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In the blue-black of pre-dawn, Uriah set Sparky on his saddle, quietly led his horse to the end of the lane and then stopped to glare at his waiting son. “I had hoped to spend this winter in the comfort of a warm hearth,” he said, handing the dog to John, checking the tightness of his cinch and then mounting his horse.
Seated on his chestnut mare, John patiently waited until his father was comfortable before handing Sparky back. Nudging his horse forward, he leisurely turned down the road toward town. “Wasn’t it you who made me vow never to go off without you?”
“Only to prevent you from being alone when the fever comes. Tell me, why do we escape from Mahala like thieves in the night? From whom do we hide?”
“I cannot imagine what you mean. I merely have a desire to see Richmond.”
“In the dark?” Uriah asked.
“It will not be dark long. Besides, I enjoy the crisp, refreshing air of a fine fall morning.”
“To you it is crisp and refreshing, to me it is cold.”
John halted his horse and looked back. “You could turn back, you know.”
“What, and never discover from whom you hide?” Uriah allowed his horse to walk right past his son’s.
“You’ll come then, even if I mean to see Williamsburg, Jamestown, and Yorktown?”
This time Uriah halted. “Yorktown, but why?”
“To see if MacGreagor is about. I’ve not seen the old Scotsman since before the war.”
Uriah urged his horse on. “I’d not call him ‘old’ to his face, if I were you. Even with one arm, he has the strength of any two good men. Is MacGreagor the only reason?”
“No, I hope to make the acquaintance of a scarlet woman.”
Uriah watched the side of his son’s face. “Tell me, have I somehow been remiss in your education?”
“In what way?”
“Have I never mentioned the peril a man might encounter in the company of a virtueless woman?”
“You have, and often,” John answered, admiring the autumn colors as the sun began to brighten the sky. “But I do not seek her company. She is mother to a Patriot I held as he died. I have a word of comfort for her, and I’ve neglected my duty far too long.”
“I see,” Uriah shrugged and squinting as the sun peeked above the horizon. “Yorktown it is then. But I would still like to know precisely whom at Mahala are we avoiding?”
John glanced at his father, decided to ignore the question and turned his attention back to the landscape. The dirt road followed the tree-lined bends in the river, but on the other side of the road, a patchwork of half-harvested tobacco fields were spread across rolling hills. The pre-war wealth of Virginia showed in her huge houses, most of which looked just as they did before the war. But occasionally, the land was marred with a burned house, an over-grown garden, and an idle field.
“Papa, I’ve two matters in need of your wise counsel,” John said at last.
“First, what are we to give Maralee on her wedding day?”
“A gun with which to shoot her husband.”
“You cannot mean that.”
“Of course I can, did you not hear the man? He speaks nonsense.”
When Sparky sat up and barked, John moved his horse closer and let the dog jump from his father’s lap into his. “What sort of nonsense?”
“Mister Dulane Ashfield believes the American Empire will soon tire of its poverty and beg assistance from the British.”
“Papa, he is not alone in that assessment.”
“No, but he need not say it with such delight. Why my brother allows Maralee to marry the most presumptuous man of our acquaintance is beyond comprehension.”
“You don’t think to interfere, do you?”
“Why not? Caleb refuses to.”
“Papa, Maralee loves Dulane. In matters such as these, it is unconscionable to interfere.”
“When disaster is inevitable, I find it unconscionable not to.”
“What do you intend to do?”
Uriah sighed, “I was hoping you might have a suggestion.”
“I would never take part in such trickery.”
“Indeed? Do you deny putting tree sap on La Rue’s saddle while he slept?”
“I was younger then.”
“Aye, all of six months.”
As soon as they approached the Dunlop Plantation, John urged his horse to gallop, quickly passing the tobacco fields and the lane leading to the expansive house.
“I doubt she saw you,” Uriah said when he caught up.
“Who?” John asked, slowing his horse again.
“You are well aware Hester Wyley lives in that house with her Aunt and Uncle Dunlop? And it is she you avoid, am I right?”
John drew in a long breath, puffed his cheeks and slowly let it out. “The second matter which concerns me, and gravely so, is finding words of comfort for the mother of a dead Patriot.”
“Are you refusing to answer my question?”
“Will you give up asking anytime soon?”
“No,” Uriah answered.
“I thought not. However, just now, I am beside myself with worry. Suppose the woman asks if her son died for naught?”
Uriah studied John’s troubled expression. “Tell her the truth.”
“Which is?”
“Tell her men who begin wars are rarely the ones to fight them. Our beloved King George III, who has yet to set foot in America, waged three wars in this land and no doubt intends a fourth.”
“And this I should say to comfort her?”
Uriah pulled his hat forward to protect his eyes from the sun, loosely wrapped his reigns around his saddle horn and crossed his arms. “Death in war has no comfort. How could it? Comfort implies pardon, and war is unpardonable.”
“Even if it was the only way to gain the land west of the mountains?”
“It was not the only way. True, the king forbid our settling the land, but he would have relented and far more quickly than you think.”
“Quickly? He won the land in the war of 1763, yet, still forbid settlements in 1776. Quickly has long since passed,” said John.
“My point precisely. In thirteen years he’d not found a way to tax the Indians. A king without happy revenue is not a happy king.”
John thoughtfully lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Tax the Indians? I admit I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Few have, I venture to say. So you see, in time, the king would have relented.”
“I imagine so, in time.”
“We needn’t have gone to war, and now what have we? Poverty! Even the wealthy cry out for lack of a market.”
“So now I am to pity the rich? Papa, they held tight to their wealth while we fought without proper weapons or the means to fill our bellies?”
“That they did...most of them. However, they did not see this as their war and believed the Sons of Liberty were wrong. They did not suffer unbearable oppression at the hands of the British, they did not feel the lash, nor were they taxed unreasonably.”
John’s body rhythmically rocked in his saddle as the horse sauntered around the next bend. “Not unreasonably for the wealthy.”
“Might I remind you, British taxes protected our ships at sea, provided a reliable post and paid for governors?”
“Aye, British governors who sided always with the king, even unto billeting redcoats in our houses.”
“The king would have rescinded that command as well, once the smuggling stopped.”
“Indeed? And would he have willingly taken back the expense of housing and feeding his army? I think not,” John argued, his voice rising. “Have you forgotten how the king commanded his militia to search our property without regard for our women? Bloody redcoats were everywhere; their revenue ships were in our ports, their courts were unwilling to take testimony against them, and...”
“And now there is not a redcoat in sight,” Uriah interrupted.
“Aye, we’ve beaten them and sent them home!”
“I doubt a lady of the evening will find comfort in that.”
At first, John glared at his father. Then slowly, he began to smile. “I see your point.”
“I thought you might. The British paid handsomely for their favors, far more than did Americans.”
“Indeed they did. In fact, they paid far more for nearly everything.”
“Perhaps winning the war was not so clever as we thought.”
“Aye, but...good heavens,” John said, halting his horse. The heart of Richmond sat on a hill and near the bank of the river, burned warehouses and blackened docks marked the place where scores of men once moved huge tobacco hogsheads onto ships bound for England. Scorched yards, crumbled walls, and lone standing hearths dotted the hillside where families once lived. John respectfully removed his hat. “I had no idea it was so bad.”
“Have you not seen Richmond since the war?”
“Not that I recall.”
“But you passed through on your way home from war.”
