Jefferson's Sons (17 page)

“Huh,” said Maddy. He was pleased he could read whole sentences, but he didn't like those particular sentences. “Why'd you pick that?”

Miss Ellen shrugged. “It's all like that,” she said. “Little sermons on how to be good.”

“That's not how to be good,” Maddy argued. “That's saying everybody's bad.”

“I think it's supposed to be a warning,” Miss Ellen said. “That we shouldn't think too highly of ourselves, no matter who we are.” She closed the primer and tucked it behind her shawl. “I bought you something,” she said. “Grandpa gave me money for Christmas, and I went shopping in Charlottesville. I spent some of it on hair ribbons, so nobody'd suspect, but I got something for you too. This.”

She pushed a paper-wrapped parcel into Maddy's hands. Maddy opened it. It was a blue primer, just like Miss Ellen's, only brand-new.

“You're going to have to study on your own now,” Miss Ellen said. “You can do it. You'll have this to help you.”

“But—” Maddy stared at the book. His own book. His own. Yet what was Miss Ellen saying? “I still want you to teach me,” Maddy said. “Thank you for the primer—thank you very much—but I haven't gotten to any of the big words yet. I still need teaching. You like teaching, you said so. And my brother Eston—”

Miss Ellen shook her head. “I'm trying to tell you. I can't teach you anymore. Mama wants me to take more responsibility around the house, so I can manage my own household someday. She wants me to learn to supervise the cooking and the laundry.”

Maddy stared. Miss Martha went down to the kitchen every morning to tell Miss Edith what to cook, and on Mondays she sorted the piles of clothes that needed to be washed. She didn't do any of the actual cooking or washing or ironing. What Miss Martha did wasn't exactly work. Miss Ellen could do it and still spend a few minutes once a week teaching Maddy.

Miss Ellen wouldn't meet his eyes. “I need to spend more time on my sewing too,” she said. “And practicing my music.”

“You don't want to help me,” Maddy said.

Miss Ellen bit her lip. “I can't. Not anymore. I'm seventeen and I've got to act like a lady. Mama said so. She's watching me. I can still read Greek, if I'm careful, if I don't do anything else that upsets her.” She paused. “I'll still help you once in a while. Okay? Just for a few minutes, if you get stuck. When I can. Okay? But not very often.”

“Your mama found out you were teaching me. And if she catches you doing it again, she's going to take away your Greek,” said Maddy. He wanted the truth plain between them.

Miss Ellen nodded. “I'm sorry.”

Maddy thought about it. Miss Martha meant what she said, Maddy knew. If Miss Ellen crossed her, that would be the end of Latin and Greek. Even if he and Miss Ellen tried to meet in secret, Miss Martha would be bound to find out. There were too many people at Monticello who could spy for her. Not much got by Miss Martha when she didn't want it to.

Maddy tucked the new primer carefully inside the waistband of his pants. He pulled his shirt out to hide it. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much for the book, and for teaching me.”

“Oh, Maddy. I wish—”

A gust of wind shook the doors in their frames. Miss Ellen shuddered. Maddy went over to the Declaration of Independence, those fancy handwritten words on the wall. He'd see if he could read it now.
“When,”
he read triumphantly.
“When in the—”
He paused. The next word was harder.

“Course,”
said Miss Ellen. She came over to stand beside him.
“When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one—”

“What's that mean?” Maddy asked. “
The course of human
—what did you say?”

“The course of human events,”
Miss Ellen repeated. She said, “It means, when in history.”

“Why doesn't it just say that?”

“I don't know,” Miss Ellen said. “Do you want me to keep going?” A hall door opened. Miss Ellen flinched.

“No,” Maddy said. “It's okay.”

He stood in front of the declaration for a few minutes after she left, before he grew too cold. Someday he was going to read those words, every last one of them, and understand them too. He felt the primer firm against his belly. In a way he felt sorry for Miss Ellen, but then again he didn't. She'd chosen Latin and Greek over teaching him, but if he had to choose, he might do the same thing, pick having his own primer over learning from her.

 

One night, after dark, James came by to see if Maddy wanted to hunt coons with him and his daddy. Harriet let James in. Maddy was sitting beside Eston in the firelight, helping Eston practice his ABCs.

“Coming?” James said.

Maddy thought about it. He liked coon hunting, but it was cold outside, and warm in the cabin.

James frowned. “Don't bother if you've got better things to do.”

Maddy got up. “No, I'll come. It sounds fun.” He put on his coat and they went outside.

“So, now you're teaching Eston,” said James.

James sounded annoyed. Maddy didn't understand. “Somebody has to,” Maddy said.

James snorted. “I don't see why. My sisters can't read or write. They're every bit as smart as your brother.”

“I never said they weren't.”

“And you're not any smarter than me, even if you do waste a bunch of your time on these things.”

They were almost to the blacksmith shop. Maddy looked at James. “I never said I was smarter than you,” he said. “I like reading. I don't think I'm wasting my time.”

“I understand learning to read,” James said. “I don't understand why you care about it so much. Like it makes you some kind of special. What good's it going to do?”

“I don't think that,” Maddy said. “I'm not showing off.” He hated the expression on James's face. When James was upset he looked just like Joe Fossett, hard and stern. Maddy tried to explain. “Mama thinks we need to be real good at reading. For when we're white and all.”

James stopped dead in the path. “Say that again,” he said.

Maddy knew this was trouble, but he didn't know how to fix it. “For when we're white,” he said. “And all.”

