Jefferson's Sons

Miss Ellen took Maddy through the pages of the primer. Each time they had a few moments together, she made him read the words from the section they’d studied the time before. If he knew them all they moved on. Big, dig, fig, gig, pig, wig. Bog, dog, fog, hog, jog, log. Maddy loved how the words stacked up. Bed, fed, led, red, wed.

“It’d be better if you had your own primer,” Miss Ellen said one day. “If you could practice, you’d get on fast.” She glanced quickly over her shoulder as she spoke. Maddy knew she was checking to be sure Miss Martha wasn’t nearby. They were sitting on a bench on the back porch of the great house, because visitors came to the front porch and because Miss Martha didn’t want Maddy in any of the rooms inside.

“I’d loan you ours if I could,” Miss Ellen said. “My brother’s reading out of it now, so Mama’ll notice if it goes missing. Once you’re farther along I’ve got other books you can borrow.” She studied Maddy. “Could you buy a primer?”

“No. We have money.” Maddy wondered how to explain. “I don’t know how much a primer costs—but it’s not that.” It would cause talk, if he or Mama or any other enslaved person tried to buy a book in Charlottesville. “Mama hates talk,” he said.

Miss Ellen sighed. She tucked her hair behind her ear. She had red hair, like Master Jefferson. “But that’s nonsensical,” she said. “If you have money, there’s no reason why anyone should care what you buy. It shouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.” She glared at Maddy.

Maddy knew what she meant, but he understood his mama’s side too. “If I tried to buy a gun,” he said.

“Somebody could take a gun away from me,” Maddy said. “I learn what’s in a book, it’s mine for keeps.”

Miss Ellen still stared. Maddy dropped his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. He should know better than to talk straight to a white person, even Miss Ellen. He thought about the word nonsensical. That would be one to remember for Beverly. Beverly loved musical words.

Miss Ellen sighed. “Don’t be. I guess I should understand. Only, do you ever think what a stupid world this is, with so many useless rules?” She thrust a book at Maddy. It wasn’t the primer, it was the book she had been reading when Maddy found her on the porch. “Look,” she said. She opened it under Maddy’s nose.

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?”

“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 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 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.

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 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.”

“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’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.