Furmidable Foes

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Good,” Jeannie announced. “You see the long table there, our silent auction. We’re doing something new this year. It’s all high-tech. You bid on your phone. You can keep checking your phone to see if anyone has outbid you. Just punch in AHIPauction.com. Simple.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  After shaking hands, moving on, Fair stopped looking at his phone. “Okay, baby doll, let’s hit the table and see if this works. I’m used to a clipboard where you write your bid and either a number or a name. You ready?”

  “Sure. Oh, there’s Mags.” Harry waved and Mags waved back.

  She, too, was at the long silent-auction table, and once there Harry saw many of her friends from St. Luke’s, her gardening buddies, too.

  “Look at this bracelet.” Mags pointed to an item.

  “Lovely.” Harry liked the turquoise.

  “I’m making a sensible bid.”

  “You’d better. Your husband is right over there.” Harry nudged her to look where Kevin was standing, drink in hand, talking to Olaf, Janice Childs’s husband.

  “Well, what do you think is sensible?”

  “Mags, I’m the wrong person to ask. Susan.” She called to her best friend, who had walked in the front door, waving her over.

  Upon reaching her, Susan asked, “What? I left my husband at the door.”

  “Good place for him,” Harry teased. “Ned can be too reasonable. Anyway, everyone will be at him.”

  “True. Okay, what’s up?”

  Mags pointed to the turquoise bracelet. “What do you think is a reasonable bid?”

  Susan peered at the wide bracelet, unusual in that the turquoise was interspersed with same-size onyx squares that set off the turquoise. All was backed by heavy silver.

  “Retail, I would guess over a thousand dollars. The design alone is so special. Given that this is for charity, it will go for more. Stunning. Your kind of piece, Mags.”

  Chewing her lip, Mags consulted her phone. Already three bids had been placed, the last being one thousand. “He’ll have to get over it.” She punched in her bid.

  Laughing, the ladies walked down the long table as Fair grabbed Ned, knowing his buddy would be besieged with harebrained ideas plus some good ones. Also, anyone who had a complaint about government always felt compelled to dump it on him.

  Reaching the corner of the now-packed table, the ladies nearly ran over Carlton Sweeny.

  “How good to see you,” Harry enthused.

  “Who would miss this party?” He smiled back. “When I can, I like to visit the projects, bring a bush or two, something indestructible.”

  “That’s good of you.” Mags wanted that bracelet and kept checking her phone.

  “Mrs. Nielsen, we need organizations like this in every county. In some of our counties, the old tobacco counties and the coal counties, the need is overwhelming,” Carlton said.

  “Governor Baliles sure pushed for those places.” Susan mentioned an outstanding governor serving from 1986 to 1990.

  “No easy answers because of the overwhelming need and the money. The state is the only way to funnel money there. Here in Albemarle County, a rich county, people can and do come through.”

  “Carlton.”

  All looked over to see a petite woman, maybe late twenties, her hair in a French twist, little jewelry, but then when you look that good you need no adornment.

  “Be right there.” He smiled at the ladies. “Good to see you.”

  After he left, Susan remarked, “If he doesn’t marry that woman, someone else will grab her up in a hurry.”

  Harry laughed. “Susan, not everyone is meant to be married.”

  “Bull. Marriage is Nature’s way of keeping us from fighting with strangers.”

  The party rolled along like that. Wisecracks, laughter. Clinking cubes in highball glasses, ladies usually sipping from taller glasses, some summer drink. The men, this being the South, stuck to the strong stuff. The din grew louder and louder. When they repaired to their tables, Susan, Harry, and Mags sat at one table with their spouses. Janice and Olaf sat at an adjoining table. Also at their table was Jane Andrews of AHIP and Amelia McCully, and Jeannie and Frank Cordle. Olaf, used to this, handled the stream of people coming to his table for financial advice. Like Ned, wherever he went he wound up working.

  Dinner was served, followed by the requisite speeches, most of them mercifully short. People were told to check their phones, as the bidding was over.

