Furmidable Foes

by Rita Mae Brown

  “It’s easier to hide a still than acres of marijuana. So legalize weed, get more taxes. No way are those country boys going to pay taxes on their liquor. They’ve eluded the feds for generations. It’s a matter of family pride for some.” Mags seemed resigned to the status quo.

  “Every now and then someone gets caught,” Susan added. “But in the main, not many. A country boy will always outsmart a city boy.”

  “Well, I, for one, am upset that this was on our timber tract. We’ll be questioned even though Sheriff Shaw knows we know nothing.” Harry sounded confident.

  “Harry, to protect Ned’s reputation, the feds will need to wear us out.” Susan sounded dolorous.

  “I’ll take care of them!” Pewter promised.

  “I’m sure the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms marshals will be terrified,” Tucker quickly added. “What would work would be to get Pirate to pee on them.”

  “I couldn’t do that!” The youngster was horrified.

  “If someone threatened our mother, you could,” Mrs. Murphy sternly replied.

  “Anyway, I didn’t mean to belabor this, but I’m going back up there to snoop around. I know that land better than any federal agent, better than Sheriff Shaw. If there’s something there, even a dropped bottle cap, I’ll find it.”

  Pamela advised, “Harry, be prudent. Those people kill. One man is dead already. He may have been killed or not but you don’t know.”

  “She’s right.” Mags seconded the thought. “Let the sheriff do it.”

  Harry did not argue, but she didn’t agree to stay away either.

  This was not lost on the animals or Susan.

  “You know, there’s supposed to be a ghost at Castle Hill in the house. People have seen it. Sara Lee Barnes told me.” Susan informed them all and all of them knew Sara Lee, a reliable source.

  Pamela, as an afterthought, said, “I wonder about the ghost. Do you all believe in ghosts?”

  A silence followed this, but as they sat in the rattan chairs on the screened-in back porch, tea at the ready, their host spoke up. “I do.”

  “I do, too,” Harry agreed, then shrugged. “We don’t know but so much.”

  “Such as?” Janice pushed.

  “Well, if you think about it, we aren’t even certain about male and female.”

  “Oh, I am,” Janice roared.

  They all talked at once. Good talk. Good ideas. Invigorating arguments. What friends do.

  “The ghost at Castle Hill is supposed to be a woman from what, the Revolutionary period?” Janice threw that out.

  “You know, okay, this is whoo whoo, but I wonder if there isn’t a ghost where we buried those bones, under the red oak? Is she hanging around?” Harry lowered her voice.

  “Well, what would she want?” Mags challenged Harry.

  “Her necklace.” Harry came right back.

  This gave them all a moment.

  Then Susan said, “Harry, that’s creepy.”

  “Susan, the whole thing is creepy. Think about it. She’s got a broken neck for starters.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t rich. Maybe she stole the pearls or maybe she was a mistress and the wife killed her,” Mags pitched in.

  “Have to be a strong woman to break a neck,” Janice posited.

  “They were stronger back then than we are now.” Susan clearly stated a fact. “Look how they worked.”

  “Even the rich?” Janice wasn’t giving up.

  “Some. Probably others were not, but take a cook, slave or free. Think of how big her forearms would have been from kneading all that dough. Or a laundress. The women who had to work had powerful bodies. And the women who drove coaches to show off, or rode, had to have some strength. So a woman could have broken her neck.”

  “But a woman would have taken the necklace and earrings.” Janice was close to the truth.

  “You’re probably right.” Susan nodded. “So she wants her pearls and diamonds back?”

  Harry held up her hands, palms upward. “I don’t know. It was just an idea.”

  “And those bones at the still, well, maybe there’s another ghost,” Susan wondered.

  Janice dismissed this. “It’s all too creepy.”

  And it was.

  21

  December 25, 1787

  Tuesday

  Early light reflected off the thin snow. A golden sheen made the hills and rolling pastures look as though Midas touched them. Martin and Shank drove along, the back of the new yellow wagon they picked up at Royal Oak filled with straw and three large tarps. Despite the cold, neither man felt a chill, blood pumping in anticipation of capturing William, Sulli, and perhaps Ralston.

