The Memento

By James Gonda.

Historical note: General Marquis de Lafayette’s tour of America in 1824-1825 was a grand and emotional journey, celebrating his role in the American Revolution and the enduring bond between France and the United States. Invited by President James Monroe, Lafayette returned to the country he had helped free nearly 50 years earlier. Over 13 months, he visited all 24 states, receiving a hero’s welcome at every stop. The tour culminated in a farewell dinner at the White House with President John Quincy Adams, creating a renewed sense of national pride and historical connection.

June 11, 1825

THE CARRIAGE RUMBLED to a stop in front of a stone farmhouse. Its wheels crunched over the gravel drive. General Marquis de Lafayette, in his late sixties now, stepped down. Gray streaked through his once-auburn hair, and his movements, albeit slower, still retained the grace of a nobleman. He surveyed the simple yet well-kept surroundings. A split rail fence bordered the property. Chickens pecked at the ground. A dog lounged on the porch.

He had visited many grand homes and bustling cities on his tour across America, but it was in places like this, Rotterdam Junction, where he felt the true spirit of the nation. This was where the Revolution had left its deepest mark: in the hearts of ordinary people who had risked everything for the chance of freedom.

The front door opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped out. She wiped her hands on her apron. “General Lafayette!” she greeted. “It’s an honor to have you here.”

“The honor is all mine, Mrs. Mabee,” he replied, his French accent still thick. He bowed slightly. “I am grateful for your hospitality. And please forgive my tardiness.”

Mrs. Mabee gestured for him to follow her inside. He obliged, mindful of his head as he passed through the low doorway. The interior was simple but cozy. Wooden beams spanned overhead, and a fire crackled in the Dutch hearth. Bread, cheese, and a pot of steaming stew occupied a large table in the room’s center.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Mabee said. She motioned to a chair. “My husband will be in soon. He’s finishing up outside.”

Lafayette nodded and took a seat at the table. He glanced around the room. His eyes landed on the fireplace mantel. There, among a few books and a pair of candlesticks, was a small, tarnished metal box. Before long the door creaked open and a solid, broad-shouldered man entered.

“General Lafayette!” Mr. Mabee exclaimed. He wiped sweat from his brow and hurried over. He broke into a wide grin. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

Lafayette stood and extended his hand, which Mr. Mabee shook vigorously. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mabee. I hope I’m not imposing.”

“No, sir! We’re thrilled to have you.” Mr. Mabee motioned for Lafayette to sit again. “Please . . . we’ve prepared a little something.”

As they settled at the table, Mrs. Mabee doled out the stew, ladling portions into each bowl. The conversation was lively and warm, filled with stories of the farm, the village, and the couple’s grown children who had moved to Schenectady. Lafayette found himself at ease. “I must say,” he said, “your written invitation was one of the most stirring on this tour. It hinted at something deeper . . . .”  

Mr. Mabee shifted in his chair. “We weren’t sure you’d even read it, General. We thought with all the big receptions, you might not have time for folks like us.”

Lafayette shook his head. “It’s families like yours that remind me what we fought for. I could not pass through without meeting you.”

As the dinner wound down, Mr. Mabee’s expression grew more serious. He cleared his throat. His gaze shifted to the small metal box on the mantel. “There’s something we want to give you, General,” he said. “It’s not much, but it means a lot to us.”

Mrs. Mabee rose from her chair, retrieved the box, and brought it to the table. She placed it in front of their guest. He studied it for a short time before lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in a scrap of velvet, was a pewter button—a military uniform button, discolored but still recognizable, embossed with 1BP. Lafayette picked it up. “This is from the Continental Army,” he said. “1BP is the First Pennsylvania Battalion.”  

Mr. Mabee nodded. “It belonged to my Uncle Dirck. His branch of the family lives near Chadds Ford. He fought at the Battle of Brandywine, with you.”

Memories came flooding back to the General. He had fought beside countless men during the war, but some faces—some names—stood out more than others. Dirck Mabee had been one of them—a young man, full of courage and determination. But Dirck had not survived; he had given his life for American independence.

“I do remember your uncle,” Lafayette mused. “He was a brave soldier, and a good man.”

Mr. Mabee added, “We’re told he spoke highly of you, as an inspiration to him and the other men. His widow—my aunt—gave us this button. He died before they had children. She said it’s a reminder of who he was and what he fought for.”

Lafayette swallowed hard, his heart heavy with the weight of their loss. He had been honored with medals and accolades, but this small, simple token—a button from a soldier’s uniform—meant more than any of those grand gestures.

“I am deeply moved by this gift,” Lafayette said. “Your uncle’s sacrifice, and the sacrifices of all who fought, are not forgotten. This button . . . as your aunt said, is a tangible piece of the Revolution. His gaze lingered on the button. “But I cannot accept it.” He returned it to the box, closed the lid, and pushed it back toward Mr. Mabee. “This item belongs to your family, it’s part of your history. I am honored to hold it for a moment but cannot take it from you.”

Mr. Mabee’s expression hardened with determination. He slid the box back toward Lafayette. “General, with all due respect, it’s because of men like you that we have a history to honor. This button . . . is more than a piece of our family’s past. It’s a symbol of what you helped achieve. Please, take it. It would mean more to us, knowing it’s with you.”

“I understand your sentiment, truly I do,” he said. “But this button is all you have of your uncle. It’s a keepsake. I cannot, in good conscience, take it away.”   Mrs. Mabee stepped forward. “General, we want you to have it,” she said softly. “Uncle Dirck gave his life for this country. We want you to carry his memory. It’s our way of saying thank you, for everything.”

Lafayette saw the resolve in their faces, the sincerity in their eyes, and realized then the button was a shared bond, forged in the fires of war and tempered by the passage of time. With a deep breath, he nodded. “I will treasure it always,” he said. He carefully tucked the button into his pocket. The Mabees managed a smile, and a profound silence filled the room.

AS LAFAYETTE CLIMBED into his carriage to leave, the air felt sharper, the landscape more vivid, infused with the same promise that once spurred a young soldier from across the seas. He turned one last time and offered a salute to the couple who had entrusted him with a family heirloom. He would carry it with the same pride and duty that drew him to America all those years ago.