Jefferson's Sons by Kimberly Bradley

He loved smooth boards, and the smell of fresh shavings.
    Mama nodded. “When Master Jefferson comes this summer, I’ll speak to him,” she said. “For now go help Uncle Peter. And don’t you give me that look.”
    Â 
    Little baby Eston learned to smile before Master Jefferson’s summer visit. He smiled at Master Jefferson—Mama snuck them all into Master Jefferson’s room early one morning, so they could help her show Master Jefferson the baby—and Master Jefferson laughed. Beverly felt a bolt of jealousy. It was silly to be jealous of his baby brother, but he felt jealous all the same.
    But then Master Jefferson turned to Beverly. “So,” he said, “I hear it’s time we put you to work. Time you learned a trade, your mama says.”
    Beverly stood tall. “Yes, sir,” he said.
    â€œShe tells me you have an aptitude for woodworking,” Master Jefferson said.
    Beverly didn’t know what aptitude meant, but it sounded good. “Yes, sir,” he said.
    Master Jefferson smiled. His smile looked so much like baby Eston’s that Beverly smiled back without even thinking.
    â€œGood,” Master Jefferson said. “Carpentry’s a fine craft, a respectable occupation for any man. We’ll put you with John, shall we? He’ll be working on his own now, head carpenter. Dismore’s going back to Ireland.”
    Beverly felt a small thrill. His father wanted him to have a respectable occupation. His father cared. “I’ll work hard,” he promised. He wanted to add, I’ll make you proud, but, before he could, Mama had taken his arm, and hustled them all away.
    Â 
    At first being a carpenter’s apprentice felt exactly like being an errand boy. All he did was sweep wood shavings and fetch and carry for Uncle John. It was true that working with Uncle John had a steady pleasantness to it. Unlike Uncle Peter, Uncle John never lost his temper and snapped angry words. He whistled sometimes, especially when he was particularly pleased with his work, but even on days he didn’t whistle he seemed content. Every morning, his eyes lit up a little bit when Beverly came into the shop, and Beverly started to treasure that look, that small glow of happiness. It was nice to know Uncle John liked having him there.
    Still, he wanted to do useful work, cutting and sawing and fitting together. When he said so, Uncle John smiled. “Sweeping up the shavings is about as useful as it gets,” he said. “Awful mess, those shavings make. They blow into all the carpets and bedrooms, Miss Martha like to has a fit.”
    They were working on something called cornices, which were a kind of fancy wood trim around the top of the walls, doorways, and windows. Master Jefferson and Uncle John together had designed them.
    â€œI don’t know why Miss Martha cares,” Beverly said. “It’s not her business. It’s not her house—”
    â€œI’m mighty glad she comes here,” Uncle John said with a soft smile.
    Beverly looked at him in wonderment. Who on earth was glad to see Miss Martha? All her fuss—then Beverly understood. Uncle John’s wife, Aunt Priscilla, belonged to Miss Martha. She took care of all Miss Martha’s children. When Miss Martha was gone from Monticello, Aunt Priscilla was gone too. “Well, sure,” Beverly said. “I didn’t mean—”
    â€œOh, I know you didn’t,” Uncle John said. “But it’s like they say, no great loss without some gain. I do the gaining, when Miss Martha’s here.”
    Miss Edith and Joe Fossett’s son, James, had grown to be a great big boy, as much of a handful as Maddy. Maddy and James spent the whole month of July digging in dirt piles and terrorizing chickens. Maddy sobbed when James went back to Washington. Harriet wasn’t very happy, either. It had become her job to take care of Maddy whenever Mama was