  Driving into Royal Oak, every chimney sent up spirals of smoke. Chores finished early, all could enjoy a day without labor. The only chores left would be bringing the horses back into freshly bedded stalls, checking the water, and giving more hay.

  When they picked up the wagon, a good buy, they slipped Dipsy silver coins, asking him not to pay attention to their pulling into the barn farthest from the house. Dipsy was smart enough not to ask questions as well as smart enough to know these two weren’t looking to steal tack.

  Closing the doors behind them, they rubbed their hands, having taken off their gloves. Martin petted the mare’s nose.

  “We’ll be back in no time.”

  Opening the back doors a crack, they squeezed through.

  “Let’s get what we can. We’re paid for William and Sulli,” Martin whispered, although no one was around to hear him.

  “Can sell the other one to the cane cutters. Those Delta men pay good money. Good money,” Shank repeated.

  “If we see him, yes. If not, it’s not worth taking a chance. Get what we can. He doesn’t come from Big Rawly. You stand behind me when I knock on the door. Whoever opens the door, leap. I’ve got the gun. I’ll level it at the other one. Ready?”

  “Yep.” Shank carried a heavy rope wrapped around his waist, handkerchiefs in his pockets.

  “Merry Christmas.” Martin sounded jovial, knocking.

  They heard footsteps and the door opened. Martin stepped aside as Shank grabbed her, placing his hand over her mouth.

  “One move and you’re dead. One word and you’re dead.” Martin leveled his flintlock at William.

  Shank stuffed a handkerchief in Sulli’s mouth, began wrapping the rope around her hands behind her back. “Come here, boy.”

  William stood still.

  Martin stepped up to him, smashing him across his face with the flintlock. William bent over from the waist, his hand going to his bloodied mouth. Then Martin, with all of his force, smashed the gun on his head. William crumpled like paper.

  “Grab a coat for her. On the hook,” Martin ordered as Shank propelled Sulli to the row of pegs.

  Smiling, Martin dragged William by his hands. “Never waste time arguing with a man who doesn’t listen.”

  Without bothering to grab a coat for William, Shank walked next to Sulli, who offered no resistance.

  Martin, powerfully built, heaved the unconscious William over his shoulder while turning to close the door to the cabin. They moved silently and swiftly to the far barn. Shank stepped into the bed, pushing hay to the side. Martin dumped William onto the wagon bed. Then he lifted up Sulli, who was laid next to her tormentor/so-called husband. Shank moved ahead and opened the doors as Martin drove through. Then Shank closed the doors behind him and stepped up into the bed, pulling hay over the two captives and throwing a tarp over them. Then he stepped over the backrest to sit next to Martin as they drove out, no one the wiser.

  At the Royal Oak sign, they turned left toward the Potomac, which would take twenty minutes.

  Martin laughed. “That son of a bitch will freeze.”

  “Can’t let him die.” Shank focus
ed on the money.

  “Oh, I won’t, but I guarantee you if I say walk backwards, he will. Sun’s coming up higher. Feels good.”

  “Does.”

  They reached the ferry. Arch Newbold almost at the shore grinned, for this would be a big business day. People wanted to be with their friends, their family. He’d be crossing and recrossing this river until sundown, then home to his wife, a fire, and her cooking.

  Many of the travelers were on foot, and Martin and Shank saw the wagons and carriages lined up on the Virginia side of the river. People were waiting for their friends.

  Driving on, Arch commented, “Fancy.”

  At that moment Sulli tried to sit up. Shank spun around and knocked her back with one wicked swipe. Then he pulled the tarp back while Martin handed Arch their fare plus some.

  “For the holiday.” Martin nodded.

  Arch, knowing this was for more than the holiday, said not a word. It was doubtful the two were reenacting the rape of the Sabine women. He figured out they were slave catchers the first time he dealt with them. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t have a dog in that fight.

