Jefferson's Sons (30 page)

Master Jefferson settled his hat on his head. He took the reins. “Thank you, Peter,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Peter said. He held on to one rein until Master Jefferson's seat was safe in the saddle. Master Jefferson rode away singing. He was always singing.

After that Peter usually visited the woodshop, if he hadn't already. He wasn't going to be a carpenter when he grew up. He was going to be a blacksmith, like his daddy. But he liked visiting the woodshop.

“Morning, small fry,” Maddy said when Peter came in. “How's Eagle today?”

“Prime,” said Peter. He climbed onto the workbench and dangled his legs.

“Watch, now,” said John, the head carpenter. “No splinters.”

“I don't get splinters,” Peter said.

John grunted. “Then you'll be the first boy that didn't.”

“What are you making?” Peter asked Maddy.

“The same thing I was making yesterday,” Maddy said.

“A table for Poplar Forest.”

“That's right.”

Peter liked the table. It had a wide top and fancy carved legs. The pieces weren't put together, but he could see how they would be. “Can I help?” he asked.

“I could use you over here,” Beverly said. “Hold these for me.” He brushed glue on the sides of two long pieces of wood. Peter pressed them together and held them tight while Beverly screwed on the clamps. “There! Thank you.”

“How long until the glue dries?”

“Day or two. Depends on the weather.”

“What are you going to do next?”

Beverly grinned. “How many questions are you going to ask?”

“Depends,” Peter said. “How many are you going to answer?”

“You could get us something to eat,” Eston said. “I'd answer a lot of questions if I wasn't so hungry.”

Eston was always hungry. He was fifteen, taller than both of his brothers, and thin as a rail no matter how much he ate. Peter's mama said it was hard to get enough food inside a growing boy. Take Peter's brother James. He claimed he ate plenty over at Edgehill, where he lived, but he still looked scrawny. Every Sunday, Mama fed James a whole tableful of food, and packed more in a cloth for him to carry away, but he didn't fatten up at all.

Peter went to the kitchen and rounded up some scraps for Eston, and then he hung out in the shop and sanded some boards for fun. A noise on the road made him look out the window. “Visitors,” Peter said.

“Something new,” said Maddy. He was joking. They always had visitors.

In the afternoons Peter helped his daddy in the blacksmith shop. Daddy didn't talk much while he worked; he said talking led to carelessness, and you could never be careless around hot iron. He taught Peter lots, though. He was going to train Peter to be a blacksmith when Peter was just a little older, and then they'd run the shop together. When his daddy trimmed a horse's hoof, he held it up for Peter to see, both before the trimming and after, so Peter could learn how a hoof was supposed to be balanced, with all the trim lines straight. Peter worked the bellows and shoveled charcoal onto the fire. Sometimes his daddy even gave him a piece of scrap iron and let him heat it up and pound on it, to make his arm strong, but that was only if the shop wasn't busy.

Once the sun set, the workday was finished. Peter helped his daddy tidy the shop, and in the kitchen his sisters helped Mama wash dishes. The white folks ate their big dinner in the great house at three in the afternoon. After that, all Mama had to do was clean up from the big meal, make supper for the mountaintop workers, fix a little snack for the great house for the evening, and maybe bake cookies or set bread dough. Mama's kitchen filled up with workers right after the sun went down, but everyone ate fast, and pretty soon it was just Peter's family, all of them except for James. They always wished James was with them.

Mama banked the kitchen fire. They all went to the room next door, which was just for their family alone. Peter's big sisters talked with his daddy while Mama tucked Peter, his little sister, Isabella, and his baby brother, William, into the trundle bed and sang them to sleep.

One evening in early spring, Peter decided to go back to the kitchen early, before his daddy shut down the forge. He had just gotten there when Beverly came in behind him, carrying his violin.

Beverly, Maddy, and Eston all played the violin. Beverly had a small one, Eston a bigger, better one, and Maddy played whichever he could lay his hands on. Maddy didn't mind not having his own violin. He said Beverly and Eston were the real musicians in the family.

