March 31, 1786 Friday

The last day of March ended with high winds, brilliant sunshine. The fine snow of days before melted, puddles and mud everywhere.

People were glad to be back at their tasks, freed from winter’s last clutches. They hoped it was the last clutches.

“Did you remember a birthday present?” Bumbee asked Grace as both set before their looms.

“I’m not giving him a birthday present,” Grace immediately replied.

Liddy, stoking the fire, turned. “Why not?”

“He doesn’t call on me. Besides, what would I give him?”

“A scarf,” Bumbee advised.

“I’m not doing it.”

“I see.” Bumbee focused intently on the garment, expertly weaving a brilliant aqua thread through the navy blue.

Liddy took her place. “Grace, you’re sixteen. You’ll soon be an old maid.”

“Tosh.” Grace threw her head back.

Serena knocked on the door, entered when Bumbee called out, “Come in.”

“It’s so bright in here today.” Serena put down a large basket. “Bettina sent down some extra deviled eggs, cold ham, bread.”

“That was good of her.” Bumbee smiled.

Lifting up the towel, Serena enticed them. “Churned butter thanks to the muscle power of Tulli, who Bettina commandeered from the barn. Honey and strawberry jam, too. Brought knives, if you need them.” She sat on the bench by the stairs. “I’m so glad to see sunshine.”

“Gray, gray, gray. That has to be the last snow,” Liddy hoped.

“Mmm.” Serena launched into the news. “Mr. Holloway is up at the big house.”

“Are that witch and her handmaiden with him?” Bumbee minced no words.

“No.” Serena leaned forward. “The sun really is shining on us. One of these days Sheba will forget herself and give one of us orders. Ha. I’ll knock her down, I swear I will. You know what I think? She’s so hateful cause she’s got all that white blood. Always parading the light color of her skin. Hateful.”

The others laughed.

Liddy responded, “The question is, whose white blood?”

This sent them into more peals of laughter.

“I dare you to call her a clabberface,” Grace baited Serena.

“Oh, we can come up with something worse than that, but listen, Mr. Holloway sent a letter to Yancy Grant asking for satisfaction.”

Silence followed this.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Bumbee rose from her bench, and sat next to Serena.

“Because of what he said at the party?”

Serena nodded. “But it gets better. Bettina and Roger brought in coffee, morning refreshments, and then Roger waited outside the door. He can be a real quiet sneak that Roger.”

“Well, between Roger and Bettina they know everything,” Liddy volunteered but without rancor.

“But why did Mr. Holloway come here?” Bumbee inquired.

“Because he doesn’t know about pistols. Yancy will get choice of weapons. So he came to ask Mr. Garth if he might come here and have John instruct him.”

“I see.” Bumbee brought her hand to her chin.

“He also wishes for John to be his second.”

“Well, if he shoots and kills Yancy Grant, fine. If not, then we have made an enemy,” the shrewd Bumbee noted.

No one said anything, then Grace piped up. “Is there no way to stop this?”

“Doubtful,” Serena said. “But there might be a bit of time because when DoRe delivered the letter asking for satisfaction, Yancy had already left for Richmond.”

“Well, he won’t refuse when he returns. Can’t. He’d look like a coward,” Bumbee said. “But if someone wishes, they might be able to bring them to terms and stop a duel.”

“At least a duel solves the problem once and for all,” Grace spoke.

“Oh, Grace.” Bumbee smoothed out her skirt. “Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t.”

“And what if Mr. Holloway is killed, which is more likely?” Liddy came over and plucked out an egg. “Then Maureen is a widow again and Sheba will be keeping her hand out to every suitor.”

“No!” Grace was shocked.

“Honey, you need to learn how the world works. She’s underhanded, greedy, and you’d better believe she will extract money and whatever else from the men lining up to marry that fortune. I can’t believe anyone really wants to marry Maureen.” Bumbee laughed.

“Maybe she’s different with men than with women,” Liddy posited.

“Aren’t most women?” Serena raised her eyebrows. “And the men believe whatever the women tell them.”

“Men hear what they want to hear. I can vouch from personal experience that Mr. Percy never heard a word I said.”

They all laughed.

“I’d better get back up there. You know how Bettina can get. She’s been flying all over the place this morning.” Serena stood up.

“Serena,” Grace asked, “do you think I’m going to be an old maid?”

“What brought that on?” the attractive young woman wondered.

“Liddy says I’m sixteen and I’m not married.”

“Liddy, are you holding out your man as an example of the sweetness of marriage?” Serena gave Liddy a little dig.

“He’s good to me.” Her lower lip jutted out.

“Girl, he’s good to some other women, too. Grace,” she turned to the younger woman, “you aren’t going to be an old maid and there are plenty worse things than not having a man. Men are work, I can tell you.”

“Hear, hear.” Bumbee grinned.

Liddy, still stinging from Serena’s unwelcome information, kept quiet.

“Sometimes it works, doesn’t it? I mean Momma and Poppa get along,” Grace remarked.

Serena softened. “Does. You’re too young to remember but Bettina had a good man. Mr. Garth and the Missus were a match and really so are the girls and their husbands. Sometimes it works but don’t go round looking for it. Let him find you.” With that she swept out the door.

Liddy returned to her task without a word.

