Furmidable Foes

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Could it have been an accident?”

  “Highly doubtful.”

  “So the toxin wouldn’t be hard to get?” Harry’s mind whirred.

  “Not if you know what you’re doing. Fields are full of weeds containing this stuff. Plants like angel’s trumpet. This is the Datura genus.”

  “If it’s so common, why aren’t more of us getting poisoned?”

  “People don’t usually go around eating flowers and weeds.”

  “So much for organic farming,” Harry quipped. “If you don’t know what you’re digging up, you can die.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve always known that. Think of mushrooms.”

  “True. So her killer must have known what they were doing? You think?”

  “I don’t know. But why Jeannie? They are pretty sure it was angel’s trumpet, jimsonweed.”

  “You know, Susan, it’s been a strange time. There’s two stills above my farm on either side of the ridge. Old bones, and hey, what about Bottoms Up’s beer truck getting emptied? Weird stuff.”

  “Jeannie being poisoned is beyond weird. It’s incomprehensible,” Susan said.

  “Something is wrong here.” Harry spoke with conviction. “Jeannie Cordle wouldn’t harm anyone. She was well loved.”

  Susan, pondering this, replied, “There has to be a reason. There’s always a reason.”

  “I don’t know,” Harry thoughtfully said. “Maybe Jeannie was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Pewter, great ears, heard every word. She leapt off Harry’s lap, ran over to Mrs. Murphy, telling her all she had heard.

  “That really is the worst,” the tiger cat said.

  “No. The worst is we’ll be dragged into it. You know Harry will never let this go. She’ll have to figure it out. I guess we’ll have to inspect her food.”

  “Pewter, why would anyone want to kill Mom?”

  “Because she sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Why can’t people be more like cats?” Mrs. Murphy bemoaned.

  “We can be curious but at least we have nine lives,” Pewter replied with some satisfaction.

  “You hope.”

  27

  December 31, 1787

  Monday

  Wrapped around the midsection, Ralston, slow but upright, worked in the mare barn. He could fill water buckets and troughs, throw hay, mix up a bran mash. Picking out hooves proved harder, for he had to bend over to do it, and rare was the mare who didn’t take this opportunity to lean on him. He combed out a few manes.

  Each chore took twice as long as it had before his injury. Miss Frances wrapped him up, telling him a few ribs were cracked, and not to lift heavy objects. Time would heal the ribs as well as the puncture wounds.

  The bitter cold added to his stiffness, but Ralston felt he needed to work. He didn’t want Mr. Finney to think he was a layabout.

  A flea-bitten gray mare, young, nickered. He walked over to her, running his fingers down her neck under the mane. Most horses liked this, and she certainly did. She turned her head to nuzzle him.

  By early afternoon all the mares, turned out, were brought back in. That, too, proved difficult, for the footing was slippery, icy where the snow had melted a bit then refroze. Given that the sun set so early, he wanted to bring them back, groom them a bit, feed and bed everyone down for the night.

  The mares, happy to be inside the barn now, seemed happy to see Ralston. Ard had checked the mares for him, as did Leo, when he could hardly move. But they particularly liked Ralston, who might slip them a sweet now and then. As Christmas had passed, sweets were plentiful. Horses and humans both craved sweet things.

  Rechecking the blankets, he patted everyone in turn, then swept out the aisle. That hurt. Bending hurt, too, but he persevered. Mr. Finney, should he walk into this stable, would see everything clean, tidy, in its place. Ralston had learned from Barker O, “A place for everything and everything in its place.”

  Sometimes he thought about Cloverfields. Barker O taught him a lot. He watched Catherine and learned from her. He was glad not to have to see Jeddie, nor did he much care about any of the young women at Cloverfields, who all thought they were better than he was.

