Jefferson's Sons (10 page)

“Really?” said Beverly. This was the first he'd heard such a thing—or maybe he'd heard it but not paid attention. “He's going to quit being president?”

Mama laughed. “He can't be president forever,” she said. “He'll have finished two terms—eight years, that's plenty. He's earned his retirement.”

“Is he going to go to France again, or anywhere like that?”

“No,” said Mama. “He's going to just stay here. He won't work anymore. He might visit to his farm near Bedford sometimes, but that'll be all.”

Beverly bit his lip to hold back his smile. He imagined life at Monticello with Master Jefferson always there. They wouldn't have nearly as many visitors—no Miss Martha, at least not most of the time. The mountaintop would be quiet the way it was now. Master Jefferson would ride his horse, write his letters, and eat dinner every day at three o'clock. But he'd also have time to be with them, his other family.

“Maybe he'll teach me,” Beverly said, thinking of his violin. “He won't want to keep paying Jesse Scott, not when he's here and doesn't have anything better to do.”

“I wouldn't count on that,” said Mama.

“He liked my playing,” Beverly continued. Master Jefferson had listened to him one day in April. “He said—he said he was proud.”

“I know he's proud,” Mama said, “But, Beverly—”

“Of course I'll be busy too,” he said. “I'll be working. But we'll have time, if he's here always. Won't be any kind of rush.”

It was a sore spot with him, that he'd turned ten and still not been given a real job. He was old enough to be a nail boy, but Joe Fossett didn't have room for him at the anvils. If Joe kicked an almost-grown boy out to make room for Beverly, the boy would have to go to the ground, which meant he would be sent to work in the fields. Fieldwork was hard, hard, and once you started there, you never did anything else. Joe hoped he could persuade Master Jefferson to let some of the current nail boys continue working on the mountaintop, so he had told Beverly to be patient and wait his turn.

A year, Beverly thought now. One year until Master Jefferson would be home to stay. It felt like forever. He would be patient, because he had no choice.

“I know you need a job,” Mama was saying. “More than that, you need a trade. A way to earn a respectable living, once you're free and on your own. It's time we started thinking about it. What do you like to do? I never saw you for a blacksmith.”

Beverly blinked. He'd never thought about what he wanted to do. He'd never thought beyond being a nail boy. Mama was right—he didn't really want to be a blacksmith.

“What do you like?” Mama persisted. “What feels good under your hands? Horses? Plants? Wood?”

Beverly thought she meant firewood, and shook his head. “And not dishes either,” he said.

Mama sighed. “Who do you like working with, besides Joe Fossett?”

Beverly thought. He liked helping Burwell when Burwell was in a good mood, but not when Burwell was cranky. He liked Wormley—but he didn't like weeding the garden, and plants didn't make him happy.

“Uncle John,” Beverly said. Uncle John always seemed patient and calm. His hands were wide and strong. Beverly loved to watch John carve curves and angles into golden pieces of wood. He loved smooth boards, and the smell of fresh shavings.

Mama nodded. “When Master Jefferson comes this summer, I'll speak to him,” she said. “For now go help Uncle Peter. And don't you give me that look.”

 

Little baby Eston learned to smile before Master Jefferson's summer visit. He smiled
at
Master Jefferson—Mama snuck them all into Master Jefferson's room early one morning, so they could help her show Master Jefferson the baby—and Master Jefferson laughed. Beverly felt a bolt of jealousy. It was silly to be jealous of his baby brother, but he felt jealous all the same.

But then Master Jefferson turned to Beverly. “So,” he said, “I hear it's time we put you to work. Time you learned a trade, your mama says.”

Beverly stood tall. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“She tells me you have an aptitude for woodworking,” Master Jefferson said.

Beverly didn't know what
aptitude
meant, but it sounded good. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Master Jefferson smiled. His smile looked so much like baby Eston's that Beverly smiled back without even thinking.

“Good,” Master Jefferson said. “Carpentry's a fine craft, a respectable occupation for any man. We'll put you with John, shall we? He'll be working on his own now, head carpenter. Dismore's going back to Ireland.”

