Free Jefferson's Sons by Kimberly Bradley Page B

fine blacksmith—” Mr. Stewart began.
    â€œYou used to be a fine blacksmith,” the overseer corrected. “Now you’re a common drunk. Get back to your house and start packing.”
    Mr. Stewart stared at the overseer. The overseer stared back. Finally Mr. Stewart turned and spat over his left shoulder. The gob of spit narrowly missed Beverly. “Crummy job here anyway,” Stewart said. “Been six months since I’ve been paid.”
    He walked off. Joe Fossett picked the iron bar off the ground with the tongs and put it back into the fire. “Blow the fire up,” he said to Beverly, and Beverly did.
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    Mr. Stewart left the mountain. The overseer wrote to Master Jefferson. Master Jefferson sent back a letter full of good news. He named Joe Fossett head blacksmith, in charge of the whole shop by himself. If Joe took on extra work for people outside Monticello, he would get a cut of the proceeds—sixteen cents out of every dollar they paid. Best of all, Miss Edith had had another baby, a girl. Joe and Miss Edith named her Maria.
    Joe shone with joy. He advertised his services all over Charlottesville. He fired the forge early and worked late into the night. He was earning for his family now.
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    That was the first important thing. The second one Beverly learned right after Master Jefferson came home for Christmas. Mama gathered him and Harriet and even Maddy close around her in their cabin. She had something to tell them, she said, but she’d waited so she could tell Master Jefferson first. Mama put her hand on her belly and smiled. “I’m going to have a baby,” she said. “Sometime late spring. A brother or sister for the three of you.”
    Harriet laid her head against Mama’s belly. Maddy scowled. “ I’m the baby!” he said.
    â€œNo, you’re not,” Beverly told him. “If there’s going to be a new baby, that means you’re a big boy.”
    Maddy’s scowl vanished. “I’m a big boy!” he said.
    â€œYes,” Mama said, kissing him. “You’re a big, beautiful boy.”
    Master Jefferson was happy about the baby, or so Mama said, but Miss Martha wasn’t. When Beverly carried firewood through the hallway of the great house on Christmas Eve, he caught the horrified look Miss Martha gave Mama’s swelling belly. “Surely, Sally,” Miss Martha said, “surely you’re not increasing again ?”
    Mama replied softly, in French. Then she added, her voice soothing and calm, “And so are you?”
    Miss Martha pressed her lips together. Tears sprang to her eyes. She looked away angrily. “Again,” she said. She didn’t seem happy at all. Beverly guessed it was because Miss Martha’s husband was so mean. Or maybe having seven living children was enough. He felt a pang of sympathy for Miss Martha.
    Miss Martha turned and saw him. “You, boy,” she snapped. “Don’t stand there. The third floor needs wood.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Git!”
    Beverly got. So much for sympathy, he thought. Miss Martha was a shrew.
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    The third thing was the most important. It was something he finally figured out. One of Miss Martha’s daughters, Miss Virginia, was just about Harriet’s age, and two others, Miss Cornelia and Miss Mary, were not far off on either side. After Mama told Harriet she was going to grow up to be a lady, Harriet started to pay attention to Miss Cornelia and Miss Virginia and the rest. At Christmastime Beverly caught her eavesdropping when Miss Martha spoke to her girls. He could see how Harriet copied them, sitting with her back not touching the back of her chair, folding her legs at the ankles, and brushing her skirts down smooth. It was only a game to her, but Harriet was prettier than Miss Martha’s girls, and more graceful, and Beverly watched her with a kind of pride. Harriet would