“I must have, but Papa, the fever consumed me so I’ve lost nearly a year. One day, I was at war in South Carolina, the next, home in Virginia. I only recall praying to die.”
“Now that is a prayer gratefully unanswered. But son, I can wait no more. Do we avoid Hester Wyley?”
John quickly put his hat back on and started his horse. “Avoid her, why would I do that?”
“Because the woman has designs on you and intends to be your wife.”
“Yes, well, she left me for another and I find that unforgivable.”
Uriah lightly kicked the side of his horse and hurried to catch up. “Polly will be pleased to hear that.”
“Indeed, and how will Polly know?”
“She’ll know when you return to the Territory and marry her. And why is it you become annoyed at the mention of her name?”
“Because you mention her name so relentlessly. Papa, are you quite certain you do not have Polly hidden somewhere, complete with wedding attire, should I somehow, suddenly desire her?”
Uriah carefully turned his horse onto the narrow, newly built suspended river bridge. “Of course not – I did not think to.”
“I am relieved. Yet another woman making demands on me is not what I need.”
“Are you going to take her to wife?”
“Who?”
“Hester,” Uriah answered, listing to the pleasant sound of horse’s hooves on wood. When he reached the other side, he halted to wait for his son.
John looked distressed. “I don’t know,” he muttered, passing right by his father. “I cannot think clearly. The truth be known, we leave Mahala to avoid the opinion of the entire Carson family on the matter.”
“And will you hear my opinion?”
“Have you another besides Polly Lewis?” John asked.
Uriah puffed his cheeks and moved on. “Your point is well taken. In that case, I will hold my tongue.”
“A happy thought indeed,” John said, rolling his eyes.
*
“I HOPE TO HAVE LOTS of children,” Hester said, following Rose into Mahala’s small sitting room. Colorfully decorated, it was in this room that the Carson women often tended their reading or sewing. Hester chose a blue, tall-backed chair, sat down and then carefully arranged the folds of her black widow’s dress. “But now, I don’t believe I want any. Leela Jones, of my Uncle Dunlop’s employ, is so very uneasy now that her time nears. Can you guess what she told me?”
“What?” Rose asked, getting her embroidery out of a basket, curling one leg under, and then sitting down on a matching blue davenport.
“She reports she cannot sleep on her stomach. Why do you think that is?”
Rose quickly glanced at the sincerity on Hester’s face, “Well, perhaps she fears crushing the child.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. It is completely unimportant now anyway, my having children I mean.”
“You need not be so distressed, I’m quite certain John did not mean to slight you. Perhaps he mistook your meaning.”
“I cannot think how he could have. I made it quite clear he was to call on me at precisely four o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
Setting her sewing aside, Rose paused to push a loose pin back into her blonde curls. “I see. Tell me, did your last husband object when you made demands on him?”
“Demands?”
“What I mean is, had you insisted he come at a particular time, would he have minded?”
“He did not complain that I recall,” Hester answered.
“I see. My dear, I fear you will find my cousin somewhat different in that regard. Carson men mind very much being told what to do.”
“They do?”
“Indeed. I have found that when Mama makes demands on Papa, it is the last thing he will likely agree to.”
“But why? Doesn’t he wish to please her?”
Rose retrieved her sewing and took the next stitch, “Not always, and certainly not when she is forceful. Men tend to be far more amiable when they are persuaded rather than commanded. A woman simply must be more resourceful than a man. She must be cunning like a fox, as patient as an eagle, and ready to pounce more swiftly than a lion.”
“Rose, what are you talking about?”
“Allow me to put it another way. A man notices a woman’s skirts before he learns to walk, but noticing the rest of her can take years. Nevertheless, our skirts offer the advantage of rendering a man breathless. And in his breathlessness, he can easily be persuaded to do most anything. One merely must learn how to accomplish it.”
“Is that how you came to marry Adam?”
“Well, no. Adam was so persistent, he did not allow me to refuse. But I’ve seen it work with other men.”
“But how, precisely? What does a woman do?”
Rose paused to think for a moment. “Well, it is not easy to explain. Hester, do you think you could follow my instructions, even if you do not fully understand them?”
“To marry John, I would do anything.”
“Even if it means shedding your widow’s weeds?”
“But it’s only been five months,” Hester said.
“It may not be proper, but wearing black to Maralee’s wedding ball is completely out of the question. It would only serve to remind John of your former husband.”
“You’re right, I will shed them immediately.”
“Not just yet,” Rose said, motioning for Hester to come sit by her. “We have much to do before you see the last of black.”
*
KENTUCKY
Kentucky was a graceful, pleasing land and everyone wanted it; the Shawnee, the Cherokee, and the Long Hunters; the French, the Spanish and the British; North Carolina, Virginia and Pennsylvania; and the Ohio, the Loyal and the Transylvania Land Companies. First came men like Judge Richard Henderson, George Rogers Clark and Daniel Boone. Then came settlers who gave rise to Harrodstown, Lexington, Maysville, Frank’s Ford, and the Ohio Falls.
But the Quaker Ezekiel Lewis cared only about a life without the burden of heavy taxes, the frustration of unyielding Pennsylvania soil and the terrifying sounds of war. Therefore, in 1781, and out of sight of the king’s men at Fort Pitt, Ezekiel loaded two cows, three horses, a mule, a haystack, household goods, six pounds of gunpowder, two pounds of shot, four muskets, five chickens, nine children, and one wife on a crudely constructed river raft.
He sailed down the Ohio River to the land the Indians called Ken-tu-kee, and when he reached the Ohio Falls, he began the treacherous task of pulling the raft up the Kentucky River. At last he stopped, choosing a place not far from Harrodstown where game was easy, the soil looked fertile and water was plentiful.
The first year, he cleared the land and planted a modest crop. He built a one-room cabin complete with a stone hearth, and nine children became ten. The second year, his crops flourished, he added two more rooms and ten children became eleven. The third year, he grew less food and more hemp for cloth. He built a chicken coop and a woodshed, nailed yet another two-legged box bed to the wall, and eleven children became twelve. All in all, he was a happy man, except for his headstrong, defiant eldest daughter – the Quaker, Polly Lewis.
“Thee can’t make me!” Polly said, holding tight with both hands to the seat of the three-legged stool she was sitting on. On beds, stools and the floor of the crowded room, the eyes of her mother and all her siblings shifting from her to her father.
“How well I know,” Ezekiel said, seated opposite her at the long table.
Usually, Polly looked just like her father, with auburn hair, a narrow pointed nose and light blue eyes. But today, her eyes were the deeper blue of revolt.
“Daughter, thou art being unreasonable. The man only comes to speak, he will not harm thee.”
“He comes to renew his advances,” she said, “just as yesterday and the day before!”
“Mister La Rue loves thee. He has asked for thy hand in marriage, and thou wouldst do well to accept.”
“Doth thou intend to force me?”
The afternoon sunlight brightened the room through half-opened wooden shutters. “Thee thinks I somehow could?” Ezekiel shot back, “I’ve yet to see that day.”
“Good,” Polly said, glancing at the staring children. When her eyes fell on her mother, Nancy Lewis quickly rose to tend her stew in the Dutch oven.
“Polly, thou waits for the wrong husband.”
“Thee can’t know that,” Polly said, turning her attention back to her father.
“I know this – John Carson left. If he truly loved thee, he would have stayed.”
“Thee favors La Rue because thee can’t wait to be shed of me.”