  “I got the bracelet!” Mags, thrilled, shouted. This was followed by a lowered-head discussion with her husband. He forced a tight smile.

  Then the table cleared and out came the band. As usual, the ladies repaired to the ladies’ room, the makeup mirror lined with women adjusting hair, bodices, making sure an earring wasn’t loose. As the crowd moved along, the ladies eager to get to the dance floor, Harry, Susan, Mags, Janice, and Jeannie lined up at the well-lit mirror.

  “I hate my hair,” Susan complained.

  “You’ve hated your hair since you were in first grade. Actually, you didn’t get hair until then.” Harry tormented her.

  “God will get you for that,” Susan intoned, her deepest voice.

  Janice raised one eyebrow. “Sounded better when Bea Arthur said it.”

  “I don’t think young people know who Bea Arthur was,” Mags chimed in.

  Jeannie, mother of three grown children, replied, “Reruns.”

  “Ah,” the others chimed in.

  Harry reached for her lipstick in a black case from her small silk bag, which she wore over the shoulder. She unscrewed the top, held the lipstick up to the light. “Magenta.”

  “Mine is better.” Mags fetched her lipstick, also in a black case.

  “Are you two still going on about those peonies?” Janice reached into her own small purse, pulling out a lipstick, unscrewing it. Janice’s was black with a rose, in fake gold, on top of the cap.

  “That’s not magenta,” Susan opined. “More of a dark ruby.”

  “I say it will pass as magenta with sparkles.” Janice was defiant.

  “Let me look,” Jeannie offered, frowned, then pulled out her own lipstick, another black case. “Close.”

  “Well, what are you doing with magenta lipstick?” Harry asked.

  “It’s a great color. Jumps right out at you.” Jeannie triumphantly held up her tube.

  “Give me that.” Mags playfully reached for it.

  Within seconds five grown women, all college-educated, too, reverted to childhood, grabbing one another’s lipstick.

  Jeannie held Janice’s. “It is magenta, Harry. But dark.”

  “It is not. Mine is,” Harry argued.

  “You’re all full of it. Mine is the purest,” Janice pronounced.

  “Hold hard, girls. I’ve saved the best for last.” With a flourish, Susan reached down into her larger bag, hauling out a brand-new tube of lipstick.

  It was damned close to the peonies. A silence followed this display. Then they started grabbing lipsticks again.

  Mags wound up with Janice’s as Janice snatched hers. Now everyone was reapplying lipstick while exchanging tubes. Some ladies managed two coatings of slightly different colors, some only one. Then the lipsticks were tossed back into bags, although not necessarily their own lipsticks. They marched out, still fussing and laughing.

  Fair, leaving the men’s room, asked, “What were you all doing in there? We could hear you.”

  “Obeying my mother’s wisdom. There’s no problem that a new lipstick can’t cure,” Harry told him.

  He shook his head, which made the women laugh anew.

  A good band fills up any dance floor. Big Ray and the Kool Kats had everyone shaking and baking. The floor became so jammed that mostly people stood together wiggling.

  Harry neve
r worried about being overrun thanks to a six-foot, five-inch husband.

  Jeannie Cordle, face bright red, hollered to Frank, “I’m burning up. Let’s go outside for a minute.”

  He nodded yes, stepped in front of her, and reached back for her hand as they threaded through the crowd.

  Once outside, the stars against the black sky took their breath away, but Jeannie was having trouble breathing.

  “Frank.” She grabbed her throat.

  “What, honey?”

  “I hardly drank anything, but I feel so strange.”

  He touched her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  She grabbed his wrist. “Turn around.” Her eyes were large.

  He did. “What, sweetie?”

  “It’s Daddy. Daddy’s come for me.” She let out a piercing scream and then crumpled.

  Frank knelt down, terrified and shocked, for Jeannie was not given to visions.

  Cupping his hands to his lips, he bellowed for all he was worth. “Help! Help me, please!”

  A young couple who had stepped outside for some cool air ran over.

