Washington's Lady by Nancy Moser

merit was far another. Through his confidences, I was endeared to him even more. Not all men would admit lowly beginnings.
    Nor failures.
    I adjusted the books that sat upon a table and found myself smiling at the memory of another of George’s shared confidences. He had sat in this very chair and fingered the edges of these books as he told me the story.
    He had just returned from the horrible defeat under the command of the late general Braddock. George had thought it his duty to explain why they had lost—as a means to prevent such a slaughter again. Colonel Fairfax had listened to his impassioned report and had spread the word to those higher up in the military.
    In response to George’s wisdom, he was made colonel of the Virginia Regiment and commander in chief of all the colonial forces. Quite an accomplishment for a twenty-three-year-old man with no formal education.
    George could have left his rendition of the story to me there—with his triumph—but he did not. He proceeded to tell me that feeling proud in his new position, he decided to visit the Virginia Regiment at a parade ground in Alexandria. He forecast his coming and yet . . . only ten officers and twenty recruits showed up. “It was evident I was commander in chief of nothing and almost no one.”
    I believed all he said, but none of his assessment. For from what I knew of Colonel George Washington, he was a true commander, and would eventually have a myriad of troops at his beck and call. I could see it in him, in his eyes, in his stance, in his heart. He was a born leader.
    And I was ready to be led.
    “He’s coming! I see him!” Jacky jumped from the chair and ran to the door.
    I discreetly looked out the window and watched as our groom Eustis took the horse’s reins. They exchanged some words, and Eustis stayed as George took a cloth from his pack and carefully wiped the dust from his boots. The simple act touched me . . . always a gentleman. Then he procured something else from his saddle, a small pouch.
    Moments later, our butler, Cully, opened the door, and Jacky was right there, taking George’s hand. “Come in, come in! I have been waiting ever so long.”
    To his credit, George allowed himself to be pulled inside. Cully took his hat. As soon as George saw me, he brought forth the pouch and carefully opened it against his palm. Inside were lovely dogwood blossoms. “The trees are in full flower, dotting the hillside amidst the other trees which have not yet leafed out. I stopped to bring you a few blossoms.” He offered them to me, a gentle transfer of petals from his hands to mine.
    “They are lovely, George. Exquisite.”
    “They are flowers,” Jacky said with disdain. “Did you bring me anything?”
    “Jacky!”
    “As a matter of fact, I did.” George pulled a hand-carved wooden pistol from the pocket of his coat. “I believe you will find it much more effective than a finger.”
    Jacky took it, aimed, made the appropriate noises, and ran upstairs—to show Patsy, no doubt.
    “I carved a little doll for Patsy,” George said.
    “You are too kind.”
    I led him into the parlour, then hesitated. “Would you like a respite from your journey?”
    “No, I am fine, thank you. Actually . . .” He twisted his hands together. “I would feel best if I could . . . if I could say . . . ask . . .”
    My nerves fluttered and I sought the support of the settee. “Do you have something on your mind, George?”
    He began to sit in the chair nearby, then detoured to his knee. He took my hand. “Dearest Martha. Would you, could you, consider being my wife?”
    To have this hulk of a man kneel at my feet, his large hand engulfing mine, his blue-gray eyes peering up at me . . . imploring me with their sincerity.
    “I would, could, and will,” I said. “Yes, I say yes,” I added, just to make sure he understood my affirmation.
    He brought my hand to his lips, then after a slight hesitation, stood tentatively and leaned