Jefferson's Sons (25 page)

“No need to fuss,” he said.

“We were worried, sir,” the other James Madison said. He glared at Lewis, who started to sob. “You're too old to fall down.”

“Too old! Why, I should hope not.” He rumpled the other James Madison's hair, and smiled just a bit at Maddy. “You don't think I'm old, do you?” he asked Maddy.

Maddy looked at the wrinkles on Master Jefferson's face, and the age spots on his long hands; he could see how frail and thin Master Jefferson was. “I'm glad you're all right, sir,” he said.

“A diplomat.” Master Jefferson chuckled. “Very good. Thank you for that answer.”

Maddy walked home, more confused than ever. He guessed he'd managed to set some of his anger down after all. He'd just rushed to help the man who sold James.

 

“You rushed to help your elderly father,” Beverly said, later, when Maddy told him about it. “That's a good thing. You can't change him, but you can decide what kind of person you're going to be.”

Maddy shook his head. His elderly father. The man who sold James. How could Master Jefferson be both?

What did Master Jefferson see when he looked at Maddy? His son, or his slave?

At the start of September, Uncle John came into the woodshop whistling a happy tune. “I'm taking a trip to Poplar Forest,” he told Maddy and Beverly. “Leaving this afternoon. Master Jefferson's got a bunch of work for me there, and he wants me to take the wagon, load it up with wood, and leave today so I can get there ahead of him.”

Maddy knew Master Jefferson had been planning to take Miss Virginia and Miss Ellen there. It made sense to send Uncle John early, since the heavy wagon would travel more slowly than the landau.

Beverly said, “What do you want us to do while you're gone?”

Uncle John grinned. “I don't know quite yet. I guess you'll have to wait until I tell you.” Beverly looked puzzled. Uncle John started to laugh. “I'm taking my two apprentices with me,” he said. “That's what I was told. ‘Take your two apprentices, John, there's a lot of work to do.'”

“We're going to Poplar Forest?” Maddy couldn't believe it. He'd never been farther from Monticello than Charlottesville.

“We'll be gone a couple of weeks. Maddy, you'd best go tell your mama.”

Mama was glad for them. Eston pouted, but that couldn't be helped. Miss Edith packed them a great big basket of food, and they loaded the wagon with wood and tools and set out just after noontime.

It was the most beautiful day. The sky was like an upsidedown bowl, bright blue, covering the whole world as they came down the mountain. As far as Maddy could see there was not one single cloud. The leaves on the top of the mountain had begun to change to gold and brown, but lower down everything was still green, and the sunlight was so clear Maddy had to squint to look at the sky.

Uncle John was in a high mood, and Beverly too. They took turns telling jokes and stories, and they all laughed so hard that once Beverly almost fell out of the wagon. He leaned sideways on the seat, clutching his guts while he laughed, and the wagon bounced into a rut. Beverly fell straight over the edge. Uncle John caught him by the back of his shirt and hauled him back, and then they laughed until they howled.

After a few hours they came to a river spanned by a long bridge. Uncle John halted the horses off the road. “What's wrong?” Maddy asked. “We need some kind of paper to cross that bridge?”

Uncle John shook his head. “What's wrong is my legs are stiff and my seat's gone numb. I need a break, and so do the horses. Get them some water, Maddy. Beverly, oats.” Uncle John walked off behind a bush. Maddy dipped river water into a bucket and watered the horses, then took a long drink himself. Beverly put oats into the horses' nosebags and strapped them into place. Then he got out the basket of food and carried it to the clear spot by the river where Uncle John sat. “Mmm,” Uncle John said. “Smart boy.”

“Can I eat something?” Maddy asked.

“Help yourself.”

“What can I have?”

Uncle John pulled out a corn pone and took a bite. “Anything you want.”

Maddy sat back like Uncle John and let the sunshine warm his legs. He ate a cookie, then an apple, then a hunk of cheese. “This has to last until we get there?” he asked, looking through the rest of the food. “Three days?” The basket was big, but maybe not that big. He'd better slow down.

“Nah, nah, we'll get hot food where we stop,” Uncle John said.