Beverly felt a small thrill. His father wanted him to have a respectable occupation. His father cared. “I'll work hard,” he promised. He wanted to add,
I'll make you proud,
but, before he could, Mama had taken his arm, and hustled them all away.

 

At first being a carpenter's apprentice felt exactly like being an errand boy. All he did was sweep wood shavings and fetch and carry for Uncle John. It was true that working with Uncle John had a steady pleasantness to it. Unlike Uncle Peter, Uncle John never lost his temper and snapped angry words. He whistled sometimes, especially when he was particularly pleased with his work, but even on days he didn't whistle he seemed content. Every morning, his eyes lit up a little bit when Beverly came into the shop, and Beverly started to treasure that look, that small glow of happiness. It was nice to know Uncle John liked having him there.

Still, he wanted to do useful work, cutting and sawing and fitting together. When he said so, Uncle John smiled. “Sweeping up the shavings is about as useful as it gets,” he said. “Awful mess, those shavings make. They blow into all the carpets and bedrooms, Miss Martha like to has a fit.”

They were working on something called cornices, which were a kind of fancy wood trim around the top of the walls, doorways, and windows. Master Jefferson and Uncle John together had designed them.

“I don't know why Miss Martha cares,” Beverly said. “It's not her business. It's not her house—”

“I'm mighty glad she comes here,” Uncle John said with a soft smile.

Beverly looked at him in wonderment. Who on earth was glad to see Miss Martha? All her fuss—then Beverly understood. Uncle John's wife, Aunt Priscilla, belonged to Miss Martha. She took care of all Miss Martha's children. When Miss Martha was gone from Monticello, Aunt Priscilla was gone too. “Well, sure,” Beverly said. “I didn't mean—”

“Oh, I know you didn't,” Uncle John said. “But it's like they say, no great loss without some gain. I do the gaining, when Miss Martha's here.”

Miss Edith and Joe Fossett's son, James, had grown to be a great big boy, as much of a handful as Maddy. Maddy and James spent the whole month of July digging in dirt piles and terrorizing chickens. Maddy sobbed when James went back to Washington. Harriet wasn't very happy, either. It had become her job to take care of Maddy whenever Mama was busy, which, with the new baby, was much of the time, and Maddy was easier to manage when he had James.

One day in early fall Beverly was sweeping the parlor floor for the third time that day when Maddy bolted into the room. “Bev'ly!” he shouted. “Bev'ly!”

“Maddy!” Beverly grabbed him. Maddy's little feet were still tender, and Beverly didn't want him catching a splinter. “What are you doing here? Where's Harriet?”

“No Here-yet,” Maddy said. He couldn't say
Harriet
.

“No here yet?” Beverly teased him. “Harriet's not here?”

Maddy laughed, even though he didn't really understand. Beverly swung him around, and Maddy laughed again.

“More!” he shouted. “More, Bev'ly! Swing me again!”

Beverly swung him around and around. When he stopped the walls kept going. He sat down, Maddy on his lap, laughing and breathing hard.

“Maddy, come here.” Harriet marched into the room looking cross. “Mama wants you. Naptime.” Now that Miss Martha and her children were gone, Harriet had dropped her ladylike ways and reverted to looking wild, her hair escaping in curling locks out of her two braids, her bare feet and arms smudged with dirt.

“No,” Maddy said.

“Yes.” Harriet held out her arms.

“No, no, NO!” Maddy shouted. He threw himself against Beverly.

“Yes!” said Harriet. “I told you, Mama said!”

“Nooo!” Maddy wailed, clinging to Beverly.

“Here, now.” Uncle John set down his chisel and came up behind them. “Come to Uncle John, Maddy boy.”

Maddy let go of Beverly's shirt and launched himself at Uncle John. He buried his head against Uncle John's chest. “No nap,” he said.