  But Sulli still inhabited his thoughts. He wondered where she was. He figured William could no longer beat her since he had been captured. He prayed God would give him the chance to kill William. All he could think about was: How could he get to Sulli? How could he free her? He pushed open the door to the tack room, his sleeping quarters when he wished it. The men in the bunkhouse treated him kindly, especially Leo, but he wanted to be alone. Here, he could bed down on a double pallet, near the stove, a blanket rolled up for a pillow, two blankets covering him. He could even remove his clothes. He didn’t like sleeping in his clothes but he always kept some on in the bunkhouse. Others did not but he had a streak of modesty, except with Sulli.

  Feeding the fire, he walked back to the wall containing the saddle racks. Holding on to one, he tried to do knee bends. He could very slowly. They hurt, not his knees or thighs but his back. Every tine hole, weeping a bit, stung. He’d been hit so hard that muscles were bruised and a deep breath let him know two of his ribs ached. He kept at the knee bends, then sweating—which surprised him—gingerly walked back. Hanging his pants up over a saddle, he wiggled out of the heavy Irish sweater, old and torn, that Miss Frances found for him. Ralston was gaining appreciation for Irish ways and attire. The sweater kept him warm and the old cotton shirt underneath kept the heavy sweater, with a cable front, from scratching him. He felt the bandage around his midsection. Miss Frances told him not to take it off. He needed to leave it on for two days; then she’d remove it, wash his wounds, and wrap him up again.

  It was strange but he wasn’t shy with Miss Frances, gruff though she was.

  Finally down, he pulled the blankets over him as he watched the fire inside the slats of the stove. The stove, set on a large, heavy piece of stone, maybe slate—he wasn’t sure because it was a pale color—kept everything safe. The only way a fire could spread is if he or someone else left the door open and a spark flew out.

  The main doors opened. He heard them slide, so he sat up.

  A soft voice called at the tack-room door for there were no lit lanterns.

  “Ralston?”

  “Come on in.”

  Leo stepped in. Maybe mid-twenties, Leo—also African American but he had been born free—pulled up a clean bucket, turned it over, and sat down.

  “How is it?”

  “Better. By spring I won’t even know I was hurt. Be riding all the horses Mr. Finney will allow.”

  “Good. Tomorrow is a New Year.” Leo smiled. “I always wondered why is the New Year in the dead of winter? Shouldn’t it be in spring when everything is new?”

  “Never thought about it.” Ralston said, pulling the blanket around him.

  His chest, smooth, embarrassed him. He would have liked a little chest hair. His voice, deep enough, was manly, but he wished he could grow a heavy beard for show plus have some hair on his chest. At least his chest was broad, even though he was skinny. Sulli had never complained.

  “Sometimes my mind wanders. I think of things like why I can’t hear an owl fly but I can hear the rustle of a blackbird’s feathers. Know what I mean?”

  “Well, if you or I can find feathers, maybe we’ll find out.”

  “Good idea.” Leo smiled. “Thought you might want a bit of company. You didn’t eat today. Miss Frances fretted.”

  Ralston smiled slowly. “Miss Frances lives to fret. Tell you what—she knows what she’s doing. She cleaned me up, cleaned out those damned holes, wrapped me up. She knows a lot.”

  “She does.”

  “Was she ever married? I kind of wonder what he would be like. Miss Frances could pass for a boxer, know that?”<
br />
  Leo laughed. “Could. They say when she was young and her hair fire red, she married. Wasn’t here then. He died at Valley Forge. That’s what I heard, anyway.”

  “Ever notice how hard it is to imagine someone old, young?”

  “I do. My momma has gray hair. I kind of remember when she didn’t when I was little. Guess it happens to all of us. I don’t think about tomorrow. I just poke along, you know?”

  Ralston leaned back against the tack trunk he used as a backstop so he wouldn’t roll over the floor. He could be restless in his sleep.

  “I think about the future. I think about William. I want to kill him, but more than anything I want to find Sulli and bring her back.”

  “You know where she’s going?”

