Jefferson's Sons (24 page)

“Master Jefferson thought so highly of Robert and James that when he returned from France he set them both free.”

Mama stopped for a moment. She stared hard at her knitting, as if she had dropped a stitch. “What happened?” Maddy prompted.

Mama looked up. “They left. They went away from Monticello to live their own lives. James found trouble; he's dead now. But I think Robert is still alive. He was in Richmond with a wife and children. I don't hear from him. He doesn't come back here.”

“But that's okay, isn't it?” Eston said. “If he's free, he's allowed to live in Richmond.”

“Yes,” Mama said. “He can live wherever he wants. That's what freedom means. The problem was, Master Jefferson set James and Robert free because he thought they were his friends. He thought that when Robert and James were free they'd keep on at Monticello forever, that nothing would change except that he'd pay them. He didn't understand that freedom was bigger than that to them. They did like Master Jefferson—sure they did. But they loved being free.

“It upset Master Jefferson when they left. It hurt his feelings.”

“They weren't trying to upset him,” Eston said.

“They weren't,” Mama said. “Master Jefferson didn't understand what it's like to live under somebody else's control. He still doesn't; he never will. That was the last time he ever set anyone free.”

Maddy said, “Is that why he won't make you free?” It was a bold question, but Maddy had to ask it. “You always say we'll be free, but never you. If he cares about you—”

“He does,” Mama said quickly. “He does care about me. I know that. But he'll never set me free.” She dropped her knitting into her lap and leaned forward. “If he did, it would have to be recorded at the courthouse. The records are filed where anyone can read them. Newspapers would find out, and there'd be talk. There's already talk, but it would be worse. Free papers would be proof, in some people's minds.”

“So?” Maddy asked. Mr. Wayles was Mama's daddy. Captain Hemings had been Grandma's daddy. There were white daddies everywhere.

“It would stain his reputation,” Mama said. “We've been over this before. A president, a leader of the revolution, an important man in history—he's not supposed to have children with a woman he owns.”

“But it is okay that he owns people?” Maddy said. “That he sells little boys?”

“You wouldn't think so,” Mama said. “I can't explain it. I don't think it's okay, but some people do.”

Maddy thought of the story Harriet was always telling them, about Great-grandma being kidnapped in Africa. “What's the difference,” he asked, “between the men that kidnapped Great-grandma, and Master Jefferson? They took her away from her family. Master Jefferson took James away from his.”

Mama thought for a moment, and then spoke slowly, as though choosing her words with care. “Master Jefferson would think it impossible that he could be in any way compared to a slave trader. He would say that he's a gentleman, an educated man. He would say that he works for the good of his country, and therefore for the good of all Americans. He'd say he's a farmer, a landowner. He wouldn't understand how you could possibly ask such a question.”

“What would you say, Mama?” Eston asked.

Mama thought for a while again. “I'd say Master Jefferson avoids causing pain to anyone where he can see it,” she said. “But if he can't see it, or won't see it, he doesn't think the pain he causes is real.”

Mama continued, “I would say that slave catchers—the ones who kidnapped Great-grandma—are the lowest of the low. The ships, the whips—I don't know what that's like, thank mercy. Never in my life have I been hit, or physically harmed.”

Mama sighed, and picked her knitting up again before she went on. “I've had a comfortable life,” she said. “I don't work very hard and I'm never hungry or cold. I have four healthy children and I am treated well.

“But it's not freedom. Sometimes it looks pretty close to freedom. Sometimes it feels okay. Then something happens like with James, and I'm reminded all over again that we live in a prison on this mountain. It's a prison no matter how comfortable it may appear. You children will be free. That's the joy of my life, the one thing I hold to. You will be free.”

Mama sat quiet. Eston huddled closer to Maddy. Maddy thought for a moment of Harriet, of the bright little sons and daughters she said she wanted to have. Free.