“‘Tis not so, but thou will marry someday and I wouldst have thee marry the right man.”
“John Carson is the right man.”
Ezekiel unfolded his arms and calmly rested his hands on the table. “Is he? He has no craft, no money and no talent for planting. He knows only horses, and thou heard his father – the British took all they owned. John Carson cannot afford a wife. Marriage to him would be...”
“Grand,” Polly interrupted.
“Grand does not endure, daughter. The remainder of life is hard work, and harder still for a man with swamp fever and no talents.”
“Thou could teach him farming.”
“Yes, just as thy mother could teach thee to weave, if by some miracle thou were willing to learn. Suppose John Carson is unwilling to learn farming, what then?”
At last, Polly folded her hands in the lap of her faded brown dress. She slumped and dropped her eyes. “Thou can’t know he is unwilling.”
“No, but I can know this. Thy mother dreams of a big house with fine clothing and servants to tend her children.”
“Ezekiel, I...” Nancy started, but when her husband raised his hand slightly, she quieted.
“Does thou not have dreams, Polly?”
“I do, but thee asks me to marry a man I do not love.”
“I do not ask that at all, I only ask that thou speak to him. Give him careful consideration before thou rejects him.”
“Oh, very well then,” Polly said, getting up and grabbing her bonnet off a nail next to the door. “But thee need not get thy hopes up. I will love John Carson until the day I die, and I’ll have no other husband.”
With that, she lifted the latch and walked out. In a huff, she put on her wide-rimmed bonnet and marched across the yard to the man waiting at the edge of the forest.
“Mademoiselle,” Jacque La Rue said, quickly getting off his dapple-gray horse. Just as quickly, he removed his coonskin cap.
She stopped. Her head down and her eyes glancing from side to side, she slowly turned to look back and found her father watching from the doorway. Polly heaved a sigh and forced a grin. “Good day, Mister La Rue, thou art even more handsome today than yesterday.”
“You jest, no?”
Polly tilted her head to one side and contemplated his wavy blonde hair and green eyes. “No, thou art a handsome man.”
“Then you will marry me?”
“No, but thou can walk with me,” she answered, starting to walk away. The smell of pine hung heavy in the air, and lush trees and thick bushes cast dark shadows across the narrow road to Harrodstown.
His musket in hand, La Rue put his cap back on, grabbed the horse’s reins and hurried to catch up. He walked beside her for a time and glanced her direction occasionally, but did not say a word.
Finally, Polly broke the silence. “Has thee any news from town?”
“Oui, mademoiselle, Harrodstown a un nouveaux chef de la police,” he said, the fringe of his deerskin shirt and pants swaying as he walked.
“English, Mister La Rue, English. Doth thou have good news or bad?”
“For Harrodstown, good, very good. Monsieur Purdy becomes sheriff.”
“That is good news.”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
Polly pretended to admire the remnants of the tiny fall flowers and the turning leaves along the way. “Is he a very fine man?”
“He is Dutch, not British.”
“And if he were British?”
“Mademoiselle, I am French, no?”
“So thee has said, but can’t the French and the British be more kindly to each other? We are so very far from Europe and we must learn benevolence. We must love each other, Mister La Rue.”
“Oui, passionately,” La Rue said, beginning to smile.
“I did not mean in that regard.”
“Mademoiselle Polly, you will marry me. I will build a big house, buy you—”
“Thou has already convinced me of thy wealth,” Polly said, quickly glancing behind her to be sure the cabin was out of sight. She stopped, turned to face him, and peered deeply into his eyes. “Doth thou wish to kiss me?”
“Now?”
“Another time then,” she said, quickly walking on. But just as quickly, La Rue let go of his horse and took her hand. Again, she stopped, but she did not turn to face him. “If I let thee kiss me, thou must understand I’ll not mean anything by it.”
“Oui.”
“And if thou tells, I will shoot thee.”
Jacque La Rue gently pulled her hand until she looked at him. When she did, he grinned and handed her his musket. “I am at your mercy, mademoiselle,” he said, once more removing his hat.
His eyes were kind, his touch gentle, and his smile warm when he let go of her hand, removed her bonnet and took her in his arms. Then he kissed her. His lips touched hers only lightly at first, then his embrace tightening. His breathing quickened and his passion steadily increased until Polly suddenly pulled away. “We make progress, no?”
“Well...” she began, pausing to catch her breath, “if I did not love another, we might have.” She quickly exchanged his musket for her bonnet and put it back on.
“It is the Brit, no?”
“Yes.”
“But no one loves a Brit.”
“I can see how thou might think that, Mister La Rue. But I do not love John because he is British, I love him because he is John.”
His hat still in his hand, he watched the determination on her face, then stared down at his feet. “You will marry me...someday.”
“Thou art a good man. Any woman would be blessed to call thee husband. But I am not that woman, and I do not enjoy constantly rejecting thee.”
“But mademoiselle, a Frenchman never resigns.”
“So I am learning.” Polly headed back toward home. “Good day, Mister La Rue.”
He watched her walk out of sight, and then slowly mounted his horse. Thoughtfully, he cupped both hands around his mouth. “But no one loves a Brit,” he shouted.
“I do,” Polly’s voice echoed through the forest.
*
JOHN AND URIAH STAYED half a day in Williamsburg. They spent a whole day in Jamestown and more than a week at MacGreagor’s house in Yorktown, even though MacGreagor was still at sea. Finally, John set out to find the mother of his dead friend. Trenches, redoubts, cannon blasts, burned houses and damaged ships littered the harbor, but not a scratch could be seen on the brothel.
Uriah waited outside and politely declined the advances of a painted lady with her skirt shockingly hemmed above her ankles. He moved just in time to avoid the bump of a pickpocket and then noticed the chastising stare of three ladies in a passing carriage. Embarrassed, he lowered the brim of his tall, round hat, walked down the wooden sidewalk and pretended interest in a fine black stallion. At last, John came out.
“Well?” Uriah asked, falling into step beside him.
“She was grateful.”
“She knew of his passing?”
“Aye, his name was posted. I did not think it would be since we moved on so quickly. Papa, it was she who comforted me.”
“Some women have a way about them. Perhaps now you’ll rest more peacefully,” Uriah lifted his hat as a young woman approached. First, he noticed her resemblance to Polly and then he noticed how John watched her, even turning his head until she was past. He raised an eyebrow, but kept silent as they walked on, nodding to the gentlemen and lifting their hats to the ladies. Then John paused, ran his fingers through his jet-black hair and said, “Papa, I believe I hear Mahala calling.”
“It is about time! You’ve decided then, about Hester I mean?”
“I have.”
“Might I know what you’ve decided?”
“I’ve decided not to discuss my decision with you,” John said, abruptly disappearing through the door of a general store.
Uriah stared after him for a long moment, shook his head, sat down on a nearby bench and let Sparky climb into his lap. In a little while, he lifted his eyes upward and began to softly mutter, “Oh Mary, I fear he will choose Hester, and with Hester we stay in Virginia. ‘Tis not a bad thing, mind you. After all, no one loves Mahala more than I. But the boy loves Kentucky and Polly. Why can’t he see that? If only Polly were in Virginia...”
“Papa, to whom are you speaking?” John asked, suddenly standing in front of him.
Perturbed, Uriah glared up at him. “You know very well to whom I speak, and you need not lurk.”
