A REPUBLICAN COURT
It was a wondrous thing to me, watching my mother in those early days of the republic, taking her place at Mrs. Washington’s side.
All manner of people turned out for Friday night levees dressed brilliantly to be entertained with lemonades and ice creams. And though the ladies tried to outdo one another in pearls, gloves, feather ornaments, and embroidered silk shoes, my mother outshone them all from the dais, where she alone was permitted to attend the president’s lady.
It did not matter that my mother was no longer as fair and fetching as she had been when I was a child; her sharp eyes had not changed at all, and only added to her noble bearing. Indeed, she carried herself with a sense of authority and sureness that would have rivaled any lady in any king’s court.
And I could only marvel at this, since I still remembered her on her knees scrubbing floors of the little saltbox home all those years ago. If I closed my eyes, I could easily conjure the memory of her feeding geese, milking cows, and trying to scrape together some meals for her children from crumbs in the kitchen and the old root vegetables in the cellar.
But she had transformed herself as the circumstances required and was far more adaptable than I feared I might ever be. Despite my father’s many years of service as an important man, and my awareness that some would always seek his help, I was not prepared at all to be pressed by on all sides with those who now sought to curry favor.
“Beware,” my mother had said. “Some of these ladies will attempt to befriend you simply because you are the daughter of John Adams. They will think it was your father who saw to it that your husband has finally been awarded a post, and think you can exert your influence to advance the cause of their husbands, brothers and sons.”
Because of this, at every social gathering, I suddenly found myself encircled by hangers on who wished me to get an audience for them with my father. I was pressed by strangers, who somehow thought they had some right to presume upon me at first meeting. Of course, I was also pressed by friends of longstanding acquaintance, like Mercy Otis Warren, who, despite her virulent opposition to the constitution, now asked me to convince my father to find some government position for her sons.
I could not do this in good conscience, for her mischief-making sons were not qualified. To spare us both the embarrassment, I threw the letter into the fire and would pretend never to have received it.
It was much more difficult, however, to ignore the pleas of our own family. “It isn’t fair that Aunt Mary should suffer such financial hardships?” I asked my mother. “Uncle Cranch gave good service to his country; it isn’t his fault that in the wake of Shay’s rebellion, Massachusetts refused to pay him what he was due. Does it not seem right that the federal government should make up for it now?”
Given Mama’s pained expression, I realized that she had already been wrestling with the problem. “Your father will not do it. He will think it would reflect poorly upon him to use his influence in this way. Especially since your uncle is of an age now where he can no longer perform any task with vigor. It would not be in the public interest.”
I did not agree with her. My uncle still had a very sharp mind; surely there was some need for that in the new government. But my mother had another idea on how to ease their financial difficulties. “I’ve lent your aunt money over the years. Little amounts each time—out of my pocket money. But these loans have now added up to something significant. I intend forgive every last penny. But you must promise to tell your father nothing about it.”
Though I had grown much closer to my father in recent years, this promise was not a difficult one to make and it would not be difficult to keep. Especially as I had no wish for my father’s sense of honor to conflict with the well-being of the Cranch family, who had done so much to assist and sustain us. Besides, it was my mother’s good financial sense that made my father’s sense of honor even possible. Without her frugality and clever investments, Papa certainly would not have been able to afford such a grand house. Even less would he be able to afford the weekly entertainments now hosted there.
My mother set a dinner table for twenty-four now, with the help of servants who were very unprepared for the task. “Oh, for an English butler and housekeeper,” she would mutter while we fixed the place-settings, lit the parlor, and fussed over one another’s hair since we had no friseur.
Mama complained bitterly about the difficulty in finding good help. And she moaned about her weariness in making idle conversation with the wives of every government official, diplomat, or other stranger who happened to make the trip to Richmond Hill. But she was exceedingly good at it.
Her quick wit was now an asset in political circles, whereas it had often served to irritate and intimidate before. Of course, if society ladies feared my mother a little bit, under the circumstances, that was no bad thing. It meant they were more apt to aim darts at someone like the jolly Mrs. Knox.
On one Friday afternoon, after having nursed my children, both boys afflicted by whooping cough, I set to work on my mother’s favorite black satin gown whilst my mother bent over her account books, fretting at the costs. “We are obliged to keep six fires burning constantly in this house, and with wood nearly seven dollars a cord!”
“You love this house,” I reminded her, to restore her good cheer.
And the corners of her mouth twitched as they fought off a smile. “I like it well enough.”
“You are happy here,” I accused. “Happy in your station, in your good health, in your duties, and even in your account books.”
Despite her financial worries, I knew that her investments were likely to pay vast dividends if Alexander Hamilton’s plan to assume the state’s debts passed in congress. My father had never approved of speculation, but my mother did not hold herself accountable to him for what she did with her so-called pin money. With the help of her Uncle Tufts as trustee, she stood to become a wealthy woman. But she did not boast about that.
Instead, she said, “It’s true that I am well content. And why shouldn’t I be? Surrounded as I am by my children and grandchildren. If only I could pluck my remaining loved ones from Braintree and transport them all here to New York, I should be the happiest woman who ever lived.”