Jefferson's Sons

by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

  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?”

  Maddy nodded. He had heard whispers. No matter how much the farms made, Master Jefferson spent more. Miss Ellen continued, “So. If you can’t buy a primer, can you buy a slate?”

  Maddy drew his breath. “A what?”

  “A slate. A slate, Maddy. For writing.”

  Maddy thought of what Mama said. Miss Martha would take a strap to Miss Ellen, if Miss Ellen tried to teach Maddy to write. “I don’t need a slate. Why would I want a slate?”

  Miss Ellen’s temper flared. “Don’t—don’t pretend to be stupid around me. You’re too smart for that.”

  “Your mama—”

  “She doesn’t matter,” Miss Ellen said. “You want to learn, and I’m teaching you. My brains ought to be good for something.”

  “I can’t have a slate,” Maddy said. “My mama would kill me.”

  “You shouldn’t be more afraid of your mama than I am of mine.”

  “I’m not,” Maddy said. “I’m not afraid of my mama at all. But if you do something wrong, you get in trouble. If I do something wrong, my mama gets in trouble. Maybe bad trouble. Worse trouble than there’d be for you.”

  Miss Ellen looked at him. Maddy could tell she was really seeing him, the way Mama or Harriet saw him. All of a sudden he felt he could trust her, at least a little. “I could write on a roof slate,” he said. “There are a couple of broken ones left from when they were repairing the stables. Nobody’d care if I took one. It wouldn’t be as smooth as a school slate, but I bet it would work.”

  Miss Ellen grinned. “That’s thinking. Good.” She reached into her pocket. “Here.” She pushed something into Maddy’s hand. “Tragically, I seem to have lost my slate pencil. Mama’ll have to buy me another one.”

  Miss Cornelia came out of the house, calling for Miss Ellen. Miss Ellen jumped up, taking the primer and the Greek book with her. She didn’t say good-bye. Maddy knew why. The less Miss Ellen pretended to care about teaching him, the less anybody would try to stop her. He headed down to the stables for a piece of slate, his fingers tight around the slate pencil she had just given him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Mockingbird

  Master Jefferson had a tame mockingbird. It perched on his shoulder while he wrote and took bites of food from between his lips. It whistled Master Jefferson’s favorite tunes. Mama said Master Jefferson left the door of the bird’s cage open, so the bird could fly wherever it wanted inside Master Jefferson’s room and among the plants on the greenhouse porch. When it was tired it settled on Master Jefferson’s shoulder to sleep.

  Mama told Maddy she liked the bird well enough, but she was glad it didn’t sit on her shoulder. She said sometimes the bird made a mess.

  One morning, when Mama came back from the great house, she told Maddy and Eston that the bird was dead.

  “What killed it?” Eston asked.

  “Nothing killed it,” Mama said. “It looked fine last night, and this morning it was cold on the bottom of the cage. Maybe it was just old.”

  Eston nodded solemnly. “Its time had come.”

  Maddy wasn’t sad about Master Jefferson’s bird—it was just a bird—but he did like mockingbirds. He saw them sometimes in the woods. You never heard them—they mimicked other birds’ songs, so they always sounded like something else. He told James about the dead bird, and right away James said, “Let’s catch him a new one.”

  Maddy grinned. James had worked three whole weeks as water boy, and he’d been a little angry about it. Maddy hadn’t known how to make things right. He was glad now that James wanted to be friends again. He was happy to hunt for a mockingbird.

  Joe Fossett showed them how to make a bird trap out of a wooden box propped up on a stick. James and Maddy searched the woods for a week, off and on, until they finally saw a mockingbird perched high in the branches of a tree. They set up the trap on the ground beneath the tree, and scattered a handful of corn inside the box for bait.

  They huddled in the brush to wait. Patches of sunlight flickered through the green leaves. James had tied a string to the stick holding the box up. Now he pulled the string until it was taut on the ground. He bit the tip of his tongue, the way he always did when he was concentrating. He looked exactly like Joe Fossett. Maddy laughed.

  “Shh,” James warned him, smiling.

  The mockingbird hopped to a lower branch and cocked its head toward them.

  “Might be a while yet,” Maddy whispered.

  “No hurry,” whispered James.

  Maddy agreed. He felt completely happy. The mockingbird had pretty gray feathers and a flash of white on its wings. Maddy wondered if Master Jefferson’s old bird had looked so fine. He wondered too if it had been hard to catch, before it became tame. This new bird did not suspect a trap. Sooner than Maddy expected, it hopped to the ground and began to peck the corn, and then it walked right into the little box. James yanked the string, and the box dropped. They’d caught the mockingbird.

