Washington's Lady by Nancy Moser

wedding clothes: a cotton velvet suit the colour of a bluebird, with an ivory waistcoat and gold buckles on his shoes and breeches. His clothes were a bit tight, for even though he had given his exact measurements and specified in his order the suit was needed for a tall man, that definition was subjective, as few men were as tall as George. The tailors must have been disbelieving of the measurements, and they merely made the clothes the way they preferred. And yet tight or not, his blue and my gold complemented each other—a condition I prayed would continue toward more important matters beyond fashion.
    It being my second wedding, a small affair would have been understandable. But from the beginning I had decided on a full-fledged event. It was important for all our friends and family to see how committed we were to our new life as man and wife. A minor ceremony with a handful in attendance could have signified the practicality of many second marriages. The inevitability. I, however, wished to signify there was nothing inevitable about our union but the grace of Providence working to achieve it. The wealthy widow Custis and the heroic Colonel Washington were two individuals to be reckoned with, as a pair united by God . . .
    The new governor of Virginia, William Fauquier, was next to congratulate us, looking quite regal in red robes, flowing wig, and intricate sword. “Congratulations, Colonel. Mrs. Washington.” He looked at his wife standing beside him. “We extend best wishes to you both.”
    “It is not ‘colonel’ anymore,” George said. He looked down at me and smiled, for he had resigned from the military and looked forward to our civilian life—together. The seven months we had been apart was far too long and I vowed it would never happen again. “My soldiering days are over, Governor.”
    “We will see about that,” the governor said. “Though hopefully, with God’s mercy, we will have no more trouble with the French.”
    The quest to take Fort Du Quesne had been successful just that November, and the fort had been renamed Fort Pitt after our prime minister. Apparently overwhelmed by the incoming presence of nearly four thousand colonial and British troops, the French had retreated, exploding gunpowder and burning the fort in their wake.
    But at the moment that victory had little to do with us. The past was past, the future was—
    The children broke through the crowd and crushed us with exuberant embraces. They were also dressed in new attire, looking very much like miniature adults. I picked up Patsy, and George scooped Jacky into his arms.
    “Are we married yet?” Jacky asked.
    “We are,” George said.
    “Then, can we eat?”
    He laughed. “We most certainly can.”
    I looked at the guests who had thronged around us. “Jacky is right. It is time to celebrate our wedding. On this January 6, 1759, on this Twelfth Night, we say good-bye to the reverence of the Christmas season and invite you to revel in our happy day. Please enjoy the reception in the dining room. If you want for anything, please let me know.”
    As we let the children down, George leaned close, with words for my ears alone. “I want only you.”
    I kissed his cheek, wanting the same. But that would come later. Right now we had a celebration to attend.
    *****
    The dancing went on for hours, the chairs of the parlour moved aside to make room. The cold of the January night was not felt inside, and there were more than a few faces flushed with the heat of the dance.
    All joined in, even the children. The more reserved minuets gave way to our favorite reels. There was something about the rhythm of a reel that made it impossible to sit by, uninvolved.
    George was an excellent dancer, but upon dancing our first dance as man and wife, a memory from a Williamsburg dance many years previous came to mind. “I do believe we have danced before, husband.”
    “Surely not, for I would have remembered it.”
    “Surely we have, for I