you find that it answers?”
“They can’t he’p but lick, suh.”
“I learned about the turbith mineral from Lord Fairfax, and there is no man in America knows more about dogs. I long to tell him about bathing a dog in broth. Do both: I wish to see it in action.”
“Yes, suh.”
Washington left the boy to Bailey, and headed for his house.
He read in his library for a while, then looked at his latest drawing for an improved stable, made a change where he thought he could run water straight from the spring with pipes, and thought better of it. He was restless, and he walked through the house as he sometimes did when he couldn’t concentrate his mind. The servants and slaves in the kitchen were surprised by his passage, but pleased at his satisfaction. Other house slaves looked worried when he passed, or were long in bed themselves, according to their tasks.
Washington stopped on the central stairs and found Martha sitting in the blue parlor. “Are you ready for bed, ma’am?”
She lifted her book to him with a smile and went back to reading, a habit he had once found rude and was now used to. The smile, at least, meant she was in good humor. He nodded, almost a bow, and went up. The stair had never satisfied him. It was too narrow, and lacked something in sweep compared to other houses. It dated from a time when Mount Vernon had been considerably smaller. He began to plan a new staircase, trying to picture where he would have the space for a broader sweep.
“Are you going to bed now, sir?” asked his personal slave, Billy.
Washington realized he was standing at the top of the stair, unmoving, and that his hands were cold. He had been there some time.
“I am, Billy. I am.”
“Will you want anything while you undress?”
“I think I’ll have a small brandy, Billy.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll be with you in an instant.”
Before Washington had done more than enter his bedroom and take his watch out of his breeches, Billy was back with a trumpet-shaped glass on a silver tray. His presentation was elegant, indeed, everything about Billy waselegant, and he did it so quietly that Washington seldom heard him coming.
Washington swallowed a third of the contents in a gulp, surprising himself. He smiled. “My thanks on that, Billy. Will you see to my watch case? It’s dull.”
“Yes, sir.” Billy took his coat and handed it to a young boy, who took it away with something like reverence.
“I can get my own boots, Billy.”
“I’m sure you can, sir. But you won’t while I’m here.”
Billy had the softest touch of the slave accent, never enough to make sir into suh, but enough to make his tone husky. He was always softly spoken. Washington sat and allowed Billy to pull off his riding boots, which were handed to the same boy for polishing. Billy left his slippers by the fire. Washington would never submit to anyone putting his slippers on. Washington turned, his aquiline profile strong against the dark outside. He sipped his brandy.
“Anything else, sir?”
“Have you met the new boy, Billy?”
“Which one, sir?”
“The African, Billy. The dogs boy.”
“Cese, sir?”
“That’s him, Billy. Caesar, if you please. What do you think of him?”
“He’s a good boy. Queeny likes him, and that’s somethin’.”
Billy didn’t exactly approve of Queeny, as he was a Christian man and she was easy in her affections. But at another level, they were allies.
“We’ll know what he’s made of when we see him on the hunting field, eh?”
Billy attended Washington even on horseback. They had been together for a long time, and Billy was probably the best black horseman in Virginia. In fact, he was better than most gentlemen, although still not the equal of Washington.
“I think he’ll do fine, sir.”
Washington still seemed in doubt. “I think he’s too…African,” he said, shaking his head. “But he has the makings of a fine young man, I’ll grant you that. Get to bed,
“They can’t he’p but lick, suh.”
“I learned about the turbith mineral from Lord Fairfax, and there is no man in America knows more about dogs. I long to tell him about bathing a dog in broth. Do both: I wish to see it in action.”
“Yes, suh.”
Washington left the boy to Bailey, and headed for his house.
He read in his library for a while, then looked at his latest drawing for an improved stable, made a change where he thought he could run water straight from the spring with pipes, and thought better of it. He was restless, and he walked through the house as he sometimes did when he couldn’t concentrate his mind. The servants and slaves in the kitchen were surprised by his passage, but pleased at his satisfaction. Other house slaves looked worried when he passed, or were long in bed themselves, according to their tasks.
Washington stopped on the central stairs and found Martha sitting in the blue parlor. “Are you ready for bed, ma’am?”
She lifted her book to him with a smile and went back to reading, a habit he had once found rude and was now used to. The smile, at least, meant she was in good humor. He nodded, almost a bow, and went up. The stair had never satisfied him. It was too narrow, and lacked something in sweep compared to other houses. It dated from a time when Mount Vernon had been considerably smaller. He began to plan a new staircase, trying to picture where he would have the space for a broader sweep.
“Are you going to bed now, sir?” asked his personal slave, Billy.
Washington realized he was standing at the top of the stair, unmoving, and that his hands were cold. He had been there some time.
“I am, Billy. I am.”
“Will you want anything while you undress?”
“I think I’ll have a small brandy, Billy.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll be with you in an instant.”
Before Washington had done more than enter his bedroom and take his watch out of his breeches, Billy was back with a trumpet-shaped glass on a silver tray. His presentation was elegant, indeed, everything about Billy waselegant, and he did it so quietly that Washington seldom heard him coming.
Washington swallowed a third of the contents in a gulp, surprising himself. He smiled. “My thanks on that, Billy. Will you see to my watch case? It’s dull.”
“Yes, sir.” Billy took his coat and handed it to a young boy, who took it away with something like reverence.
“I can get my own boots, Billy.”
“I’m sure you can, sir. But you won’t while I’m here.”
Billy had the softest touch of the slave accent, never enough to make sir into suh, but enough to make his tone husky. He was always softly spoken. Washington sat and allowed Billy to pull off his riding boots, which were handed to the same boy for polishing. Billy left his slippers by the fire. Washington would never submit to anyone putting his slippers on. Washington turned, his aquiline profile strong against the dark outside. He sipped his brandy.
“Anything else, sir?”
“Have you met the new boy, Billy?”
“Which one, sir?”
“The African, Billy. The dogs boy.”
“Cese, sir?”
“That’s him, Billy. Caesar, if you please. What do you think of him?”
“He’s a good boy. Queeny likes him, and that’s somethin’.”
Billy didn’t exactly approve of Queeny, as he was a Christian man and she was easy in her affections. But at another level, they were allies.
“We’ll know what he’s made of when we see him on the hunting field, eh?”
Billy attended Washington even on horseback. They had been together for a long time, and Billy was probably the best black horseman in Virginia. In fact, he was better than most gentlemen, although still not the equal of Washington.
“I think he’ll do fine, sir.”
Washington still seemed in doubt. “I think he’s too…African,” he said, shaking his head. “But he has the makings of a fine young man, I’ll grant you that. Get to bed,
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