"Very good, sir." He turned to me. "What would you like to
see, Mr. Jandt?"
"Show me where this
thing first appeared to you, Mr. Colbert. That was ... the silver closet, was
it not?"
"Indeed, sir." He
looked uncomfortable, glancing over at his master.
"Wherever he wants,
Colbert. In the meanwhile, I think my old friend Frobisher and I will have some
wine and discuss things a bit."
As the door shut I caught a
last glimpse of the old lawyer loosening his stock and gulping down a hasty
draught, as if in preparation of an imminent ordeal.
As we walked to the back of
the mansion I plied the man with questions.
"How long have you
lived here, Mr. Colbert?"
"I was born here, sir.
And it is Colbert."
"Ah. Forgive me. You
are not a free man, then?"
"No, sir."
"A slave, then."
"Yes, sir."
"You look rather
well-cared for, for a slave."
"Mr. Jefferson is a
very kind man to all, particularly to me. He educated me, gives me an
allowance, and has exempted me absolutely from the whip."
"Treats you like
family, eh?"
His lips snapped shut.
"Here we are,
sir."
He withdrew a key and
unlocked the closet. Inside were shelves lined with plates, bowls, tureens,
candlabra, and drawers of flatware, all sparkling in the little lamp that
Colbert lit. A chair and a small table with cleaning rags and a tin of polish
lay directly under.
"So you were in
here?"
"Yes sir. Alone, and
locked in."
"No other way in or
out?"
"Of course not. It is
quite secure."
"Tell me exactly how it
happened."
"I had retired here
after supper and settled down to my task..."
"Any drinking at
supper?"
"Two glasses of watered
wine. I had locked myself in, as is custom. As you can see, there is no room to
hide in this place. I was deep into the job when I happened to look up, and he
was there." He pointed.
I moved over and stood on
the spot. I felt nothing. I removed my watcher and took a reading. Not a
twitch.
"Had you ever seen this
person before, or anyone resembling him?"
"I have seen many men
in his condition, bleeding, chained, but no, never this man."
"If you could describe
this man's attitude, the one mastering emotion in his face, what would it
be?"
"Anger." He
shuddered. "For a moment, I thought he would kill me, his gaze was so
terrible. I felt...guilty, somehow. Implicated."
"I see. Tell me,
Colbert. Are you confined to the house itself, or do you go around the slave
quarter's as well?"
"I was born there. My
family is there."
"What are they calling
this phantom, among themselves? They must have a name of some sort. Do they
have someone they believe it might be?"
"No. Many have seen it
now, and no one, from the oldest to the youngest, recognize him. They just call
it the Slave's Ghost."
"That seems to the
point. Tell me, has the oldest matriarch seen this spirit?"
"Oh, yes."
"Let's go call on
her."
He carefully locked the
cabinet up and we proceeded outside the house, to a series of buildings outside
called Mulberry Row. Here, in a little house, humble but well-kept, I was
introduced to a tiny, ancient lady, with bones like a bird. This, I was told,
was Gran-mere Liza.
Was she French? Lord no, but
so many of the children knew French, she had been granted the title. Had she
been with the Jeffersons long? She had belonged to Master Tom's father, so a
goodish while. How old was she? No idea, but some days she felt a hundred. It
was written down on a paper somewhere.
"You must know a great
deal of the family history, ma'am. Can you think of any reason for this ghost
to walk here?"
I will not even attempt to
reproduce her peculiar accent, but this is the gist of what she said.
"In all my years, I
can't think of an action that would merit such a vengeance. Master Tom is the
mildest of masters, asking for much industry of course, and meting out just
punishments for breaking the rules. He's helped some to buy their own freedom
and seen them settled, and word had gotten down among us of the industry he's
had in working against the peculiar institution himself."
"And yet he still owns
you," I said.
"Maybe not
forever," she mumbled. "It'd be hard to leave him, and hard to take
care of ourselfs. He won't just turn us loose to fend."
"Indeed. Now, I imagine
that you know everything that goes on here."
"I expect so."
"Anything that goes on
gets to you eventually?"
"That's so." She
shifted uneasily.
"I'm going to ask you a
question, and I want you to be completely forthcoming. It's just about an idea
I've had. No one will be punished if it's true. Do you understand?"
"I always tell the
truth!"
"I'm sure you do. It is
just a maybe story, you see? I am wondering if perhaps, one night, an escaped
slave came to Monticello, maybe out here to Mulberry Row, and died before he
could be helped. Perhaps he was secretly buried here, to avoid any trouble, and
since nothing more could be done. Perhaps he wants a proper burial?"
The old lady actually
laughed.
"Lord, sir, you should
write up ghost stories for the papers, like they read us! No sir, nothing like
that. That would have been exciting!"
I laughed too.
"Now, you've seen the
spirit, this Slave's Ghost, at least three times. How did it look to you? What
was its expression?"
"Oh, sad, sir, sick and
sad; stretched past sorrow, if you know what I mean. It opened its mouth like
it wanted to speak, and I reach out to pat him, and he's gone."
I thanked her, and we went
to question others, some at work and some in their quarters. It was all much
the same story. The spirit had looked angry or sad, and it tried to speak, but
said nothing. At last as the dinner hour drew near we returned to the house,
and after inquiries we were directed to Jefferson's cabinet, adjacent to his
bedroom. He had disported his long limbs on a couch and was reading a book.
"Well, have you spoken
to everyone you wish, Mr. Jandt, and looked everywhere you wanted?"
"There is just one more
interview, Mr. Jefferson. I want a deeper, more private conversation with you,
if you please."
He sat up, shutting his book
with a clap.
"And what more could
you learn from me, do you think, Mr. Jandt?"
"I don't know," I
said. "That's why I'd like to find out. You are the first to see this
thing, and you are the one who has seen it most. Did you know that? There is
some deep connection between you and it, though I cannot see how, as yet. Shall
we talk? Alone?"
"Colbert. Leave
us." The man bowed out. I sat down on a chair, and took out my pad and
pencil again. "I am at your disposal, Mr. Jandt. But I reserve any state
secrets."
I smiled.
"I do not think that
will be necessary. And again, I tell you, please be as honest as possible. Your
revelations will be as sacrosanct as a Catholic confession."
He snorted, almost a laugh.
"As safe as that? Ask on, Mr. Jandt."
(To Be Continued)
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