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

86Like reaching into my body and pulling out my heart—That’s what it felt like when saying goodbye to Beverly. Then,within a few months, to Harriet. We all knew we weren’t going to seeone another again. I’ve thought of nothing else for weeks but what mytwo dears looked like, smelled like, dressed elegantly for theirrespective stage rides to Washington. Courageously looking forward tothe adventure of their lives.Beverly had delayed his departure in order to make the“runaway” process easier for his beautiful sister. He wanted to precedeher by establishing a secure place in the capital, making certain he wasaccepted as a white man.My son looked so grand in new summer togs of grey that Harriethad fashioned, cut in the latest style. He wore the start of a mustache. Ioffered to find him a suitable hat in one of the shops here, but hedeclined with thanks.“Let me learn what it’s like to go into a store where only whitepeople shop, talk to clerks as a white man would, then step out into thewhite world with a new hat on my head and never look back.”“You’ll forget your Mama?”“Never. Never.”I was careful not to cry all over his new suit. I thought my heartwould stop and shrivel and end up like a hard, ugly little peach pit.And again with dear Harriet. She trembled as she prepared forthe ride down the mountain with Mr. Bacon, who would put her on thestagecoach in town. I made certain she had all the papers withinformation on the precise whereabouts of her brother. The overseerwould give her fifty dollars in Thomas’s behalf, as he had withBeverly.She looked lovely in a simple magenta dress, lightly ruffled atthe wrists and neck and skirt hem so as not to annoy in the heat. Mydaughter. Soon to be free by “escape”—and white and twenty-one.All this had Thomas’s blessing and assistance. And why not?They were not just my children but ours. Though he couldn’t by natureembrace his children, and though he was doubly constrained againstpublic display with a “shadow family,” his help for Beverly andHarriet were, nonetheless, acts of love.For Harriet’s sake I held off weeping, but as the carriagedescended on the mountain road and she leaned out to wave ahandkerchief, my knees began to melt. Later, having no memory ofcollapsing, I felt my Old Man try to lift me from the ground. His lipstrembled, and all he could say was, “Sally. Dear Sally.” I don’t knowhow we made it back into the house.Now, relatively calm but always to remain heartsick, I drove thelandau with Thomas, Madison, and Eston aboard. The boys hadarranged to visit Hays and Tucker Isaacs, all of them in their teenswith much in common.Thomas said today’s outing—last day of June, 1822—wouldenable him to inspect the work at the university. The building crewshad taken this Sunday off. He’d grown too frail for me to let him steparound the work areas unaccompanied. More than once I had torestrain him or he might have fallen down a hole.We spent a few moments in the general merchandise shop of Mr.Huntington, one of the few places in town that carried books. Fully ayear ago Thomas had ordered a mustard-yellow silk scarf for me thatfinally arrived—“The color of your eyes,” he said, presenting it to mein hopes I might quit grieving.“She’ll never come back, you know,” I said, tying the scarf overmy head in the Russian style.“Harriet will be all right,” he said. “Beverly will make hercomfortable in Washington City. Everything went according to myplan. If she chooses later, she can either go on to Philadelphia or stayin the capital.” He’d explained to my satisfaction that the escapeprocedure was easier than arranging emancipation through elaboratepaperwork. Especially as he’d never seek their return.“You really think they can pass, Thomas? You’d know betterthan I.”“I’m sure of it, and remember they have good employmentprospects as well. They’re equipped with trades and musical talents.”We strolled through town, Thomas sometimes using his walkingstick, sometimes not. I glanced ahead to set a goal for turning around,not wanting him to grow weary.“She’ll probably marry,” I said. “She’s extraordinarilybeautiful.”“That she is. Like her mother.”I leaned toward him and clasped his hand for that. “You do loveme, Thomas? I need you to say it.”“Yes, I do. I do love you, Sally. But I think you may be takingadvantage of my decrepit condition by making me tell you so oftenthese days.”“Making up for all those times I wanted to hear it and youcouldn’t bring yourself to say it.”“I’ve changed. You’ve changed.” And, bitterly, he added,“Everything’s changed.”“Oh, let’s just enjoy the day the best we can. I plan to look at thegood side for Harriet, for Beverly. They have their lives ahead. But Imiss them so.”Now I wanted to cry, and Thomas somehow knew it.In plain view of Charlottesville’s citizens he put his free armaround my shoulder and gave a visible squeeze. My heart raced asthough I was falling in love again.“How goes it with David and Nancy’s case?” he asked. “Anyword?”I sighed. The deeper I got into my change of life, the faster mymoods shifted. “The judges seem baffled what to do about so manyconflicting charges—especially the one of miscegenation. They’d haveto arrest half the men in this town.”Thomas laughed loudly. “Probably far more than half.”“Nancy is sure it’s because of their relative prosperity that sheand David are being put through this. She owns quite a few of thesestore buildings and collects rent.”“I wish I’d been smart enough to make such investments. MaybeI wouldn’t—”I reached to touch an index finger to his lips. “Shush. You’vetried to cheer me, now it’s my turn.”We stopped in a tea room. I wanted assurance from Thomas thatI’d been a good mother, so I asked him plainly.He said, “A better mother than I’ve been a father. I’m proud ofBeverly, and I’m delighted what a perfect young lady Harriet turnedout to be.”“What about the younger boys?”“If I weren’t such an old codger, I might spend more time withthem, but—”“It’s all right, Thomas. You do your best.”He sipped his tea. His hand shook noticeably.When he lowered his cup I reached and covered his hand withmine. Others in the tea room stared, but I didn’t care.Neither did he, for he smiled—and covered my hand with hisother.