Thomas Jefferson Dreams of Sally Hemings (36 page)

I
t is almost a week before Sally Hemings has a chance to intervene on Mary's behalf concerning Joey and Betsy. Congress is about to begin its winter session, and Thomas Jefferson has been in daily communication with James Madison about how they might make the most of the near collapse of Colonel Hamilton's newly established national bank. Also, for reasons that Sally Hemings does not fully understand, the Marquis de Lafayette has been declared an enemy of the French Revolution. Fearing for his life, he fled France, hoping to make his way in the United States, but before he could get onto a boat, he was arrested by the Austrians, who are now threatening to execute him. Thomas Jefferson has been writing to everyone he can think of who might possibly intercede on his dear friend's behalf, but he is terribly afraid. He hardly sleeps at night and keeps telling Sally Hemings that he feels utterly helpless. And as if all of this were not enough, every corridor at Monticello is blocked by baskets, trunks and heaps of laundry. Martha is getting ready to return to Edgehill now that she has recovered from giving birth to her daughter, and Maria is packing to spend the year in Philadelphia with her father.

Sally Hemings is in Maria's chamber, folding clothing and placing it in a trunk, when eight-year-old Davy knocks on the door and informs her that Mr. Jefferson has gone for a ride and wants her to tidy his study. This is a signal that she should put on her riding boots and proceed directly to the stable, where Jupiter will have Goodfellow saddled and ready for her. She glances at Maria, who meets her eye for half a second, then looks away, continuing her ongoing pretense that she doesn't know what Davy's messages actually mean. When Maria comes back from Philadelphia, Critta will be her maid, and Sally Hemings's sole responsibility will be to take care of Thomas Jefferson's chambers.

Some forty-five minutes later, she meets a very weary-looking Thomas Jefferson on the western shore of the lake. The first quarter mile of their journey down to the lodge is along a road broad enough for them to ride side by side, and this is where Sally Hemings decides to fulfill her promise to her sister. Hardly a word is out of her mouth before Thomas Jefferson interrupts her.

“I've already been through all of this with Mary,” he says, “and I don't know what else there is to discuss.”

“She's in a terrible way. She's been missing Joey and Betsy so dearly she says she's not sure she can go on living.”

“What nonsense! Tell her she's free to visit the children anytime she likes. And they can join her at Colonel Bell's on Sundays and holidays.”

“But she wants them to live with her! And so does Colonel Bell.”

“Well . . .” Thomas Jefferson is silent a long time. Then he says, “I think that's something she'll have to take up with her husband.”

“But she has! He told her straight out that he would love for the children to live with him.”

Thomas Jefferson gives Sally Hemings a skeptical glance. “I think it's best not to meddle in other people's private affairs.”

“But she's miserable. And you are the only one with the power to reunite her with her children.”

“I'm sorry, Sally, I've given this matter all the attention I have time for. I have every sympathy for Mary. You know that. I know perfectly well what it is like to miss one's child. But even so, a time comes when children must be allowed to make their own way in the world. I went off to school when I wasn't much older than Joey—”

“But Betsy is nine years old!”

“Indeed, but that is older than Maria was when she journeyed across the ocean.”

Now it is Sally Hemings's turn to cast a skeptical glance. She does not bother to say what she is thinking, because she can tell from the exaggerated attention Thomas Jefferson is paying to the reins of his horse that he knows—after all, one of the reasons he is bringing Maria with him to Philadelphia is to compensate for having abandoned her when she was so young.

“At the very least,” she says, “why don't you have another talk with Colonel Bell?”

Thomas Jefferson gives her a beleaguered glance. “I'll do what I can.” Then he kicks his horse's flanks and moves in front of her as the wooded road narrows down into a path.

She doesn't make it into Charlottesville for nearly two weeks, at which point Thomas Jefferson, Maria, Jimmy and Bobby are long gone. The very first thing she does is go over to Bell's Store, but Mary is not comforted by Thomas Jefferson's suggestion that she is free to visit her children and to have them visit her, and she has seen no indication that he spoke to her husband before leaving for Philadelphia.