“I was hardly lurking. Here, I bought a gift for Maralee,” John sat down beside him, unwrapped the cloth and handed a clock to his father.
Uriah smiled. The polished oak clock was square, with a large round, gold-trimmed timepiece in the center. “Has it a false bottom?”
“It does. I say we fill it with money in case she has a particular need.”
“Such as escaping her husband?”
“Precisely. You were right, Papa, she faces an unfortunate marriage.”
“Indeed she does.”
*
IN THE LIGHT OF A HALF moon and dressed in ragged black breeches, Gideon Ross lay on his belly with only a makeshift raft between him and the waters of a river. Using a long, crooked tree branch, he guided the raft toward shore until he could quietly slip into the knee-high water and loosely tie his means of escape to a bush. Then he paused to listen. He heard nothing.
Walking several yards into a cleared field, he opened a cloth sack, pulled out four chicken legs and placed them on the ground. Next, he withdrew a handful of strawberries, smashed them against his bare chest, and began rubbing the juice all over his body. When he finished, he tossed the sack away and headed toward a darkened plantation house.
As he hoped, the smell of strawberries disguised his presence and the dogs did not stir, so he carefully made his way to the slave quarters behind the house. Not so many years before, white indentured servants had filled the demands for cheap labor, living in the windowless, run-down cottages. But now the labor was black and the cottages were even more neglected. Gideon quietly eased the warped door open, stepped in and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“Not’s again, Massah,” an African woman moaned, still half asleep as she rolled over to face him.
Gideon quickly knelt by her thin mattress on the dirt floor and laid a hand gently on her head. “Shhhh,” he whispered, glancing at three other shadowy figures lying nearby.
Awake and starting to get up, the woman’s eyes widened at the sight of the white scar around his neck. “Is you Banutu? You free us?”
“Not tonight, love,” he softly said, leaning over to lightly kiss her forehead.
*
VIRGINIA
The ride from Yorktown to Richmond along the banks of the James River was a quiet one for John and Uriah. Before the Revolution, hundreds of vessels crowded the deep water, with an occasional British warship meandering between them to look for smuggled goods. Now the waters held only a few square-rigger tall ships, a couple of barges and no British warships.
When they came to the spot where his regiment fought the Queen’s Rangers, John paused to remember. The ragged Patriot regiment had been no match for the marksmanship of the king’s best men, and many a good American died there. For a moment, he thought he could still smell the blood, so he nudged his horse onward.
“Caleb and I arrived not an hour or two later,” Uriah said.
“Did you? I wasn’t aware of that.”
“We had food for your regiment, but you had moved on when we arrived. It was Caleb who examined every face until he was certain none were you. Then off we went again to find you. Did you know we fought with you at the battle for Guilford Courthouse? Naturally, we did not join up officially, being British and all. We were right behind you when your musket jammed, and...”
John just let him talk. Most of the stories he’d already heard and this was one of them. As soon as they reached Richmond’s busiest street, he suggested his father visit the barber while he caught up on the latest news at the general store. But when John returned to the barbershop, Uriah was nowhere to be found. It took nearly half an hour to find him. “Papa, where have you been?”
“I merely went for a walk,” Uriah lifted his hat to show off his new haircut. “Have you any news?”
“Three boys stole a pie from the Widow Thatcher,” John answered, leaning against the outside wall of a newly built clothier, “and the Elder Moss accidentally shot a hole in the carpenter’s water barrel.”
“Mister Carson!” a man shouted from across the street, dodging a mule and a cart in his attempt to hurry. He stopped, waited for a rider to pass and then rushed on, only to find his path again blocked by three covered wagons.
“What is it, Mister Keswick?” Uriah asked when the man finally arrived.
Keswick waited until he caught his breath and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “Good day to you, John.”
“And to you.”
“It’s about the express,” Keswick said, turning to Uriah.
“What express?” John asked.
“The one to Harrodstown. I’ve neglected to write the proper directions.”
“Papa, you did not.”
Uriah rolled his eyes. “I merely wished to inform the Lewis family of our safe arrival.”
John turned a wary eye first on his father and then on the postmaster, “Mister Keswick, have you any idea how long an express would take?”
Keswick shrugged and once more pushed his glasses up. “Well, no, I’ve never sent a post to Kentucky before. A few weeks perhaps?”
“More like a few months.”
“But, John,” Keswick said, leaning closer, “he paid me handsomely.”
“I should hope so.”
“You need not speak as though I’m not here,” Uriah said, picking Sparky up before taking Keswick by the arm. “Come along, I’ll write the directions myself. Now, the best way is straight. True, a man must cross one range of mountains, then go left or right to find passage through the next, but...” he went on, his voice fading as he guided Keswick back across the street.
With so many women wearing the black of mourning, John did not see her coming. Nor did he see Adam watching them.
“Oh, so there you are, John Carson,” Hester Wyley suddenly said, walking right past him.
“Hester, wait!” said he, rushing after her.
“Not now, I’m quite late.” Before he could catch her, Hester darted into the cobbler shop and closed the door in his face.
Taken aback, it was a moment or two before he realized Adam was standing right beside him. “I do believe she hates me.”
“Hardly,” Adam chuckled. “When Rose wishes to avoid me, she goes out the backdoor.”
Together, they hurried down the length of the building and peeked around the corner. Hester had already made it across the Widow Brown’s backyard and was lifting her skirt to climb into her uncle’s sleek black coach.
“No doubt my wife taught her that,” Adam admitted, leaning against the wall of the cobbler shop.
“Has my beloved cousin taught Hester all her tricks, do you think?”
“I have no doubt whatsoever. They’ve been inseparable since you left and they’re up to something, to be sure. But John, Rose and Hester are the least of our concerns. It is the elder Mrs. Carson.”
“Aunt Elizabeth, is she unwell?”
Adam slipped his hand under his proper white wig and scratched his head. “She’s going mad. All will be completely calm and then her face turns red, she throws open every door and fans herself violently. Not twenty minutes later, she’s in tears complaining of the cold. I tell you, by day’s end, she’s exhausted us all and there is more. Yesterday, I said these words exactly, ‘Mama, you look splendid in pink.’ Can you guess what she said?”
“What?”
“‘You hate the blue one then!’ Off she went in an uproar, flying up the stairs to her bedchamber and slamming the door. Rose suspects it is ‘the change.’”
“Oh my.”
“Cousin John, I’ve taken to leaving a room the instant the woman enters.”
John glanced across the street and spotted his father coming back. “Have they no tonic, no remedy?”
“Not a one. The quandary, you see, is Maralee’s wedding. Rose fears Mama will take to her bed completely – or worse, kill someone.”
“Rose might well be right. I’ve seen Aunt Elizabeth lively enough to kill.”
“So have I,” Adam said, cocking his head slightly to peek at the ankles of two passing ladies.
“Tell me, have you left your position, or has the Virginia Assembly thrown up their hands and surrendered?”
“Recessed,” Adam answered, scratching his head again. Finally, he removed his wig altogether. “Overwrought at the news, I boldly say.”
“What news?”
“Have you not heard? Our debt to France for the war is five million pounds.”
“Five...I am overwrought myself. How will we ever repay it?”
“Can there be any other way? We will tax ourselves and no doubt more vigorously than the British.”
“We have no money for taxes. All we have is land.” John paused to think for a moment. “You don’t think the French will demand the Kentucky Territory, do you?”
