The Dominion of Canada’s first parliament looks like a dream come true as it meets in November 1867.

      Agnes was learning about married life in a cramped house, shared with her mother and her brother, Macdonald’s secretary, Hewitt Bernard. Sometimes she misread her husband’s mood: once, he lost his temper when she teased him, and actually ordered her out of the room — although “the good old boy” quickly called her back. She tried to be an attentive spouse: Macdonald, she recognized, was “so busy and so much older than I that I would soon fall out of his life if I went my own ways.” Agnes had enough self-knowledge to realize that her pride in being “the instrument of so much improvement” was partly “a love of power.” She tried to ban politics on Sundays and chivvied her exhausted husband to attend church, but she abandoned her campaign for daily morning prayers: “Sir John rises late — it is his only quiet time … he ought not to forego it.”

      Macdonald was still more likely to turn for support to the bottle than to his bride. In January 1868, Agnes enigmatically noted “a rather trying week,” leading her to give up wine “for example’s sake.” The root problem, as their doctor warned, was that Macdonald was “working himself to death.” Ottawa’s primitive infrastructure also threatened his health: the Macdonalds’ cesspit froze, causing an “insufferable” smell from blocked sewage. Late in February 1868, Canada’s first prime minister told Alexander Campbell he was close to quitting. Campbell tried to cheer him: because Macdonald was “a little depressed,” he was considering an option “which in moments of more robust health you would not contemplate.” Campbell hoped Macdonald would not retire, “but if on mature consideration … you should really set about such a move,” the obvious answer was to appoint himself lieutenant-governor of Ontario. The job would provide “ease and quiet” and, equally important, it would remove Macdonald from Ottawa. “You have filled too large a space in our horizon to adopt the plan of occupying an independent seat in Parliament — of necessity, you must either lead for the government or opposition.” It was the first attempt to find a way out for the politician who dominated public life. A career as a lawyer was no longer attractive, and he did not wish to become a judge. When well-wishers suggested he should appoint himself to the judicial bench, he replied that he would rather go to Hell. The exit strategy problem was never solved, and Sir John A. Macdonald carried on until he died.

      When Parliament was sitting, Agnes waited up to welcome her husband back from late-night sittings. Macdonald was in “cheery” form when he came home around 2:00 a.m. on April 7, 1868, full of a ringing speech by D’Arcy McGee pleading for harmony with the discontented Nova Scotians. Suddenly “a low, rapid knocking at the front door” brought terrible news: McGee had been shot dead by terrorists. Hours of horror and days of fear ensued. “John’s face was white with fatigue, sleeplessness and regret,” Agnes wrote, but “he never gave in or complained.” The tragedy brought them close together: within a few weeks, Agnes was pregnant.

      Political insecurities abounded. In February and March 1868, the still-resentful Cartier explored the possibility of an alliance with George Brown. The feelers lapsed because Brown was busy expanding the Globe, but it triggered unsettling rumours. There was friction too with Sandfield Macdonald in Ontario. Foreseeing tensions between centre and periphery, Sir John A. made it clear that he would strike down objectionable provincial laws. “By a firm yet patient course, I think the Dominion must win in the long run.” Sandfield complained that he was not consulted on important matters, yet it was his namesake who was blamed when the Ontario government controversially decided to axe grants to denominational colleges. Sir John privately denounced Sandfield as “bigoted and exceedingly narrow-minded” on the issue, but he confessed himself “quite powerless in the matter,” even though the funding cut impacted upon Queen’s, in his Kingston riding. The Ontario government, he admitted, was “very jealous of anything like dictation on our part.” Meanwhile, the Globe denounced Sandfield as Ottawa’s puppet.

      Nova Scotia remained the main challenge. Macdonald sought to avoid confrontation but aimed to seize the right moment to seek compromise, branding Tupper’s plans to barnstorm the province with pro-Confederation oratory as “zeal without discretion.” Nova Scotian political culture worked in his favour: Bluenoses were vocally loyal to Britain, preferring, as Joseph Howe put it, London under John Bull to Ottawa under Jack Frost. But when John Bull refused to release them from Confederation, they faced a choice between revolution and compromise. Nova Scotia had rejected revolution in 1776, and Howe was too old to fight now. Everything depended on timing, and John A. Macdonald was an expert at combining long periods of patience with sudden bursts of decisive activity.

      The moment of greatest danger also presented the best opportunity to seek agreement. In August 1868, anti-Confederation members of the Dominion and provincial legislatures gathered in Halifax in an ominously titled “convention,” which might even declare Nova Scotian independence. Hastily, Sir John A. Macdonald assembled a high-powered delegation, with Sandfield as his prize exhibit — the former opponent of Confederation who was now running the Dominion’s largest province. Agnes came along too. Although her pregnancy was only confirmed after her return (“the Blessing from on high, has been with us,” as she put it), she had felt queasy back in June, but blamed the sultry Ottawa climate. Her presence signalled that Macdonald had come in friendship. The “convention” failed to trap the visitors into formal negotiations, as if they represented a foreign power,