  Maddy whooped, and James whooped, and the bird got upset and flapped the box around.

  “Shh,” said James. He was laughing. “Don’t let him hurt him
self.”

  Maddy took his shirt off and laid it out on the ground, and they carefully dragged the box sideways onto it. They flipped the box over, holding Maddy’s shirt tight across the open bottom like a lid. The bird fought a bit more, but not much.

  They took turns carrying the box on the long walk back to the great house. Maddy couldn’t wait to see Master Jefferson’s face. He’d smile the way he used to smile at Beverly. Maybe he’d even give them a hug. James was carrying the box when they reached the great house, and Maddy reached for one end.

  “Let’s give it to him together,” he said.

  When they got to Master Jefferson’s room, Maddy kicked the closed door. Mama came out, a broom in her hand. She gave them the eye. “What are you doing, bothering Master Jefferson? And bringing some kind of mess into this house?”

  “It’s a bird,” James said, at the same time as Maddy said, “A surprise.”

  “Let me see.” Mama peeked beneath Maddy’s shirt. “A mockingbird! Did you catch him yourselves?”

  They nodded, proud. Mama hugged James with one arm, and Maddy with the other. “Aren’t you clever. Stay here. I’ll get him.”

  She went away and in a moment Master Jefferson came out, holding a pen. He had ink smeared across his chin. He smiled at them. “Sally said you two have brought me a bird,” he said. “Bring him back here—bring him to my office.”

  Master Jefferson’s office was the middle part of his big private room. He took the box from James and directed Maddy to clear a space among the piles of books on the floor. He set the box down. “Let’s see him,” he said. He wrapped Maddy’s shirt around the bird’s body until he could lift it up, and then he held on to the bird’s feet and uncovered its head. The bird looked around with sharp eyes, twisting its head from side to side. Maddy couldn’t tell if it was frightened or just mighty surprised.

  Master Jefferson whistled to it, the first part of the song “Money Musk.” The bird tilted its head, listening. Master Jefferson whistled the notes again. Then he took the bird to the empty birdcage on the side of the room and shut it inside. He threw a blanket over the cage and gave Maddy’s shirt back to Maddy.

  “We’ll let him settle for a bit,” he said. “That’s a fine bird, boys. You did a good job to catch him. How did you know I wanted a mockingbird?”

  “Mama said,” Maddy told him.

  Master Jefferson fished through the wallet on his desk. “Here’s fifty cents,” he said. “Fifty cents for each of you. Thank you for bringing me such a fine bird.”

  Maddy looked at the money. He looked at Master Jefferson. He didn’t want money. But James reached for it quick enough, so Maddy had to too, or he would look like he was trying to show up James. Fifty cents was a lot of money. Maddy’d never had fifty cents before.

  The coins were cold in his hand. Inside the cage, the bird made a sudden, wild squawk, and beat its wings against the bars.

  Maddy swallowed. The most awful feeling came over him, all at once, like water poured out of a bucket onto his head.

  That bird had been free, and now it was a slave. From now on it had to live where Master Jefferson wanted it to live, eat what Master Jefferson gave it to eat, even whistle the songs Master Jefferson wanted it to sing. He, Maddy, had sold that bird into slavery.

  Master Jefferson was looking at him. A moment before, Maddy had craved his attention. Now he just wanted to get away. If he could, he’d take back the bird—hand Master Jefferson his money, and take back the bird. Set it free in the woods like it was meant to be. But Master Jefferson was talking.

  “My, James Madison,” he said. “How you’ve grown.” Then he looked at James. “And what’s your name?”

  “He’s James too,” Maddy said. “James Fossett.”

  “My goodness,” Master Jefferson said. “Time flies.”

  “We got to go,” Maddy said. He grabbed James’s arm and hustled him out to the hall.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” James asked. Maddy kept going, out the house door, dragging James. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been inside that room,” James said. “I wanted to ask him about stuff. I bet he’d have told us. He was awful pleased about that bird.”

  “We shouldn’t have caught it,” Maddy said. “That bird was free.”

  James laughed. “Don’t be stupid,” he said.

  “It was free, and we sold it.”

  “Maddy,” James said, “birds aren’t people. They’re birds. You want to set all our chickens free?”

  That wasn’t what Maddy meant.

  “No more chicken for you? How about coons? You going to quit eating them, starting telling them to go be free? Pigs? You want to set free all the ham?”

  “No,” said Maddy, scowling. He kicked at the ground. He didn’t know what he wanted. “I wish he hadn’t paid us. I wanted the bird to be a gift.”

