Land of the Free Page 16

  “With the exception of my appearance, I am perfectly recovered, sir.”

  “Good, good. Very good.” He pulled a folder across the desk but didn’t open it. “Are you aware that our United States Merchant Marine is the largest neutral fleet in the world?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well we are, and by a very wide margin.” He opened the folder. “Because of our rapid expansion, many of our ships’ captains are naturalized citizens. The British do not recognize our right to naturalize citizens and they consider any former British seamen to be deserters. They use that argument to intercept and search our vessels.”

  Yank nodded. “That I did know, sir.”

  “It is my opinion, not shared by the President or anyone else in this cabinet, that another war between the United States and Great Britain is inevitable.”

  “I quite agree, sir.”

  “Do you? May I ask why?”

  “You might recall, sir, that I was stationed in the Northwest Territory before my current assignment as your liaison.”

  “Yes of course. It was the primary reason that I asked for you.”

  “The Indians that we encountered in the Northwest Territory were supplied and encouraged by the British.”

  Madison nodded. “When that was first reported, I called upon the British ambassador demanding that it cease immediately. He admitted some involvement with the tribes in the past but flatly denied any currently. Lacking proof I was reluctant to raise the issue with Parliament through our ambassadors.”

  “Tecumseh’s braves carry English muskets and swords, Mr. Secretary. As do many other tribes in the Northwest.”

  Madison closed the folder again. “How might we go about proving that, Colonel Van Buskirk?”

  “We could capture a band with their weapons and then interrogate them before neutral witnesses.”

  “Is there any such neutral party in the world today?”

  “Perhaps not, sir.”

  “But there is merit in your idea if the captured Indians would agree to confess to the British Ambassador,” Madison said.

  Yank brightened. “Such an agreement might be reasonably easy to obtain. The loyalty of Indians is transient at best. In their hearts, they see all white men as their enemies and they only ally themselves with us when, and as long, as it serves their needs. In the long term, they wish to drive us all, American, British, French, Spanish or otherwise, back into the sea.”

  “I hope you are wrong in your assessment, Colonel, but I fear that you are not.” Madison sighed. “We have reports of Tecumseh’s attempting to form an Indian confederacy that stretches all the way from Canada to Florida. I would like you to ascertain the accuracy of those reports and to access the threat if they prove to be true.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Madison selected a note that was spindled prominently and glanced at it. “And I have been reminded by my dear wife to invite you to her next Wednesday evening drawing room. It seems that I forgot to do so when last you were here.” He chuckled, dropped the note into the waste paper basket and handed Yank a small, engraved invitation card.

  “I would be honored, Mr. Secretary.” Yank looked at the invitation then quickly back at Madison. “This says the White House.”

  “Yes. As you may know, President Jefferson is a widower, so Dolley – that is, my wife, acts as hostess for White House social events and as ceremonial First Lady. She had the idea of these little receptions on Wednesdays to provide President Jefferson with a less formal method of meeting his friends and rivals.”

  “Except that the President was a widower, I fear that I knew none of that, sir. But I will be very pleased and honored to attend.”

  “You must bring your wife, of course. Mrs. Madison is eager to meet her.”

  “Yes, sir.” Yank stood up. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I thank you, Colonel, as does your country.”

  ~

  “The White House?” Marina repeated. “The Presidential mansion?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  “You always say that.”

  “This time I mean it, John. Dolley Madison is a legend. It was she who decorated and furnished the White House.”

  “I fail to see what bearing that has upon your dress.”

  “One cannot attend one of her functions wearing a simple dress. It is not done.”

  “You have gowns, do you not?”

  “They no longer fit.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  “What else should I say?”

  “You could ask me why they don’t fit.”

  “I noticed that you’ve been getting plump but thought it best not to mention it.”

  “I’m not plump you fool, I’m with child.”

  “Already? You can’t be.”

  “You always say that.”

  “When?”

  “When what?”

  “When will our baby come?”

  “Christmas.”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her.

  She pushed him away. “Stop that. I must think of what to do about a gown.”

  “This is Monday and the reception is Wednesday night. There should be time to buy a new gown.”

  “A lot you know. I wish your aunt was here to advise me.”

  “How about my grandmother?”

  “Your grandmother lives here?”

  “No. She lives in New York but she is here visiting her brother, Augustus Van Cortlandt. I saw it in the newspaper.”

  “Should I call on her then?”

  “I’ll go talk to her first.”

  ~

  Augustus Van Cortlandt waited until he had heard the front door close then he walked into the parlor to wait for his sister to return to the room.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Gussie,” Rachael said as she came in.

  “Hear what, dear?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to hear about the ill-bred, uncouth Van Buskirks again.”

  “I’ve never cast aspersions on the Van Buskirk family, dear. Until your husband’s ruffian branch of the family, they were perfectly respectable. Father would never have permitted you to marry Thomas Van Buskirk if that had not been so. He must be spinning in his grave, now, however.”

