Jefferson's Sons

  “But Miss Ellen doesn’t mind teaching me,” Maddy said. “She likes it.”

  “Huh,” Harriet said. “She just likes being able to boss somebody, for a change.”

  “She can boss me,” Maddy said, “so long as she teaches me to read.”

  Maddy already knew the alphabet, all the letters from A to Z. Miss Ellen had started to show him how they made little words, two-letter words from the beginning of the primer, ba, be, bi, bo, bu, by. Maddy wished he had a primer, or any sort of book at all. The great house was full of books, but Maddy wasn’t allowed to touch them. Nobody on Mulberry Row owned a single one. He’d asked all around. Joe Fossett wrote accounts sometimes, and so did Miss Edith, but the accounts were just lists of words and numbers, not really anything Maddy could sit and read.

  James, who was Maddy’s best friend, told him he was a fool for asking. “Who ever heard of a book on Mulberry Row?”

  “Could happen,” Maddy argued. “Somebody might have one shut up in a box somewhere.”

  “If somebody’s hiding a book,” James said, “that somebody’s going to keep it hidden, not take it out and loan it to you.”

  There were words in the great house hall. The hall was hung with all sorts of things—a buffalo head, Indian arrows, a beaded shirt made out of leather, paintings and statues of famous men. The words in the hall were written on a piece of paper in a frame, under glass, hung on the right-hand wall. Miss Ellen said they were called the Declaration of Independence, and Master Jefferson—she called him Grandpa—wrote them. They were powerful words that somehow separated America from England, back before even Mama was born. But Maddy couldn’t so much as make out the letters to the words of the Declaration of Independence. Miss Ellen said that was because they were written in script, like handwriting, and first you had to learn to read in print, like books. Maddy had to take it one step at a time.

  “After I learn to read,” Maddy said now, to Mama and Beverly and Harriet, “I’m going to learn to write.”

  Beverly raised his eyebrows. “She’s never going to teach you that. She knows better. At least, she ought to.” A slave that could read might be useful. A slave that could write was dangerous. A slave that could write could make a pass. Maddy was old enough to understand that.

  “She might,” Maddy said.

  Beverly said, “If Miss Martha catches her, she’ll get the strap.”

  Harriet said, “It’s against the law.”

  “It’s not,” said Maddy. “Miss Ellen wouldn’t break the law.”

  Mama laid her hand on his head to settle him. “It’s not,” she agreed. “It’s against the law for a free black person to teach a slave, or for anyone to be paid to teach a slave. Miss Ellen’s white and you’re not paying her, so she’s not breaking the law.”

  “See,” said Maddy.

  “Which doesn’t mean it wouldn’t get her in trouble,” Mama said. “Law or no law. Let me think.” She sat down in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Maddy waited. “Learning to read, well, of course that’s a wonderful thing,” said Mama. “It’s a way out. Writing too. If I were better at either I’d have taught you myself.” She looked at Beverly, and uncrossed her arms to run her fingers through her hair. “I should have thought about this beforehand—you all catch me off guard, growing up so fast. White people read, don’t they?”

  “Not the stupid ones,” said Harriet.

  “You’re none of you stupid,” Mama said. “There ought to be something we can do. I just don’t want to rile up Miss Martha.”

  Harriet murmured, “Always the same problem.”

  Mama quelled her with a look. “Let me think on it,” she said. “I’ll let you know. Maddy—you stay clear of the great house, you hear me?”

  Maddy knew it was important not to rile up Miss Martha. Miss Martha didn’t like to even catch sight of Maddy or his brothers or sister. Beverly said she was nastier now than she had been when Master Jefferson was president. Back then, the only folks who came to visit were friends, like the Madisons, who were specially invited. Beverly said it had been quiet most of the time.

  Maddy didn’t remember it quiet on the mountaintop. Not ever. White folks came every day without invitation, without even knowing Master Jefferson at all. Some nights two dozen strangers slept in the great house beds, and all Miss Martha’s children had to bunk down in the attic on the floor. Miss Martha ran around looking for pillows and blankets. Miss Edith cooked dinners for fifty. Each week in the stables Wormley fed the visitors’ horses what should have been a month’s worth of hay.

