Jefferson's Sons (33 page)

Peter glanced at Mary. William had run away from her, but Isabella had climbed onto her lap. “She doesn't look like much,” Peter said.

“Neither do you,” James said, “and I still love you.”

 

After James got married they didn't see him every week. Mama said it was only natural that sometimes he and his wife might want to spend their day off alone. “I don't see why,” Peter said. “You cook better. He ought to come here to eat.”

Mama laughed. “If James is smart, that's something he'll never say.”

 

Master Jefferson's school, the University of Virginia, opened down in Charlottesville. Peter was surprised by all the fuss people made about it. Maddy said Master Jefferson had planned the whole thing, had pushed the state government to make it happen—Peter didn't understand that part at all—and had even designed some of the buildings.

“It's his last big achievement,” Maddy said. “He's spent years on it. He's proud. And it's a good thing—education is a wonderful thing. This school is just as fine as the ones up north in New England. It's as good as William and Mary.”

Peter said, “Could you go to that school?”

Maddy frowned. “Don't be foolish, Peter. You know better.”

The school was for white men only, for rich white men who already knew how to read but wanted to learn some more. Peter snorted. “If it's not for us, what do we care?”

Maddy said, “I'm not telling you I care. I'm telling you why other people care. You don't need to care about the university, but you should care about education. What you learn can't be taken from you.”

Peter rolled his eyes. He'd finally learned his alphabet, but he didn't love reading, and the last thing he wanted was Maddy pulling out the primer again. Fortunately, Maddy was too busy. The roof of the great house had been leaking awhile, but it had finally gotten so bad Master Jefferson decided to have it fixed. All summer Maddy and John and Eston replaced the old, rotten wooden shingles with new shingles covered in tin.

Miss Virginia was angry that Master Jefferson was spending money on a new roof. She wanted his money spent differently. She was getting married at Monticello in September, and she wanted John and Maddy to fix the peeling paint and rotten walkways and windowsills instead. Miss Martha told her they couldn't afford new paint.

“That's ridiculous,” Miss Virginia said. “If we can afford a roof, we can afford paint.”

Miss Martha sounded impatient. “We can't possibly do both. New paint won't help us if the roof caves in.”

Miss Virginia rolled her eyes. Peter felt sorry for her new husband. “Of course we can do both,” she said. “I don't understand what you're talking about. Oh, and I want a new piano for a wedding gift. Grandpa's old one is so worn out it's nearly useless.”

“Certainly,” Miss Martha replied, but Miss Virginia's wedding came and went, without paint, walkways, or a new piano.

 

The Marquis de Lafayette arrived in November. He was visiting Monticello as part of his first trip to America since the Revolutionary War, fifty years ago. Everyone at Monticello was in a tizzy about him, and Peter didn't understand why. He didn't even know what a marquis was.

“Some kind of French gentleman,” Peter's mama said.

“Like a duke,” said Miss Sally.

“What's a duke?” Peter asked.

Dukes were nobility, Miss Sally said. They were big shots who owned lots of land, and people had to do what they said.

“Oh,” Peter said. “You mean they're masters.”

Miss Sally was old, older than Mama, but she was still pretty when she laughed. “No,” she said. “Not masters.”

“But you said—”

She waved her hand. “Everything's different in France.”

She told Peter that the marquis loved freedom. He had come to America all on his own as a young man, to fight in the war against England. “Without him we never would have won,” she said. “He was as important to us as Master Jefferson was.

“I saw him once,” she added. “At a party in Paris I took Miss Martha to. He was very handsome, tall, elegant, and strong. He was a wonderful dancer.”

 

Miss Martha insisted the whole house be turned out, even cupboards and cabinets the marquis would never see. Burwell muttered his way through the wine cellar and storerooms, and Peter's mama planned and practiced the finest meals. Miss Sally cleaned and mended Master Jefferson's best suit of clothes, and said she would make him wear it too. No one painted the house, Peter noticed. But Wormley raked the dead leaves from the front lawn, and John replaced the most obvious of the rotten windowsills. By the day of the marquis's arrival, Monticello was looking pretty fine.

Everyone gathered at the front of the great house, waiting for Master Jefferson's landau to bring the marquis from Charlottesville. Some of the Charlottesville people followed it up the mountain. Peter could hear them coming, laughing and cheering and singing songs. On the front porch Master Jefferson steadied himself on his cane.

The landau pulled up to the house. Israel Gillette jumped down and opened the door. Peter saw a long stockinged leg come out of the carriage and slowly reach toward the ground, and then a hand grip the doorframe, and then, finally, an enormously fat man ease himself through the narrow doorway.

He was entirely bald, and as round and pale as a dumpling. He looked up toward the house, his fat chin wobbling, his eyes watering in the sun. Master Jefferson leaned forward. His eyes watered too, and his lips moved. His skinny legs shook. He took an uncertain step forward with his cane.

Peter waited for the marquis to come out of the carriage behind the fat man. But the fat man didn't move. He stared up at Master Jefferson, and Master Jefferson stared down at him. Finally the fat man croaked, “Jefferson?” and Master Jefferson said, “Lafayette?”

Then they both burst into tears.