“No, no,” Uncle John said, soothing. “I'll just take you on home now, to your mama, and maybe we'll lay down for a spell. Give Beverly a kiss.” Maddy kissed Beverly wet on the mouth. Harriet laughed. “Come with me, Miss Harriet,” Uncle John said. “Beverly, you can finish that floor. Come, Maddy, my sweet boy.” Uncle John's voice dropped to a whisper. “Come, we'll walk, we'll lay down.” He went out with Maddy cradled in his arms.

Uncle John and Aunt Priscilla didn't have any children of their own. It was, Mama said, the world's greatest shame.

Beverly looked at Harriet. “Go on,” he said. “Go with them. Uncle John said.”

Harriet tossed her braids. “I'm tired of watching Maddy,” she said. “He's being awful today. He will not behave.”

“I'll watch him,” Beverly said. “You can stay here and do my work instead. It's harder than playing with Maddy, that's for sure.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, hard work,” she said. “I'll tell Mama you said sweeping the floor was hard.”

“It is,” Beverly said. “You try it and see.”

“It is not. You want to switch places? I will.”

“No. Watching babies is girl's work. Carpentry is for men.”

“See!” she said. “You know my job's harder. That's why you won't switch!”

“Is not!”

“Is so!”

Harriet wouldn't let up. By the time Uncle John returned they were shouting at each other nose to nose. Beverly had never hit Harriet—Mama would skin him alive—but he'd never come closer.

“Children!”
Uncle John shouted, in a voice of outrage.

Beverly jumped. So did Harriet. They hadn't known Uncle John could sound like that.

Uncle John marched over and grabbed them both by the shoulders. “You must never, ever, yell at each other like that,” he said. “You are
family
. Don't you know what that means?”

“Yeah,” muttered Harriet. “Means I'm stuck with him.”

Uncle John shook her shoulder. “Means you are
privileged
to have each other,” he said. “Means you are
lucky,
to live together on this farm. Means you love and take care of each other
always
.”

Beverly didn't know what had gotten into Uncle John. “Some privilege,” he said.

Uncle John acted like he didn't hear. “Right now you have each other,” he continued. “You don't know how long that's going to last. You've got to love each other all you can. You never know what might happen.”

“What's going to happen?” Beverly asked. “Nothing's going to happen.”

“I wish something would happen,” Harriet said. “To
him
.”

Uncle John grew sterner still. “You, Harriet, don't you ever wish evil on anybody else. And Beverly, what? You think you're God? You know when folks'll live and when they'll die? Your mama's buried three babies, don't you forget that.”

Of course Beverly hadn't forgotten that, but it wasn't what he meant. And Harriet wasn't a baby.

“And you're enslaved,” Uncle John said. “You're special, both of you, and your brothers too, on account of who your daddy is. If you don't know that yet, you will soon. I don't reckon anybody's going to sell you. But you're still born into slavery, so you never know. Do you hear me? You never know. Anything could happen—Master Jefferson could die all of a sudden. You'd belong to Miss Martha then, and heaven knows what she would do.

“You think I like having my wife working at Miss Martha's beck and call? You think I don't wish we had a home of our own? But I can't do anything about that. All I can do is let my wife know how much I love her, every minute that I'm with her. All I can do is never let a drop of bitterness or anger toward her touch my heart. Wherever my wife goes, she knows I love her. She carries my love as a sure thing.

“You can't sell love. You can't steal it. It can't run away. You two, you'd better learn this. I don't want to hear anything between you except love. Not
ever
. You got that?”

Beverly got that he'd never heard Uncle John say so many words at one time in his life.

“I'm waiting,” Uncle John said. He gave their shoulders another hard shake.

“Yes, sir,” Beverly said. “We got it.”

“Yes, sir,” echoed Harriet.

“Kiss and make up, and then go get something to eat. Peter's just pulled bread out of the oven.”

Beverly kissed Harriet because he had to, but he didn't like it. He stalked out of the room. He hated being yelled at.

“Beverly? Beverly, wait!”

It was Harriet. Beverly stopped in his tracks, heaved his shoulders, and sighed. He didn't turn around. But when she slipped her hand into his, he grabbed it, and held it all the way to the kitchen.