  “Thomas’s only sin was not remaining loyal to the King,” she said in dismissal.

  He laughed. “And your sin was to bear his children and perpetuate his seed.” He gestured vaguely toward the hall. “That great-grandson of yours is a perfect example of how a good family can be diluted with bad blood. Yank? His name is Yank?”

  Rachael sat down. “That’s his nickname and immaterial. However there is a serious problem and I need your advice.”

  He took the chair across from her. “What?”

  “The boy has married an Indian prostitute and he thinks that she should be introduced to society.”

  “That’s simple. Refuse to help.”

  “It’s too late for that. She has been invited to the White House soiree on Wednesday.”

  “Then what did your great-grandson want?”

  “He wanted me to help her find a gown for the occasion.”

  He shrugged. “Then help her find a gown so hideous that she will never again attempt such a thing.”

  “I need to drive her away. Embarrassing her won’t be enough.”

  “Between now and Wednesday? Even you, dear Rachael, have not the wiles to do that.”

  Rachael stared into space, thinking. “I have to do it in such a way that Yank doesn’t suspect me.”

  He got up. “I have every confidence that you will think of something, Rachael.”

  September 3, 1805

  Washington, District of Columbia

  “My granddaughter must have a gown suitable for Mrs. Madison’s reception tomorrow evening.”

  The proprietor of the dress shop, a fussy little man who prided himself in the fact that his clientele were all pillars of Washington
society, had never seen Rachael Van Cortlandt Van Buskirk, but he recognized power when he saw it. “We can accommodate you, Madam, if we must keep our seamstresses working all night.”

  Rachael turned to Marina. “Do you have a color preference, my dear? White, I should think to contrast with your beautiful dark eyes and hair.”

  “Tsk-tsk.” The dressmaker shook his head.

  “Why?” Rachael demanded.

  “Overused,” he replied. “Every débutante and jeune-fille is wearing white. This young lady is unique.”

  Rachael looked Marina up and down. “Indeed. What color would you suggest?”

  “Red.” The man folded his arms and beamed. “A bolt of the finest Chinese silk has been waiting in my storeroom for just this lady. No dye maker in the world can duplicate the color of Chinese red.” He snapped his fingers quickly. “Bring me the Chinese red silk.”

  A man hurried through the curtains toward the storeroom.

  “Red,” Rachael repeated. “Are you sure that it would not be scandalous?”

  “Scandalous?” The man shook his head. “I should think shocking might be a better word.” He looked over his shoulder then snapped his fingers at another clerk. “See what is taking so long.”

  The more she thought about it, the better Rachael liked the idea of a red dress. “It must be cut in a daring design as well.”

  “I have a recent drawing from the court of Paris,” the man replied.

  “Not that daring,” Rachael said quickly. “America is not ready for bare busts or buttocks, nor am I.”

  The second clerk returned and whispered in the proprietor’s ear.

  “Well tell him to break the lock and to hurry.” He snapped his fingers, shooing the man toward the back.

  “Is there some difficulty?” Rachael asked.

  “A small one. I bought the cloth many years ago and it has been kept in a locked cedar chest. We cannot seem to find the key.” He smiled and rubbed his hands together with glee. “I have waited for this day a very long time.”

  Marina took Rachael’s arm and led her away from the proprietor. “I think it is possible that this man has found a way to be rid of some previously unsalable goods.”

  “We shall see.” Rachael walked back as the first clerk returned with the bolt of red silk.

  “Feel this,” the merchant said. “The weave is so tight that it seems to have no stands within it.”

  Rachael ran her fingers admiringly over the cloth.

  “And that color,” the man crooned.

  “The weave is very tight,” Rachael agreed, “but the color is not red, it is vermilion.”

  ~

  Yank was sitting behind the tiny desk and looking out the window at Pennsylvania Avenue when Marina came into the hotel room. “Did you find a dress?” He turned in his chair to watch her unpin her hat.

  “No, but your grandmother did.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That is most arrogant and opinionated woman in the world.” Marina put a small package on the dresser, removed her hat and tossed it on the bed. “She has the most expensive dressmaker in Washington working all night to make me a dress that I would rather die than wear.”

  “Why did you let her?”

  “She’s also the most intimidating woman in the world.” Marina collapsed on the bed, jarring the headboard.

  Yank stood up. “What’s wrong with the dress?”

  “Well, for one thing it’s red.”

  “Red?”

  “Yes. And it leaves my shoulders and back completely bare and my bosom nearly so.”

  “No.”

  “Help me take my shoes off. My feet are killing me.”

  “Where’s your button hook?”

  “On the dresser.”

  He walked over to the dresser and retrieved the button hook. “What’s this little package?”

  “Charcoal and rouge.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “Your mother told me to rub a bit of charcoal on my eyelids and in the hollows of my cheeks and to put the rouge on my cheekbones and lips.”

