“Mrs. Madison, please!”

Dolley, her heart pounding, nodded. “Paul, please have Joe bring the carriage.”

Something important. Something that people will one day want, and miss. Like recollection of something we dreamed in childhood, that frightened us, or inspired us, or filled us with understanding or joy.

But all she could remember to say was, “M’sieu Sioussat, please see to it that the food prepared for dinner, and the cider and wine, be given to any of the soldiers who come past.”

“I shall do it, madame, but please—”

“And please see that Pol goes to the French Minister’s house. They’ll look after her there, and I don’t think the British will burn it.”

“I shall see it done, madame,” promised the steward, “but please, go!”

I should wait for Jemmy. He’ll be here soon, I know he will….

As the men hustled her into the hall, Sophie said quietly, “It might be a good idea to take some silver with you in the carriage, in case you become separated from the cart.”

Dolley halted, their eyes meeting.

More softly, for her ears only, Sophie added, “Had we had hard silver when we were burned from our home, my mother and I, we might have fared better than we did.”

“I’ll be going to friends.”

“That’s what my mother thought.”

Dolley broke away, strode into the dining-room to scoop as many forks and spoons as she could fit into her reticule. “Canst ride in the front with Joe and Sukey, Sophie? All the Cabinet papers are on the other seats.”

“I shall be staying here. Don’t worry about me,” her friend added, as Dolley froze at the foot of the front step, looked back in alarm. “I scarcely think they’re going to torch the town.”

Richard Cutts thrust Dolley up into the carriage, clanking reticule and all. Closed the door.

“I shall tell Mr. Madison to look for you at Bellevue, shall I?” asked Sophie, from the mansion’s steps.

“Mrs. Hallam, we cannot allow you—” Cutts protested, but Sophie made a gesture like shooing flies.

“Get Mrs. Madison away. I can look after myself.”

Or knowst thou someone in Cockburn’s force, who shalt look after thee? Dolley turned, watching the enigmatic dark figure on the mansion’s steps as the overloaded carriage jolted into motion. French John and Jacob Barker were gently draping General Washington’s portrait across the top of the grocery-cart as Dolley lost sight of them. For a few minutes more, the white walls of the mansion were visible to her over Mr. Jefferson’s screen of young poplar trees.

Fourteen years, thought Dolley, fighting to keep panic from her heart. She fumbled in her reticule for her snuffbox. I saw this house fourteen years ago….

With Lady Washington’s mirror, she realized in shocked dismay, in my hand!

She half turned in the carriage’s crowded seat, seeing herself sweep snuffbox and mirror together into the desk-drawer as Mr. Carroll entered shouting…If I call out to have us turn back, Joe will pretend he can’t hear me.

Such was the din of traces rattling, hooves pounding, other carriages, carts, fleeing riders, and cursing barrow-pushers all clogging Pennsylvania Avenue in a solid wall of dust, his deafness might not be sham. And even if he did hear, the crowd forced them on.

She twisted back around, looking at the roofline of the big sandstone house, visible still. Her hand closed, recalling the small solid shape of the Queen’s mirror, as it had been that evening she’d seen the house like this beyond the trees.

Recalling, too, the grief and fear of that season of uncertainty. It seemed to her, that year, that everything she had witnessed since 1776—everything Jemmy, and General Washington, and Jefferson, and Mr. Adams had worked for—was shattering to pieces around them.

Dust swallowed the big house. In her heart she knew she’d never see it again.

DOLLEY

Edgehill Plantation