It is also true, however — and this strikes me now as loathsome and pathetic — that I did sometimes think that if I were only able to endure whatever it was that Mr. Jefferson wanted of me, I might one day, like my sister, become his wife….
~ ~ ~
Thomas Jefferson looks up from his book when he hears Sally Hemings’s footsteps on the stairs. As her candle comes into view just outside the door, he calls, “Good evening, Sally.”
She stops and smiles, something in the way the powdery gold of the candlelight falls upon her cheek and gleams in her eyes making her look so like Martha that he feels a sudden falling in his chest that is both sorrow and yearning.
“Good evening, Mr. Jefferson.”
“Everything all cleaned up downstairs?”
“Yes, at last.” She has taken a step into the room and is standing just inside the door frame. She seems faintly distracted, maybe restless. Her eyes dart about the room.
“I hope you are not too tired.”
She crumples her lips and gives the ceiling a comically askew glance. “Oh, no. Not too tired. But it will be good to sleep.”
“Good,” he says. “Thank you.”
She smiles and looks embarrassed… or maybe not embarrassed. He has the feeling that if he asked her to come into the room and sit down, she would.
“Sally?” he says.
“Yes.” She is waiting for him to speak, her smile maybe slightly hesitant, her eyebrow lifted, alert. Again he feels that falling of sorrow and yearning.
“Oh, well,” he says. “Never mind.”
She looks at him quizzically a second but doesn’t say anything.
“Good night, Sally.”
“Good night, Mr. Jefferson.”
As she turns and leaves, he feels that he has disappointed her.
Then he is on his feet and hurrying toward the door, where he sees her receding along the dark corridor, her sage green gown deepening toward hemlock, then black, her head silhouetted against the wavering glow of her candle. In an instant she will reach the stairs, turn and be gone.
He knows that he should go back to his chair by the fire and continue to read (a treatise on flight in birds), but something has just happened between him and this beautiful girl, something totally unexpected. He tells himself he is mistaken. Nothing has happened. It couldn’t have. But it did happen. He knows it did. And he would be a fool to deny it.
He is afraid as he steps into the hallway. Her name is on his lips, but he doesn’t speak it, only hurries after her, until with a rush of crinoline she reels around, her eyes wide, her open mouth a warped O.
“I’m sorry,” he says, drawing next to her. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh!” She touches her lips with the clutched fingertips of one hand.
“Please excuse me.” He feels stupid. He is blushing and is thankful that the corridor is so dark. “I was just wondering…” He has no idea what to say. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
“I didn’t hear you coming.” She lowers her hand, open now, to the base of her throat.
“It’s my fault. I should have said something.”
Sally Hemings’s eyes are still wide, though her lips have contracted to a small pucker of uncertainty. She is breathing heavily. He can see her chest rise and fall.
“It’s just…” He still doesn’t know what to say. “There’s something I forgot to ask you. I’m wondering if you might come back to the parlor for a moment. It won’t take a second.”
She swallows. “All right.”
He turns and walks back toward the parlor door, which is flickering orange in the firelight. He has no idea what he is going to do, but he is almost certain he will make a fool of himself.
“Do you mind if I close the door?” he asks once she has followed him into the room. He sees that the question disconcerts her, but he closes the door anyway. “It’s a personal matter. I think it best if we are not overheard.”
She backs against the wall, just beside the door. She looks worried, but so terribly beautiful and alive, like a doe in the instant before it bounds into the forest.
He gestures at the couch just beside her. “Please sit down.”
Her head makes a barely detectable shake, and her back remains pressed against the wall. He should tell her to go, but he can’t. He just wants to see what will happen. His mouth is dry. He runs his fingers through the hair on the top of his head.
“I don’t know how else to do this,” he says, “than to be completely honest.” He licks his lips. “I know that I behaved like an utter fool…” He is silent an instant. “… before. Worse than a fool.”
There is a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, but he cannot tell what it means.
“As I hope you understand,” he says, “I have tried very hard to behave toward you as would be fitting, given the rules of propriety and our stations in life. But as you have probably concluded — no doubt you know this very well right now — I have mostly failed rather miserably.”
There is another twitch at the corner of her mouth, just slightly more pronounced, and he allows himself to hope.
“You are so astoundingly beautiful,” he says, “and I have fallen completely in love with you. I have tried and tried to resist it, but there is nothing I can do.”
All at once that inert expression comes onto her face again: her eyes looking straight ahead, focused in empty air, her lips closed, lightly but with a subtle tension. He is not sure she has even heard him.
“Does that surprise you?” he says.
There is a long silence.
“No.” Her voice is soft. She looks into his eyes, then away.
“How does it make you feel?”
“I don’t know.” She glances at him again.
“You can tell me the truth. I won’t be offended. I only want to know how you feel.”
Another silence. Then she sighs and says, “I don’t know how I feel.”
Her gaze moves toward his but then drops to the floor. She has pushed her back against the wall. He has made her afraid.
“I’m sorry, Sally. I’ve been thoughtless and a fool. Why don’t you just go now, and we can pretend that none of this happened.”
Her eyes remain on the floor. She doesn’t move or speak.
“What are you thinking?” he says.
Once again there is a long silence. Then she sighs and speaks in a voice so soft he almost can’t hear. “I still don’t know.”
He laughs and takes a step back. He wants to put her at ease. He thinks that whatever chance he might have had has passed, and, in fact, he is feeling relieved. Maybe now that he has made his feelings clear, he can finally get past them and there will be nothing more to worry about.
“You are a funny girl,” he says.
She is looking at him. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t know why he said that, but he answers, “I just mean that you always know exactly what you want to say, so I am surprised that now you don’t.”
She smiles. “Some things are just harder to figure out.” She shrugs and smiles weakly. She is still looking into his eyes.
All at once Thomas Jefferson realizes that he has not gotten past his feelings, that he never will. Looking into her smiling face, he wants nothing but to pull her into his arms and hold her against the length of his body.
He doesn’t know what he is going to do. He doesn’t know how he will ever be able to live with her, feeling as he does.
Her smile is gone, but she is still looking into his eyes. Can she possibly understand what is happening inside him?
She doesn’t move. Neither does he.
Once again he tells her, “You should probably go.” And then he says, “But I am wondering if you might do me a favor.”