  The young man turned to his date. “Get Jordy. Fast.”

  Jordy was pulled off the dance floor and hurried to the fallen woman.

  “I’m an ER doctor.”

  “Help her! Oh, please help her!”

  Jordy took all the vital signs, looked up into Frank’s face. “She’s gone. I’m terribly sorry.”

  25

  December 28, 1787

  Friday

  Clear deep robin’s-egg blue skies arched overhead. The snows stopped. The road, rutted in the best of circumstances, proved more endurable as snow had packed into the ruts. The cold nights kept the road packed tight and the temperature in the day nicked above 32ºF but not by much. Martin drove, observing the farms they passed, while Shank, scarf around his neck, tried to see mileposts.

  “Too many covered by snow but we should make Red Store in maybe an hour.” He named a store at the crossroads of Alexandria Pike and Falmouth-Winchester Road.

  “We’d better. Sun won’t be up much longer. At least it’s not snowing, but we’re dragging along.” Martin ached a bit.

  “Yep. Might get better, though.”

  “We sure don’t want it warmer. Roads will be slop. We’ll be digging out of the muck. This cold is our friend.” Martin sniffed. “Except my back hurts in the cold.”

  “Right.” Shank shrugged.

  “Might be no rooms at Red Store.”

  “Someone will know where we can stay, especially if we buy something,” Shank laconically added, then looked back. “You know they haven’t spoken for two days. Think they’re struck dumb.”

  “No. What is there to say?”

  “Got that right.” Shank smiled. “Didn’t Richard Henry Lee give land to the Red Store place? So now it’s more than a crossroads.”

  “Imagine being that rich,” Martin mused.

  “Or as rich as Maureen Selisse Holloway. Three names. That way we have to talk about her longer.” Shank laughed. “Not a bad-looking woman.”

  “Bet she was a beauty when she was young.”

  “You’re right again. Bet she was a bitch young, too.” Shank rubbed his hands together. The gloves could have been thicker.

  “Aren’t most women?” Martin posited.

  “No. I expect there’s about as many rotten men as women. Nature doesn’t play favorites here.”

  Martin came back. “I was married once. I tell people I am still. Once was enough.”

  Shank grinned. “What’s made you think of that?”

  “Bitch.” Martin laughed.

  Riding in silence, they reached Red Store before sunset. The scarlet orb hovered above the horizon, turning the snowy fields equally scarlet.

  Martin pulled up to the hitching post.

  “I’ll do it.” Shank swung out. His feet touched the snowy ground, and he tied the mare to the post.

  “If you want to make a run for it, go ahead.” Martin taunted them.

  Neither Sulli nor William said anything as they sat in the back wrapped in their blankets, surrounded by straw, which did help cut the cold a bit.

  Walking inside, stove belching out heat, Martin and Shank sighed, for it felt so good.

  Martin said, “If you give me a hammer, I’ll break the ice on your water trough.”

  A man behind the counter sporting a thick, white, long beard grunted, bent down, and stood back up with a hammer. “Been doing that all day.”

  Martin took the hammer, went out, broke the water, untied the horse, and walked her and the cart over for a long drink.

  Inside, Shank bought a thicker pair of gloves and asked about the closest inn. It wasn’t far.

  “Good food?” Shank asked a bit more.

  “Rebecca, the woman there, good cook, makes a cobbler using her peach preserves. Pours brandy over it. Worth the trip, I can tell you.”

  Handing over money for the gloves, Shank turned when Martin walked back in.

  “Think I’ll buy a few bales of your hay. Stacked up outside.”

  The old man smiled. “Good hay, corn, oats. Wheat’s off and on. Don’t know why.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty-five cents a bale.”

  “Make it four bales, then.” Martin reached in his pocket, pulled out some coins, counted them out. “One dollar.”

  “How far is Rebecca’s Inn?” Shank slipped his hands into the heavier gloves.

  As the two walked to the door, the old fellow followed. “If the road’s good, ten minutes. If not, who knows?”

