Furmidable Foes

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Trip down Memory Lane?” He smiled.

  “More like a gallop.” She rose, walked to the big flat-screen TV on the wall, clicked on the local news channel.

  Standing there transfixed, the remote in her hand, she moved to the side so her husband could see better.

  Fair exclaimed. “Another still found in Tippett’s Hollow! That’s not far from here. Just the other side of the ridge.”

  The two listened and watched the report.

  The phone rang.

  “Harry, did you see the news?” Susan asked.

  “Fair and I are watching it now. Is this area becoming the mecca for moonshiners?”

  “At least no bones or bodies were found,” Harry rejoined. “Hey, look at the barrels stacked by the wall. Whoever found this got there before the goods were moved.”

  “No one will ever stop this. It’s been going on for centuries.”

  “Human nature doesn’t change. If someone can make a bigger profit, they’ll try.”

  Susan laughed. “True. Maybe we should look the other way.”

  “That’s not always possible,” Harry said, “not when it’s on your land.”

  “You went back up there, of course,” Susan stated.

  “I hate to admit it but I couldn’t find a thing. I’ll go back up again. I’m not satisfied that I was thorough. Once we get permission, we should dismantle the still.”

  “Harry, that shed will still be there next year. You know this will drag on.”

  Harry agreed. “I guess that’s the point of the process. Gives the accused time to clean up or clear out.”

  “Cynical,” Susan said.

  “It’s hard not to be cynical these days,” Harry sadly replied.

  23

  December 26, 1787

  Wednesday

  Snow swirled around the bunkhouse. All of Royal Oak appeared filled with white wind devils. Men walked with their heads down, whether going into the wind or with it at their backs.

  Ard stamped his feet in front of the bunkhouse and opened the door. “You’re sitting up.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ralston answered, although he sat listing to port so no weight would press on the tine wounds. “Feel some better.”

  “Nice by the fire. Thought I’d look in on you.”

  “Thank you. Miss Frances brought me hot biscuits and another blanket.”

  “Cold seeps through the cracks in the wall, under window frames.” He exhaled. “Hard season. Always is.” Pulling up a stool, he sat next to Ralston. “Need to give you the news. Maybe you know something I don’t.”

  Ralston looked at him. “Can’t imagine knowing anything you don’t.”

  “Well, William and Sulli are missing. A few embers in their fireplace, but they’ve been gone maybe half a day, maybe more. You and William butted heads. Was he the one who smashed you up and stuck the pitchfork in your back?”

  “He was.”

  “Did it have something to do with Sulli?”

  Ralston took a deep breath, thought a moment. “William beat her. He treated her like dirt and he didn’t want anyone else to be good to her. As for me, he never liked me.”

  “Then why were you traveling with him?” Ard held up his hand. “You’re escaped slaves. No one around here is stupid, but no one cares. If you tell me you’re freemen, that’s good enough for me. What Mr. Finney cares about is a good day’s work and an honest man, one who won’t steal from him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So why were you traveling with those two if you didn’t like William?”

  “He planned our escape and he and Sulli had some money from the plantation where they lived. I had a little bit, but not much. He said he knew how to get out of Virginia. I didn’t, so I listened to him and then we put what we had together and we left.”

  “You reached Arch Newbold.”

  “Sir?”

  “Arch Newbold. The ferryman. You headed west instead of to the Atlantic.”

  “We figured most people would head for the ships, you know. We’d go away from them. Sleeping on hard ground, ducking into any building we could find. Once we got on this side of the river, we believed we could make it.”

  “Maryland’s not a free state. Only two really are and even in Philadelphia, if you bring your slave with you, he is still your slave.”

  “Yes, sir, but if we could find work, work hard, we figured we’d be as free as we ever had been. You gave us a job. You didn’t ask questions so I thought you wouldn’t sell us back, know?”

  Ard inhaled the aroma of the burning hardwood. “Mr. Finney doesn’t believe in slavery. He says the Irish are worse than slaves to the English. He wouldn’t do that to another man. And no one came looking for you. We saw no leaflets about runaway slaves.”

  “Would you have sold us back?”

  Ard shook his head. “No. As I said, Mr. Finney is against slavery and Mr. Finney is a rich man. Made every penny of it himself. He doesn’t need reward money.”

  “But other people might.”

  “Would you have sold William?”

  “What?”

  “If you knew the headhunters wanted him, would you have sold him out?”

  “I hated his guts, Mr. Elgin, but I wouldn’t do that. What I would do is kill him for what he does to Sulli. I’ll find him and I’ll kill him.” Ralston addressed Ard by his last name.

  “If you find him, he’ll be back where he started. The bounty hunters caught both of them, I’m pretty certain.”

  Tears slid down Ralston’s face. “Not Sulli. Maureen will torture her. That’s the woman who owned her. Cruel. She has so much money, she can do what she wants to pretty much anyone. Even white people. If she wants to get even, she can. Oh, my poor Sulli.” He dropped his face in his hands.

  Ard put his hand on Ralston’s heaving shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  Lifting his tear-stained face, Ralston asked, “How did it happen?”