“Great glory, man, speak softly – the French might hear you. On the other hand, we could give them New York. The British burned nearly all of that colony anyway. That reminds me,” Adam went on, “does Yorktown have a printing press the British neglected to smash?”
Once more John searched the street for his father, and spotted him chatting with an elderly lady. “Aye, but in need of repair the same as Richmond’s. The printer awaits both parts and paper from London.”
“My kingdom for a press,” Adam sighed. “I’ve nearly worked my fingers to the bone copying notices to all thirteen states.”
“Take heart, the British have suffered the same six years of war, and need our furs, lumber and tobacco. The ships will return.”
“Yes, but will they think to bring us new printing presses?”
*
URIAH STEPPED OVER a log in Mahala’s cemetery, removed his three-cornered hat and respectfully nodded toward the hand-carved headstone of his wife’s grave. “It’s a bit much, is it not?” he asked, putting his hat back on and taking a seat next to his son. A slight breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, the stone path had been newly swept, and as usual, Sparky lay sleeping near her master’s feet. Mary’s was the only grave in the cemetery.
“The preparations for the ball, you mean?”
“Aye, I’d quite forgotten how tiresome it could be. You, my boy, have chosen the only peaceful place on the property.”
“I miss her too, you know.”
“I know. It was Mary who loved the balls, and once begun, I enjoyed them as well. But the preparations...”
“Tedious?” John asked.
“Tedious indeed, particularly since we have enjoyed such quiet solitude in the wilderness.”
“I see, so now it was quiet solitude. When we were there, you called it the most inhospitable land in the world.”
“That was before I had my wits about me,” Uriah said, standing up. He pulled a large wooden spoon out of his coat pocket and walked to the headstone. Holding a thumb to the base, he spread his hand and marked the tip of his little finger in the dirt. Then he began to dig.
“Papa, what are you doing?”
“Even now, your mother keeps watch over us. She guards the jewels we brought to America.” Uriah removed the dirt until his spoon hit metal. He wiggled a small box free, refilled the hole, and pushed leaves over the disturbed area. Blowing dirt off the top of the box, he handed it to John.
“I was not aware any remained.”
“There is a lot you are not aware of.”
John waited until his father sat down and then lifted the lid. Instantly, the diamonds, pearls and emeralds glittered in the sunlight. Fascinated, he slowly tilted the box back and forth. “They are magnificent.”
“Indeed they are. If ever you are in need, measure in the opposite direction. Your uncle will give you a fair price.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
Uriah was quiet for a moment, looking up at the trees and the clear blue sky. Finally, he said. “You intend to marry Hester?”
“Have I no secrets from you?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Hester Wyley is a good woman and I’ll not regret calling her daughter.”
“Thank you, Papa, your blessing means more than you can know. But it is too late, I have called on Hester four times since our return. Her aunt makes her excuses quite elegantly, but it is plain – Hester will not have me.”
“My boy, I see I have not taught you as well as I thought. A man must be far more resourceful than a woman. He must be cunning like a fox, as patient as an eagle and ready to pounce more quickly than a lion. He must render her breathless, you see, then demand her hand in marriage.”
“And how am I to do that? She will not even see me.”
“I hardly think Hester will deny herself the opportunity of attending a Carson Ball.”
“But she is in mourning,” John said.
“Is she? Then how is it she regularly attends the fitting of a ball gown?”
“Are you certain? I mean, have you seen her?”
“I have. Her gown is quite remarkable.”
“In that case, I believe I am more inclined to help with the preparations,” John said, quickly getting up.
Uriah watched his son walk away and then turned back to face Mary’s grave. “If only Polly were here – wearing an equally remarkable gown.”
*
FOR YEARS, THEY HAD been trodden down by the fiery breath of war, and now half their men were either dead or unaccounted for. Nevertheless, Mahala’s beloved society prepared to attend Maralee’s wedding ball. They refreshed gowns and long-tail black jackets, polished dancing shoes, dressed, wrapped themselves in warm cloaks and retrieved long-forgotten smiles. African drivers atop shiny black carriages with flaming torches turned off the road from Richmond, traveled down the lane, unloaded passengers at the front door, and then moved on.
Inside, silver candelabra on tables and between large landscape paintings on the walls filled the assembly room with warm, yellow light. Musicians played while servers, dressed in white with shiny gold trim, offered refreshments, relieved guests of their cloaks and catered to their every desire.
But Clifton, and Clifton alone, manned the large, double front doors.
“As I have said repeatedly,” Effie was mentioning, she on one side of Katie Wallace and her twin Abby on the other, “Papa does not allow us to look upon the baron’s nakedness.”
“No wonder they call you the babies. Do you mean you’ve never looked?” Katie asked, gazing midway up the twelve-foot vine-covered, headless statue.
“Well,” Abby began, quickly glancing across the enormous room at her father, “once, when we were quite certain it was Papa who snored, we ventured a look-see.”
“And?” Katie asked.
“My dear, you’re much too young to know,” Effie said.
“I’m your same age!” Katie snapped.
“Make haste,” Abby whispered, pulling both of them away, “Papa has seen us.”
At the head of the receiving line near the front door, Caleb glared at his youngest twins. Once they dispersed, he leaned closer to his wife. “Perhaps at our next ball, we should allow the baron to exhibit.”
“Oh, Caleb, you’ve said the same since our eldest took notice,” Elizabeth giggled and then turned her attention to an older couple waiting to be received. “Mrs. Dunlop, how delightful to see you.”
Her husband finely dressed and she wearing a bright orange gown with an abundance of jewelry, Hester’s Aunt Dunlop always made a point of announcing their wealth. But this time her manner was not so proud, and a hint of a tear was in her eye as she warmly put her cheek to Elizabeth’s. “I don’t mind telling you, I’d begun to think we’d never see the balls again.”
“So had I,” Elizabeth agreed, fighting back a sudden impulse of her own to cry. “Tell me, is Hester coming?”
“She’d best be,” George Dunlop answered. “Mrs. Carson, have you any idea how much a new ball gown can set a man back these days?”
Mrs. Dunlop huffed and firmly took hold of her husband’s arm. “Oh, never mind that, George. Come along, I cannot wait to dance.”
“In that case, I’ll try to find you a willing partner,” Dunlop muttered, letting her drag him right past Rose and Adam, and then John and Uriah.
Dressed in all black with a white silk shirt and a matching ruffled scarf, John turned to Adam. “Speaking of Georges, you did invite the general, did you not?”
“Washington? Indeed I did,” Adam answered, greeting the next couple with a polite nod. “Unfortunately, he is yet detained in the North. Happy will be the day he can dismiss the militia and come home to Virginia.”
“Aye, and when he does, the Empire will be completely without defenses,” John said.
“Quite, but do not fret,” Adam said, kissing the gloved hand of a little six-year-old girl who was missing both of her front teeth, “so long as Frederick of Germany, Catherine of Russia, and Charles of Spain do not lust after our land, all is well.”
John wasn’t listening. Instead, his eyes were glued to the dark-haired man coming through the front door with Hester on his arm.
“So that’s what she and my lovely Rose have been up to,” Adam whispered. “They hope to entice a bit of jealousy. Tell me, is it working?”
“Far better than I care to admit,” John answered, watching Hester’s escort remove her light blue satin cape. The stranger said something in her ear, Hester giggled and quickly took her escort’s arm again. She did not even bother to smooth her matching blue ball gown or straighten her long white gloves.