  James frowned. “Well, I didn’t. I wanted to be paid. If you don’t like it, hand me your fifty cents. I won’t mind. Why would you want to give Master Jefferson a gift? What’s he ever done for you?”

  Maddy looked around before he spoke. “He’s my father,” Maddy said.

  James sighed. “I know that,” he said. “Everybody knows, your mama goes up there every night. It’s why I had to carry water all day in the hot sun, and you didn’t. But just because he’s your father doesn’t mean you’ve got to like him. Why would you want to give him anything? What’s he given you?”

  Anger blazed up in Maddy. James was with his father all the time. Maddy said, “Maybe not much yet, but someday he’s going to make me free. He can do that anytime he wants to. Your father can’t.”

  He caught his breath. He wished he could take that back. James looked furious. “I didn’t mean it,” Maddy said. He thrust his two quarters at James. “Here. Take them. Your father’s saving up, I know. Put this with the money under your bed.”

  James smacked Maddy’s hand. The coins flew through the air. “I don’t need your money!” James said. “My father is too going to get us free. That’s what he’s saving for. He makes good money. We don’t need help from you.”

  James turned and ran toward Mulberry Row. After a moment, Maddy picked the quarters out of the dirt, put them in his pocket, and followed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They All Play the Violin

  When Mama came home that afternoon, she told Maddy Master Jefferson said it was time he started learning to play the violin.

  Mama sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Aren’t you glad?”

  Maddy shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I thought you wanted lessons. You said so before.”

  “Yeah,” Maddy said. “I mean, yes, ma’am. I do. I’m glad. Thank you.”

  Mama looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

  Maddy looked away. “I sold him that bird. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had the bird back.” Mostly, though, he wished he had his words back—the words he’d said to James.

  Mama looked puzzled. “What would you do with a mockingbird?”

  “Set him free,” said Maddy.

  “Oh, baby.” Mama wrapped her arms around him, and rocked him back and forth. “Don’t you worry about that. Don’t you worry. You’re going to be free, I promise. You and Beverly and Harriet and Eston—”

  “How about James?”

  Mama’s smile faded. She quit rocking Maddy, but she held him tight. “I can’t save other women’s children, Maddy, darling. I can only save my own.”

  “He’s mad at me,” Maddy said. “James.”

  Mama nodded like she understood, even though she couldn’t really, since Maddy hadn’t told her the whole story.

  “When I came back from France,” Mama said, “I came home to family I hadn’t seen for nearly three years. Everyone could tell I was going to have a baby, and it didn’t take them too long to realize who the father of the baby was. Some folks thought I was a fool. Others were jealous, both then and now. We’ve got adva
ntages because of Master Jefferson, but there are disadvantages too. I’m sorry James feels bad. You’ve got to keep on loving him, Maddy. No matter what. You can’t help all the other stuff, but you can love him no matter what, and when he knows you do he’ll come around. Can you understand that? I know you love James.”

  “I wish Joe Fossett was my daddy,” Maddy said.

  “Well, I don’t,” Mama said. “It doesn’t matter anyhow. We can’t change your daddy. Aren’t you pleased about violin lessons? You like listening to Beverly play.”

  “I won’t sound like Beverly. He’s good.” Maddy had messed around with Beverly’s violin, but it never sounded right.

  “Jesse will fix you up,” Mama said. “You go down with Beverly this week. Work hard. Make your father proud.”

  Maddy rolled his eyes. He couldn’t imagine making his father proud. On the other hand, the next time James asked him what his father had given him, he’d be able to say, “Violin lessons.” James would think it was stupid, but at least Maddy would have something to say.

  Two days later, when Maddy and Beverly set out for Jesse Scott’s, Eston followed them down the row, whining. “Can I come?” he said. “Please? I want to come!” Eston was four years old.

  “You can’t come,” Maddy said. “We’re walking all the way down the mountain, and then we have to walk all the way back up again. It’s miles and miles. You’re too small.”

  Eston’s face puckered up, ready to cry. “Oh, hush,” Beverly told Maddy. “You can come, Eston. Run tell Mama.”

  “He’ll be nothing but trouble,” Maddy said.

  “He’ll be fine.” Beverly handed Maddy the violin. When Eston dashed back, all smiles, Beverly lifted Eston onto his shoulders.

  Maddy said, “You don’t ever carry me.”

  Beverly slipped an arm around Maddy’s shoulder. “I don’t have to, you’re so big and strong. Tell me the story about catching that bird.”