Maddy ate another cookie. On the riverbank, a long-legged bird took flight. Maddy had never seen a bird like it before. “That's a heron,” Uncle John said. “They live near water.” Uncle John lay back and shut his eyes.

Another wagon was crossing the bridge coming toward them. A white man drove it. Maddy nudged Uncle John. “Uncle John,” he said. “Uncle John, there's a white man.”

“Maddy,” Uncle John said, without opening his eyes, “you've seen white men before.”

Maddy whispered, “Don't you have to show him your pass?”

“No, Maddy. I'm not bothering him, he's not going to bother me.” After a moment he added, “Do we look like runaways, with this nice wagon and a load full of wood? Hmm?”

“I thought we always had to show white people a pass.”

“Only if they ask for it. Don't fuss. Anybody'd think you'd never been on the road before.”

Maddy hadn't ever been on the road before. He opened his mouth to say so, but then saw the corner of Uncle John's mouth twitch, so he knew Uncle John was just making fun.

“Beverly hasn't been anywhere either,” Maddy pointed out.

“No, but he's not the one waking me up with his questions.”

“I've got questions,” Beverly said. “I just like to find out the answers myself.”

Uncle John slept. The horses finished their oats, cocked their hips, and dozed. Beverly found a stone and tossed it back and forth to Maddy a few times, and then the two of them went down to the river's edge to try to skip stones, but the river was running too fast. Uncle John called them back, and they went on.

They reached Mr. Nicholas's farm at twilight. Mr. Nicholas was one of Master Jefferson's great friends, a frequent visitor at Monticello. His daughter Jane had just married Mister Jeff. Mr. Nicholas's farm was large and sumptuous, freshly painted, freshly mown, and much finer-looking than Monticello. Uncle John pulled up at the quarters, and the stable man helped them settle the horses, showed them a spare cabin where they could sleep, and took them to the kitchen to eat. Mr. Nicholas's kitchen was not as fancy as the Monticello kitchen, but it was comfortable and the food was very good. Maddy ate two big bowls of beans and ham while Uncle John told all the Monticello news. After that, Mr. Nicholas's people told all the news they knew. It was interesting, but after a while Maddy's eyes grew heavy. He stretched out beneath a bench and fell asleep.

He woke to the sound of logs thudding onto the hearth. He opened his eyes and saw a pair of bare feet. He looked up. The kitchen was flooded with morning light. The cook's assistant, a girl a few years older than Maddy, looked down at him and winked. “Your brother and uncle left you where you lay,” she said. “I wondered if you'd get confused in the night.”

Maddy crawled out from the bench, his arms and legs stiff and cold. “I didn't even move,” he said.

“Yeah, I got a brother your age, he sleeps like the dead. Want coffee?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Be a minute before I get the water boiling. Want biscuits?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You're awful polite, ain't you, you and your brother both.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“You ‘ma'am' me one more time, I won't give you breakfast. Didn't I tell you I got a brother your age?”

“Yes, m—” Maddy bit back the word
ma'am
and grinned at her. “I got a sister your age,” he said.

“Where's she?”

“Home,” he said. “Monticello—she works in the weaving factory. On the farm. And Beverly you met, and Eston, he's littler.”

The girl nodded. She was an ugly girl, with a big ugly scar across one side of her face, but she was smart, Maddy could tell. “Lucky you, still together,” she said. “My brother's on a farm near Appomattox. There's a tavern you might stop at near there, an' if you do, tell one of the yard boys to tell him I say hey. Will you? Tell him I'm fine, tell him the burn's healed up all right.” She touched her cheek, where the scar was. “I was leaning over the fire and something popped. Hit me right here. Got infected, so I was sick a long time.”

Maddy nodded. “I'll tell Uncle John, and he'll be sure we stop to give the message. He'll know the tavern.”

The girl smiled. “Much obliged.”

 

They spent three and a half days and three nights on the road, the second and third nights at taverns. They weren't allowed to sleep inside—the rooms were for white people—but that didn't matter, Uncle John said, because out in public they needed to guard the wagon and its contents anyhow. They rolled up in blankets and slept on the ground beneath the wagon, and they were warm enough, and dry.