  The visitors drank four or five or even ten bottles of French wine in a single dinner. They ate up the good hams and had second helpings of the fancy treats Miss Edith made, the ice cream and macaroni and vegetables turned out in a mold. They ate like it was Christmas dinner, ate for hours and scraped their plates clean.

  After dinner the visitors wandered around the mountaintop. They promenaded on the lawn, inspected the gardens, and even walked up and down Mulberry Row. Unhappy-looking slaves made the visitors nervous, so Maddy always had to smile at them, whether he felt like smiling or not. Otherwise one of them might complain to Miss Martha.

  Miss Martha’s biggest fear was that a visitor would guess the truth about Maddy’s family. Harriet looked like Mama, only lighter. Beverly had some resemblance to Master Jefferson, and told Maddy he did too, but Eston, who was four, was his spitting image. Eston looked like Master Jefferson in miniature. Mama tried especially hard to keep him out of the visitors’ way.

  Beverly told Maddy that Master Jefferson used to listen to him play the violin. Sometimes he went to Beverly’s lessons with Jesse Scott. Beverly said that Master Jefferson used to speak to him, and once even put his arm around him. Master Jefferson never did anything like that anymore.

  Mama always waited until full dark to go to Master Jefferson’s room. The mountaintop people ate dinner in the kitchen, at twilight when the work day was done. Then Maddy’s family had time together before Mama went away. Mama sat by the window of their room and looked down Mulberry Row. Maddy sat on the floor beside her and put his head in her lap. Behind them, Beverly tuned his violin.

  “Play that song,” Eston said. Master Jefferson’s favorite tune was called “Money Musk.” Eston always called it “that song.”

  Beverly began to play. Harriet picked up her knitting needles. Eston lay on his back on the floor, humming along to the music. Maddy felt Mama’s fingers run soft through his hair. This was his favorite time of day.

  “You’d better learn to read,” Mama said. “Maddy. Learn to read and to write, however you can. All of you had better learn. I’m thinking, when you go out in the world, it’s something you’ll be expected to know. For sure it’s a good thing to know. Nobody can take what you learn away from you. You learn, Maddy, and this winter in the evenings you can teach Harriet and Beverly.”

  Maddy sighed happily.

  Beverly kept playing. He finished “Money Musk” and went on to a quieter nighttime kind of tune.

  “Harriet,” Eston said, “tell us a story.” Harriet told wonderful stories. Maddy’s favorite was about Mama’s trip across the ocean to France. Harriet could make it sound like she’d been there too.

  “Not tonight,” Harriet said. “I’m busy thinking.”

  “About what?” asked Eston.

  “Books,” said Harriet. “I bet they have stories in them. I bet some books are just stuffed full of stories.”

  Mama said, “I bet that’s true.”

  Maddy thought of Harriet reading books full of stories. He thought of himself, reading the declaration on the wall. He felt wonderfully glad.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Miss Sally’s Son

  Master Jefferson shut the nailery down. Mama said it was because the United States was at war with England again. The war made the price of metal go up until there wasn’t any profit in making nails. The nailery closed. The nail boys went to ground.

  Mama promi
sed Maddy he didn’t need to worry about the war. The battles were all far away. They were safe at Monticello. He didn’t need to worry about the nailery either; when he was old enough for work, in a few years, he’d join Beverly and Uncle John. Maddy’s friend James was upset, though. He planned to be his father’s apprentice, and he’d counted on starting as a nail boy. Joe Fossett said he didn’t think it would matter. He thought Master Jefferson would want James to work in the blacksmith shop. James was smart and strong, and even though he had three sisters now, he was Joe Fossett’s only son.

  Every morning, Beverly went to work. Harriet minded Eston. Mama took care of Master Jefferson’s room and clothes. James’s oldest sister, Maria, helped Miss Edith in the kitchen and watched the younger girls. James and Maddy did chores and ran some errands, but much of their time was their own.

  They roamed the mountain. They knew the best streams, and the quiet pools full of fish. They brought home trout, and catfish, and wild blackberries. They picked the first ripe peaches in the orchard, and ate them in the woods where no one could see.

