Christmas at Monticello with Thomas Jefferson

About This Book

Suddenly, as he climbed the long, curving flight of stairs, he knew that now he was an old man. Sixty-six last April, and, though his sandy red hair had merely faded instead of turning gray, there were twinges in his knees that reminded him of too many miles in the saddle, in cold rain and sleet, too many hours standing at his writing table, too much tension, not enough rest. But now he could rest. In the half-furnished rooms of the White House below, the crowd still danced at the Inaugural Ball, with the wife of the new president, sparkling, vivacious Dolly Madison, a gay and charming hostess...