Jefferson's Sons (14 page)

“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.

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 promised 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.

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 front 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.

Maddy looked. The letters were print, not script, but he still couldn't read them. He couldn't make sense of them at all. Some looked like letters he'd never seen before. He frowned. “What is that?”

“It's Greek,” Miss Ellen said. “Aristotle. Know who he is?”

Maddy shook his head.

“Of course you don't,” Miss Ellen said. “How could you? You're still sounding out the primer. But
I
know who he is. I can read this, this Greek, and it makes sense to me.” She rattled off a few words, and Maddy laughed. It was like Mama's French, and yet not like it at all.

Miss Ellen grinned. “That means: ‘All men by nature desire knowledge.' ”

Maddy thought for a moment. He asked, “Does it say what women want?”

Miss Ellen ignored him. “It's a classical language,” she said. “Greek and Latin are the classical languages, the languages of scholars. My mother doesn't know them. My brother Jeff doesn't know them, and he doesn't want to either. But I made Grandpa teach me, just a little, enough to start with. I got him to buy me some books, and I taught myself and I
worked,
and now I can read Aristotle and Plato and Xenophon, and—isn't it a waste?”

Maddy wasn't sure why it would be a waste, if it was something Miss Ellen wanted to do. He thought about the word
classical
. Classical, nonsensical. “If you wanted to learn,” he started to say, “and you did learn—”

“I want to go to
college,
” Miss Ellen said. “To really learn, to be like Grandpa, to think big thoughts. But I can't, and it's not because I'm not smart enough, or because I haven't studied enough. It's because I'm a girl. College is for boys. Jeff got to go, the dolt. For all the good it did him—home again within a year.”

Maddy said, “I thought he came back because of the money.”

Miss Ellen's head snapped up. “What?”

Maddy hesitated.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” she said. “You can trust
me
. What'd you hear?”

Maddy took a deep breath. “My mama said Master Jefferson told your mama that the college fees were too high and he couldn't afford them, and anyhow they needed Jeff to take charge of the farms.” Maddy hoped he wasn't speaking out of turn—keep your mouth shut, Mama would say—but Miss Ellen seemed oddly pleased.

“Well,” Miss Ellen said. “I didn't know that, but at least it makes sense. I thought he got kicked out for bad grades. It made me so angry, that he'd get a chance and toss it away.
I'd
try hard—but all I'm allowed to do is get married and have a dozen babies. Like I'd want babies, or a husband. It's
stupid
.” She glared at Maddy.

“Yes, ma'am,” Maddy said.

Miss Ellen whacked his arm. “Don't you ‘yes, ma'am' me!” she said. She shook her head. “Money, money. People around here are always talking about money. But they never quit spending it, have you noticed that?”