I became interested in writing about the Beecher-Tilton scandal of the Reconstruction era while teaching a graduate seminar on US history at the University of Puerto Rico. At first my students didn’t seem too interested in the 1875 trial of the most famous preacher in the United States, Henry Ward Beecher, for adultery with Elizabeth Tilton, the wife of journalist Theodore Tilton. Once I mentioned that the scandal had some similarities to Bill Clinton’s impeachment for the alleged cover-up of sexual intimacies with Monica Lewinsky, they began to participate actively in the discussion. A young man said that both the president and the reverend survived the scandal. Yeah, said a young woman, but what about Monica and Elizabeth? Her question reverberated in my mind. If Monica had a rough time with cyber-bullying, what did a woman named as correspondent in a famous adultery trial in the nineteenth century have to endure?

I began to dig into historical studies on the Beecher-Tilton scandal. Many of these studies picture Elizabeth as a weak personality, a woman who gave in to both her husband and her lover and couldn’t keep her story straight. As I read more about the Victorian code of conduct for women, I suspected that this version of her character was not only simplistic but borderline misogynistic. I attempted to come to grips with the challenges Elizabeth faced because of gender inequality in an article I wrote for a history journal, but I wasn’t satisfied. It was then that I began to suspect that the best way to tell Elizabeth’s story and restore her rightful place in history would be to write a novel telling the story of the scandal from her perspective.

*Trials of Intimacy: Love and Loss in the Beecher-Tilton Scandal* by Richard Wightman

Historians rely heavily on conventional sources—primarily the written word. Whose versions of the facts are reflected in most written records from the past? The overwhelming majority of such records are by and about men for the simple reason that men had access to power and position. Not only were women often left out, but also people of both sexes outside the circles of power, such as slaves, minority groups, the poor and uneducated. Some historians have taken on the task of unearthing records that reveal perspectives of the less powerful, which helps us envision a more complete picture of our human past. Regarding Elizabeth’s story, I am particularly grateful to Richard Wightman Fox who included Elizabeth’s personal letters to her husband in his book Trials of Intimacy: Love and Loss in the Beecher-Tilton Scandal.

Elizabeth’s letters, which her husband published in the press without her permission, are very important, because, unlike Henry and Theodore, she was a private person, a housewife and mother who did not have a public platform. Moreover, the two men testified at length in the trial in 1875 and she was not called to the stand. The other keys to her point of view are her testimony during the church investigation and the testimony of those who spoke of her in their testimony at the trial. For me her personal letters are the most revealing of all, the source material that became the bedrock upon which to build her character.

Once I decided to write a novel, I had to immerse myself once again in the historical sources. This second time I was not concentrating on social issues, but rereading to become closer to the characters, submerging myself in the feelings and thoughts of Elizabeth and her two lovers until they became as familiar to me as my friends and family. I began imagining scenes in which the main characters spoke to one another, bits of dialog coming to me at odd hours.

Viewing the scandal from Elizabeth’s perspective made me sensitive to the fact that women of her time were truly the “second sex” excluded from decision-making. She had to adopt indirect strategies with the hope of being able to influence the men in her life to avoid the pitfalls of open public conflict that could ruin them all. This woman, who has often been dismissed as a passive victim, had used every resource at her disposal in her fight to protect the careers of both her husband and her lover as well as defend herself against public condemnation and possible loss of everything meaningful in her life, including her children.

Elizabeth’s perspective made me sensitive not only to the complexity of the challenges she faced, but also those of her two lovers. The role of Henry in the scandal can be dismissed as a minister seducing a loyal parishioner. Theodore can be labeled a hypocrite who championed women’s rights and free love in public but upheld the double standard in private. Elizabeth had a more nuanced view of the character of each of her two lovers and her forgiving nature perceived both noble and selfish motives. She understood the importance of career and the defense of male honor in the ethos of her time, but it was difficult to accept her husband’s decision to sacrifice her reputation to save his own. Her point of view provided the perfect building block upon which to construct the edifice of my historical novel Unruly Human Hearts about love and loyalty as well as betrayal.