With no more guests to greet, Uriah leaned forward to size up his son’s face. “You don’t think to kill him, do you? Elizabeth would never forgive us.”
“For her sake, then,” John answered, his eyes on Hester, who still hadn’t bothered to look his way. Suddenly, one of the middle twins was standing in front of him.
“John,” Rachel said, “Maralee requires your assistance immediately. She’s lost her locket, you see, under the chest of drawers.”
“Saved by a locket,” John muttered, half bowing to Rachel, then offering his arm. Casually, they made their way up the side of the room, mindful of the dancing couples and small gatherings of guests. “Has she no other locket?” John asked finally.
“Not like this one, Mama gave it to her. Isn’t it splendid, the wedding ball, I mean? I simply cannot wait until I marry. I will have lavender, I think. Yes, lavender ribbons everywhere, if they can be had naturally. And a lavender dress in which to descend the stairs on the arm of my handsome intended.”
“You think Dulane handsome, do you?” John asked, guiding her around the musician’s platform.
“The truth is, I’ve seen mules more handsome than Dulane. Not that a man must be all that handsome, mind you. But he must be agreeable and well mannered, particularly toward his wife.”
“You’ve grown quite wise for not yet fifteen. Tell me, do you intend to marry anytime soon?”
“Well, should I find the right man, I see no reason not to.”
“But you are so young. At your age, how can you be certain of your feelings?”
Rachel lifted her skirt just enough to climb the stairs. “Why, John Carson, you’re a prude. I’m old enough to know the tingle of one man’s touch and the flatness of another’s. I see the warmth in Papa’s eyes when he looks at Mama, and the lack of the same in other husbands. I know Dulane can never make Maralee happy, and John,” she went on, pausing halfway up the stairs, “I know you don’t love Hester, leastwise, not the way you once did.”
John gazed long into her eyes, and then turned away. “Oh look, Suzanne found the locket,” he said, spotting Rachel’s twin in the doorway of Maralee’s bedchamber. In her hand, she held a shiny silver chain with a heart-shaped locket on the end. “You don’t need me after all.”
“Lucky for you,” Rachel grinned. She let go of his arm and rushed up the last of the steps.
John watched until she entered Maralee’s bedchamber and closed the door. Then his smile faded. Was fifteen really old enough to know about love? Slowly, he scanned the room until he found Hester and her escort chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins. He watched her for a time and then noticed Adam waiting at the bottom of the stairs with a glass of rum in each hand.
“You could call him out,” Adam said, handing John one of the drinks.
John frowned and quickly took a sip. “Can you not think of something a little less hazardous?”
“I rather doubt it; Hester’s escort is from the South. Southern gentlemen are only taught to drink, have their way with women, and chase after runaway slaves. Whereas we, having attended William and Mary College, are taught swords, should the need arise to call a man out particularly in the Virginia Legislature.”
“Over who might light the street lanterns, should we ever have them again?”
“Precisely.” Adam grinned and then watched Rachel and Suzanne come down the stairs. When Maralee walked out of her bedchamber, her low-cut, soft coral dress shimmered in the candlelight. Tiny white flowers dotted her golden hair, and a gold locket adorned her neck.
“Ah, there she is, the most handsome woman in the Empire!” Adam said.
Rose giggled and slipped her hand around Adam’s arm. “A wise thing to say, considering you married her twin.” She smiled up at her sister. But Maralee wasn’t smiling. Poised on the balcony with her gloved hand on the banister, she anxiously searched the crowd for Dulane.
“Now where is he?” Rose moaned. “I gave him explicit instructions. He was to wait for her here, at the bottom of the stairs, and then go up to escort her down.”
“He is a stupid man,” Adam said, quickly climbing two steps so he could see over the heads of the crowd. As was the plan, the music stopped and all eyes turned toward Maralee.
Nearly in tears, the bride-to-be hung her head. “Oh, John, I cannot bear it. Go and get her,” Rose whispered.
“Done,” John said, quickly handing the glass back to Adam. By the time he reached Maralee, the assembly room had grown embarrassingly still, so he winked at her. Then he winked repeatedly until Maralee’s discomfort turned to a slight giggle. He lavishly bowed and offered his gloved hand.
Her eyes slowly brightening, Maralee returned with her best British curtsy, laid her hand atop the back of his, and allowed him to walk her to the top of the stairs.
From the back of the room and only half watching where he was going, Dulane fumbled with the buttons of one sleeve, then the other as he made his way through the crowd, “Oh, I’m coming,” he grumbled.
The endless seconds dragged on while the crowd watched, their empathy for Maralee complete. John waited until Dulane started up the steps and then abruptly threw himself in front of Maralee protectively. “You cannot have her, she’s mine!”
“Oh, John,” Maralee giggled.
His sleeves at last buttoned and the humor lost on him, Dulane stopped still. “What?”
“I think to marry her myself,” John taunted.
“Stop,” Maralee laughed, playfully slapping John’s shoulder.
“And why not? He’ll not want you once he knows anyway.”
Dulane’s jowls tightened and his light brown mustache drooped. “Once I know what?”
“Of her peculiarities, naturally.”
“What peculiarities?” Dulane asked, oblivious to the snickers behind him.
“The lady likes to dance.”
“Oh, well, I already know that,” Dulane said, renewing his advance.
“I don’t see how you could. I’m the only man she will dance with – in that manner.”
“What manner?”
“Stand aside, man, and I’ll show you,” John said.
Instantly, the crowd erupted in applause and cleared the dance floor. Confused, Dulane glanced around, and then reluctantly descended the stairs.
John took his place beside Maralee, and then stretched out his hand to Rose. “Ladies.”
In a burst of excitement, all the twins rushed up the stairs – all except the youngest. Effie took her time, lazily climbing only halfway up, turning, and then plopping down. Her full skirt ballooned as she sat, and the snickering crowd once more quieted.
“Effie, come here,” John commanded.
Effie put her elbows on her knees, rested her chin in her hands and stared at the ceiling. Then slowly, she put out one hand, palm up. “A full pound sterling.”
“A farthing,” John shot back.
“A sixpence,” Effie said, standing up. She put both hands on her hips and turned to face him. “For each of us!”
“I’ve not seen robbery such as this since before the war,” John said.
“Oh for pity sakes, I’ll pay them,” Uriah called out, digging in his pockets. “At least he got her down to a sixpence,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Normally, I have to pay the full pound.”
The crowd roared and applauded, until at last John said, “Gentlemen, play a Scottish jig.”
They had practiced the dance since they were small. One of each set of twins took up a position to John’s right and the other to his left. In sync with the music, they crisscrossed until they reached the bottom of the stairs, and then hooked their arms together. Forming a straight line, they tap danced on the inlaid wood floor with delighted smiles and bobbing hair. They danced forward and backward, turned and then turned again. When the music stopped and the applause began, they took one long, slow bow, and then scurried off in seven different directions.
“Now you’ve done it,” Uriah said, grabbing John’s arm as he passed.
“What?”
“Elizabeth cries. She fears this will be the last time all of you will dance for her.”
“Where is she, Papa?”
“Next to the statue.”
“I’ll see to her, I’ve just the thing,” John said, heading instead toward Clifton.
*
FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR, John mingled with the guests, danced, taunted his cousins, answered dozens of questions about the Kentucky Territory, and avoided Hester. Yet, he couldn’t help glancing at her. Hester did not seem to notice, giggling often and hanging on every word of each dancing partner.