Peter never saw grown men cry before. He didn't know what to think. The fat old marquis hobbled up the front walk. Master Jefferson hobbled down the porch steps. They looked at each other from a few feet away, and then they fell onto each other's shoulders and bawled. Peter had to look away. Miss Martha had tears streaming down her cheeks, and so did old Miss Sally. The marquis and Master Jefferson tottered up the steps and went into the parlor. The crowd cheered and wiped their eyes, and then, to Peter's relief, began to leave.

Peter found Maddy. He said, “I don't understand this at all.”

Maddy took Peter's hand. “Come with me.” They went through the side door of the house. Maddy peeked into the entrance hall. It was empty. He led Peter inside. He picked Peter up and held him in front of one of the glass-framed squares on the wall, the one with writing in it instead of a picture.

“Read that,” Maddy said.

“You know I can't. Besides, the writing's squiggly.”

Maddy sighed. “You are working on your reading and writing, aren't you?”

“Some. But I can't read that.”

“Okay.” Maddy set him down. “Just listen. Part of it says,
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

“Master Jefferson wrote that,” Maddy said. “It's why our country fought a war. It's why Lafayette helped.”

“Say it plain,” Peter said.

Maddy said, “We think all people are equal, that God gave everybody the right to live, be free, and try to be happy.”

Peter looked up at him. “If Master Jefferson wrote that, how come he doesn't believe it?”

“He does believe it,” Maddy said. “At least, he thinks he does.”

Miss Sally and Miss Martha hurried past, but neither of them spoke to Maddy or Peter.

“But it says all people are free,” Peter said. “Not all white people. Right?” He frowned at the paper. “Read it again.”

“We hold these truths to be self-evident,”
read Maddy,
“that all people are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

“It does say all people,” Peter said.

Maddy sighed. “Yes. It does.”

“What does that first part mean?
We hold these truths to be self-evident
?”

Maddy paused. “That means—it means, this is so true everybody ought to know it. It's plain truth. It's obvious.”

“But people don't know it,” Peter argued.

“I didn't read it to you to tell you that,” Maddy said. “I read it so you'd understand what those two old men were crying about. They believed this a long time ago, when almost nobody else did, and Master Jefferson wrote it down, and they made a whole new country around it. And now they're so old they're almost dead, and they're crying for what they did a long time ago.”

“But they didn't really do it,” Peter said.

Maddy shook his head. “I know,” he said. “But they think they did.”

Master Jefferson was sick most of the following winter. He improved a little in time for Miss Ellen's wedding at the end of May. Miss Ellen was marrying a wealthy businessman from Boston. She would be moving there to live.

“I feel like I'm deserting a sinking ship,” she said to Miss Martha, the week before the wedding. “I feel like a coward, running away.” She and Miss Martha were at the breakfast table. Peter was sitting on the floor in the corner, waiting to clear.

“I'm thankful your situation at least will be secure,” Miss Martha said. “It's one consolation in the face of our impending misfortune.”

Miss Ellen said, “Grandpa says it will get better.”

Miss Martha nodded. “He always thinks so. But I don't despair. If we have to, we can sell some of the extra Negroes.”

Peter frowned. He must have misheard.
Negroes
meant black people. Surely Miss Martha hadn't said that. Extra people? Who did she think was extra? She could sell some extra furniture—they had plenty of that. Or extra livestock, there were baby calves and lambs. Or some of the books or china or wine—lots of extras there.

Maybe she hadn't said
Negroes
. Maybe she had said
clothes
. The word
clothes
sounded like
Negroes
. Some of the extra clothes. Miss Martha and her family had more clothes than they needed, that was sure.

Peter sat back on his heels. Surely Miss Martha had said
clothes
. And why would she need to sell anything? Master Jefferson was still alive.

“I don't know,” Maddy said, when Peter asked him about it. His worried expression made Peter feel worse. “They must be in more trouble than we know. I thought they'd be able to manage, while he lived.” He shook his head. “Pay more attention next time, okay? And tell me whatever you hear. Like my mama says, keep your mouth shut, your eyes and ears open.” Maddy went back to work. After a while he spoke again. “I never thought Miss Ellen would marry.”

“Why not?” Peter never thought about Miss Ellen at all.

“Something she told me, a long time ago.”

“She used to talk to you?” Peter said.

“When I was a little boy. Look here, Peter, you need to get serious with this primer. You hear me? I want you to get serious about learning to read.”

“I hear you,” Peter said, but he rolled his eyes.

In August, Maddy and Eston traveled to Poplar Forest one last time, to replace the roof on the house there the way they'd done at Monticello. Master Jefferson stayed home. He was too weak to make the trip.

The flood of visitors continued unceasing, even as Master Jefferson declined. Miss Martha tried to always answer the door herself, so that she could turn strangers away, but if Master Jefferson heard the door he would totter out to the hall and invite everyone to spend the night. He couldn't preside at lengthy dinners anymore. He was always tired, but he needed laudanum to get to sleep.

“Daddy?” Peter asked. “Are we going to be okay?”

“I wish I knew,” Daddy said.

The Marquis de Lafayette visited again before he returned to France. Peter begged Burwell to let him help serve in the dining room. He loved the sight of the long table loaded with the best food his mama could make, and with china and crystal glasses that glittered in the light. The diners toasted Lafayette, and Jefferson, and freedom; they cheered and raised their glasses high. But Master Jefferson lay in bed, too sick to attend. He and Mr. Lafayette wept again when they said good-bye.