was the muted shush of his brushes moving across the canvas.
Alexander stood behind him in respectful silence, watching the painting take shape. He’d been right: posing wasn’t difficult.
“Is it like me, Alexander?” I asked anxiously when Mr. Earl paused to mix fresh paints.
“Yes,” he said with satisfaction. “Though it’s barely begun, I can already see that Mr. Earl’s genius will capture your beauty and your spirit, too.”
For the next fortnight I visited Mr. Earl for additional sittings. In an odd way, I enjoyed the time to sit alone with my own thoughts, away from the demands of our household and children. I do not know if, as Alexander claimed, the finished portrait captured my beauty or spirit, but I was pleased by the contentment in my face, a contentment that I’d felt at the time of the painting.
My only quibble was minor. Mr. Earl painted a narrow black ribbon or cuff at my wrist that wasn’t on my gown. I thought it had the look of mourning, and found it particularly unsettling, and perhaps unlucky, given my pregnancy. When I asked him why, he said that it was his way of making my hands seem paler and more graceful, and that he did the same for most every lady’s portrait. I couldn’t quarrel without wounding him, and so let the black cuff, however peculiar, remain, and I praised his skill to all my acquaintance so he received more commissions to pay his debts.
What mattered far more to me was how pleased Alexander was with the portrait. He had it hung in the front parlor, and went so far as to invite friends to the house to admire it, and drink a bumper to its beauty, which embarrassed me even as I recognized it was my husband’s way of paying tribute to me as well.
“You can’t deny it’s a splendid portrait,” he said, standing before it. Our guests had gone, and we two lingered alone before we’d douse the candles and retreat to bed. “Though not as handsome as the original, it will keep me company when you and the children visit your parents.”
“She’s a good deal more quiet than I, too,” I said wryly. “The painted me won’t chide you for not wearing a quilted waistcoat when it’s cold, or tell you that if you keep working so late, you’ll make yourself ill.”
“I said that the portrait will keep me company, not that it will be a perfect substitute.” He wrapped his arms loosely around my shoulders, holding me close to his chest as we both gazed up at the portrait. “I like having you look after me. I know how much I miss you when we’re apart.”
“I miss you, too,” I said softly. “You should have had Mr. Earl make you a miniature portrait. This one would be a little large to carry with you when you must travel for trials.”
“Not just trials,” he began, then paused, his arms tightening a fraction around me.
Even before he spoke again, I understood what that slight hesitation meant, and my heart sank.
“I can’t stand by any longer, Betsey,” he said softly, and I realized that from how we were standing, with my back against his chest, he didn’t have to look me in the eye. “The Confederation of states is foundering, and our esteemed Governor Clinton is one of the leaders determined to make the country sink for his own gain.”
“You’re going to stand for the Assembly again, aren’t you?” I asked, unable to keep the sadness from my voice. “Did my father put you up to it?”
“Yes,” he said. “But while your father has told me how much my voice has been missed, this is my decision, not his.”
I’d wanted to believe that he’d been content with the law. I’d told myself that the joys of our little family were sufficient to keep him from the drama of public office. I’d believed it, and yet deep down I hadn’t. He burned with ideas and energy. From the first time I’d met him, I’d the distinct sense that he’d be destined for great things, and it had been much of his early appeal to me. It still was.
I turned in his arms to face him, awkward with my belly between us. “Will you be here when the baby comes?”
He nodded. “I’ll make certain of that, my angel.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. I looked down so he wouldn’t see the tears that were likely in my eyes, and rested my palms on his chest, the way I always had. Not so long ago, my hands had rested upon the rough wool of a soldier, and now he wore the rich superfine of a successful gentleman. He was my strength, my pillar, yet once again I must share him with a score of angry gentlemen far from home. But because he wished it, and because he might do those great things for the country his children would inherit, I’d no choice but to let him go back to Poughkeepsie.
I blinked back the tears, and forced myself to smile. “When does the next session begin?”
*
As everyone expected, Alexander was elected again in April to represent the City and the County of New York in the State Assembly. The following month, our second son was born, with a shock of black hair and a lusty voice that would rattle us all awake throughout the night. We named him Alexander, after his father, who kept his promise and was home the night of the birth.
Home then, but not for long. Not only was he now often gone to Poughkeepsie for the meetings of the State Assembly, but he was also appointed by that body as a commissioner to represent New York to a small conference on the state of national commerce, which required much preparation.