“May I play a song for you, Miss Edith?” Beverly asked.

“Why aren't you working?” asked Peter.

“I left off early,” he said. “Miss Edith, what would you like to hear?”

“Why'd you leave off early?” Peter asked. Nobody quit work early. It wasn't allowed. Eston did go to Charlottesville once a week for violin lessons, but Maddy and Beverly were too old for that.

Beverly didn't answer. Peter's mama smiled. She told him her favorite song, and he played it, right in the kitchen, sweet as could be. When he was finished, Peter's mama had tears in her eyes. Peter didn't know why. His mama never cried. “I'm going to fix you up some pie,” she said. “A big piece of rhubarb pie.”

“I'd like that,” Beverly said. “Miss Edith, I'd like that very much. Thank you. Peter, what about you? Can I play something for you?”

Peter turned to Mama. “Why does he get pie?” At lunchtime she'd told him he couldn't have any. She said it was for tomorrow at the great house. “I don't want you to play for me,” Peter said to Beverly. “Why would you play for me?” Beverly played for the house dances. Eston played for himself. Maddy played for Peter.

“I just thought maybe you'd like a song,” Beverly said. “A song all your own. A gift song.”

“I never heard of a gift song,” Peter said.

Peter's big sister Betsy-Ann said, “I'd like a song.” Beverly played for her, and then for Maria and Patsy and even Isabella and William, and then he played a little song that he said was for Peter whether Peter wanted it or not. Then Beverly took the pie that Peter's mama had wrapped up in a cloth. He put it in his shirt. He bowed deep to Peter's mama, a fancy bow like a white man would do, and he left with his violin tucked under his chin. Peter could hear him walking down Mulberry Row, still playing.

Beverly played songs for everyone. He played for hours. Late into the night, from Miss Sally's room one door down from Peter's family's, Beverly's music poured onto Mulberry Row.

Maddy came to their door. “Mister Joe,” he said, “Miss Edith. Beverly wants to know if he's keeping you all awake. Because he'd like to keep playing if he's not.”

“Tell him keep on,” Daddy said. “We're enjoying the music. We don't mind.”

Peter minded. He couldn't sleep and it didn't make sense. Beverly never played this late.

“Why isn't he quiet?” Peter asked. “It's night.”

Mama shushed him. “I think it's pretty,” Maria said.

“That's because you're sweet on Beverly,” Peter said.

“Fat lot of good it does me,” Maria shot back.

Mama said, “Both of you, hush.”

Eventually Peter fell asleep. In the morning he ate breakfast, helped in the dining room, and brought Eagle up to the house. Master Jefferson set off on his usual ride, humming his usual tune. Peter went down to the woodshop. Maddy and Eston were working there, but not Beverly.

“Is Beverly sick?” Peter asked. Maybe that was why he'd acted so strange about playing the violin.

John gave Maddy a look Peter didn't understand.

“Come here,” Maddy said to Peter. “We better talk private.”

Peter scooted over to the corner. Maddy sat down next to him. “Do you remember when Beverly went away for a while, three years ago?”

“No,” said Peter.

“Well,” said Maddy. “He's gone again. Only this time he's not coming back.”

Peter stared at Maddy. Maddy stared back at him. Peter started to cry. “Like James,” he said. “Oh, no. Like James.” Mama and Daddy never talked about it, but Peter's sisters had told him how James got taken away.

Maddy hugged him. “No, not like that,” he said. “It's not like James. James went away because he had to. Beverly went away because he wanted to. It's happy, not sad.”

That didn't make any sense to Peter. Maddy looked sad, and besides—“People can't just go away because they want to,” he said. “They can't do that.” People had to do as they were told. Mama had to listen to Miss Martha, Maddy had to listen to John, and everybody had to listen to Master Jefferson.

James had been sold. It was terrible and hard to understand, but Peter knew it was true. “Who bought Beverly?” he asked.

