Eagle's Cry: A Novel of the Louisiana Purchase by David Nevin

a new system, a government of checks and balances. Free men can govern themselves, Father.”
    The old man smiled, suddenly tired. “Just watch yourself, Son. Both of you.”
    Everything seemed darker as Dolley went back to the bedroom. She had been an inexperienced young Quaker woman when she married Jimmy, and she had moved into the highest circles of national life with studied aplomb—displaying much more confidence than she felt—and she hadn’t managed that by being naive and foolish.
    She continued packing. The storm was coming and they would be at its center, and yes, she was frightened.
    When he walked into the bedroom, the set of her shoulders told Madison she was angry. Of course he’d seen her alarm, nor had his father told him anything new. Certainly there was peril in this discarding of an old philosophy for one that was new and untested, what Tom called the second revolution. But the men on the other side were honorable, despite their more restrictive view of democracy. They’d be all right so long as no new disruption shattered things and turned the genie loose … .
    At last she spun around. “Why didn’t you tell me you looked for trouble?”
    “I don’t look for trouble.”
    “Jimmy, don’t tell me! Your father talked trouble; you didn’t look in the least surprised. You knew it all along!”
    She glared at him, fists on her hips. She was a stunning woman, her black hair full and striking, her eyes the color of
sky on a bright day, her cheeks always at a blush, which he’d been amazed to learn was not entirely nature’s gift, immense strength in set of nose and modeled lips. In fact, he had feared to alarm her, and he wondered if that were a form of denigration.
    “Don’t shield me,” she said. “My first husband died in my arms and my newborn infant died the next day, and there’s hardly a dirtier death than yellow fever with black vomit and bloody bile bursting from the bowels and the victim gasping for water. The only blessing’s that it’s quick. I’m a strong woman—I don’t need to be shielded.”
    She wiped her eyes. “So,” she said, smoothing her gown down her sides, “if there’s trouble, I guess we’ll deal with it.” She blew her nose. “Now, didn’t I see you turn your horse loose when you galloped up? Let’s go get him before everyone decides he threw you.”
    She was the joy of his life and he took her hand as they walked out into the sunny afternoon.
    The man Burr sent from New York made a terrible impression. Madison didn’t like him the moment he presented himself at Swan’s in Richmond, where the Madisons had the inn’s only parlor and room, bouncing in like an absentee landlord. His name was David Gelston, and he was a sleek young businessman en route to what he described as unique opportunities to be exploited in Charleston. Madison read him at a glance: pale, overdressed, too eager, talked too fast, and his open cupidity in describing his Charleston hopes put a civilized man’s teeth on edge.
    “I’m here to tell you the New York view,” he barked. “This time Virginia must play fair. You betray us again. The party will be torn to shreds.” Madison fought to control anger, though in fact there was validity in Burr’s complaint.
    In writing the Constitution they had left one fundamental flaw, which was natural enough since that was before parties emerged but now was very dangerous. The presidency
would go to the man with the highest number of electoral votes, the vice presidency to the runner-up.
    No one thought in terms of a ticket then or of a running mate. That concept arose in ninety-six when the general was stepping down, and without much hope, Tom ran against Adams. In a loose relationship, forerunner of the ticket concept, Burr ran with him for the vice presidency. Things had been so informal then! As Madison remembered it, everything was casual. As it turned out, Burr drew far fewer votes than Tom, but it was the bare handful that