Furmidable Foes

by Rita Mae Brown

  Reaching the back door, imposing for a back door, Martin knocked. Within a few minutes Elizabetta opened the door, beholding the two whose escape had brought down a savage beating on her. The scars would never go away, inside or out. Shocked to see them, she stepped back.

  When Maureen and Jeffrey visited England, Elizabetta overstepped her boundaries by assigning other people her own jobs while she laid around. Doubtful though it was that any slave on Big Rawly enjoyed watching her back get shredded, no one especially liked her or trusted her, although Kintzie nursed her and DoRe originally had carried her to the healer’s cabin.

  The others managed to get along with Elizabetta but no one drew close. She had learned, brutal though it was. She knew she could never ask for help. She was alone.

  Once the shock and disgust registered, she opened the door wider, allowing the four inside so they stood in the small back room, a coatroom for chore coats for Maureen and Jeffrey plus the usual odds and ends of daily life on a farm.

  “Please wait here. I’ll announce you to the Master and Missus.”

  Two benches, wrought-iron legs—Maureen favored wrought iron—faced each other as they stood against the wall. Martin and Shank sat down. Sulli and William stood, although William stood on one leg.

  The rustle of a voluminous skirt could be heard, followed by a man’s heavier tread. Maureen appeared, followed by Jeffrey.

  The Missus walked right up to William and hit him across the face with the back of her hand. She repeated the procedure with Sulli.

  Jeffrey took her by the elbow, pulling her slightly aside as he moved in front. He had seen enough of his wife’s vicious temper when crossed. No point giving her room to vent.

  “Where were they?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Working in Maryland.”

  “Did anyone want money to turn them over?” Maureen focused on the cash, of course.

  “Surprisingly, no,” Shank smoothly replied, not offering the information that they had been abducted.

  “I see.” Maureen appraised Sulli, a bit worse for the wear, but that would pass. “Elizabetta!”

  The Mistress’s dresser returned, hands folded together. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Elizabetta, where do you think Sulli should lodge?” Maureen used a generous term, “lodge,” but she asked Elizabetta for the reason that the message is: You cause trouble, I will hand you over to the people you troubled once I am satisfied.

  Without betraying her pleasure, Elizabetta nodded her head, replying smoothly, “Perhaps, Mistress, the Hill.”

  “Very good.”

  The Hill was where the simpleminded lived. Every large estate, slave or free, produced some people a bit slow or hampered in other ways through no fault of their own. Often they could be taught simple chores: The physically strong could sow and harvest, plow and cut, but many could not even do that. So Sulli would be surrounded by people needing constant supervision. The other able-bodied person at the Hill was becoming elderly. Sulli’s would be a severely circumscribed life.

  “And William”—Maureen sounded almost sweet—“you will return to the stable, of course. You will be chained at night, by manacles attached to a center pole. You will be here until you die, William.”

  “What about the stealing?” Elizabetta inquired, with barely concealed malice.

  Light voice, Maureen waved her hand. “He’s not going to steal. Not unless he wants his hands cut off. His leg looks bad enough.”

  “Hamstring, Mrs. Holloway,” Martin simply reported.

  “He got violent. Kept trying to run away,” Shank declared in an even voice.

  “That was prudent of you,” she replied. “Jeffrey, dear, allow me to leave you with these gentlemen.” She didn’t think they were gentlemen for one minute, but why not flatter them. “I’ll retrieve the funds.” Turning to them, she smiled. “With a bonus for your speed.”

  Both bowed slightly.

  Jeffrey, relieved that Maureen didn’t explode, looked at the two slaves and in a low voice said, “If only you hadn’t taken some of her jewelry. Bad enough you ran, but it was the theft, especially after the pearl and diamond necklace Sheba stole when she left.”

  Both hung their heads as Maureen returned with two heavy leather pouches filled with coins. She handed each man a pouch. “Thank you. I do hope I will never need your services again, but I will highly recommend you to others.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jeffrey, eager to be out of this, smiled. “Allow me to walk you down to the stable.”