  Running his right hand over his beard, he grunted. “New wagon?”

  “Yes. Cost me one hundred and fifty dollars. My other one gave way. Pull on your coat. Come look at this,” Martin suggested.

  “Why?” the old fellow wondered.

  “Because, you could sell wagons like this. Come and look. It’s well built. Take a real beating.” Martin enticed him. “Yes, it is expensive, but this wagon will last for years. In the long run it will prove a prudent buy.”

  The old fellow followed them out, paying no attention whatsoever to the two young people in the bed of the wagon. He couldn’t resist—he knelt down to look at the axle and the wheel wells.

  “Sturdy.” Shank echoed Martin’s appeal. “Look again at that axle. It’s heavier than what you’ll find around here.”

  The old man knelt down again. “Take a hell of a thump to bust it. How much?”

  This time Shank replied, “One hundred and fifty, what we paid.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” When the man stood up, his knees cracked.

  “How much would it cost to keep repairing a cheaper one? Hours lost. Work lost. Repairs are what cost you.”

  “Well, that’s the truth,” the old fellow replied.

  “Tell you what. You tell me what color you want. I’ll bring you a wagon. Paint for free. Now, it will take maybe two months. If I can hurry it up, I will. You give me half when I deliver and half when you sell, and you will sell it. Before you know it, you will have good money coming in from something that doesn’t spoil. You got food in that store. That spoils what isn’t in jars.”

  Martin and Shank could almost see the wheels turning in the old man’s mind.

  “I’ll bring it to you. If you don’t want it, I’ll sell it somewhere else.” Shank shrugged.

  “Bring one here. I may be old but I’m willing to take a chance. Like you said, it’s repairs that fritter away time and money.” He looked more closely into the bed of the wagon. “Runaways?”

  “Yes,” Shank replied.

  “Young and healthy. Where are you headed?”

  “Down to Albemarle County. Owner lives there. Lady from the Caribbean.”

  “D
on’t know where that is.” The old fellow turned to go back into the store.

  “No snow there.” Martin grinned.

  “Might like to see that.” Then he shut the door.

  The two climbed back in after untying the patient mare.

  “One hundred and fifty dollars. Why didn’t you add some?” Shank prodded.

  Martin smiled. “Because if we can sell more along the way, I bet we can get the price down to one hundred and twenty dollars apiece. I’ll start at one hundred but I know we can settle with Dipsy for one hundred and twenty.”

  “Dipsy don’t run the farm.” Shank pulled his cap down a bit.

  “Mr. Finney is a shrewd man. He’ll go for it. All Dipsy has to do is talk to him or allow me to talk to him.” Martin was confident.

  “We’ll have to slip money to Dipsy.” Shank knew the way the world worked.

  “Yes. But maybe we can find someone to build carts here in Virginia. Someone who has a forge, ability. So we buy a few off Royal Oak, then we begin to make them here.”

  “Martin, you want to be a wagoneer.” Shank laughed.

  “It’s better than fooling with runaway slaves.”

  A silence followed this as they drove south. Then Shank grinned. “We could own slaves ourselves.”

  “Damn right.” Martin breathed a sigh as Rebecca’s came into view, a two-story mustard-colored clapboard place, an addition to the side, and smoke curling out of the chimneys.

  This time Martin went in, paid for a room, and paid for space in the barn where, as usual, there were groom’s quarters.

  They drove the mare inside the wide aisles and unhitched her. Shank wiped her down, grabbed her rug from the back of the wagon, tossed it over her, and put her in a stall. The water hadn’t frozen. Then he put down three flakes of that good hay.

  “Like to feed hay I picked out.”

  Martin nodded. “Lot of people charge you for stuff filled with broom sage. Only good for cattle. There’s a thousand ways to cheat.”

  “My turn again in the barn.” Shank found the groom’s quarters.

  “Yeah, but come on in. Let’s eat together and try that peach cobbler that old fella told you about. Been thinking about it since we left Red Store.”