“Your father acts the same with money,” Mama said. “If his debts aren't right in front of him, it's as though they don't exist, as though it doesn't matter how much he spends every day. He knows Miss Martha or Mister Jeff will have to pay whatever he owes once he's gone—but that doesn't change how he behaves. He orders his life the way he wants it, no matter what it costs other people, even other people he believes he loves.

“All of the good things about him,” Mama said, “president, patriot, gentleman. Educated and intelligent man—those are all true too. He's done many great things. I hope you can be proud of that part of him.”

Maddy snorted. After James, he would never be proud of his father again.

 

Jesse Scott gave Maddy a long, difficult piece to learn on the violin. It sounded like grief, like the wind sobbing, and he played it over and over except when little Peter Fossett couldn't sleep. Then he played dance tunes to make the baby laugh.

When it was Eston's turn with the violin he played “Money Musk.” Maddy told him to stop. “I hate that song. I don't ever want to hear it again.”

“You can't tell me what to play,” Eston said. “I'm sad too. I want to play happy.”

“It's his song,” Maddy said. “I don't want to hear it.”

“It's
my
song,” Eston said. “It used to be his, but now it's mine. And just because you hate him doesn't mean I have to.”

“How can you not hate him?” Maddy asked.

Eston shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I don't like hating,” he said. “It makes me feel bad.”

The first Sunday after James was sold, sleet fell in driving sheets the whole day long. James didn't come home. No one expected him to, not with a three-mile walk in such horrible weather, but when Maddy went into the kitchen at noon to get something to eat, Miss Edith swung around from the hearth, hope lighting her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Maddy said. “It's just me.”

Miss Edith gave a short laugh. “Oh, I know I raised him smart enough to stay out of the rain,” she said. “We'll see him next Sunday, I'm sure.”

They did. James was skinnier and dirtier. His shirt was torn. His face looked closed, almost wary. He cuddled Peter on his lap in the kitchen while his sister Maria mended his shirt, and Miss Edith made Sunday dinner for the great house.

“Aren't they feeding you?” Miss Edith asked. She pushed a plate of chicken toward James. “That's from yesterday. Eat it.”

James pushed the plate toward Maddy. Maddy loved chicken, but he shook his head. He hadn't thought James would look hungry.

“They give out plenty of food,” James said between mouthfuls. “It's just not good food, not like here. Since Master Randolph rides over here for dinner most nights they don't bother keeping much of a cook. All the hands are on their own. I get my week's allotment, cornmeal and half a pound of fatback and salt. Couple of salt fish. Like the field hands here. They gave me a pot too. I handed it over to one of the women, and she cooks for me in exchange.” James snorted. “Which is good, because if I had to cook for myself, I'd probably starve.”

Miss Edith pushed another bowl toward James. Mashed turnips, flavored with pieces of bacon. This time, when James offered it to Maddy, Maddy did take a bite.

“What's the forge like there?” Maddy asked.

James didn't raise his eyes. “Master Randolph doesn't have a forge. Doesn't need one, he sends his work here.” He looked up. “I got put to ground.” James scooped another spoonful of turnips. Miss Edith poured him a glass of milk. “How's the carpentry shop?”

“Pretty good,” Maddy said. “We're working on a set of chairs.”

“That's nice,” said James. He turned and spoke to one of his sisters.

Maddy looked at James's thin shoulders, his grimy shirt. He felt ashamed of becoming a carpenter while James had to work in a field. It wasn't his fault, but he still felt ashamed.

Just before James left Maddy pulled him aside. “I'll take care of Peter for you,” he said. “I'll be good to him, and I'll make sure he knows all about you. You'll see him a lot, I know, I just—” He stopped. James's eyes were full of tears.

“Thanks,” James said.

“I know you'll be here every week.”

“He looked bigger already,” James said, his voice shaking a little. “He changed so much, in just those two weeks.”

 

Beverly said they couldn't forget, but they could choose to move on. He said anger was like a heavy rock, hard to carry every day. It was easier to get through life if you could set your anger down.

