Heart's Heritage

by Cecil, Ramona K. ; Richardson, Lisa Karon;

  Merry held out her foot.

  Abigail covered her mouth in horror. “Dear Jesus.”

  Daniel pulled the writhing snake from the bedding. Its scales glinted in the candlelight, streaks of tan and brown and cream. About a foot and a half long, it twisted this way and that, heaving its body in hopes of escape. Its hiss filled the room as all other sounds died away in the awful horror of watching it.

  “It’s a copperhead.” Daniel’s round eyes and fearful somberness hit Merry as if he’d struck her in the stomach. How long did she have? Would the venom kill her quickly and painfully? Or slowly and painfully?

  Tears rained down her cheeks. There were so many things she should have done. She ought to have apologized to Graham. She needed to see him one last time, to tell him how much his help had meant to her.

  Abigail dabbed at the twin wounds on Merry’s foot, but the trickle of blood could not be staunched. The skin around the bite was puffed and swollen already. Where was the poison? Had it found its way to her heart?

  The snake continued its frantic gyrations as Daniel backed from the room. With a dry rasp of scales it broke free and landed in a writhing mass on the floor. The onlookers screamed and scattered. Abigail grabbed Merry’s hand to help her scoot out of the way.

  Isaiah struck it and then struck again with a poker until the creature stopped its movement.

  Quiet descended on the room. Merry couldn’t stop shaking. She breathed in for what seemed like the first time in several minutes. Abigail removed her own shawl and wrapped it around Merry’s shoulders.

  At the forefront of the spectators, Mr. Fraser inspected the snake’s carcass. “That’s no copperhead. It’s only a water snake. A good look-alike, but you can tell by the banding.”

  “Then it’s not poisonous?” his wife asked.

  “Not at all. The bite will hurt like the devil, but it won’t kill her.” He addressed his comment to Abigail, as if Merry weren’t in the room.

  It didn’t matter. Merry drew in a breath and clasped her hands together to still their trembling. It wasn’t poisonous. It wasn’t poisonous. Thank You, Lord.

  “But how did it get in here?”

  Mr. Fraser scratched at the stubble spotting his jaw. “Could’ve come in through a window. Probably just looking for a warm place to hole up for the night.”

  Merry didn’t bother forcing away her grimace. Hopefully it would be chalked up to the pain in her foot. The effort of being courteous to this man would choke her. “I shall be checking my sheets after this, you can be sure.”

  The spectators drifted away, and Abigail gentled Merry into a seat. She washed and bound the wound with clean linen bandages. Daniel produced a cup of hot tea for each of them, and Abigail insisted Merry drink every drop before tucking her back in bed.

  At last, Merry was left alone. Unwilling to stretch out fully in the bed, she pulled her knees up to her chest. She tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. Unable to rid her mind’s eye of the glistening image of the serpent. At last she stood.

  Regarding the bed with distaste she licked her lips. Dear Lord, help me. With a jerk at the covers she dislodged them. Determined to prove to herself that nothing else lurked beneath the blankets, she pulled all of the bedding away from the mattress.

  She remade the bed, smoothing the sheets into place and tucking the edges beneath the mattress so that nothing else could crawl in. She replaced the quilt as well and, hands on hips, stepped back to admire her handiwork. Soft living hadn’t yet robbed her of domestic skill.

  Her gaze caught on a scrap of fabric peeking from under the frame of the bed, and she bent to retrieve it. It was a coarse linen sack with a gaping drawstring mouth. Where had it come from? There had been several people in the room earlier. She had not noticed anyone carrying a sack, but mayhap one of them had dropped it. But then why not retrieve it?

  What if the snake had been in the bag? If the opening had been left slightly open the creature would have slithered out, leaving the bag to get caught up in the bedclothes. It must have felt threatened and lashed out when she climbed into the bed. But all that required a planner, someone who had found that snake and deliberately placed it in her bed.