  Grabbing a heavy coat, Jeffrey ushered out Martin, Shank, and William, whom Shank pushed to keep up. William hopped down to the barn.

  Elizabetta, also wrapped up, riding crop in hand, took Sulli down to the Hill.

  “You take one wrong step, you filthy slut, and I will beat you as badly as they beat me.”

  Sulli remained silent.

  Elizabetta walked in front of her, slamming the riding crop across her face with all her might. “Answer me, bitch.”

  “Yes.”

  Another crack. “Yes, what?”

  “I will not take a wrong step.”

  Satisfied, Elizabetta moved beside her, walking Sulli to a dismal fate.

  Back at the stable, DoRe greeted Jeffrey.

  “Master, come look at this.” DoRe led Jeffrey to Dipsy’s wagon. “Nothing like your work, but people need more carts and wagons than coaches. Look underneath.”

  Down on one knee, Jeffrey checked the axle and the alignment of the wheels as best he could. “I see.”

  “Mare’s good, too,” Martin remarked in an offhand manner.

  “She looks strong enough. Age?” DoRe asked.

  “Well, you can look at her teeth. I say she’s five.” Shank had sense not to make her out to be younger. You couldn’t fool DoRe.

  DoRe checked, holding open her lips for Jeffrey.

  Quick to put the pieces together, plus a big workshop, allowed Jeffrey to make decisions without dragging it out. “How much do you want for the cart and the mare?”

  “Well,” Martin drawled, “we weren’t planning to sell her.”

  “Two hundred,” Jeffrey said.

  “Three hundred. You’re getting a good mare. The wagon is worth two hundred alone,” Martin countered.

  DoRe patted the mare’s neck, then stroked her muzzle. Jeffrey got the signal.

  “That’s pricey for these parts. I don’t think I can sell a wagon for two hundred dollars, but I’ll give you three hundred for the wagon and the mare. I’d like to study this wagon.”

  Martin held out his hand. “Done.”

  Shank did also. “A good choice.”

  “Gentlemen, I’ll be right back.” Jeffrey left the stable and trotted to the house to get the money. He’d tell Maureen later, although she rarely interfered in his business decisions. He never inquired about hers, especially since his coach building proved quite successful. The sales were finally paying for the expense of that large, impressive shop. Jeffrey had every tool known to man.

  Martin, directing his gaze to William, sitting on a trunk against a stall, said, “You can’t trust him. Not for a skinny minute.”

  DoRe nodded. “I know. He stole another man’s horse. Broke the other jockey’s collarbone in a race. Pushed him hard. Snuck back months later. The horse actually showed up down along the James, down near the falls. Anyway, he showed up, stole Sulli and some things from the Mistress.”

  “Maybe you should put an iron collar on him,” Shank suggested.

  “Up to the Missus,” DoRe replied.

  Jeffrey returned with more money and said to DoRe, “How about if you take them down to Hare Field. Good place to stay for the night. Give you a chance to test the wagon.”

  “Yes, sir, I will, but let me turn this mare out and harness a fresh hors
e. Won’t take long.” DoRe called for one of the stable boys, who stopped cold when he stepped inside and saw William.

  As the mare was unhitched and a Percheron put in her place, Jeffrey mentioned to DoRe, “Mrs. Holloway wants you to chain William at night. Granted he can’t get too far, but she is deeply angry as well as mistrustful. I think she’ll come down here to tell you exactly what she desires.”

  “Yes, sir. In the meantime, I’ll”—he looked around—“chain him to one of the stall rings. Can’t leave him here while I take these two to Hare Field.”

  The stall rings were round iron rings used to tie those horses in an open stall. Some had regular boxes; others stood with lots of water and food in a closed stall. Over time DoRe was switching from open stalls to those with doors. He was finding he liked them better and he felt the horses could move around more.

  The young man hitching up the Percheron heard every word, which were also meant for him. William as well as Sulli would be ever-present examples of what happens when you cross Maureen Selisse Holloway.

  If they proved more considerate of those harmed because of them, maybe over time a few people would sneak them helpful things, better clothing, food, perhaps. But it was doubtful anyone, slave or free, at Big Rawly would ever help William or Sulli, because they had never been kind to others. Those two especially must pay for their selfishness.