Maddy said if anger was a rock, then he meant to throw it hard. He might hit somebody with it, did he get the chance. Beverly's eyes grew sad, sad. “Won't do any good,” he said.

“Might,” Maddy said.

“Oh, Maddy.” He pulled Maddy tight against him, like Mama did, and kissed the top of his head before Maddy could squirm away.

 

In spring Master Jefferson went for a month to Poplar Forest. The bustle of visitors ceased. When Miss Martha was in charge of the house, she didn't invite everyone in the world to dinner, so Maddy didn't have to stand in the dining room while white folks stared. Burwell traveled with Master Jefferson, but Miss Martha said she'd do just fine with one of the women to wait table, thank you. Beverly and Maddy could go back to Mulberry Row.

“Why doesn't Miss Martha ever go home?” Maddy asked Mama.

“She is home,” Mama said. “She lives here.”

“I mean to Edgehill,” Maddy said. “Her husband's farm. Where James is.”

Mama shook her head. “She doesn't like her husband,” Mama said, “and he's considered a failure. His farm isn't profitable. He can't keep Miss Martha and the children in the style they're accustomed to. Master Jefferson can.”

“How?” asked Maddy. “Everyone says Master Jefferson doesn't have any money either.”

Mama sighed. “He has some,” she said. “The Monticello farms do make money. Mister Jeff manages them well.”

“But everyone says that Master Jefferson spends more than he has. That there's no money, but all sorts of debts to pay, and all that French wine—”

“The wine is the least of it, I assure you—”

“I know, but Mama? If Master Jefferson didn't have to keep Miss Martha's children, could he have afforded to keep James? And if Mr. Randolph doesn't have any money, how could he buy James?”

Mama hugged him. “I don't think selling James was about money. I think Mr. Randolph just wanted another slave.”

“But it doesn't make sense,” Maddy said. “James was going to be a blacksmith. Now he's just a field hand. If Mr. Randolph wanted a field hand, a grown man would have been more useful to him than James.”

“I don't know why he wanted James,” Mama said. “I don't understand it either.”

 

In June, Beverly and Uncle John worked the wheat harvest. Mama insisted Maddy was still too young. It was a bad year. When all the wheat had been ground into flour, and enough for everyone to eat during the year put by, there was hardly any left over to sell.

Wheat was the most profitable crop Monticello grew. Now there would be no wheat money that year. Mama said not to worry. She said worry couldn't change a thing.

 

After a while Maddy did start to feel like his anger was weighing him down. He wanted James back so badly it made his stomach hurt, but sometimes his head throbbed with all the anger inside of it, and more than anything he wanted rest.

Tranquility. Wasn't that what Beverly said?

 

One evening in late summer, as Maddy walked home from the shop, he saw Master Jefferson on the bottom porch step of the great house, using his pocket watch to time his younger grandchildren running laps of the lush green lawn. Miss Mary watched, laughing, holding Tim's little hands, while the boys, James, Lewis, and Ben, raced. Lewis lost, of course; he was littlest. But he tried so hard to catch up to his brothers that when he reached the porch he couldn't stop. He cannoned into Master Jefferson and knocked him down.

Without thinking, Maddy ran. Master Jefferson lay on his side, unmoving, his legs tangled up with Lewis's. The other James Madison began to pull his arm. “Don't touch him,” Maddy yelled. “Don't touch him 'til we know if he's hurt.” He looked at Miss Mary. “Get Burwell!” Mary nodded and ran.

Master Jefferson gasped and wheezed and clutched his belly.

“Grandpa,” said the other James Madison, sounding panicked. “Grandpa!”

Maddy remembered when Eston had fallen off a chair and caught the edge of a table on his stomach. “He's knocked the air out of himself,” he said. It was frightening but not dangerous. “You've knocked the air out, right, sir?”

Master Jefferson nodded. He looked like he was starting to breathe again. Maddy knelt beside him, relieved. The other James Madison hauled Lewis up. After another minute, Master Jefferson rose shakily to his feet. He waved off Burwell, who had started to run from the house.