  Her extremities went cold again, and the trembling returned. Had they known it was essentially harmless, or did that malevolent hand believe it to be a copperhead?

  Graham scrubbed at his face with the palm of his hand as he stepped from Mr. Benning’s secret office. The poor man had no doubt known in part that he was up against a dangerous adversary. But it seemed he had never anticipated the depths of his partner’s selfish malice.

  Of course, Fraser probably saw it as a matter of self-preservation. If news of his fraud and piracy became public, his life was forfeit.

  With a clap on Graham’s shoulder in farewell, Connor departed to make the rounds of the taverns in search of Jim Nash. The idea of bed and a good night’s sleep called to Graham. He had a case to organize, however.

  He passed from the narrow alley he had taken by way of shortcut to find an eerie glow smudging the sky before him. Anxiety plucked at the pit of his stomach. He picked up his pace. A whiff of smoke scratched his throat, and he hurried faster. Somewhere down the street the night watchman’s bell began to ring.

  Above his head, shutters were flung open and footsteps pounded.

  He was racing now. In his gut he knew even before he rounded the final corner that it was Mrs. Bartlesby’s home on fire. He had never considered that he might be bringing trouble down on her head with his quest for justice.

  As he neared the house a spray of sparks flared from the roof over the kitchen. Soot and hot ash rained down like the snow of hell. The slaves were salvaging what they could. Others had formed a bucket brigade and worked feverishly to douse the kitchen wing and keep the fire from spreading.

  Graham dashed in through the front door and bounded up the stairs. Smoke swirled about him, making his eyes stream and his breath hitch in his throat. In his room he tossed everything that came to hand into his trunk and dragged it out to the safety of the street. He made another trip, forcing himself up the stairs two by two. If this fire had been set because of his presence in the household, the least he could do was save what he could for his landlady.

  His eyes watered, and he covered his mouth with his forearm to block the smoke. Another flight and he flung open the window sash. They would never get it all out by the stairs. It was time to find a quicker route.

  First to go were the linens and bolsters. Graham flung them through the window and watched as they plummeted to the ground. Hopefully they would make a bit of padding for other things.

  He caught the attention of the houseboy and began to toss down more fragile items.

  Dark figures whirled and cavorted below in frenzied activity. More windows were opened and household goods flapped and fluttered through the sky. Orange flames glistened off the windows and water doused on the buildings.

  Through the swirl of light and haze and the confusion of frantic movement, Graham spied a figure standing perfectly still. The fire flared, illuminating the form of Cleaves, looking like a giant beetle in his round hat and too-shiny coat.

  “Surely you don’t mean to go to that vulgar trial?”

  Merry glanced up from her porridge at Mrs. Fraser. “It had been my intention.”

  “Why would a lady desire to mingle with the uncouth rabble? I think it most unseemly.”

  Abigail met Merry’s gaze, her eyes pleading. “I should be most grateful if you would stay with me. Catherine has convinced me of the impropriety of attending a criminal trial, unless called upon by the law.”

  Merry dropped her spoon with a clatter and gritted her teeth. Catherine Fraser had to be the most interfering, pompous woman in all the colonies. Had it not been for Abigail she would have flouted the woman simply for the fun of it. As it was, she inclined her head. “As you wish.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Abigail said.

  Me
rry stood and pushed away from the table. “Do you mean to work in the garden this morning?”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. I need to do something that will keep my mind from all that is occurring.”

  “I shall join you soon.” First she had to find Daniel and ask him to convey the patent medicine to Graham along with her hopes that the dregs could be analyzed.

  She hastened to her room and quickly changed from her morning gown to something more suitable to gardening. Her fingers fumbled with the pins as she secured a voluminous apron in place.

  She reached for the tincture bottle but stopped short. It wasn’t there. Heart pounding in her ears, she tried to convince herself not to panic. Mayhap it had been knocked to the ground during the commotion last night.

  She knelt and peered under the wardrobe.

  Nothing.

  Not even a dust ball.

