“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 are 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.”