  The biblical lesson, “As you sow, so you shall reap,” was vividly apparent.

  29

  June 27, 2019

  Thursday

  Blistering heat had not yet descended upon central Virginia. The daytime temperatures might reach the high seventies, even the low eighties, but a pleasant breeze kept summer lovely. Enough rain guaranteed leaves darkening in their green; those early summer flowers exploded; the grass felt like a thick carpet, springy.

  Harry, Susan, Mags, Janice, Pamela, and Carlton Sweeny walked along the middle quad at St. Luke’s. Fortunately for Carlton, he enjoyed flexibility in his job. This doubled as a research trip for him as well as a helpful visit for the ladies of the Dorcas Guild focused on the grounds.

  “Charles West had grown up among fabulous gardens in England. He was the younger son of a baron.” Harry noticed a chipmunk scurrying away, as did Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, who followed.

  The dogs paid little attention to the chipmunk, a bit of a surprise, but perhaps they waited for larger game.

  “How did your peonies do?” Carlton asked.

  “Divine.” Harry beamed. “Such an old plant, shrub.”

  “You know, really, there aren’t that many new plants. Humans have bred them for color and for size over the centuries but the fundamental properties of, say, a rose remain.”

  “ ‘A rose is a rose is a rose.’ ” Pamela Bartlett quoted Gertrude Stein, which made the little group smile.

  “Could you understand what she was writing?” Janice wondered. “I read one book in junior English at Sophie Newcomb. Didn’t understand one word.”

  Sophie Newcomb was a college in New Orleans when Janice was young.

  “All I can say about Gertrude Stein is I was force-fed the present participle.” Harry smiled, as she had read a lot of the unique writer while at Smith.

  “I can’t stand fiction,” Mags grumbled.

  “Oh, Mags.” Susan grimaced.

  “Well, I can’t. None of it is true.”

  Carlton stopped as they approached the large red oak, the dead tree nearby. “But it is the truth, Mrs. Nielsen. Nonfiction is the factual truth. Fiction is the emotional truth.”

  “There you have it.” Janice couldn’t help but tease. “Mags is emotionally stunted.”

  “What’s this?” Carlton stopped in front of Sheba’s grave. Mags gave him the story to the extent that they knew it and somewhat redeemed herself, if in fact she needed redeeming.

  “I remember reading about the exhumation, the necklace and earrings. Who knows how many people we are standing on?”

  “Carlton, that’s a scary thought,” Susan quietly remarked. “I, well all of us, were taught not to disturb the dead.”

  “Standing on someone isn’t disturbing them.” Janice popped up. “Digging them up, yes. And didn’t you all dig up bones at Big Rawly? Bones related to these bones. It was in the news.”

  Susan shook her head slightly. “We did. It was a surprise. We had no idea what was under that shed. If we are allowed to keep the bones, if no family members claim them, we will do as was done for this woman: provide a Christian burial.”

  “I doubt anyone will claim them.” Mags stared down at the tidy area. “Too far back, and if anyone does share that DNA, there would have to be plenty of others.” She looked at Carlton. “Ever have the ancestry test?”

  “No, but my great-grandmother, still here, and my grandmom are genealogy nuts. There are Sweenys littering all of central Virginia.”

  They laughed.

  Carlton walked past the grave to a brush area behind the red oak. He stared down, then knelt down.

  “What?” Harry hoped he wouldn’t suggest more yard work.

  “You know Solanaceae is one of the largest families in the plant kingdom. Potatoes, tomatoes, ornamental plants that you have mixed in here, Nicotiana, and some of the Datura genus. All over Virginia.”

  “How big a family is it?” Mags inquired.

  “Three thousand members. Big. Stuff you see every day. Mostly the members are good actors, either edible or decorative, but there’s the motorcycle gang element. Belladonna is probably the most famous, one called Purple Hindu, angel’s trumpet, large and showy, pretty, and then our own jimsonweed. Effects range from hallucinations to death.”