  On hands and knees she twisted to peer under the bed. She investigated every corner of the room. It had to be here somewhere.

  But no. It had disappeared.

  She sat on the floor and covered her face. Fraser could not have placed the snake in her bed in order to obtain the tincture, but perhaps he had spied it during the confusion and taken the opportunity to snatch it.

  She remembered Fraser’s oh-so-helpful advice about the snake. He was a master at turning situations to his advantage.

  Even if she could find the tincture now, there would be no time to have it tested.

  She had failed.

  “Step forward, sir, and be admitted to the bar.”

  Graham did as bidden. He had provided his credentials to the clerk of courts the day before and now all that remained was the ceremony.

  He passed through the swinging gate in the half rail and was granted the privilege of arguing cases before the court. He could not resist a glance back at the door. Where was Connor? Had he found Jim Nash?

  “I must tell you, Mr. Sinclair. It is most unusual for a slave to be granted benefit of counsel.” The plump, official gentleman formed a steeple of his forefingers. His half-moon spectacles and balding pate made him resemble Benjamin Franklin.

  “I am certain that is because there are rarely such serious circumstances involved. Most do not require benefit of counsel, but in such a case …” Graham waved a hand as if his argument were self-evident. “There is more than usual reason to be cautious.”

  “I am not certain I fully appreciate your case. Do you mean to imply some sort of uprising if this Negress is denied counsel?”

  Graham had meant to imply just that, but he had the sense to deny it. Playing to one of the greatest fears of a plantation owner had to be done cautiously. “The clerk of courts and I have searched the archives, and there is no charge against it.”

  “Neither is there precedent or provision for it. I cannot tell you the last time we had a lawyer appear in hustings court.”

  “Yes sir, I know criminal matters are usually tried in the court of Oyer and Terminer. However, since the accused is a slave, this venue is her only recourse. You gentlemen have the final say as to her sentence.”

  The semicircle of solemn gentlemen nodded.

  “Gentlemen, this is not the usual petty matter you must decide where the complainant is no more schooled in the law than the defendant. Consider the implications. Justice would be made a mockery if the crown is permitted the representation of counsel in the person of the prosecutor, but an unlettered and defenseless slave woman has no one to speak for her. That, gentlemen, is not sound English justice. It is murder by another name.”

  Had he gone too far? These speeches must be judged to a nicety. His cheeks burned and he longed to loosen his stock. He dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief, and yet when had he last felt so alive? His magistracy had left him jaded. It felt good to be able to throw himself wholeheartedly into a cause.

  The chief magistrate seemed to be waiting for Graham’s next argument, so he continued. “Consider it in this fashion. Say she was said to have killed not her owner, but another man. Would not her owner have the right to protect his property by obtaining counsel on her behalf? I would think that if you precluded this basic right that the plantation owners of this country might have a word to say. You colonists are notoriously protective of your rights.”

  The magistrate’s bench put their heads together in murmured conversation.

  The chief magistrate finally settled back in his seat. “I fear you shall have a difficult time convincing a group of Virginians to acquit. We are likely to err on the side of caution. It would never do to allow slaves to think they can get away with murder. However, I find that if a lawyer is intent on wasting his time, I have no cause to prevent him—no matter how futile his cause. I shall grant your request.”

  Graham bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Return after the noon hour, and we shall hear out this matter.”

  Graham half sprinted from the courtroom. Where was Connor? Had he found Nash or not? He peered up and down Duke of Gloucester Street.

  Jerusha’s son, Daniel, barreled around the corner of Chowning’s Tavern, prompting outraged squawks from the men loitering there as they awaited their chance to be heard in the courtroom.

  “Whoa there, lad.” Graham placed a hand on the panting boy’s shoulder. “Did she find the tincture? Do you have it?”

  The lad swallowed, trying to find his voice. “Miss Merry—”

  Graham nodded. “Yes?”

  “She.” He gasped again, kneading his side as he tried to find his breath. “She found it.”

