Stephen O'Connor - Thomas Jefferson Dreams of Sally Hemings

After he has left the jar of preserves atop his note on the table in the empty kitchen and has walked halfway down the hall, he decides he must return and retrieve his pathetic and shameful offering. He ventures back as far as the kitchen door, but then the notion that he should be ashamed of so innocent a gesture only seems more pathetic and incriminating, so once again he hurries down the hall.

And then: the bemused surprise of Clotilde when, an hour later, she comes across the jar and the note.

And then: Jimmy’s somber gaze when, some hours after that, his sister walks into the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” asks Sally Hemings, stopping in the doorway.

He nods in the direction of the jar.

She recognizes not just the one word she can read but the handwriting.

What she cannot make sense of is the blue scrawl on the label glued to the jar.

“What flavor?” she asks her brother, and he tells her. She picks up the jar, and then she puts it down and leaves the room.

But Jimmy has not had time to skin an onion before she is standing again beside the table. “It won’t hurt to taste,” she says.

Fingertips glossed with sweat, she tugs at the twine and paper, then picks up a knife and breaks the wax seal.

It is nine at night, and Sally Hemings has just finished washing and putting away the pots used by her brother and Clotilde when she hears the Marquis de Lafayette’s laughter coming down the corridor from the direction of Thomas Jefferson’s study. It would have been faster for her to go up to her room via the staircase just outside the kitchen, but she decides to take the main staircase instead, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the funny and kind marquis.

As she passes, candle in hand, in front of Thomas Jefferson’s door, she sees a paper-strewn desk, a lit oil lamp and, just to the right of the lamp, somebody’s knee, but she doesn’t dare hesitate long enough to determine whose knee it is.

No sooner has she passed the door than she hears the marquis’s voice: “Is that my beautiful little Sarah?”

“Sally!” Thomas Jefferson calls. “Sally! Would you mind coming here for a moment?”

Straightening her hair and her apron with her one free hand, she returns to the door. “Yes, Mr. Jefferson.”

The two men are leaning forward to get a better view of the door, Thomas Jefferson behind the desk, the Marquis de Lafayette in front of it. (His was the knee she had glimpsed.) Both have shiny red faces and glittering eyes. A half-empty bottle of wine and two full glasses are on the desk. Two empty bottles stand beside the marquis’s chair. He is looking at Sally Hemings with his usual merry smile. Thomas Jefferson is also smiling, but less easily. Sally Hemings feels a piercing sorrow as she looks at him, but she is not sure why.

“Thank you, Sally,” says Thomas Jefferson. “You remember the marquis?”

“Mais oui,” says Sally Hemings. “Bien sûr.”

“And how is my beautiful Sarah?” says the marquis.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Sally Hemings knows that she should say, “And how are you, my lord?” but she can’t bring herself to ask him a question.

“We need your advice!” the marquis announces, his smile growing just a touch mischievous. “Your good friend, le philosophe ”—he gestures at Thomas Jefferson, who has ceased smiling altogether—“and I are trying to come up with a document that will help this benighted monarchy acquire some of the virtues of your wise and civilized country.”

“Gilbert,” Thomas Jefferson says reprovingly.

“Nonsense,” says the marquis. “Je veux vraiment savoir ce qu’elle pense.”

Thomas Jefferson takes a deep sip from his glass and leans back in his chair. His face grows darker as it recedes from the lamp glow, but the flame still gleams in his eyes.

“Come in, chère Sarah,” says the marquis. “Would you like a chair?” He looks around the room. Every other chair is stacked with books, papers, surveying equipment or other mechanical devices.

“That’s all right,” says Sally Hemings.

“Mais non!” He turns to Thomas Jefferson. “We can clear off one of these chairs for the young lady, can’t we, Tom?”

“No, really, ” insists Sally Hemings.

The marquis is leaning forward to rise from his chair but now hesitates.

“Are you sure, Sally?” says Thomas Jefferson. His voice is kindly, and there is a tenderness in his gaze that brings back her sorrow. Her sorrow and something else. This is the first time he has looked into her eyes for more than an instant in the six weeks since the night he came into her room. Her knees are trembling beneath her petticoats and gown.

“Yes,” she says. “I was just on my way upstairs.”

The marquis leans back in his chair. “Well, we won’t keep you.” He takes a sip from his own glass. “But we would both like to know what you think about something.” He glances at Thomas Jefferson, who presses his hands flat together as if he were praying and holds the tips of his fingers against his mouth. “We’d like to know,” the marquis continues, “what you think of an idea that we have been discussing. It concerns the definition of liberty or, more exactly, the liberty of people living together under one government. We would like to define liberty as the freedom to do whatever one wants, as long as that does not cause injury to anyone else or deprive people of their basic rights, including the right to liberty. What do you think of that idea?”

Sally Hemings is silent. She feels Thomas Jefferson looking at her, but she doesn’t look in his direction. Her knees are trembling so violently now that the skirt of her dress has begun to shake.

“It’s all right,” says Thomas Jefferson.

“Let the girl answer,” says the marquis. He is not smiling now. He no longer seems the least bit funny or kind.

“Sally,” says Thomas Jefferson, “you don’t have to say anything if you would rather not.”

“It’s a simple question,” says the marquis. “Should people be free to do whatever they want as long as they don’t hurt anyone else?”

After a long moment, Sally says, “I suppose that would be all right. If they don’t hurt anybody, I mean. But I don’t know. I’d have to think about it for a bit. It seems to me that there are a lot of things that don’t hurt anybody else, but I’m not sure if people should really do all of them. Like hurt animals. I don’t know if people should be able to do that if there isn’t a good reason.”

“Well said,” says Thomas Jefferson, who is leaning forward now, his hands still pressed together in front of his mouth.

“What about depriving people of their liberty?” says the marquis. “Do you think that one man should be free to deprive another man of his freedom?”

Thomas Jefferson falls back into his chair again, his forehead gnarled with uneasiness, his eyes still gleaming.

“What do you think?” says the marquis. “Do we have the right to deprive other people of their liberty if they have not committed a crime?”

“Gilbert,” says Thomas Jefferson. “I think you are being inconsiderate.”

“Let her speak,” says the marquis.

“I think…” says Sally Hemings. “I think that’s another question I have to think about some more.”

“But you must have an opinion!” the marquis says impatiently. “Do you think that someone should have the right to deprive you of your liberty if you haven’t broken the law?”

Sally Hemings’s eyes are hot with tears. Her vision blurs.

“Gilbert!” Thomas Jefferson slaps his hand down on the desk. “This is pointless and cruel.”