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

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I was so upset with Thomas this July day, I could have spit nails.To calm down I busied the children with chores and walked westto the burial ground, alone. I rested in the shade and watched the birds.I didn’t even look to see whose stone I sat on.Probably it’s been a mistake, his allowing me free access toletters. Not just the ones he received but also copies of those he sent.Today, one of them set off my nattering.“Thomas, you’ve passed up another opportunity to register yourvoice. You know how important the slavery issue is to me, not tomention the entire country.”He sighed heavily and sat back on the Campeachy chair. Hebeckoned me to help remove his boots. He’d been riding while I’dread, and he wanted to wear his slippers.At first I crossed my arms, shook my head, and turned awayfrom him. Then I realized he couldn’t manage. I took my position ashis favorite boot-remover. He put one foot on my buttocks and pushed.Same procedure for slipping off the other.I said, “I find that symbolic. A boot in the ass as the measure ofyour consideration.”Instead of appearing stung, the effect I’d hoped for, he chuckled.That infuriated me further.“Come here,” he said, opening his arms to invite me for a hug.I sat on the floor, facing him. I stuck out my tongue.More chuckles.I knew I was acting childishly, but I wanted to make mydisappointment vivid. “Let’s talk this out, Thomas. You had a perfectchance to tell Tompkinson and Kercheval. It’s high time a Virginiaconstitutional convention dealt with slavery. We’re in modern times—Eighteen-Sixteen, and have survived the war. You never evenmentioned slavery.”“It wasn’t relevant,” he said, stifling a yawn.“Regardless, you could have slipped something in. Haven’t youpaid attention to the recent uprisings? Not just Barbados. The blacks inFlorida are at this moment confronting General Jackson. And therewas that Boxley fellow, stirring a slave revolt not a spit and hollerfrom Charlottesville last year.”“The uprisings will be put down.”“Why let things boil to where lives are lost? With properreforms, the lawmakers can give Negroes hope of emancipation.”“Well, there you are, Sally. It’s not a constitutional issue. That’swhy my letter never mentioned the topic.”I grabbed the hem of my skirt and started twisting it, to give myhands something to do so I wouldn’t throw a chamber pot at him.“You’re not understanding the bigger issue.”“Perhaps I’m not. Explain it,” he said, “and I’ll listen.” Hecrossed his legs, crossed his arms, and fixed a serious gaze on me.“I don’t have to tell you what slaves discuss in their cabins.Taking stock of how they came to be slaves. Observing how whitestake their freedom for granted. It doesn’t take high intelligence todeduce what they—what we—feel and agonize over. It grates on usday after day. When we laugh or sing, it’s to lighten the burden, butit’s still heavy on us. On most plantations it’s heavier than on yours,but it’s still heavy.”He nodded. “I know. I know.”“It’s not all pointless commiseration, Thomas. They discusstrying to buy their freedom, or making a break and running away, orjoining with slaves of other plantations and doing violence. But whenthey balance everything out, all that’s left is a fearsome situation andtoo little hope.”This time Thomas looked down at the floor and nodded, waitingfor me to finish my protest.“Two years ago, when Edward Coles asked you to take theleadership—to guide the country out of slavery—you turned himdown. You said you were too old to be another Moses.”He looked up, amused. “Did I mention Moses? I don’t rememberthat. We have a slave by that name who’s laid up with a broken leg.”“No, you didn’t mention Moses, but please stay serious with me.You know what I meant. If you have the energy now to create auniversity, you also have the energy for showing the way to endslavery. The British have done it. I doubt they’re more sensitive thanAmericans.”“I suggested to Coles,” he said, “emancipation of those bornafter a certain day, then their education and eventual expatriation. Thatwould end everything gradually.”“How about me? Would you send me to Africa?”“You’re different. And I’ve been largely unspecific aboutwhere.”“How different? A quarter-Negro, but by law fully Negro?Besides, the so-called ‘amalgamation’ of races you fear takes placeevery day in this country, and you and I are contributing. You knowwhat a hypocrite that makes you?”“This talk is becoming tiresome, Sally.”“When Coles proposed your leadership, I prayed to see a sparkburst into flame. Just as Parisian women marched beside their men inrevolution, I’d have been so proud to stand with you. God, what an308 N. M. Ledgininspiring sight that was in Eighty-Nine. And to be martyred in thecause of eventual freedom for slaves? As you wrote in theDeclaration—‘our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor’.”Thomas sat silently, glancing around the room, I hoped inserious contemplation.At last he said, “It will all come in time, but not of my doing. AsI wrote young Coles, I learned my lesson early in the Virginialegislature, seeing Colonel Bland denounced as an enemy for hismoderate views. His reforms would have brought small relief toslaves, but relief nonetheless. I have to live among these other planters,my neighbors, trade with them.”“But you’ve been President. You could start Virginia and thewhole country moving in the right direction.”Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” This time his chuckle spokeof irony. “I thought in some ways I had.”That’s when I leapt from the floor and stormed out.I found Beverly and instructed him about jobs for the children.Then I walked on the dirt path, my eyes stinging in the glare ofsunlight.When I reached the shade of the burial ground, I realized therewere truths in what Thomas had said. Neither his Governorship nor hisPresidency had been free of intense calumny, in the latter instancemuch because of me. Nor would Mr. Madison escape publicdisapprobation. And soon it would be Mr. Monroe’s turn.Leadership could be uplifting, but it could also bruise the leader.I loved the man, so perhaps it was my lack of consideration that drovethis recurring dialogue.I was forced by my identity to see the issue from the insidelooking out—and to see it constantly.While Thomas lived I would never be free, because that was theway I wanted it. I refused to entertain the notion of our separating. Idreaded life without him.Perhaps I was a more passive slave than others, for the uprisingsand nearby rumblings have made me more nervous than partisan. Andthey’ve troubled me far more than they’ve worried him.I preferred a peaceful way out of all this. So did Thomas, butI’ve told him his plan is muddled.Still, as I heard him murmur after news of the Barbados slaverebellion, “It’s all going to get worse before it gets better.”