  “I reckon it was the two men who bought Dipsy’s coach. They knew the lay of the land. They’d seen both William and Sulli, and you.” He stretched out his feet toward the fire. “In Virginia now. If you were on their list, they didn’t know you were here.”

  “I come from a different place.” Ralston straightened up even though it stung. “I don’t know if they wanted me back or not. I didn’t, oh, I didn’t fit in. Not with my people or anybody.”

  “I see.” Ard stood up.

  Looking up at him, Ralston promised, “I can go back to work tomorrow.”

  “If Miss Frances says you can, fine. You’re young. You’ll heal quickly.”

  Ard left, but he wasn’t sure if Ralston’s inside wounds would heal quickly. It was obvious Ralston was in love with Sulli.

  * * *

  —

  Reaching Leesburg, Martin and Shank looked for any kind of lodging with a decent stable.

  Sulli and William, propped up against the back of the wagon, leaning under the backrest, felt the cold. One blanket wrapped each of them; the straw was piled up around them to hide the bindings but also for warmth. Both of their heads shone white with snow, now falling faster as sundown approached. Long, slanting rays turned the main street houses golden.

  An inn appeared. Martin pulled up while Shank dashed inside. Maybe five minutes later he reemerged, smiling.

  “Room in the back for the horse and cart. I paid in advance. There’s pallets there, some old horse blankets. I also rented a room inside. Figured we could take turns as we go sleeping in the barns with our catch. So I’ll take the first night, then the next night it’s yours.”

  “Fine.” Martin hopped out of the seat, grabbing the bridle to lead the horse inside the well-organized stable.

  A few other horses stood in stalls.

  The two men helped Sulli and William d
own. Shank watched them as Martin unhitched the mare, wiped her down, and threw a heavy rug over her, leading her into a stall with hay and water.

  “Let’s check the pallets.” Shank walked to the end of the wide stable aisle. “You’d think they’d put the tack room or a heat stove in the middle. Ah.” He opened a door at the end of the aisle.

  “Ah, what?”

  “There’s a little stove. Maybe it is better on the end. Safer. I’ll fire it up.” A neatly stacked woodpile rested outside the room, which was fourteen by fourteen.

  It took him a while to get a spark, but finally he did and the straw under the wood caught. The innkeeper had thoughtfully stacked kindling as well as hardwood. The room would warm up in no time.

  “Bring them in here,” Shank advised.

  Martin, behind them, flintlock in hand, glanced around to see if anything could be used as a weapon against him or Shank. “How many pallets?”

  “Six. Grooms must sleep in here all the time. Who can afford a room for a groom? Washbasin over there. We’ll get by.”

  “I’ll bring you all some food.” He looked for beams or anything sturdy so they could tie Sulli and William. “We could tie their feet on this center beam. Keep their hands tied. Untie them in the morning so they can eat.

  “That ought to work. Untie them tonight for dinner. You two pick your pallet,” Shank ordered.

  Both, chilled to the bone, selected packed straw pallets halfway to the stove. They couldn’t be far from the center beam, but the room was already warming. Sulli stopped shaking.

  “If you two sit down and behave, I won’t tie you to the beam until after you eat.”

  “Yes, sir.” William spoke.

  Sulli kept quiet, sinking onto the pallet, raising her tied hands toward the heat.

  The horses’ munching sounded soothing. The odor of cleaned leather tack also added to what little pleasure there was.

  Twenty minutes later, Martin appeared, carrying two baskets. He placed them in front of Shank. Four bottles of ale, cold, nestled in the corner of one basket. The other contained cold ham sliced, bowls of potatoes. That was all there was but it was nourishment.

  Shank had untied Sulli and William’s hands. Their sore wrists and stiff fingers made for clumsy eating and drinking, but they managed. Martin leaned against an old trunk.

  “I say five or six days. What do you think?”

  “Depends on the weather. If snow piles up, we’ll need to stay here for a while.”

  “I sure hope not.” Martin liked the warmth pouring out of the little cast-iron stove.

  “Are there any people here?”

  “No. Just two.”

  “Where are they going?” Shank asked.

  “Don’t know. They’re well dressed.” He sighed, feeling drowsy. “Cold sucks the life right out of you, don’t it?”

  “Yeah. My mother used to say one cold day could steal a year’s warmth from your body. Well, let’s secure these two. I’ll see you in the morning. We can decide what to do then.”

  “Right.” Shank pushed himself off, using his hands. He walked over to William first, tied his hands together, then tied one foot to the center beam. He repeated the procedure for Sulli. “Is that too tight?”

  “A little,” she demurred.

  “I’ll loosen it.” He did while William glared, eyes searching the square space.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” Shank nodded as Martin left, closing the door behind him as well as the doors at the end of the aisle to help keep some heat in. The horses threw off heat.

  “If you lie down, I’ll pull a horse blanket over you. You’ll fall asleep in no time,” Shank instructed the two.

  Old blankets were neatly piled on another trunk, a few holes in them, but they felt good after the nasty cold day in the back of the cart.

