Mount Vernon Love Story by Mary Higgins Clark

Author:Mary Higgins Clark [Clark, Mary Higgins]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780743206303
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2002-06-18T07:00:00+00:00

March 4, 1797

9 P.M.

Philadelphia

NEARLY THREE HUNDRED GUESTS WERE present at the farewell dinner. It was held at Rickett’s Amphitheater and preparations were elaborate. The majority of the assemblage gathered at the Oeller’s Hotel next door then marched into the amphitheater to the tune of “Washington’s March.”

George could feel Patsy’s quiet pride in this final ceremony honoring him. For his part he could only want to get it over. His mind was racing ahead—the serious packing could at last begin in the morning. How many days would it take to finish the task? Three, four, not more than that surely.

Nelly was lovely, her hair piled on her head, her shoulders and neck creamy above her low-cut formal gown. Already so many young men hovered around her but she disdained them all. Well, give her time. He was in no rush to lose her. He and Patsy liked having the young people around.

He had heard rumors of a surprise that would be exhibited that night, but he wasn’t prepared for the magnificent painting of himself that was unveiled. It was a transparency by Charles Peale. George liked Peale’s work well, and this portrayed himself in a full-length portrait. It wasn’t a bad likeness either and heaven knows he usually didn’t care for portraits of himself. He did not consider vanity one of his cardinal sins but he did feel that most of his portraits gave him a stiff unbending expression that he honestly didn’t consider typical. Of course the damnable teeth that had plagued him all his life were first in his mind when he was being sketched and maybe that self-conscious look was a tribute to the artist’s skill.

Patsy didn’t think so. Patsy always sighed that it was a real pity no artist existed who could properly catch the man he was. She was studying the picture and as he glanced at her she squeezed his hand. “My old man,” she murmured, so softly that it would have been impossible for another ear except his to catch the phrase.

In the Peale painting the figure “Fame” was holding a laurel wreath over George’s head. There were surrounding characters which someone explained symbolized the gratitude of the people.

In the background of the picture Peale had drawn Mount Vernon. George felt a flash of amusement. If the entire piece was a little too sentimental for his taste, he felt real gratitude that Peale had so successfully caught the dreamlike loveliness of Mount Vernon.

Then the moment of humor passed and George realized it had only been a camouflage for deep feeling. How kind this assemblage was, how kind the planning and execution of this tribute. There were many who would rejoice with journalist Bache that his administration was at an end, but there were more, many more who would believe that he had done his best.

He realized that he heartily wished his mother might have been here to share this tribute. God knows there were not many times in his adult life when he’d felt a longing for her presence, but he did know she’d be pleased at this.

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