When Clifton approached, John was surrounded by three spinster sisters who wanted to hear, again, the story of meeting Laughing Rain.
“Massah John,” Clifton said, smartly dressed in his favorite red jacket and long black pants, “Massah Adam, he say you best come to de porch. Pipes, Massah John.”
“Thank you, Clifton.” John gladly excused himself and headed for the front door. But before he went out, he glanced back and saw Hester dancing with her uncle.
“I wouldn’t let the Carson women hear that,” Adam was saying. He was seated with Dulane and Hester’s escort in the wicker chairs on the verandah.
Two overhead lanterns yielded ample light and the small table held a candle, several long, thin lighting sticks, a filled tobacco pouch, and a bowl of water. Nearby, another table held service trays, a colorful box and several bottles of rum. “Oh, there you are, John,” Adam said. “I don’t believe you’ve met Hester’s escort, Mister Steven Grange of Georgia.”
“Mister Grange,” John said, politely nodding, flipping his coat-tails up and then sitting down in the only remaining chair directly opposite Steven.
Clifton quickly reached for the colorful box, opened the lid, walked around the table and offered the first pipe to Hester’s escort.
Steven returned John’s nod and then began to mull over the items in the box. Lying in a neat row, four hand-carved, wooden smoking pipes awaited his decision.
“Adam, you were telling of Mister Franklin,” Dulane said, not waiting for Steven to finish before grabbing a pipe, changing his mind, and then taking another one.
“So I was,” Adam agreed. “Well, Mama heard it from Mrs. Dunlop, who heard it from Mrs. Wilcox, that Franklin freely gives advice on how to choose a mistress.”
“Oh, I see,” Dulane said. “I believe the less a wife is reminded of a man’s need for a mistress, the better.”
John was shocked. “You intend to take a mistress?”
“All men do eventually,” Dulane answered, dipping two fingers in the tobacco pouch.
“And some men tend to take more than one,” Steven added, in his noticeable southern accent. “Mister Carson, if I might inquire,” he went on, watching Dulane dribble tobacco from the pouch to his pipe, “is it your intention to return to the Kentucky Territory?”
Himself distracted by Dulane, John took a while before he answered, “Someday perhaps.”
“But not right away?”
John slowly turned his glare on his handsome rival. “Have you a particular need to know?”
“Not at all, sir, I merely wondered.”
“We met Franklin once at a Carson ball,” Adam quickly put in. “John and I were quite young at the time, however.”
“Pity he could not attend this one,” the doughty Dulane said. “Is he yet in France?”
Adam helped himself to the only remaining pipe. “Last I heard.”
“Aye,” John scoffed, “where he has conveniently been since the war began.”
“It’s not as though he fled to avoid it,” Adam said. “Who better to intercede with the French? Besides, the man is in his seventies with poor eyesight. To my way of thinking, we did well to keep a gun out of his hands.”
“Does he have a mistress in France, do you think?” Dulane asked.
“I doubt he has the endurance,” Adam answered, noticing the uncommon glower on John’s face. He dared not look at the one on Steven’s.
“And you, Mister Grange,” John asked, “will you take a mistress after you marry?”
“Have you a particular need to know, sir?” Steven shot back.
Adam glanced from Steven to John, then back to Steven. “Gentlemen, shall I have the swords sharpened?”
“Not just yet,” John answered. Finally, he lowered his gaze. “Go on, Adam, I believe Dulane would like to discuss the ladies.”
“And who can blame him. On the eve of marrying Rose, I could hardly think of anything else. A wife is a handy...”
“Mister Grange, have you the means to support a wife?” John interrupted.
“I own a plantation in Savanna, sir. What’s left of it. Nevertheless, a wife of mine will not go wanting, I assure you.”
In silence, Clifton filled four glasses with rum, put them on a tray and offered the first to Steven.
“What’s left of it?” Dulane asked, puffing on his pipe far more than was necessary.
“Unfortunately, while I was fighting them in Guilford County, His Majesty’s redcoats burned my fields and half the house.”
John suddenly stopped packing his pipe. “You were at Guilford?”
“I was, sir, and at Cowpens before that. I had the great honor of serving under Brigadier General Daniel Morgan – the greatest general in the world.”
John’s demeanor quickly changed. “I don’t believe it. General Morgan’s boys joined up with us. We fought under General Greene.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Steven said, a smile crossing his face. “As I recall, we joined up with you boys not far from where we are now.”
“Not far at all.” John confirmed, leaving Adam and Dulane completely out of the conversation.
Steven took a sip of rum, then began to chuckle. “After Cowpens, we fled north. But once we joined you boys, we were turned around and marched nearly the same path south again. Had we guessed, we’d have gladly sat down and waited.”
“Aye, but the British were hot on your heels. Besides, we had the food, what little there was,” said John.
“Scant little indeed, sir. But more than we’d seen in days. You were there then, at the battle?”
“And the march before. We were the First Virginians,” John answered. “We were pleased to see the likes of you. You brought us a proper accounting of the victory at Cowpens – the first real victory the South had seen.”
“Do you know Jacob Carter?” Steven asked.
“The old man who played music on his bamboo pipe? Indeed I do. Many a man would have deserted except for the shame of doing so before that old man.”
Steven puffed on his pipe to keep it lit, his smile almost as broad as John’s. “He was seventy-three and still living at last report.”
“I wondered if he survived. I daresay he could snore louder than any seven men. Even the giant made certain not to bed by him.”
“The giant?” Dulane asked, “I’ve heard of him. He’s seven feet tall and wields a sword as long as a wagon.”
“A bit exaggerated,” Steven chuckled, “but not by much. We’d have lost the battle without him, I’m convinced. And I’d have given my entire pay to see the look on the faces of the Brits when they saw him.”
This time it was Adam who laughed. “A great sacrifice that would have been. Mister Applebee papered his barn with his worthless Continentals.”
“So that’s what we are to do with them,” John snickered.
“We seven had a grand idea,” said Steven, hardly able to contain his laughter. “Or so we thought. After Guilford, we stayed to fight with Pickens a time or two, and then set out for home to plant our crops. With little to eat and the spring rains upon us, our vow was to cook a fine meal, if we could find one, over our money. One of us spied a rabbit, plump and round. I tell you it was the fastest rabbit alive and it repeatedly escaped all seven of us. We’d begun to suffer extreme weariness when to our dismay, the rabbit made straight for a British encampment.”
“No,” Adam gasped.
“I swear to you, sir, we turned tail and ran all the way to Savanna.” All four men roared with laughter. “And you, Mister Carson, where did you go after Guilford?” Steven asked.
“We were given over to Light Horse Henry and rode hard after Cornwallis. We’d have had him too, except the Brits cut the only bridge over Cross Creek. At least we had horses. Unfortunately, my horse went with Light Horse Henry and I went south to fight Lord Rawdon.”
“Have you heard, sir?” Steven asked. “The French captured Lord Rawdon at sea and imprisoned him. He has the swamp fever, they say.”
“I’m not surprised; many of us succumbed to it. Tell me, have you kept your Continental money, Mister Grange?”
“I have, along with Virginia dollars, North Carolina dollars and South Carolina dollars—none of which are honored in Savanna, Georgia.”
“A circumstance which confounds the best of us,” Adam said. “What we need is a Congress empowered to establish common money – or a king.”