  Then Shank settled down after putting two heavy logs in the fire. He used a blanket for a pillow and draped a heavy one over him. All three fell asleep in minutes.

  Shank, flintlock under his pillow, despite his exhaustion, woke up from time to time throughout the night. A light sleeper by nature, he would check the prisoners.

  William rolled over, his hands in front of him, eyes open.

  Shank pulled his flintlock out, pointing it toward William, whom he could clearly see in the glow from the slats in the little woodstove. “One move, one false move, and I’ll shoot you but I won’t kill you. You aren’t worth nothing dead. So you can live in pain or you can accept that you’ve got no way out.”

  William stared at him, then turned the other way.

  Shank was half hoping he could shoot him. He, too, fell back asleep.

  24

  June 8, 2019

  Saturday

  “I love all this sunlight.” Harry pushed the keeper on the back of her gold dome earrings.

  “Won’t be long before the solstice.” Fair turned left on Turkey Sag Road as the long rays of late-afternoon sun slanted over deep green fields offset by shining white fences.

  “God, look at the fences. A fortune in fencing, then painting them and repainting them. Well, we should all be grateful Castle Hill rises yet again.”

  “Given its long history, yes. I often think that losing the War”—Harry meant the war of 1861 to 1865, always referred to in Virginia as “the War”—“saved our architecture from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. No one had the money to tear things down and start over.”

  “What didn’t get burned got saved anyway,” Fair matter-of-factly replied.

  “Do you ever get sick of it? Hearing about the War?”

  He turned for a moment as he slowed the station wagon. “All the time. I’d much rather hear about new building materials, medical breakthroughs. Oh well, we get that on the big news channels. You know the old proverb, ‘Until lions learn to write, the hunter will always be the hero of the story.’ We don’t know the truth about any war, not just that one.”

  Harry scanned the huge estate. “How beautiful. Honey, look at all the cars.”

  “The auction sold out. There must be hundreds here. Good for AHIP.” He named the Albemarle Housing Improvement Program by its abbreviation.

  The purpose of this organization, formed in 1976, was to repair and preserve homes, making sure families of limited means could live in safe, affordable homes. The success of dedicated people, most of them volunteers, proved once again that if people decide to do something and so-called authorities get out of the way, it gets done. And everyone learns to get along as they work together.

  “What I like about AHIP is how they know what works and what doesn’t. You want to talk about building materials, they know it all. If regular folks only knew how much they were being ripped off by some builders and suppliers, they’d burn them down.”

  “That’s true in any business, honey. We are pretty lucky here. Aren’t too many liars and cheats out there, at least in construction. We all know one another too well and even the new people eventually get told if they will listen.”

  “You’re right. I guess I sometimes forget how deep we are in this county, our roots, I mean.”

  He parked a few rows away from the doors to the tasting room. The grass, though mowed, was thick. “Honey, can you walk through this?”

  “Of course I can.” Harry opened the door, swung her heeled feet out, and stood, immediately sinking into the earth.

  Fair, now next to her, looked down, then roared with laughter.

  “Shut up.” She laughed, too.

  “I can carry you.”

  “Don’t you dare. I can walk. Get me out to the path where most of the cars drove in. It will take a little longer but I may yet retain my dignity.”

  So he put his hand under her elbow, keeping her upright as she pulled her heels out of the dirt, one step at a time. Took a minute or
two but soon she was on firmer ground. She lifted up one foot, brushing off dirt and grass, then the other.

  “Looks good,” Fair said.

  “Okay, not good.”

  “Well, honey, how many people are going to be looking at your shoes?”

  “Fair, do you know nothing about women? Even my dearest friends will look at my shoes, at my earrings, at my off-the-shoulder peach-colored dress.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble.”

  “It is. But if your girlfriend asks you the next day what did you really think of Janice Childs’s diamond shell earrings, you’d better have something to say. Do I care? Not a bit. But I have to live here”—she paused—“as do you.”

  “Yes, honey, but all I have to say is how good a woman looks. I need not remember her shoes. All right, fire up your memory.”

  They stepped through the open doors into the tasting room. The band played on a raised floor, like a small auditorium in high school. Round tables for six, set with china and silverware, low centerpieces and candles, exhibited enough aesthetic charm without being overwhelming. In other words, when you sat down you could see your tablemates, mostly.

  Jeannie Cordle, clipboard and cellphone in hand, approached Fair and Harry as they waited to sign in at the table.

  “Dr. Haristeen.”

  “Jeannie, are you involved in every organization in the county?” He smiled at her.

  “Fair, you’re as civic-minded as I am but your work is for those on four feet. Hello, Harry.”

  “You clean up good, girl.” Harry used the old horseman’s expression for wearing “civilian” clothes.

  “I didn’t know you were involved with AHIP,” Fair noted.

  “Frank and I have worked on weekends for years. We love it. By the way, Harry, you look wonderful. When we see each other we’re usually covered in dust or dirt.”

  Frank was her husband, a successful plumber.

  “I’m so glad you could come.” Jeannie meant it. “Now, do you have a cellphone?”

  Fair reached into his inside coat pocket, producing the requested device.