  “Jamestown had a lot of jimsonweed.” Susan had done a bit of research. “In time, a short time, the settlers realized not to eat the stuff, although you can use it for medicinal purposes.”

  “And something like that substance or deadly nightshade was what killed Jeannie Cordle,” Pamela recalled.

  “The difficulty is, where did she ingest it? The first thought was some kind of potato, or something injected in a potato, God knows why,” Susan told them. “You can imagine the law enforcement people going through every bit of food from the AHIP fundraiser. They found nothing. Not one thing.”

  Mags trudged along with the rest of them as they headed back up to the church. “She might have eaten something by mistake.”

  “Well, if she did, it would have hit her either before or shortly after she reached Castle Hill. Whatever she touched or ate, she did it at Castle Hill.” Harry had been keeping up with Susan on research.

  “Good. Maybe we can go to Reverend Jones’s office.” Pewter picked up her step. “Be good to see the cats.”

  “I had no idea you were becoming so social.” Tucker caught up with her.

  “We’ve eaten communion wafers together.” Pewter let out a puff of laughter in which Mrs. Murphy joined.

  Some years ago the cats pried open a not tightly shut closet door in which were stored communion wafers. They ate every one, with a little help from Cazenovia, Elocution, Lucy Fur, and Tucker.

  “We all ate the same food. Couldn’t have been that,” Carlton posited. “And if something had been altered just for Mrs. Cordle, wouldn’t the chef have known or someone working with the food? You’d have to grab her plate to make sure only she ate it.”

  “That’s true.” Pamela agreed. “I wasn’t there, but I can imagine it was deeply upsetting.”

  “It was,” both Mags and Janice said in unison, while Harry and Susan nodded their heads.

  “Rev.” Harry tiptoed to Reverend Jones’s door, lightly knocked.

  “Come on in. Saw you all out on the quads.” He rose as Harry opened the door, his three cats bounding up to meet the other animals.

  “Drinks, cookies?” Reverend Jones offered.

 
“Catnip!” Pewter hollered.

  Pamela took charge. “Reverend Jones, you sit down and entertain. I’ll take care of the libations.”

  Susan and Harry joined her in the small kitchen as the others picked a drink.

  “What do you think of our grounds?” Reverend Jones asked Carlton.

  “Beautiful. And much of it is the original, or at least the original layout. I was here once in my early teens, when I thought I might like horticulture. Visited every old garden I could. The proportions of St. Luke’s are lovely and the quads in the back reflect that, too.”

  Herb smiled. “We all benefit from those who have gone before.”

  “I heard the story about the grave. It’s peaceful under that red oak.” Carlton stood up to take his drink, as the seat swallowed you up if you were on the sofa.

  The chairs offered more support.

  “Given that there are so many Sweenys, as you said”—Mags sipped a sweet tea—“maybe you’re related.”

  “You know, Mrs. Nielsen, I bet if we all did the ancestry DNA thing, we’d all be related, especially those of us who have lived here for generations. It’s inevitable.” He, too, took a sip. “Just like finding members of the Solanaceae family in our gardens is inevitable.”

  “Have them in mine. Well under the yews,” Mags confessed.

  Harry, eyeing Pewter, who was about to jump on the large coffee table, stood up. “Don’t you even think about it.”

  She walked to the kitchen, opened a cabinet drawer where the treats were kept, and tossed out tiny colored fish goodies to all the cats, fetched two bones for the dogs. “I’m stealing your cat and dog treats, Reverend Jones, but it’s the only way.”

  Pewter, having gobbled her fish, purred to Pirate, “You know there might be poison in your dog biscuit. Think about what the gardener guy said about belladonna. You never know.”

  The innocent youngster opened his mouth and dropped the medium-sized biscuit. That fast, Pewter dove toward it, picked it up, and ran out the opened door.

  “Pewter,” Mrs. Murphy called. “You can’t steal in a church.”

  Calling from the hall while she tried to eat the hard dog biscuit, refusing to admit defeat, she hollered back, “They’ll forgive me. They’re Christians, remember?”