Sally of Monticello: Founding Mother the story continues...

90A grieving Jefferson Randolph was trying to console everyoneover the death at Carlton of his sister, Anne Cary Bankhead, Thomas’sfirst grandchild. All assembled at Monticello after the news came onthis Saturday, 11th of February, 1826.We were uniformly bitter over how her husband Charles hadtreated her, and we wished the drunken fool had received thepunishment he deserved. People said he has reformed since knifingyoung Jefferson in Charlottesville, but none had persuaded me.Anne had delivered a baby boy prematurely two weeks ago andhad worsened since. The child, William Stuart, survived and joinedthree siblings.Thomas had been too weak to visit Anne, and when finally hewas able, she was unconscious. Today he was devastated at herpassing, but manifesting grief differently from his terrifying collapsewhen Martha Wayles died. I feared sorrow would eat his insides like ahuge parasite and finish him.Privately he mumbled against God for taking those he neverexpected would predecease him, as happened to daughter Maria attwenty-five and more recently to son-in-law Jack Eppes, who wasfifty. Anne was thirty-five.Martha, of course, was beside herself, as was the increasinglyeccentric Mr. Randolph. Both received support from Anne’s siblings,who nonetheless mourned loudly.For me Anne’s death was not only the loss of a lovely and muchput-upon grandniece, but the witnessing of accelerated deterioration bymy dear mate of thirty-eight years. He feared further bad news fromRichmond, but grandson Jefferson was not so pessimistic. How thatbegan—Misfortune descended upon Thomas Mann Randolph to anextent requiring Thomas to assume his son-in-law’s debts—on top ofhis own. Grandson Jefferson tried to sell tracts of the family’s land tocover obligations. Unfortunately, bidders were few and prices werelow.Thomas hadn’t stopped borrowing, but the prospect of burdeningMartha and his grandchildren with gargantuan debt worried himintensely. “Leaving one’s family destitute,” he said, “is pain andhumiliation compounded. Worse yet, it’s inescapable by death.”One sleepless night early last month Thomas thrashed in bed tillan idea came that caused him to summon Jefferson first thing in themorning. Though Thomas and the Democratic-Republicans have longthought lotteries exploited common folks with little cash to gamble, hewould put his lands into a lottery. Tickets would be offered throughoutall states at reasonable denominations, raising money that Thomas andhis grandson would use to pay debts. Lottery winners would receiveselected properties.The Virginia legislature would have to consent to such a plan.Thomas drafted details and sent them with Jefferson to State SenatorJoseph C. Cabell, who was chief fund-raiser for the University ofVirginia. Thomas argued that he was entitled to special considerationfor past public service.In Richmond Jefferson met resistance at first, then acceptance byCabell and others with a proviso—that the lands be appraised so thattotal funds from ticket purchases would not exceed the lands’ nowdepressed value. They may as well have said “no” right then and there.“I’m appalled,” Thomas told me before news of Anne’s deathreached us, “that Richmond is throwing obstacles in the path of mylottery plan, that so many there have forgotten my sacrifices.”Now, in this time of bereavement, I hugged my poor mate andcooed pleasantries and affectionate sentiments. The word “love” roseeasily now for both of us. For a few moments he seemed to cling to mefor dear life.I whispered, “We’ve had years of happiness, Thomas. There’snot another example of devotion quite like ours anywhere in thiscorner of the world.” I almost choked on my next statement. “If you godown, you must take me with you. But you won’t,” I hastened to add.“None of this will defeat you.”The mood at Monticello hadn’t been this dark for years. Servantsnow tip-toed where once they’d moved swiftly. Gathered familymembers alternately wept in one another’s arms over Anne or satbrooding quietly. Someone had put a cover on the harpsichord.Grandson Jefferson labored to keep all together at great sacrificeto his own happiness. While he was negotiating in Richmond for thelottery, his wife Jane had a baby girl at nearby Tufton.Thomas said, as I helped him to a chair in his bedchamber,“Jefferson is the same age I was when I wrote the Declaration. Thirtythree.But the effort he’s making to save us all is a harder task than theone entrusted to me.”I removed his shoes and put slippers on his stockinged feet.“My grandson,” he said, “is a godsend. An absolute godsend.”I resisted arguing contradictions involving the Deity.“I almost forgot,” he said, letting me help him to his feet.“Forgot what?”“To tell you Madison and Eston are provided for in my will.Madison will go free now that he’s twenty-one. Eston will follow inthree years. We’ll secure it with regular paperwork this time, and I canarrange their remaining in Virginia, if that’s their wish.” He tried tosmile and added, “Meanwhile, they and I have been doing a fairbusiness in the cabbages they raise.”“Would you like me to put you to bed, Thomas? You looktired.”“No, no. I’ll do a little writing.”“To President John Quincy’s proud father, Mr. Adams?”“Not this time, no.” He stared at the ceiling and mumbledsomething, as though trying to recapture a thought. He said, “Go dowhat you need to and come back, Sally. Yes, please come back.”He started slowly for his study, his voice trailing as he added,“Old and broken as I am, you’re still my life’s companion, SarahHemings. My heart’s delight. Do come back, yes.”My heart raced at his words and nearly broke at the sight of hisdecline.I feared little time remained.