CHAPTER ONE
“This place is a disaster,” Abigail Adams said. “Look at this.”
She made her mouth into the shape of an O and puffed out a cloud of frosty fog.
“It is chilly in here,” John Adams agreed, rubbing his hands together. “Not quite ready to be lived in, perhaps.”
It was November 1800 in the new capital city of Washington. Abigail and John Adams were standing in a huge, empty room in the President’s House—soon to be known as the White House. They had just moved in, but John was right. The house was far from ready.
Only six of the thirty-six rooms were finished. The walls had wide gaps that still needed plaster. There was a second floor—but no staircase to it. Even with fires burning in every fireplace, the air inside was damp and bone-chilling.
John Adams pulled on his overcoat. “Well, I’d best be off,” he said. “I’m meeting with Mr. Jefferson this afternoon. I’ll leave you to your work.”
“Hanging laundry,” Abigail groaned. “Yet again.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“That’s my work today, hanging wet clothes up to dry,” she said.
“Oh, good,” John said. “I’m out of clean stockings.”
Wet pants and dresses hung from strings stretched across the room. It wasn’t a great place to dry clothes, but the only other option was the yard, which was knee-deep mud.
Abigail snatched a shirt from a large laundry basket. “I hung laundry in the East Room of the White House.” She tossed the shirt toward a string. It missed and landed on the floor. “That’s what people know about me.”
“Who are you talking to, dear?”
“You,” she said. “The children reading this. Anyone who will listen.”
John Adams turned toward the readers—he looked right at YOU.
he said.
Then he buttoned his coat.
“History books describe you as a brave patriot, a leader in Congress during the American Revolution.” Abigail grabbed a pair of pants from the basket. “And now you’re the second president of the United States. But what do they say about me? Cute little ‘fun facts.’ I was the first First Lady to live in the White House. And I hung laundry to dry in the East Room. As if women can do nothing better than wash clothing! How very amusing!”
She threw the pants over her shoulder. They landed on her husband’s head.
“Well, um…” John said, pulling the wet pants from his face. “I shouldn’t keep the vice president waiting.”
“If I have to hang laundry one more time, I am going to scream!” Abigail said, sort of screaming. “Did you know there were women pirates?”
“Pirates? Where?” John said, looking around.
“Back in the early 1700s, in what’s called the Golden Age of pirates in the Caribbean. Some of the most famous pirates were women. Anne Bonny, Mary Read…”
“Dear, what are you telling me? That you wish to become a pirate?”
“I’m telling you women can do anything,” Abigail said. “I’ve been trying to tell you for years. I suppose I shall have to prove it to you. I won’t be gone long. Give my regards to Mr. Jefferson.”
President Adams seemed confused. Also a bit worried.
But he left for his meeting.
Abigail Adams stood alone in the East Room, staring at the laundry basket.
“I wonder if it would really work?” she said. “Only one way to find out.”
She ran across the room, jumped, and sailed into the basket.
And she was gone.
CHAPTER TWO
“Okay guys, it’s that time again,” Ms. Maybee told her fourth-grade class. “That moment you lie awake at night dreaming about! Yes, you guessed it—it’s time to get out your history textbooks!”
Most of the kids groaned.
“Don’t give me that,” Ms. Maybee said, laughing. “You thought Abraham Lincoln was going to be boring, right? And look how much fun he turned out to be!”
That was true. The class did like Abe Lincoln.
“Well, today we meet another great American,” Ms. Maybee told the class. “One of my personal favorites: Abigail Adams!”
Doc said.
Kids looked at Doc, stunned. He used to complain louder than anyone when it was time to learn history.
“Good for you, Doc,” said Ms. Maybee. “And what can you tell us about her? What is Abigail Adams famous for?”
Doc looked to Abby, his stepsister, hoping for help.
She shrugged.
“I could tell you,” Doc said. “But won’t it be more fun if we all learn together?”
Ms. Maybee smiled. “In other words, you have no idea.”
“Not a clue,” Doc said.
“We’ll learn together then,” Ms. Maybee said, pointing to the textbook on Doc’s desk. “Page sixty-five, right at the top.”
All the kids opened their books to page sixty-five. The heading said:
There was a painting of the city of Washington in the early 1800s. The White House was there, but not much else—just fields and trees.
Doc began to read aloud:
“Very funny,” Ms. Maybee said. “Only, please note that I’m not actually laughing.”
“What’d I do?” Doc asked.
“Just read what the book says.”
“I am,” Doc said.
“He is,” Abby said.
Other kids nodded. All their books said the same thing.
Ms. Maybee checked her copy of the book. “Huh, you’re right. I’m sorry, Doc, please continue.”
Doc read:
“Keep reading, Doc!” someone called from the back of the room.
Doc turned to the next page. “That’s all it says about her.”
“Where’d she go?” another kid asked.
“Did she become a pirate?”
“I don’t know,” Ms. Maybee said. “I mean, I’m glad you’re all so excited about history. But I have to tell you, I don’t remember this story at all.”
Because this story had never happened before. It’s not how history was supposed to go.
Doc and Abby looked at each other. “Oh, no,” Abby whispered.
Text copyright © 2018 by Steve Sheinkin
Illustrations copyright © 2018 by Neil Swaab