James shook his head. “That's what I thought you said.” He looked Maddy up and down. “That's crazy, Maddy. When you're
white
? You're not white. You might be free someday. I might be too. But I'm not white and neither are you. Who told you that? Your mama?”

“I am too white,” Maddy said. “I'm seven-eighths white. That's white by law. Mama
did
tell me that. She says someday we're going to be free, me and Beverly and Harriet and Eston, and we're going to be white folks, free white folks out doing whatever we want in the world.”

They had reached the blacksmith shop door. James stopped with his hand against the door frame. Maddy knew he shouldn't have said all that. It sounded like bragging. James would be even angrier and Mama would wallop him if she heard. Still Maddy went on, “You better not call my mama a liar.”

But the look on James's face faded to something like sympathy. “Maddy,” he said, “you ain't white.”

“I'm a slave,” Maddy said. “Slaves are black. But I'm white too.”

James shook his head. “Beverly and Harriet, maybe. Dress them up, get them out of Charlottesville, and they'd pass. But not you. Forget what the law says. You're close, I guess. Not close enough.”

Maddy held up his hand. It shone pale in the moonlight. He said, “I'm lighter than you.”

“That doesn't make you white,” James said. After a pause he added, “I already know I'm not white.” He paused again. “Neither are you.”

 

Maddy didn't go coon hunting. He left James at the blacksmith shop and slowly trudged back to the warm room where his family waited. His heart fluttered in his chest. Mama sometimes talked to Harriet and Beverly about how they should act in the white world. When they met another white person, they were to shake hands and look that person in the eye. They were not to look down. Beverly wouldn't touch his hat or his forehead, and Harriet wouldn't bob her head, they way they did now. Mama talked about how they'd dress, and where they might live. She reminded them to watch the way white folks ate at the dinner table, with napkins on their laps and all those forks and spoons.

Mama promised Maddy he'd be free when he was grown. He'd always thought he'd be with Harriet and Beverly. He thought they would all be the same.

Mama, Beverly, and Harriet looked up when he came into the room. Eston had climbed into bed.

“Catch a coon already?” asked Beverly.

Mama was studying him. “What is it?” she asked.

“James says I'm not white. Says I don't look white enough to pass.”

Maddy clenched his fists. He waited for them to tell him that James was wrong. Instead Beverly bit his lip and turned toward the fire. Mama took a deep breath. “I don't know yet,” she said slowly. “I hope you will, when you're grown. I just don't know.”

“But you said white,” Maddy said. “Because of Master Jefferson and seven-out-of-eight. I know you said it. I heard you.”

Mama reached for his hand. “I said it, and it's true. If you're seven-eighths white, you're white by law. But if you look black, people will still call you black. They'll still treat you like you're black.”

“If I tell them I'm white—if I explain—”

“That won't do any good, Maddy. If you have to explain, you've got to tell them your mama was a slave. That'll be all they need to know. You can't be white if your mama isn't free.”

“But you said—”

“We'll have to pretend we were never slaves,” Beverly said. “Harriet and me. When we're living with white people. We'll have to pretend our mama was someone else. We'll have to pretend we're someone else too. We'll have to spend our entire lives living one great big lie.”

Maddy had never understood before why Beverly got angry whenever Mama talked about him being free, but now he did, a little. But still. If Beverly was living a lie, Maddy wanted to live that lie too. He licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “Mama. When will you know about me?”

“Not 'til you're all the way grown. People can change when they get older.”

“But Beverly and Harriet—you already know about them?”

“I'm sorry, Maddy,” Beverly said.

“Nobody's sorry,” Mama said. “Come here, Maddy. Come sit by the fire.”

“I think I'll just go to sleep,” he said. He crawled into the bed beside Eston. He snugged up next to Eston's warm body—Eston's warm
white
body—and watched the firelight dance on the walls. His thoughts whirled. He was still wide awake when Mama wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and went to be with Master Jefferson.

Mama said not to borrow trouble. She said nobody could tell the future. Maddy's skin was only a little bit darker than Beverly's, and maybe it would lighten when he got older. His hair was enough like white people's hair, curly but not kinky. Mama was kind and soothing. She tried to make Maddy forget he was different.

Maddy remembered. It wasn't the sort of thing you forgot.

“I don't know, Maddy,” Beverly said. “I'm not sure I want to be white. I'm not sure I can be. It's really hard to think of myself that way. You, you'll always know who you are.”

“I'm the only one that's different,” Maddy said. “The only one. You'll all go away and I'll be alone.”

“You'll be able to stay with Mama,” Beverly said. “We'll never see her again.”

Eston came up behind Maddy and hugged him hard. “I'll stay with you,” he said. “We'll let them go off. I'll stay with you.”

Maddy didn't know what to say, so he just kissed the top of Eston's head.

 

James was gentle too. “Here's what we'll do,” James said, “we'll both get free, and we'll travel together. We'll go out west like Lewis and Clark. We'll go see the Indians.”

Maddy liked the sound of that. “How much money do you think it will take,” he asked, “for your daddy to get you all free?”

James shrugged. “A bunch, I reckon. That's okay. We've got time.”

Summer returned. Master Jefferson designed a new landau. That was a type of carriage that could seat four people, front and back, and had a top that opened up and folded down. Master Jefferson drew pictures of exactly what he wanted, and Uncle John and Joe Fossett built it. All through the summer and fall, Uncle John shaped the landau's body out of wood, and Joe Fossett made the metal parts, springs and hinges and iron-bound wheels. Beverly helped Uncle John, and James helped Joe Fossett. Maddy wanted to help someone, but Mama said he was still too young.

Maddy was almost nine years old. He was tired of being too young.