Free Thomas Jefferson Dreams of Sally Hemings by Stephen O'Connor Page B

there were purple hollows under her eyes. Despite the heat she had a woolen shawl drawn up around her neck.
    I told the boys to sit down on one of the tree’s enormous, serpentine roots and that if they were very good, I would teach them how to catch pollywogs at the pond. When at last I stood in front of Mrs. Jefferson, she reached up and caressed my cheek with her cool hand. “You’re such a pretty girl!” she said. “You have such lovely, kind eyes.”
    The intensity of her gaze disconcerted me. I lowered my head and couldn’t bring myself to speak.
    She had been lying diagonally on the couch, her slipper-shod feet not quite touching the ground, but now she sat up properly and patted the empty space beside her. “Sit down. I have something to say to you.”
    When I didn’t move, she smiled and said, “You don’t have to worry. I promise not to bite!”
    When I still didn’t move, she asked if anything was the matter, and I nodded at the boys, who had found an anthill and were looking for a twig to stick into it.
    â€œOh, don’t worry about them.” She laughed. “They’ll be fine. And this won’t take a minute.”
    She stroked the silk upholstery with her pale hand, then patted it.
    I turned and sat down, but only at the very edge of the cushion. I folded my hands in my lap.
    â€œI’ve been watching you,” Mrs. Jefferson said. “And I see that you are very good with children. You never threaten to thrash them, you never even raise your voice, and yet the children do exactly what you say. It is because they want to please you.”
    â€œThank you.” I swallowed to suppress a smile of pride.
    Mrs. Jefferson smiled and took my hand. She had grown so thin that I could feel every one of her bones, even in her palm. She looked at me for a long moment, with her soft, faintly pained smile. I wanted to pull my hand away.
    â€œYou know that I have a very small baby,” she said.
    I nodded.
    â€œEver since she was born, it has been difficult for me to devote as much attention as I should to her sister, my dear little Polly.” Mrs. Jefferson let go of my hand and pulled up her shawl, which had begun to slip from her shoulders. Then she took my hand again and gave it a squeeze. “And so I have an offer to make to you. I am wondering if you would like to be little Polly’s companion. She is not even five years old, and I am afraid she spends too much time alone.”
    When I didn’t respond, she continued, “Do you know what a companion is?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.”
    â€œI want you to spend the day with her and do whatever it is that she would like to do. If she would like to play a game with you, play a game. If she would like to go for a ride, you should accompany her in the carriage. And, of course, I would like you to tidy up her room and look after her clothing, as your mother does for me.” She gave my hand another squeeze. “So is that something you think you could do?”
    I knew that what I was being asked to do was only what I was already doing at the nursery, but for some reason it filled me with dread. I hardly knew Polly and didn’t understand why she should be lonely when she had another sister—Patsy—who was almost exactly my age.
    There was, however, only one answer I could give, and so I gave it.
    â€œI’m very happy,” Mrs. Jefferson said, although she looked anything but happy. “I think that you will be the perfect companion for little Poll. I am sure that one day you will be as dear to her as your mother is to me.”
    I thanked Mrs. Jefferson again, collected my boys and continued my journey to the cow pond, wondering if there was some way my mother could talk Mrs. Jefferson out of using me in this fashion.
    Poor Mrs. Jefferson. She was never anything but kind to me. Even when she could no longer speak, she would still cast me lingering