  Triumph shot through Graham, a hot burst of flame that made him want to crow like a rooster.

  “This morning … gone.”

  The thrill was quenched as surely as if someone had dunked him in a rain barrel.

  “Tell me all of it.”

  In short, gasping sentences, Daniel poured out the tale of the snake and subsequent loss of the tincture.

  Graham’s lips compressed together as if each word were a vice. He had to put an end to Fraser before he attempted to harm Merry again.

  A dray cart pulled to a rumbling stop beside him, and Connor heaved himself from the back. With a tip of his hat he called his thanks to the driver, and the cart ground forward again.

  “Where have you been all night?”

  “Had to go out to Yorktown.”

  “Well?”

  “It’s bad news, I’m afraid. Nash is dead. Drowned, a week ago.”

  Graham could hear nothing above the buzzing in his ears. Fraser was going to get away with murder and an innocent woman was going to hang.

  Connor’s brow bunched. “What else has gone wrong? And don’t bother to deny it. Your eyes are as bloodshot as an old hound.”

  “Our lodgings nearly burned to the ground last night. Merry was bitten by a snake in her bed, and the tincture has been taken.”

  For once he had managed to astonish his laconic friend. Too bad he could derive no enjoyment from this particular situation.

  Beside Graham, Daniel stiffened and went tearing across the street. Graham reached to snatch him back, but missed.

  “Mama!”

  Pressed between two turnkeys, hands manacled in front of her, Jerusha appeared haggard. As they neared the courthouse, colonists clumped around her, both men and women, jeering and taunting. A rock hurtled through the air striking her cheek only an inch or so below her right eye. Blood spurted, and she staggered between the guards.

  Graham elbowed his way through the mob until he stood in front of her. She was on her knees now. Garbage and rotten vegetation pelted her. Daniel clung to her, trying to shield her with his body. Graham held up his hands.

  “This is unworthy!”

  At the sight of his well-dressed form and authoritative manner, the crowd quieted somewhat.

  “I say, this is unworthy. I had heard that Virginia is a colony that values justice and the rule of law. How is it that the poorest and most wretched among you can be denied it at the very st
eps of the courthouse?”

  “Murderess.” The shout came from somewhere at the back of the mob and renewed the rumbling.

  “That is not for you to decide. It may be true, or may not. But her fate will be determined by the King’s justice. It is the envy of the world. Why would you seek to circumvent it? Walk worthy of your heritage.”

  Daniel and Connor helped Jerusha to her feet.

  Graham glanced back to ascertain her condition. Blood streamed from the gash on her cheek. It blotched and spotted her pinafore and dress, a gruesome badge of her station in life. His nostrils flared, and his jaw went rigid.

  Connor stood at his back, protecting him from assault on that side. God bless the man.

  Graham turned back to the mobs, and with his gaze, dared them to make another move. Invariably, the eyes he met turned downward, and the person shifted. With awful slowness the crowd dispersed. When the last of the men had turned tail, he swiveled on his heel.

  “Get her into the courthouse quickly.” Graham pressed his handkerchief into her hand.

  She lifted it to her cheek. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ll see you free yet.”

  Her gaze lifted to meet his, for perhaps the first time in their acquaintance. “I know you’ll try. You’re a good man.” And then she was gone, swept away like street refuse by the turnkeys. Daniel trailed in their wake, his cheeks streaked with tears.

  Breathing in through his nose, Graham tried to recover his equilibrium. His fingers ached with the need to pummel something. But Jerusha did not need his skills as a fighter, she needed his skills as a lawyer. Fraser would not win. There had to be a way.

  “You did not accept all that bilge about it being unseemly did you?” Merry’s spade bit into the earth with extra force.

  Abigail looked sheepish. “No, indeed. I would have gone, but … the truth is, I could not bear the thought of seeing Jerusha in such circumstances. Even if she is guilty, I … I just could not.”

  “Surely you have not come to believe she is guilty?”