His brows raised over those blue eyes. “Something you learned watching your father at Indian conventions?”
I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t discount those experiences. “If those who stand against you in Congress don’t realize the extent of your alliance with Mr. Madison, they’ll be less prepared to thwart you. If you make your strategies behind closed doors, you can take your foes unawares on the Congress floor.”
His eyes narrowed with appreciation. “You are a general’s daughter,” he said approvingly, taking me back to bed.
I shook my head and helped him lift my shift. “I’m a congressman’s wife.”
“Yes, you are,” he said as he covered my body with his. And after bringing us together, he jested, “Perhaps I should recommend you for appointment for the New York delegation. You have more passion for it than those who actually hold the posts and who worry more about their own individual welfare than the common good.”
His compliment pleased me, but even more satisfying was that Alexander took my advice.
Which was how, a few days later, I came to be standing in a darkened kitchen of the house we’d rented near Independence Hall with my fussing one-year-old son on my shoulder, and a nervous Virginia congressman stomping snow off his boots by my hearth. “Colonel Hamilton will be home shortly,” I said, taking Madison’s snowy coat and hanging it upon a peg. “Can I offer you some hot tea?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” Madison said softly, eyeing the little boy in my arms. “You have your hands quite occupied with young Master Hamilton. I couldn’t trouble you to serve me.” Perhaps because Madison was the owner of a vast plantation with many slaves, he seemed overly aware that we kept no servant with us—the work of caring for the baby and keeping our little household entirely mine. “It’s trouble enough that I’m dropping in on you so late.”
“Nonsense. You’re always most welcome, Mr. Madison,” I said, wanting to put the congressman at ease, and taking more than a bit of pride in the modest feast I’d managed to keep warm. Beef tongue, peas, and potatoes in an herbed butter sauce. “Some wine at least?” I offered, leading him to the dining room, where the drapes were pulled tight against prying eyes from the street.
“Yes, thank you,” Madison said, but as I began to pour, my discontented son kicked his feet, nearly toppling the glasses.
“Careful little man!” Madison cried, catching Philip playfully by the toes. And when my son giggled, the congressman smiled and held out his hands. “May I?”
Surprised at Madison’s change in demeanor—for though there was often kindness in his eyes, the soft-spoken congressman rarely smiled—I surrendered my babe into his arms. “You must be a father, Mr. Madison.”
“Unfortunately, no,” the man replied wistfully. “I’m a confirmed bachelor, as fate would have it, but children take to me.” And it was true. While I poured wine, Madison whispered something into Philip’s ear that made him laugh and laugh.
“Whatever did you say to him?” I asked.
“I’m afraid it’s a secret,” Madison replied, bouncing my son in his arms. “Between gentlemen.”
Just then my husband came in the front entrance. “Betsy, I’m home,” Alexander called, slamming the door shut. “Is Madison—”
“In here, charming our child,” I said, and my husband appeared in the archway, blowing warm air into his hands.
I finished setting plates and silver, then took the baby as the men settled at the table and dug into their meal as if they hadn’t eaten all day. And given what I knew of Alexander’s schedule, there was some likelihood that was true. Even as they ate, they spread letters and ledgers out on the table between them. And afterward, I brought them a tray of tea and my mother’s shortbread I’d saved in a jar, for I’d learned to always keep a supply of some baked goods on hand for just such occasions.
While I poured tea, Madison pulled a well-used notebook from his pocket and began to write. As the two men collaborated, Alexander stabbed at a page with his fingers. “Our debt stands at forty million. The state of our finances has never been more critical. There are dangerous prejudices in particular states opposed to giving stability and prosperity to the union, thereby weakening us in our peace negotiations with Britain, which could yet fail. It is the first wish of my heart that this union may last, but feeble as the links among our states are, what prudent man would rely upon it?”
Madison listened intently as my husband then rattled off all our problems at length, and then nodded and said, simply, “All of this can be solved with a federal tax. Congress must have power and autonomy in financial matters.”
Alexander opened his mouth as if to protest that the matter was more complicated but then seemed content with Madison’s simplification. Their personal friendship and political alliance worked well because if Alexander was a born orator, able to lay siege with a barrage of impregnable arguments, Madison was skilled at quickly and quietly cutting through the weeds.
Moreover, as I was later to learn, Madison could have a dry and wicked sense of humor when it was just the three of us. Or four of us, more truly. “What is your magic formula?” I asked one night when Madison was able, with more whispering, to lure my son to sleep.
“Bawdy jokes,” Madison quipped with a wink of which I would not have thought such a shy little man capable. “As I said, secrets between gentlemen.”
In the weeks that followed, Madison’s nighttime visits to our home became more frequent, and I found myself enjoying the company, as the bachelorhood of many of the other delegates meant that I hadn’t yet found much society of my own despite the size and affluence of this city. In Albany, I’d had my sisters and our friends from our childhood troop of Blues, not to mention the Burrs, with whom we’d had the pleasure of becoming close.
But in