  “What for?”

  “To make me beautiful.”

  “You’re already too beautiful.” He walked back and patted the edge of the bed then pulled the desk chair closer. “Sit here.”

  Marina turned around on the bed to give Yank her right foot.

  “Perhaps my grandmother’s mind has gone. She’s very old.”

  “Or this may just be her way of showing that she disapproves of me.”

  He shook his head. “She would have told me in no uncertain terms if she disapproved.”

  “Do you think she knows about my past?”

  “It’s likely that Aunt Nannette told her.”

  “How would your aunt know? Did you tell her?”

  “No, of course I didn’t tell her, but I’m certain that she knows.”

  “How?”

  “She just does. It’s impossible to keep a secret from her.”

  “How would your grandmother react if your aunt told her?”

  “She would raise her left eyebrow.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s all.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then why the scandalous dress?”

  He pulled off her right shoe and took up her left foot. “The more I think about it the more I’m inclined to think that the dress is less scandalous than you think.”

  “That’s a lot of thinking,” she giggled.

  “It’s what I think,” he replied with a chuckle.

  “So you want me to wear it?”

  “What time did the dressmaker say it would be ready?”

  “Ten tomorrow.”

  “I’ll go with you and Grandmother to the shop tomorrow and then, after you try it on, you and I will decide.”

  “And what if it’s indeed a scandal?”

  “We’ll buy something that’s ready-made.”

  “Oh, John.”

  “Or borrow something. Or, you can stay here while I go.”

  “Oh no. I’m not leaving you to wander among all these southern belles.”

  “Then we’ll think of something.”

  ~

  Secretary Madison’s wife was deep in conversation with the Ambassador of France when she realized that she had lost his attention. At almost the same moment, the buzz of conversation dropped to near silence. Alarmed, she turned toward the door to see an army colonel with a startlingly beautiful woman in a vermilion dress on his arm. For a terrifying moment, she was at a complete loss and unable to imagine who the couple might be. But as they came into the room, she saw that the colonel had the battered face of a pugilist and she hurried to meet them.

  “The woman coming toward us is Dolley Madison,” Marina whispered.

  “What’s that thing on her head?”

  “A turban,” Marina giggled.

  “Well, one thing is certain. Your dress is no less revealing than hers.”

  “Look her in the eyes,” Marina warned.

  “Colonel Van Buskirk,” Mrs. Madison said. “How very nice to meet you at last.”

  “Thank you for inviting us, Madam.” Yank bowed over her hand. “May I present my wife? Marina Cortés Van Buskirk.”

  “My husband has told me so much about both of you.” She took Marina’s arm and smiled at Yank. “President Jefferson would like a moment of your time please, Colonel.”

  Yank searched the room with his eyes.

  “At the back by the French doors,” Mrs. Madison prompted. “The tall, thin man with red hair standing with my husband.”

  “I fear that I’m unfamiliar with the protocol, Madam,” Yank said.

  “Just find a place to stand where my husband can see you,” she replied. “Ah. There. He’s seen you already. Just go straight back.”

  “Thank you.” Yank moved away through the crowd.

  Mrs. Madison turned her attention to Marina. “You ar
e from New Orleans, I think.”

  “From the New Mexico territory of New Spain, but I met my husband in New Orleans.”

  “Is this your first time in Washington?”

  “Yes. My first time east of the Mississippi.”

  “I cannot quite place your accent.”

  “Oh dear. I was not aware that I had one.”

  “Ever so slight and very charming. French?”

  “I spoke French when I lived in New Orleans and Spanish before that.”

  “Will you be staying in Washington or with his family while your husband is in the Northwest?”

  “I was not aware that my husband was going to the Northwest,” Marina said calmly.

  “Oh no, what have I done?” Mrs. Madison put her fingers to her lips. “How very clumsy of me.”

  “When is he to leave?”

  “I have already said too much.”

  “No, Madam. I think my husband has said too little.”

  “I just adore your gown.”

  “Thank you. It is the creation of my husband’s fraternal grandmother. I thought it too daring, but she prevailed.”

  “No, no. It is in perfect taste.” She smiled and lowered her voice. “As I have always said, if you have them, flaunt them.”

  Marina’s laugh turned many heads.

  “I would urge you to stay in Washington, if that could be arranged,” Mrs. Madison said. “You would add a new element of gaiety to our staid society.”

  “I could never stay here alone.”

  “No, of course not. But as long as Rachael Van Buskirk is here…”

  “I will ask her how long she intends to stay.”

  “Excellent. Now let me introduce you to some people.”

  September 4, 1805

  Washington, District of Columbia

  Rachael Van Buskirk poured tea into Marina’s cup and then her own. “I am told that you were a success at last night’s soirée.”

  Marina giggled. “Well, I wasn’t the outrage that I feared I might be.”