“Horses must be white,” Maddy said. They got to sleep in the tavern stables.

Uncle John grinned. “Horses have black skin,” he said. “Didn't you ever notice? Beneath the hair.”

Maddy shook his head. “Don't tell the white folks,” Uncle John said. “They find out, they'll make the horses sleep under the wagon with us.”

Master Jefferson had given Uncle John money to buy food, so they had plenty to eat, though they had to use the back doors of the tavern kitchens and eat out in the yard. On the first day, not knowing the rules, Beverly started to go through the front door of a tavern. Uncle John called him back, sharp. “Watch yourself,” he said. “You're out here with me and you don't want people thinking you're trying to pass.”

“Why not?” Maddy asked.

“White people hate when black people try to pass for white,” Uncle John said. “It makes them nervous.”

Maddy glanced at Beverly. “But when he's free—”

“Yep,” Uncle John said. “We best not talk about that. Beverly will be okay on his own. But right now, dressed like he is, and traveling with me in this wagon, he appears to be a black person. He's going to get hurt if he doesn't follow the rules.”

Maddy scowled. He didn't like being reminded of the difference between Beverly's skin color and his. Uncle John seemed to understand. “I'm same as your mama, aren't I?” he said. “Same Mama, same Papa. But I could see circumstances where maybe she could pass. Me, not a chance.” He showed Beverly the back of his warm brown hand.

“You're just tan,” Maddy said. “From working outside.”

“Maddy,” Uncle John said, “I'm tan where the sun don't shine.”

Maddy knew Uncle John meant to be funny, but Maddy couldn't laugh. Neither did Beverly, who seemed uneasy and kept swallowing as though he had something stuck in his throat. When they had traveled down the road a few miles, Beverly asked, very quietly, “What happens if you don't follow the rules?”

Uncle John looked serious. “You mean the rules white people make for black people?” Beverly nodded. “I'll tell you,” Uncle John said. “A black man who doesn't follow the rules is a dangerous man in a white person's eyes. A black man who doesn't follow the rules doesn't live very long.”

The brightness of the day seemed to fade. Maddy thought about Uncle John's words. He thought about Beverly, who would be breaking the rules every moment of his white life. He looked at Beverly, but couldn't tell what his brother was thinking.

Uncle John cleared his throat. “Beverly,” he said, “I don't know what you're planning, and I don't ever need to know. But I will say this. If you pass for white, you'd better pass in your heart too. You better be white all the way. There will never be a single white person you can trust with the truth about your past. Do you hear me? Never a one. No matter how much you think they might care about you. Love you, even. Don't you ever, ever tell.”

Beverly nodded. He held on to the edge of the wagon seat with both hands. He seemed to be studying the hills far away. “I hear you,” he said.

 

They drove through towns and villages, past big farms and little houses. Maddy had never realized there were so many people in the world. He'd never thought about them—nor about the roads, the bridges, and fields of corn and trees and everything else. From the Monticello mountaintop he could see a long way, but nothing like as far as they'd driven. When he thought about all the things he'd seen in only three days, and how Lewis and Clark had walked west for months, and how Mama had sailed for weeks across the ocean, he started to understand how big the world might be.

“Beverly,” Maddy said, at the end of the third day, “is this what it's like to be free? Driving along this road? Go wherever you want? Do whatever you want to?”

“We can't go wherever we want,” Beverly said. “We're going from Monticello to Poplar Forest. We can't go anywhere else.”

“Yeah, but nobody's telling us how fast to go. We can stop and rest whenever we want to. At the taverns we can order whatever we want to eat.”

Beverly said, “This is nothing. Freedom will be a whole lot better than this.”

 

The great house at Poplar Forest had the same kind of windows as Monticello, and the same white Chinese railing on the roof, but it was much smaller, and its oddly shaped rooms fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Uncle John called it an octagon. He made Maddy repeat the word
octagon
. “That means eight-sided,” he said. “This house has eight outside walls, all exactly the same size.”