  The other passengers evidenced little interest in the back of their wagon, their eyes securely on the Virginia shore and their waiting friends. Excitement ran high.

  Once on the other side, Martin and Shank allowed everyone to disembark before they did. Then Martin clucked and the mare calmly walked off.

  Two miles south of the ferry, Martin pulled off the road. “Check them.”

  Shank swung his legs over; feet hit the cart bed. He pulled back the tarps. “She’s wide awake. He’s still out.” He knelt down to feel the vein in William’s neck. “Alive.”

  “When we deliver him, he’ll wish I’d killed him,” Martin remarked causally.

  “She can sit between us,” Shank said.

  “No, but she can sit up. She can’t really run anywhere. Pull the handkerchief out of her mouth. Sulli, stay quiet. Try to run and I’ll break your legs. Do you understand?”

  She nodded that she did.

  “And when we find an inn, we’ll get you food, maybe a blanket. We have to tie you and stupid there to the carriage or tie you up somewhere where you won’t create attention. Then I’ll put the handkerchief back in William’s mouth. Obey and you won’t be hurt. Disobey and I will break your legs, but I will deliver you to Maureen Selisse one way or the other.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She said nothing. Martin clucked and the mare stepped out.

  Shank, next to him again, said, “Thought you were crazy when you paid twenty dollars for this mare. She’s a good ’un.”

  “Yes, she is. I’ve been thinking once we collect our money, maybe we should sell this wagon. We could turn a nice profit and we can use about anything in our work. Sometimes, in fact most times, we don’t need a cart. What do you think?”

  “I think we wait and see what it might bring.” Shank leaned back on the padded backrest.

  * * *

  —

  Back at Royal Oak no one noticed William and Sulli’s absence. They would tomorrow when neither one showed up at work. Ralston, having crawled outside from hunger, was moved to a lower bunk bed by the fire, hurt each time he breathed. Miss Frances, long practiced at binding wounds and diagnosing problems, had washed him down when he showed up on all fours to the bunkhouse. Ard hurried for Miss Frances, as the men had called him when they had discovered Ralston injured. No one wanted trouble, to be accused of hurting Ralston. Ard would know what to do.

  The two managed to peel Ralston’s shredded coat off him. Ard lifted him up while Miss Frances and a bunkhouse fellow, Young Leo, as he was known, removed what was left, blood spurting from where the tines pierced his back near the backbone.

  Washing him, Miss Frances noted the wounds reached about an inch in depth. Could have been worse, but any wound can become infected. She felt all over his back, identifying two broken ribs. Then she wrapped him in clean torn blanket bandages and washed his battered face. She tried to get some food in him. He swallowed a little bit but even though hungry, he was too tired to eat.

  Ard tried to get out of him what had happened, but Ralston wouldn’t say anything. He feared that if he did, William would take it out on Sulli and God knows what he had done to her already. Ralston feared William’s wrath should he hear of anything. He didn’t know they were missing nor did anyone else.

  Young Leo dipped a cloth in cold water to wash Ralston’s face. Ralston was grateful for the young man’s gentleness. He asked Young Leo if he had seen Sulli. He said only in the kitchen working with Miss Frances but he hadn’t seen her since. Ralston took comfort from that, for if she’d been badly beaten all would have noticed.

  Ralston needed to heal. He needed to figure out how to kill William without getting caught. The shock of their disappearance would register soon enough. He might as well rest for what little Christmas he had.

  22

  June 6, 2019

  Thursday 6:30 P.M.

  The screen door squeaked when Harry pushed it open, the two cats and dogs squirting through it to nudge in front of her. She then opened the door to the kitchen.

  “You’re home early.” She walked over to kiss her husband on the cheek.

  “Two easy deliveries.” He kissed her back.

  Foal delivery for Thoroughbreds crowded around January first, as all Thoroughbreds are registered as having been born January first. The other breeds, following a more natural cycle, were delivered in spring and early summer.

