Tom’s gaze cut to my face, and he swallowed his words, as if belatedly recalling my presence in the room. Or perhaps it was the sight of my mouth hanging agape that gave him pause. Rich ard and Judith’s wedding had seemed a happy one, without a trace of distrust or discontent, and Judy had borne no child. So why did Tom think . . . ?
I didn’t know. But I did know that appearances could be deceiving, and Virginians are better at hiding their troubles than just about any other people on earth. So, I snapped my mouth shut again.
“Oh, Tom,” Nancy said, waving her handkerchief in dismissal. “Judy and Richard aren’t the first country lovers to fall into bed before they said vows. Why, you and Patsy—”
“Did no such thing!” Tom roared, a vein throbbing at his temple. “I’ll thank you to apologize.”
Nancy paled. “Oh, Patsy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s quite all right,” I said, though I was sure she meant exactly what Tom feared she did.
Nancy turned her eyes back to Tom. “Richard did marry Judy, and no child came about in the end, so what difference does it make?”
Tom’s eyes bulged. “What difference? That you could ask is a demonstration of why you’re not going to Bizarre. And that’s the end of it.”
That wasn’t the end of it. When Tom stomped off to attend one of the many chores my father set for him, Nancy pleaded with me. “Patsy, won’t you soften my brother to my situation? My prospects for love and marriage are better at Bizarre.”
I saw her predicament. Without Colonel Randolph’s protection, all Nancy had was youth and looks. I didn’t blame her for being terrified of becoming either the wife of a man she loathed or a spinster, dependent on all her relatives.
That night, I asked Tom, “You won’t send all your sisters back to your stepmother’s care at Tuckahoe, will you?”
He rubbed at his face with both hands and blew out a sigh. “Gabriella Harvie is evil incarnate.”
I nodded. “Your father must be blinded by her beauty.”
“She’s not beautiful,” Tom grumbled. “There is nothing inter esting about her face or manner whatsoever.” Oh, but Gabriella was beautiful. So it warmed my heart that Tom couldn’t see it. But then, he never even liked trees in all their showy foliage. “You cannot imagine how I want to keep my sisters from her, but how—”
“Let them stay here with us as long as they like,” I said.
His head jerked up and he stared. “Patsy, your days and nights are already occupied with caring for a newborn baby. How will you manage all our sisters, a gaggle of motherless girls ranging from the ages of four to sixteen?”
“I’ll manage it somehow,” I said. “And meanwhile, we might as well let Nancy stay at Bizarre, where she’ll have a better chance at finding a suitable husband than here, where we’ll be caught up in caring for all the girls.”
All at once, Tom kissed me. A kiss full of gratitude and urgency. And it reminded me of the kiss he’d given me when I’d first voiced my concern for his sisters. In the carriage. His love and concern for his sisters, whom no one else in the world cared for, made me love him yet a little more.
Tom understood the need to protect your family, something that had always been so important to me. As a new babe grew in my belly, I thought perhaps the thing for Tom I felt that was deeper than love might be dedication.
And it was because of that emotion that I changed his mind, and in the end, Nancy had her way.
A thing that gave us all much cause to regret.
“WHY, MY DEAREST DAUGHTER, you’ve brought forth a reformation here at Monticello,” Papa said, approving of the way I’d organized the larder. He’d come home that autumn to dote upon me and my baby girl, but had kind words for Tom, too, and the way he’d managed things.
This paternal praise fell on Tom like rain on dry, drought-ridden fields; my husband swelled with such pride that I began to wonder if he’d ever heard a kind word in his life. But we weren’t the only ones hanging upon my father’s every kind word. . . .
Sally Hemings put on her best dress for Papa’s homecoming, and I watched—while pretending not to watch—the reunion between my father and his lover, the first since the death of their child. But neither Papa, nor Sally, gave my prying eyes satisfaction. In fact, for some curious reason, my father kept a scrupulous distance from her.
There were no flirtatious glances and—as if by silent assent—Sally no longer tended my father’s chambers. It was her older brother Martin who brought a daily bath of cold water for my father’s feet. I wondered if perhaps they were just keeping their affair secret, given all the girls now living in our house. In Paris they’d kept it secret . . . until they couldn’t. Papa had been shamed to be thought a seducer, but he was infatuated then. Maybe now the shame was stronger than the infatuation. Or maybe their sadness over the baby’s death had extinguished the fire of ardor between them completely.