Maddy smiled, an odd, faraway, sad-and-happy smile that frightened Peter a little. “Nobody bought him. He went away free.”

“Free of what?”

“Free,” Maddy repeated. “Free to do whatever he wants. He won't have to listen to anybody unless he wants to.”

Peter thought about that. “Except Master Jefferson,” he said.

Maddy said, “Not even Master Jefferson. Beverly's gone away from Master Jefferson. He won't see Master Jefferson ever again.”

“He's not coming back on Sundays?” James said.

“No,” Madison said, with the same funny smile but with a catch in his voice like he might cry. “He's not coming back. He's got his story straight and he'll never come back again.”

Eston came over and put his hand on Maddy's shoulder.

Peter said, “You mean he'll never see
you
?”

“He'll never see me,” Maddy said.

“He'll never see his mama?” Peter started to cry again. He was sorry he hadn't wanted Beverly to play for him. He was sorry he hadn't said good-bye. “Why would he leave?” he sobbed. “He'll miss his mama.”

Maddy hugged Peter. “Shh, now,” he said. “It's okay. It's good, it's happy. And we've got to be quiet about it. Okay? But it's happy.”

“It doesn't feel happy,” said Peter.

Eston said, “It doesn't feel happy, but it is.”

Maddy said, “You'll understand when you're bigger. But right now, just trust me. And don't talk about Beverly. Okay? If you have a question, or you need to talk about him, you come to me. Just me, or Eston if you can't find me. You can talk to the two of us about Beverly, but not anybody else.”

“Not even my mama?”

“Not even her.”

“Not even my
daddy
?”

Maddy scratched his forehead. “I guess you could talk to your daddy,” he said. “I don't want to say you can't. But I think it's better if you just talk to me.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Maddy?”

“Yes?”

“I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“How come Beverly gets to be free, but James didn't?”

Maddy shut his eyes and then opened them. “That's a very hard question,” he said. “I know the answer, but I can't explain it just now.”

“It's not fair,” Peter said.

“No.” Maddy took his hand and led him back to the workbench by the window. “It isn't fair. Here. You hold this board so I can measure it. Then I'll mark the spot, and I'll show you how to use a saw.”

Maddy had never let Peter saw a board before. It was harder than it looked, and Maddy had to help. After that Peter swept the floor without being asked. No one spoke. Usually the woodshop rang with laughter and singing and jokes. The silence hurt Peter's head.

“Maddy?” he whispered at last.

“Yes?”

“I still don't think it's happy. And I still don't think it's fair.”

“It isn't fair,” Maddy said. “Don't you ever let anybody make you believe that it's fair.”

“You going to be free someday?”

“I hope so,” Maddy said.

Peter nodded. “Me too. I think it sounds pretty fine.”

Peter tried to put thoughts of Beverly and freedom out of his mind. He had work to do. Eagle was shedding his winter coat. Peter stood on a stool and scraped the thick hair off him for hours. Eston and Maddy planted two rows of cabbages. Peter earned a penny picking worms from the baby plants. He held horses for his daddy while they were being shod, and licked the bowl when his mama made gingerbread.

He kept busy so he wouldn't have too much time to think. Thinking made him wonder, first about Beverly and James, and then about himself. Wondering made him sad and scared.

“Daddy,” he finally asked, when he and his father were alone in the blacksmith shop. “Could I be sold someday?”

His daddy froze for a moment with his hammer in the air above the anvil, then brought the hammer down, hard, on the iron he was shaping. “Yes,” he said.

“Oh.” Peter felt like his father had hit him in the gut. He guessed he should have known. It had happened to James. Peter had never thought about it before.

Peter's daddy set his hammer down. He held his hands out, and Peter went to him. Daddy put his big hands on either side of Peter's face, and looked straight into Peter's eyes. “It's a terrible, terrible thing,” he said. “I will do everything I can to keep us together and safe. I promise you. I will do all I can, and your mama will too. But we couldn't protect James, no matter how hard we tried. It's terrible, terrible, but it's the truth.