Jefferson's Sons

by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

  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.”

  Spring and Summer 1816

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Moving On

  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.

  “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?

  Autumn 1816

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Poplar Forest

  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.r />
  “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.