“He's been very busy.” Sally Hemings explains about Alexander Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette and ends by saying, “I'm sure that Colonel Bell will be receiving a letter on the matter any day now.”

Sally Hemings knows perfectly well that no such letter will ever arrive. But she tries to believe that it will for as long as she is with her sister and for some days afterward.

When, at last, she feels she has no choice but to face the facts, she comforts herself by resolving to speak to Thomas Jefferson as soon as he returns—at least if either of the two children seem truly to be miserable by then.

She watches them over the course of several months. While neither seems especially happy, she sees no evidence whatsoever that they are unhappy. Joey, in particular, strikes her as an entirely ordinary twelve-year-old boy—loud and rambunctious but never sullen or tearful. Betsy does seem a bit subdued, but perhaps she is only thoughtful. Both children, in any event, are being schooled in useful trades: Joey in blacksmithing and Betsy in sewing and child care. And what is more, neither child seems appreciably happier when their mother comes to visit. They are not rude to her by any means, nor are they joyful. As far as Sally Hemings can tell, their demeanor does not alter one jot in the presence of their mother.

Mary's demeanor, on the other hand, alters dramatically as the months pass—at least in regard to her sister. At first she will greet Sally Hemings with nothing more than a baleful glance, but after a while not even that. On her part, Sally Hemings tries to look cheerful when she spots Mary and will raise her hand and call out a greeting, but her sister keeps her eyes to the ground and walks past as if she hasn't seen or heard a thing. Ultimately Sally Hemings decides that Mary is simply not being realistic, neither about the malleability of Thomas Jefferson's will nor about the true situation of her own children. As winter turns into spring and spring into summer, Sally Hemings becomes increasingly inclined to see her sister's enduring misery as a matter of choice. Mary could choose to make the best of the situation, but she simply refuses to. Over the course of the year, Sally Hemings also notices that Mary's hair goes from silver-laced brown to completely gray.

I
t is September of 1793, and Maria has been back in Monticello for nearly a month. She has been sent home early because a plague of yellow fever has struck Philadelphia and her father is worried for her health. Critta is still down at Edgehill helping with Martha's baby and won't be back for a couple of weeks, so Sally Hemings is on her knees in the washroom, scrubbing bloodstains off the back of Maria's sky blue riding gown. Earlier that afternoon Maria, who is fifteen, took a solitary ride around the mountaintop and did not realize that her period had commenced until she climbed down from the gig and felt her shift sticking to her legs. And now Sally Hemings is, herself, so intent on what she is doing that she does not notice the knock on the jamb of the open door behind her and is startled when she hears her own name called out by—she realizes in half an instant—her brother.

“Jimmy!” she cries, getting to her feet and hugging him with her forearms, because she does not want to wet him with her hands.

“Hey there, Cider Jug!” He lifts her off the ground and spins her in a circle.

She shrieks as the room whirls around her, and she is still laughing when he sets her back on her feet.

“What are you doing home so early?” she says.

“Oh, all the white people decided to clear out of Philadelphia because of the fever.”

“I know,” she says somberly. “Maria's told me about it. I've been so worried about you.”

“No need to worry about me! Colored people don't get yellow fever, only whites.”

“Really?”

“That's what Mr. Jefferson says.”

Sally Hemings finds that hard to believe, but before she can query Jimmy any further, a big grin comes onto his face. He puts his hands in his pockets and swells out his chest.

“So?” he says. “Haven't you noticed anything different?”

He is wearing an elegant gray frock coat, cream breeches and black shoes with plain silver buckles. His clothes look remarkably clean for someone who has just spent ten days on the road, but Sally Hemings has seen them all before.

“New stockings?” she suggests.

Jimmy doesn't say a word, just continues to grin at her.

“What?” she says.

“You mean you really can't tell?”

“What?” she says emphatically.

“You are looking at a free man!”

“What!” she shouts. “You did it? You finally did it?”

Jimmy replies only with a broader, happier grin. Sally Hemings is so happy she bursts into tears. “Oh, Jimmy! Oh, Jimmy! Praise the Lord!” She throws her arms around him, and he gives her another whirl.