  “Are you making supper?” Surprise filtered into Harry’s voice.

  “Well, yes.” He held up a long fork. “You didn’t notice the grill smoking outside?”

  “What a treat.”

  “It’s almost ready. Everyone’s out. Will be a mild night and I figured you’d get home somewhere between six and six-thirty because Susan has to pick up Ned at the train station. How was the garden?”

  “Mags has done a good job. They were curious about the still, the bones. Just enough in the paper to arouse questions. Who is that missing person? Mostly we studied the garden.”

  Carrying plates to the small square wooden kitchen table that they used when it was the two of them or two dear close friends, Harry moved slowly because Pewter wove in and out of her legs.

  “Pewter.”

  “Put my plate down first. I barely ate anything today. My blood sugar is falling.”

  The plates clinked softly as Harry set them on the checkered tablecloth.

  “I feel faint.” Pewter plopped on her side.

  “American Academy of Dramatic Art.” Tucker sniffed.

  Pewter quickly recovered from her plunging sugar level as she sprang upright, launching onto the corgi.

  Harsh words were spoken.

  “That’s enough!” Harry swatted at both of them.

  Mrs. Murphy didn’t move a muscle. Her ringside seat was too good. Why spoil the show?

  Pirate, disturbed by the yowls and hisses, lowered his head to gaze intently into the tabby’s deep green eyes. “They’ll kill each other. What can I do?”

  “Pirate, don’t fall for it. Pewter will roll away, leap up on the counter, puff her tail the size of a bottle brush, and curse. Tucker will sit below the counter, cursing back. The truth is, they’d fall apart without each other.”

  “Is this normal?” the gray-coated wolfhound wondered.

  “For them it is. But she’ll get her way. She knows exactly how to manipulate Harry.”

  True. Harry, hands on hips, stared at the cat. “You are awful.” Then down at Tucker. “You, too.”

  She did, however, put out the animals’ bowls, washed this morning. Each bowl, speckled white china, had a blue rim plus each animal’s name on the side. Pirate’s was big, which meant if Pewter ate very fast she might grab a bite of the wolf
hound’s, who never protested. He was uncommonly sweet, whereas the gray cat was anything but. She didn’t even like dog food. She just liked to steal it.

  Fair, pushing open the door with his foot, carried in a plate with handles on which two steaks, basking in juice, bore evidence to his grilling skill.

  Fair had started corn on the cob in a pot, which Harry plucked out with pincers. He also made two small salads.

  Once seated, they caught up about their days.

  “And?”

  “Oh, it’s delicious. Every woman should have a husband who grills.”

  He grinned. “Ever notice when a woman prepares food, she’s a cook. When a man does it, he’s a chef.”

  “There are a lot of things like that. We’ve still only progressed so far.” She popped a crunchy carrot into her mouth. “But better half a loaf than no loaf at all.”

  “You’d think more people would grasp that.” He expertly sliced his steak.

  “Yes, you would.” She glanced at Pewter, who had eaten every morsel and was now down on the floor sticking her head under Pirate’s. “That youngster is the nicest dog in the world. He could bite her head off.”

  “She’d have it coming,” Fair added.

  “I resent that. It is the function of every cat to put a dog in its place.”

  “Pewter, you are wildly successful.” Mrs. Murphy sounded sincere.

  As the animals batted one another, running from bowl to bowl except for Pirate, the two humans talked about their days, about the impending fundraiser at Castle Hill, all the tiny mosaic pieces of daily life. They enjoyed most of the same things, knew the same people, and had reached an age where they truly knew each other. They each accepted the wonderful traits of their partner as well as what Fair would euphemistically call “Harry’s peculiarities.” Her version of this was, “He’s just being a man.”

  “Did you listen for the weather on the way home?” she asked.

  “No, but I think it’s supposed to rain. You didn’t listen either?”

  “Oh, channel 48 on my Sirius radio was playing an old Barry White song.”