  “Yeah. Place called Big Rawly. Big house, full of silver and paintings and stuff you can’t imagine. Mr. Finney is rich. He’s done well but this is money like Midas. Gold everywhere. Silver everywhere. The Mistress wears jewels so big and heavy, I can’t imagine having something like that around my neck or in my ears. Must be two hundred slaves working at Big Rawly. I don’t know. I’m from another plantation. Big, too, thousands of acres, but the Garths—their name is Garth—don’t show off.”

  “Were they cruel to you?”

  “No. If I asked Barker O, the man who ran the stables, best driving man I ever saw, he told me what to do when I was little. Mostly told me to keep my mouth shut. The rich people called him a Whip. Well, he’d give me a brass chit with a number on it. I could come and go if I was running an errand. My trouble was with another fellow in the stables, Jeddie Rice. He got all the good rides and he treated me like dirt. I hated him.”

  “Mean?”

  “No. Snotty.” He changed course. “I don’t know how I can get Sulli, but when it’s spring and there’s no more snow and you can sleep out without too much trouble, I’ve got to go back and try.”

  Leo’s face changed. “Don’t do it. You go back to Virginia, you’ll be picked up. And you might not wind up at wherever you came from. You might get sold downriver. Stay here. It’s safe here.”

  “Well, Leo, if it’s so damn safe, how did William and Sulli get caught?”

  “Oh, bounty hunters come through. No one has ever been taken from Royal Oak. Those two men who bought the cart. It had to be them and they must have been paid a whole lot of money.”

  “Was Mr. Finney mad when he heard?”

  “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Ard, but he knew William jammed the pitchfork in you. Maybe he thought good riddance. William said Sulli was his wife, so they grabbed them both.”

  “She’s not his wife. He lied.”

  “She stuck with him,” Leo evenly said.

  “He filled her full of dreams when they lived at Big Rawly. He wanted to sleep with her and he wanted her to steal from the big house. She knew where some stuff was but it turned out not enough. She only grabbed small stuff. And he got a cabin, saying she was his wife. He beat her. I will kill him, I swear.”

  “He’s not worth it. He’ll get beat plenty when he gets back to Big Rawly. You don’t need to trouble yourself.” Leo folded his hands. “Don’t go. There will be other Sullis.”

  “No.” Ralston raised his voice. “I love her. Only her.”

  Leo remained silent for a bit, then spoke. “And what good do you do her if you get enslaved again? Even if you’re sent back to the people who owned you, what good does it do? If you’re caught, I wouldn’t bet on being sent to Virginia. You’re young. They’ll ship your ass to the rice growers or the cane cutters and you’ll be old and broken by the time you’re thirty. This is a good place to work. You’ve kept your nose clean. You have a place here.”

  “Haven’t you ever been in love?” Ralston was exasperated.

  “No. Looks like trouble to me.” He covered his mouth for he yawned.

  Dark outside made Leo sleepy, plus he was up and working mornings in the dark. Farm chores took time. Let one go and it’s harder the next day. Got to keep at it.

  “Nothing feels like that. Nothing feels like holding a woman and hearing her say she loves you.”

  “Ralston, I’ll take your word for it but it’s not worth being a slave. Look, heal up. There might be another way.”

  “What?”

  “You stay here. Work. Save your money. Then you send a white man down to Big whatever. Give him your money and see if he can buy Sulli.”

  Ralston considered this. “Leo, I could buy her.”

  “They know who you are down there. Don’t be a fool. You’ll never be free again. Work hard. Save your money. Send a white man.”

  They sat in the warmth, both staring at the slits in the stove, the reflection of the flames on the one tack-room wall.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  Leo smiled. “I hope so. Well, time for the bunkhouse. I’m tired. Ard says this winter will be hard; all the signs are it will be hard. We’re chopping wood, splitting wood, filling up about every empty building we can find. Fill up Mr. Finney’s woodbox outside the kitchen door every day. I’m glad you’re coming along.”

  “Yeah.” Ralston smacked at his blanket for pillow, lying back down. He winced as he reached for another blanket to pull over him.

  “I’ll do it.” Leo knelt down, pulling up the blanket. “Take it slow. Maybe spring will be early this year.”