  Harriet scowled when Maddy came home dirty and ragged. “Mama,” she said, “he’s running wild.”

  Maddy laughed. Harriet acted like a lady now, but Beverly said she used to run wild too.

  “Leave him be,” Mama said.

  In late June the wheat ripened. The wheat harvest was the busiest time in all the year. Mulberry Row shut down, and all the grown-ups went to the fields except Mama and Miss Edith. Even Joe Fossett and Uncle John cut wheat. Beverly bound sheaves. He came home so exhausted every night that Maddy was glad to be too young to help.

  On the third day of the harvest he and James decided to go fishing. They took a shortcut along the path between some of the wheat fields, near the road that went down the mountain. The sun shone hot. Maddy skipped and then let himself run down the slope, his arms churning. James pelted after him. Miss Edith had said she’d fry up anything they caught; if the fish were good enough for the great house table, they might even earn a penny or two. The thought of being paid money to go fishing made Maddy laugh out loud.

  “What’ll you do with your money?” James asked. They pulled up, panting, as the path leveled.

  “Keep it in a jar,” Maddy said. “Save it up. My mama’s got some money saved.”

  “Us too,” James said. “Daddy keeps it in a box under the bed.” He grinned at Maddy, and whispered, “A hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Maddy’s mouth fell open. He said, “You’re making that up.” He’d never heard of anyone having that much money. Master Jefferson, maybe, but nobody else.

  “Yes, sir, that’s the truth,” James said. “’Cause my daddy gets paid sixteen cents out of every dollar from the Charlottesville work. And sometimes one of those visitors gives my mama a nickel ’cause her cooking is so good.”

  Maddy knew how good Miss Edith’s cooking was, and how hard Joe Fossett worked. Still. “It takes a lot of sixteen cents to make a hundred and fifty dollars,” he said.

  “I know,” James said. “Daddy says we’re saving every penny for when the hard times come.”

  Maddy laughed. Mama never said anything about hard times. She’d have told them if there were going to be hard times. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “My daddy says, someday there’s going to be hard times, even right here at Monticello.”

  “That’s crazy.” Maddy looked at the clear blue sky. In the hot air the wheat stalks gave off the smell of baking bread.

  “Nope,” James said. “That’s thinking ahead. That’s what the Fossetts do. We’re ready for whatever comes.”

  “Ready to go fishing?”

  “Ready for anything.”

  Maddy laughed again. “Race you to that tree,” he said. Before he got the words out, James sprinted ahead.

  “Hey!” Maddy yelled, chasing him.

  “I was ready!” James shouted back.

  “Boys!” It was a man’s voice, hard and sharp like the crack of a whip. Maddy and James skidded to a halt. An overseer, high up on a horse, looked at them over the top of the hedge. “Boys!” he said. “You two on somebody’s business?”

  “Yes, sir,” James said promptly, at the same time as Maddy said, “No, sir.”

  “Well, the one of you that isn’t, get on over here. My water boy’s claiming sick, and I need somebody to fetch water to the hands.”

  Maddy and James looked at each other. Maddy didn’t want to, but he knew better than to say so. He dropped to the dirt and wriggled through the hedge. James made to follow, but the overseer stopped him. “You go on about that business you’ve got,” he said. “One boy alone works harder than two.”

  Maddy stood up, brushing the dust off his pants. The overseer looked at him again. His eyes narrowed. “Wait,” he said. “You—you’re one of Sally’s boys.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maddy said.

  “I don’t want you. You, boy.” He tilted his head at James. “You come instead.” When James hesitated, the man said,

  “Now!”

  “Why?” Maddy asked. He didn’t mean to speak, but the words came out anyway. “I work as hard as he does.”

  The overseer didn’t answer. He pointed the handle of his riding crop at James. James got down on his stomach and wriggled through the hedge. Maddy stood beside him, not sure what to do. “C’mon,” the overseer said to James. He rode away. James followed. Maddy stood watching until the overseer looked back and shouted, “Go along home.”