Jimmy has been talking about asking for his manumission ever since an evening in Paris when the Church family came to supper at the Hôtel de Langeac. He prepared a blanquette de veau that all of the guests found so delicious he was called in to accept compliments. Amid the general praise, Kitty Church cried out, “You should open a restaurant!” and Thomas Jefferson interjected, “Not until he trains a replacement!” Everybody laughed, but in the middle of it all, Thomas Jefferson shot Jimmy a glance that made him wonder if the remark had not been partly in earnest. Over the four years since that time, Jimmy primarily considered the possibility that he might be freed as little more than a pipe dream, but then, when Thomas Jefferson granted Mary's and Thenia's requests to be sold so that they would be with their husbands and allowed Martin to buy his own freedom, Jimmy began to be more hopeful.

“So how did you do it?” Sally Hemings asks.

“I told him Adrien and I want to open a French restaurant in Philadelphia.”

It takes Sally Hemings a moment to realize that Adrien is Monsieur Petit, who has been Thomas Jefferson's chief of staff in Philadelphia for the last year. “What did he say?” she asks.

“He said he thought that was an excellent idea, and he drew up the papers on the spot.”

“Just like that! It was that easy!”

“Just like that,” he says.

“Oh, Jimmy!” She gives him another hug. “So you're free now? Actually free? I can hardly believe it!”

“Yes,” he says. “Free as a bird.” He takes a celebratory leap into the air, but when he lands, his smile has slackened and he speaks in a lower voice. “The papers have been drawn up, but they don't take effect until I have trained my replacement.”

“How long will that be, do you think?”

“Not too long, I reckon. But it depends on how fast a learner he is.”

“Who?”

“Peter.”

“Peter!” Peter, the brother in between Jimmy and Sally Hemings, has remained at Monticello; she sees him almost every day. “Why didn't he tell me?”

“He doesn't know yet.” Jimmy laughs, but when he is finished, he is no longer smiling.

Sally Hemings remembers that it had taken Jimmy a good four years to truly master the art of cooking, and he had been studying with some of the best chefs in Paris. She gives Jimmy an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Peter's a hard worker. I bet he'll pick it up in no time.”

“First he's going to have to learn to read.”

I
t is cold in the lodge—the sort of cold that in a couple of months' time will seem balmy but that now leaves Thomas Jefferson expecting to see the steam of his breath. He is naked, crouched in front of the fireplace, putting a couple of logs on top of the skeletal remains of the fire he started when he and Sally Hemings first arrived. He is fifty years old, and while he is still muscular and lean, he is aware that the skin on his belly has lost much of its resilience and makes crinkly folds when he bends over like this. He suspects that other parts of his body might be similarly flaccid. As he prods the logs into place with his fingertips, he wonders if Sally Hemings, waiting in the bed, thinks he looks old.

“You're cold!” she says when he has rejoined her.

“You're warm!” He pulls her toward him, and presses his chest and belly against hers, and slides his leg up between her thighs until he can feel her pasty wetness. He thinks for a moment that they will make love again, but then she kisses him on the cheekbone and rolls away.

That's all right. He is satisfied. More than satisfied.

Her head is on his shoulder, and they lie looking up at the beams and boards of the lodge's loft. It is the late afternoon of the day following his return from Philadelphia and still full light, though the sky above the trees is winter gray.

“Have you spoken to Jimmy yet?” he says after a bit.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you?”

“Yes.”

“What are your thoughts?”

She cranes her head backward and smiles. “I'm very happy. Thank you.” She kisses him on the cheek. Then she sighs heavily and looks back up at the ceiling. Her feet are moving restlessly under the counterpane, and Thomas Jefferson wonders if she is about to get up.

“No,” he says, “I mean, what do you think about Jimmy?”

She looks up, an irritated expression on her face. “What else can I think? This is what he's wanted for a very long time.” She looks away again.

“Well, yes but that's not—” Thomas Jefferson falls silent. He sighs. “I suppose what I'm wondering is if you think it is wise.”