  “You never know.”

  “Night.”

  “Night, Leo. I really will think about what you said.” He heard the doors open, then slide closed.

  28

  January 15, 1788

  Tuesday

  Brilliant blue skies and a few thin white stratus clouds announced a clear, cold day. January in Virginia fools you. Occasionally, snow on the ground, the mercury would rise up in the high forties, only to plunge the next day, snow flying everywhere.

  Martin and Shank relished the good weather. The night before they cleaned up Sulli and William at the Ordinary in Orange County. Today would be the day they reached Big Rawly unless a wheel rolled off the cart, and this wagon was too well built for that, rough roads or not.

  Cold though it was in the stable, the two men stripped down William, washed him, fished out a pair of pants not cut behind the knee. The two carried odds and ends like clothing to hide the booze for selling. This proved useful on many levels. They carried a few sweaters, bonnets, and canvas pants. Not much but items that could cover their travels. They’d have to post a guard to protect the liquor every night if people had any idea how much liquor they carried.

  They allowed Sulli to clean herself using a stall. She had a bucket of water, soap, old towels.

  One man held William’s arms behind him; the other washed. They took turns. William, erratic, could easily take a swing at them. Cold though the water was, it felt good being cleaned up. William cooperated enough to put the pants on. When his hamstring was cut, the wound bled very little. The slice was healing. The hamstring would never mend. William was crippled for life. Still they tied his hands together.

  On the drive into the next county, the two captives sat in the back, a blanket over them.

  The day, cold, was offset by the sun, a welcome bit of warmth.

  The steep decline onto the old east-west road to Big Rawly proved no trouble at all. The wagon brakes, well made, could handle a slowdown without a stop. The steep rise up on the western side of Ivy Creek proved no problem either. The mare was strong, the cart about perfect in balance.

  Not even two miles down the road, wide enough for two wagons to pass in opposite directions, the Big Rawly sign announced the estate.

  Martin, reins in hand, clucked to the mare, who picked up a trot as they turned left. Shank checked on the captives. Sulli, no expression, looked around at surroundings she had known since childhood. Tears streamed down William’s face.
<
br />   Pulling up to the stables, Shank jumped down and walked inside to find DoRe, whom he had met when he took the capturing job from Maureen. DoRe described William as well as Sulli, with Maureen standing there. If the big man had left out a distinguishing feature, the mistress would think him a liar. He described them vividly.

  “Delivery,” Shank called out.

  DoRe, harness bridle hanging over his shoulder, stepped into the aisle and recognized Shank, following him as Shank motioned.

  Outside, immobile, sat Sulli and William in the wagon.

  “Wanted you to see them before we took them to the house.” Shank held his hand out as though presenting the captured young people.

  “I’ll be.” He studied the two, neither of whom looked him in the eye. “You might want to leave the wagon and mare here, I’ll take care of it, and walk those two up to the back door. Elizabetta will answer. She’s paid dearly for these two.” He didn’t elaborate but Sulli lifted her jaw as DoRe relayed that message to the two bounty hunters.

  Sulli and William didn’t budge.

  Martin stepped over the backrest, took a knife, and cut free William’s hands. He pushed William forward.

  Sulli stood up. Martin had to haul up William, who did nothing to help.

  As the two moved to the end of the wagon bed, DoRe lifted his hand to Sulli but she stepped back as William, dragging his leg, was pushed forward by Martin.

  William stood looking down. DoRe did not offer his hand. Sulli moved behind William, put her foot on his ass, and shoved hard. He flew off the wagon, sprawled facedown in the snow, and was left on the ground. Then she took DoRe’s hand and hopped down.

  DoRe allowed a small smile as he looked at Sulli, bent down, and put his hand under William’s armpit to haul him up.

  As the four started walking to the big house, DoRe studied William’s gait.

  Martin simply told him, “I cut his hamstring. He was too stupid to learn. If he’d cooperated, things would have gone better. No riding for him. But he won’t run away.”

  DoRe nodded.