“Liddy,” Bumbee took pity on her, “don’t take it to heart. It will pass.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” She rolled yarn, head down.

Hours later, Catherine, John, Ralston, Tulli, and Barker O. had wished Jeddie a happy nineteenth birthday. Bettina sent down a small chocolate cake. Horses as always remained the major topic of conversation but that slid into Jeffrey Holloway’s morning call, the news of which flickered through Cloverfields like fire.

“Mr. John, what will you do?” Tulli asked.

“What I can. The pistol Charles’s father gave him before the war is such a fine instrument, balanced, just the right resistance on the trigger. I’ll teach him with that if Yancy accepts the challenge.”

“How could he not?” Barker O.’s deep voice filled the tidy tack room.

“He could show himself to be a forgiving gentleman and admit he was under the influence of spirits,” Catherine answered.

“Oh, Miss Catherine, he might admit he was drunk as a skunk but I don’t know as he would admit he was wrong.” Ralston, an old mind in a young head, spoke.

John, next to his wife on a low bench, nodded. “I’m afraid he’s right, my angel.”

“Dear Lord, wasn’t it bad enough we killed the British and the British killed us, now we’re killing one another, our currencies are close to worthless, and,” she threw up her hands, “is the world falling apart?” Then she caught herself. “Well, not on your birthday, Jeddie. This is a good day.”

“Thank you, Miss Catherine.” He beamed.

The distant rattle of a harness alerted them.

Tulli ran out, then ran back. “DoRe!”

“Seems to be a Big Rawly day.” Catherine stood up, wrapped her shawl around herself, stepped outside with the men.

Daffodils survived the snow, peeking up everywhere. Forsythias threatened to bloom as DoRe drove the splendid coach-in-four toward the stable, the sides of the carriage gleaming.

The boys ran out as he stopped, dismounted. “Miss Catherine, Mr. John. Miss Selisse returns your carriage with thanks. She had us draw every single thing about this piece of fine work, including the bud vase inside the carriage.” He grinned.

“That was fast,” John remarked.

“The Missus is determined to be seen in the best carriage in the country. She can’t steal yours so she’s going to have one built.”

“In Philadelphia?” John wondered.

“No.” DoRe paused for dramatic effect. “Mr. Holloway and his father will build it.”

The dramatic effect produced dropped jaws, wide eyes, and a moment of silence.

Catherine then said, “Well, DoRe, that is some news.” Thinking of Bettina’s hopes she smiled at the genial man. “Why don’t you go on up to the house and tell Bettina? I’ll be up shortly. Jeddie can drive you back to Big Rawly and I’ll send Bettina with him so he doesn’t have to drive back alone.”

“Thank you.” DoRe thought this an excellent idea.

As he walked up to the big house, his characteristic limp not slowing him down, Catherine put her hand on Jeddie’s shoulder. “Take the carriage back so they can sit inside. Tie his horses to the back. Wait. Don’t. This way DoRe has to come back for Maureen’s carriage horses.”

“Miss Catherine, how can I drive when DoRe’s along? He’s near as good as Barker O.”

Barker O., pleased with the compliment, chuckled. “Son, I think DoRe will be just fine.”

“Barker O., why don’t you sit up with Jeddie and if he needs a lesson, well, there you are. Then the two of you can drive back.”

“Thank you.”

She reached in her pocket and pulled out some chits. “Here, Jeddie, Number Eleven. Barker O., Number Two. I don’t think anyone’s going to fuss but just in case.”

They took their passes and Catherine took Jeddie’s hand in hers. “Happy, happy birthday.”

Then she and John started back up to the house, running into Charles, who walked out from the carriage barn, plans under his arm.

“Think I’ve got a way to store grain and reduce spoilage.”

Piglet murmured, “He never stops. He gets up in the middle of the night to make changes to St. Luke’s and now this. I just wish he’d sleep through the night.”

“Piglet, you’re talkative.” Catherine adored the corgi.

John told Charles the news about the potential duel.

Charles shook his head, red-gold hair catching the light. “I’d hoped those words would be forgotten.”

“When a man accuses you of consorting with, well, you know, and your wife is in the next room and her lady-in-waiting is literally waiting down below, I don’t know.” John sighed. “He has asked me to be his second.”

“Good Lord, John.” Charles stopped walking for a moment.

“I agreed. If Yancy accepts the duel, and we all think he will, then I will give Jeffrey some shooting lessons using your pistol.”

A wry grin played over Charles’s lips. “The spoils of war. One of these days you’ll return my pistol to me.”

“Maybe.”

“You won the war, John, you don’t need my pistol.”

“You were my captive. Fair’s fair.” John enjoyed bedeviling his brother-in-law just a bit.

“You two.” Catherine slipped her hand in John’s. “Let’s return to the problem at hand. Yancy left for Richmond. Surely he will be there tomorrow if he’s on horseback. If he went down to Scottsville, boarded a boat, maybe tonight. We can hope his business there will take him two or three days, then two or three days to return. That gives us time.”

“Time for what?” Charles appreciated Catherine’s sharp mind.

“To see if there isn’t a way out where each man saves face.” Catherine watched chimney smoke rise straight up from the big house, a sign of good weather.

“My love, that would be a miracle.” John squeezed her hand.

“Miracles do happen and, don’t forget, Father’s birthday is Sunday.”