“And you, Dulane,” Steven asked, “Where did you fight?”
“Unfortunately I did not. I regret to say I suffered a grave illness which rendered me quite unfit.”
“For the entire six years?” John asked.
“I assure you, sir, my draft did not go unanswered. My father sent two of our best servants in my stead.”
Adam calmly set his glass down on the table. “Dulane, precisely how were they convinced to go in your stead?”
“They were indentured, sir. They were bound by contract to do my father’s bidding, and if you imply we were unjust, be assured they were happy to go. I further assure you we were more than generous to their wives. We gave them an additional ration of cloth and all the food they wanted for the children.”
“And did the men return?” Steven asked.
“They did, unfortunately. The ungrateful swine turned on us. They declared their contracts fulfilled, loaded their families in our best wagon and left.”
“And you could not stop them?” John asked.
“How could we? The militia gave them muskets!” Dulane gulped down the last of his drink, and then held out his glass. “Another, Clifton.”
“Yez, Massah,” Clifton muttered, slowly bringing the bottle around the table.
For a time, there was an uneasy lull in the conversation. Dulane watched Clifton take his time refilling his glass while Steven knocked spent tobacco into the water bowl. John kept his eyes downward, and Adam was struggling to suppress his laughter.
“I’ll have another myself,” Adam said finally.
Noticeably, the elder African hastened to reach Adam’s side of the table. “Miss Rose, she say she best not sees ya drunk, Massah Adam.”
“Miss Rose is fortunate to have you, Clifton,” Adam said, rolling his eyes.
“Yez, Massah, I knows it.”
“A toast, gentlemen,” Steven said, “to the end of that abominable war!”
“Hear, hear,” the others said, raising their glasses. They drank the toast, but the air remained uncomfortable.
At last John spoke, “Dulane, will you be taking my cousin Maralee to your plantation? I cannot think she would be happy so far from Mahala.”
“Her father said the same just last week. He has begged me to take a post in Yorktown, and I have accepted.”
“What sort of post?” John asked.
“Furs, Cousin John,” Dulane answered. “I am to oversee consignments of furs on his ship.”
John wrinkled his brow, “Are you quite certain he said furs? I wasn’t—”
“Speaking of Ben Franklin,” Adam quickly interrupted, “I hear he’s turned his attention to the abolition of slavery.”
“Yes, and the man owns slaves himself,” Dulane sneered.
“A two-sidedness not lost on the South,” Steven added.
“Yes, but he’s an old man. How’s he to manage his property without them?” Adam asked.
“He cannot, sir, none of us can,” Steven answered.
“You favor slavery?” John asked Steven.
Steven shrugged. “Favor, no. In dire need of slavery, yes. A man has no choice if he expects to prosper. He can, however, see they are treated fairly.”
“Fair treatment or not, they lack the freedom to come and go as they please,” John said.
“Go where, sir? Freed, they would soon fall to the mercy of slavers. Without land, they must seek employment, and who can afford to pay? Fortunate indeed is the freed man who can provide more than one meal a day for his family.”
“We could send them back to Africa,” Adam said, his pipe burned out and his glass again empty, “were any whites willing to pay their passage.”
“And we could free them and offer fair wages,” said John.
Dulane’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “Good heavens, man, we cannot free them. How would they survive without our supervision? They cannot think as well as we.”
“Nonsense,” said John.
“Cousin John, no matter how hard we attempt to teach them, they cannot even speak proper English,” Dulane countered.
“Indeed? Do you teach them with a whip?” John asked, his ire rising.
“Well...”
Steven calmly interrupted, “There is one who might prove you sadly mistaken, Dulane. They say he can recite the entire Bible, including the begets.”
“You must mean Banutu?” Dulane smirked.
“Who?” John asked.
“Banutu,” Dulane answered smugly. “He’s a fearsome, monstrous darky who’s obviously been hung. Pity they did not kill him. The slaves believe he is an African king come back from the dead to free them. What he truly is, sir, is a heartless, cold-blooded murderer. Three whites dead at last count.”
“Seven,” Steven corrected, “and if, as you say, he cannot think so well as we, how has he managed to avoid every sheriff in the South?”
“Seven?” Adam asked incredulously. “Have they any proof against him?”
“What proof do they need?” Dulane asked. “Once a darky murders, he acquires a taste for it.”
“Just as slave owners acquire a taste for slavery?” John asked.
Dulane narrowed his eyes, “Might I remind you, Cousin John, you own them yourself.”
“I do not own them, they...” John started. But before he could finish, Maralee walked out the front door. Quickly, all the men got to their feet – all except Dulane, who took the time to down the last of his drink before rising.
“Dulane,” Maralee softly asked, “aren’t you going to dance with me?”
“Of course, my dear,” Dulane replied, making his way around the table. When he reached her, he gently kissed her cheek. Then he remembered the pipe in his hand. “I was about to come in anyway,” he went on, tossing his lit pipe in the box.
As soon as Dulane and Maralee were out of sight, the other men slowly sat back down in silence. Clifton poured more rum for Steven, and John relit his pipe. Adam retrieved Dulane’s smoldering pipe and began knocking the tobacco into the water bowl.
“He’ll simply not do,” Steven moaned finally.
“I cannot think why my uncle has allowed this to happen,” John said. “And what’s this about furs?”
Adam shrugged. “First I heard of it, but think of the benefits to Maralee. Dulane will often be out to sea.”
John bowed his head. “The entire Empire would benefit if Dulane were out to sea, but a full week of him and MacGreagor will give up sailing.”
Busying himself with his chores, Clifton discreetly watched each man’s face.
“Perhaps we might pay this Banutu to frighten him away,” Adam suggested.
“Can’t be done,” said John, “Dulane says nothing frightens him.”
“Except war,” Steven added.
Adam got to his feet, “Well, best I see to my wife. If I know Rose, she’s promised my dancing services to every lady in the house. We’ve a serious shortage of men, you know.”
As soon as Adam was gone, Clifton made sure the coast was clear, and then slipped into the vacant chair. He ignored John’s stare, quickly refilled Adam’s glass and downed two swallows. “I say we push him off a cliff.”
“We?” John asked, his mouth agape. “And has your English suddenly improved?”
“Clifton and I are old friends,” Steven half whispered, keeping an eye on the door. “He enjoys his slavery more than most. Tell me, have you a cliff at Mahala?”
“Regrettably, no. Besides, Maralee would never forgive us. I’m afraid there is simply nothing to be done.”
“Sir, your cousin deserves far better,” Steven said.
“Aye, but she loves him.”
“She cannot...or at least will not for very long.”
“I agree, sadly.”
“Miss Elizabeth has a fine elixir. She gave it to poor Henry and made him sleep two whole days,” Clifton muttered, finishing off his rum before standing up. “I spec she’s still got it.” He straightened his jacket, grabbed the glass, added it to his tray and went inside.
John stared after him. “I cannot think when I’ve ever been more shocked. He’s an old friend, you say?”
“The heat in Savanna became too much for him. He is happy here and he likes your family, but you’d best stay on his good side.”
“Wise council indeed,” John said. Then he grew serious. “Do you love her?”
“Hester? Very much,” Steven answered, getting to his feet. “Well, we might as well go in. It will take the two of us to make sure Clifton doesn’t poison Dulane.”
“Now there’s a happy thought,” John said.