  Maddy knew he could still go fishing, but he didn’t feel right about fishing when James had to work. His stomach hurt. He trudged back up the mountain.

  Mama wasn’t around. Miss Edith was kneading bread dough in the hot kitchen, looking harassed. “Where’s that rascal James?” she asked when Maddy came in. “I’m glad you gave up fishing. Here I am without Fanny or any of the girls, and half a dozen extra people just showed up for dinner. You’d think it wasn’t harvest time.”

  “James is in the fields,” Maddy said. “They told him to be a water boy.”

  Miss Edith frowned. “Weren’t you with him?”

  Maddy nodded. “I said I’d do it. The overseer didn’t want me.”

  “Why not?”

  Maddy swallowed. He didn’t want to answer, but Miss Edith waited until he finally did. “He said—he guessed I was one of Miss Sally’s children.”

  She gave him a hard look. “I see.”

  “I told him I’d do it. I did.”

  Miss Edith’s mouth tightened.

  “I could help you, maybe.”

  Miss Edith sighed, and the hardness went away from her eyes. She said, “It’s a busy day, Maddy. I could use you. How about you snap those beans?”

  Maddy pulled the bench closer to the worktable, sat down, and started snapping the ends off green beans. He wanted to tell Miss Edith that he could work hard, that he did work, that his whole family worked hard, whether or not they were Miss Sally’s children. But he knew Miss Edith knew that. Besides, he didn’t get out of work for being Miss Sally’s son. He got out of work for being Master Jefferson’s son, and that was something neither he nor Miss Edith could say.

  Maddy worked for Miss Edith all afternoon. It was full dark before James and Beverly came home. James was so tired he clung to Beverly’s hand.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Miss Ellen

  Miss Ellen took Maddy through the pages of the primer. Each time they had a few moments together, she made him read the words from the section they’d studied the time before. If he knew them all they moved on. Big, dig, fig, gig, pig, wig. Bog, dog, fog, hog, jog, log. Maddy loved how the words stacked up. Bed, fed, led, red, wed.

  “It’d be better if you had your own primer,” Miss Ellen said one day. “If you could practice, you’d get on fast.” She glanced quickly over her shoulder as she spoke. Maddy knew she was checking to be sure Miss Martha wasn’t nearby. They were sitting on a bench on the back porch of the great house, because visitors came to the fron
t porch and because Miss Martha didn’t want Maddy in any of the rooms inside.

  “I’d loan you ours if I could,” Miss Ellen said. “My brother’s reading out of it now, so Mama’ll notice if it goes missing. Once you’re farther along I’ve got other books you can borrow.” She studied Maddy. “Could you buy a primer?”

  Maddy shook his head. “No.”

  “Could your mama?”

  Maddy shook his head again. “She wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t you have any money? Grandpa could—”

  “No. We have money.” Maddy wondered how to explain. “I don’t know how much a primer costs—but it’s not that.” It would cause talk, if he or Mama or any other enslaved person tried to buy a book in Charlottesville. “Mama hates talk,” he said.

  Miss Ellen sighed. She tucked her hair behind her ear. She had red hair, like Master Jefferson. “But that’s nonsensical,” she said. “If you have money, there’s no reason why anyone should care what you buy. It shouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.” She glared at Maddy.

  Maddy knew what she meant, but he understood his mama’s side too. “If I tried to buy a gun,” he said.

  “Oh, a gun,” said Miss Ellen. “A book is not a gun.”

  “No,” Maddy said. “A book is much more dangerous.”

  Miss Ellen stared at him.

  “Somebody could take a gun away from me,” Maddy said. “I learn what’s in a book, it’s mine for keeps.”

  Miss Ellen still stared. Maddy dropped his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. He should know better than to talk straight to a white person, even Miss Ellen. He thought about the word nonsensical. That would be one to remember for Beverly. Beverly loved musical words.

  Miss Ellen sighed. “Don’t be. I guess I should understand. Only, do you ever think what a stupid world this is, with so many useless rules?” She thrust a book at Maddy. It wasn’t the primer, it was the book she had been reading when Maddy found her on the porch. “Look,” she said. She opened it under Maddy’s nose.