Sally Hemings raises her head off his shoulder and lifts herself over his left arm, which has been embracing her. She faces him on her side, elbow crooked on the mattress, hand supporting her head. She is glaring at him impatiently. “I don't know why you are even asking that question. Is it ‘wise' that you are free? Is it ‘wise' that anyone is free? That question doesn't make any sense.”

“That's not what I mean,” he says. “I am not going to stand in the way of his desire. I told him I would give him his manumission as soon as he has trained Peter in his stead, and I will. But still, I'm concerned about him.”

“There is a great deal of cruelty in this world.” Sally Hemings is sitting up now, clutching a corner of the sheet across her breasts. “But does that mean that all the people who might suffer from it should give up their freedom?”

“That has nothing to do with it!”

“It has everything to do with it! You yourself said people should be free to
pursue
happiness, but you didn't say anything about their actually having to get it!”

“You're not letting me say what I mean.” Thomas Jefferson is sitting now, too. He puts his hand on her knee. “What I really want to know is if you think Jimmy is all right. Did he tell you about Hoff?”

There is a skeptical wrinkle at the center of Sally Hemings's brow, but her voice is low and uneasy. “No. Who is Hoff?”

“You remember the beating Jimmy gave Monsieur Perrault?”

She nods. Monsieur Perrault was their French tutor in Paris. Jimmy thrashed him with a parasol one afternoon when the old man told him that Negroes were incapable of mastering the subjunctive because, as he put it, “There is no subjunctive in the African language.”

“Well, something similar happened twice in Philadelphia. The first time it was only a beggar boy who ran in front of his horse, and there was perhaps some justification to that. The boy needed to learn not to run heedlessly into the street. But Hoff was a different matter. Hoff is the servant of Mr. Clagget, the butcher Jimmy patronizes on Market Street. Hoff is the one who makes deliveries. So one day he arrives with a leg of lamb. I happened to be in my study at the time and could look right down at the back gate, so I saw the whole thing. The first I knew of it was when I heard Jimmy shouting, ‘This leg is crawling with maggots! How
dare you insult me with this piece of rotten flesh!' When I got to the window, he was brandishing the leg over his head like a club. ‘Do you think I am stupid!' he was shouting. ‘Do you think I'm an absolute idiot!' As it happens, Hoff is Dutch and has very little English. I'm not sure if he understood a single word of what Jimmy said to him, nor am I sure if any of his defenses were intelligible to Jimmy. All I know is that Jimmy became so enraged that he grabbed Hoff by his hair and started to beat him with the leg of lamb. I could see that the poor man was more startled than injured at first, but then Jimmy landed a blow that may well have broken a bone in his shoulder. He staggered and fell to the ground, and then Jimmy started to kick him—”

“Stop!” Sally Hemings is clutching the sides of her head with her hands.

“That's all there is,” says Thomas Jefferson. “By the time I got down to the yard, Jimmy's fit had passed. He pointed at poor Hoff, whom he called a swindler and a criminal, but he was clearly already beginning to think those charges were absurd.”

“The poor man was only the servant,” Sally Hemings says plaintively.

“Exactly. Although once I was in the yard, it was clear that the meat was anything but fresh. In any event, Hoff took advantage of that moment to run out the gate, and we never saw or heard of him again. Jimmy, of course, was filled with remorse. I think he had been drinking even before Hoff arrived, because as soon as we were alone, tears started to spill from his eyes. ‘I know there is a Devil,' he told me, ‘because I can feel him inside my brain.'”

“Oh, no!”

Sally Hemings gets out of bed and starts looking for her clothes.

“From that day until we left, he was his kind and temperate self,” says Thomas Jefferson. “I think he was deeply shocked by what he had done, and chastened. Though I fear his drinking is beginning to get the better of him. One morning, not three days before we set off to come here, Petit and I searched the entire house and couldn't find him anywhere, until finally I went out into the garden and discovered him lying there unconscious in a pool of his own vomit.”

“Oh, poor Jimmy!”

Sally Hemings gets down on her knees and lifts the counterpane so that she can look under the bed. “Where is my shift? We've got to go back up to the house. What did I do with my shift?”