Upon reaching a seated Maureen Selisse, Ewing bowed low. He took her hand, brushing his lips over it. “My dear, my poor dear. You are so brave.”
Exactly what she wanted to hear.
Lowering her eyes then raising them, she fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, Ewing Garth, I can’t think of anyone the sight of whom could lift my spirits but you. You know, my dear Francisco always said you were the smartest man in this county and beyond. I do not know how I will recover from this dreadful event, but I will. He would expect it of me, you know.”
“I do and you will. Now I must reluctantly leave you as the line behind me grows, a testimony to your late husband and a great show of respect for you, madam.”
He moved away while her bosom heaved a few practiced heaves. Sheba patted her mistress’s cheek and forehead with a Belgian lace handkerchief.
“Now you take a sip of this, Missus. You mustn’t overextend yourself.” Sheba forced a few sips of iced tea or what looked like iced tea on her owner.
Bettina attended because Catherine insisted she and Rachel needed her. Also as head woman at the estate, Bettina should be seen, especially among the other slaves.
Bettina, next to Jeddie, who was dressed as a postilion, put her hand over her mouth to hide the sneer. “Sheba is so full of the milk of human kindness, she moos.”
Jeddie stifled a laugh. “Do you think she gets all of Mistress’s clothes? Sheba’s clothes are better than most of the white folks’ here.”
Bettina looked him up and down. “And who is in a most expensive uniform?”
“Uh.”
“Uh-huh. Sheba is how Maureen tries to put us under her thumb. She wears the jewelry, her dress is better than Sheba’s, but Sheba is just a rung down on that ladder, and having her lady-in-waiting so bedazzling shouts her wealth and her power. And you be careful. She does have power and she can be cruel.”
“Yes, Bettina.”
The other reason Catherine insisted Bettina accompany the family to the funeral was it might give Bettina a chance to speak with DoRe. Looking about, she saw DoRe standing by the exquisite carriage under large oak trees. Bettina walked toward him, her head high.
He smiled wanly when he saw her. “Bettina, I don’t believe I have ever seen you without your apron until now.”
She placed her hand on his, then withdrew it. “DoRe,” she whispered in his ear, “your boy is alive. I can say no more.” She kissed him on the check. “Our only hope is silence.”
Sensible to what she was really telling him, his eyes misted. He took both her hands in his, then looked over to the open grave. “The silence of the grave.”
He kissed her back and wiped his tears, and she returned to Jeddie. You never knew who had the searching eye, and she didn’t want Sheba to see her lingering with DoRe. Looking at Sheba, she realized she was in no danger. Sheba was too busy fulfilling her role as the ministering angel.
Hiram Meisner stood at the back of the crowd. As a county servant, he was not of this group, but he was allowed there, as was everyone who wished to pay their respects to the grieving widow. Hiram watched everyone.
Catherine, John, Rachel, and Charles paid their respects, followed by Yancy Grant swooping in for a second pass.
“Might I fetch you some refreshments?” asked Yancy.
She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Grant. Sheba will see to that.”
Jeffrey Holloway made his way to Maureen. Of medium build, strong-jawed, blond, and tremendously handsome, Jeffrey, of the middling orders, harbored ambitions. Hardworking, careful of drink, he had a decent reputation for a young man. His lack of education, and the fact that he worked with his hands as a cabinetmaker, proved a hindrance to the advancement of his station. Jeffrey bowed to Maureen even lower than Yancy, as he should, being lower down on the social scale.
“Mrs. Selisse, allow me to express my sympathy.” The handsome Jeffrey Holloway tilted his head upward to look deeply into her eyes.
Maureen didn’t know Jeffrey. The handsome fellow’s dealings had been only with Francisco.
Yancy, discounting him, half turned his body to Maureen, interrupted whatever Jeffrey was going to say.
“Madam, you inherit complicated business and legal matters. Consider me at your service.”
She smiled up at him, then focused her attention back on Jeffrey.
“Madam, you helped your husband in numerous ways,” said Jeffrey. “Your acumen is well known. I think what Mr. Grant means to say”—he stared right at Yancy Grant, whose face registered surprise at this upstart—“is that we all want to protect a beautiful woman alone in these turbulent times. As you can see, Mrs. Selisse, I am not a man of Mr. Grant’s standing, but I wish to see to your comfort and safety. If you need anything, pins, flour, a book from Europe, call upon me. I will do your bidding.”
With that, Jeffrey bowed again, not as low, took her hand and kissed it, again looking directly into her eyes with his remarkable green ones.
Yes, Maureen had loved Francisco once, and yes, she was mourning. That mourning abruptly ended. Her bosom lifted upward, she let her hand linger in his, then whispered, “I shall call upon you, sir.”
Inclining his head slightly, with a hint of a smile, Jeffrey then looked directly at Sheba.
Sheba got the message.
So did Catherine and Rachel, observing the brief transaction. Missing it were John and Charles, engaged in a conversation with the aging former commandant of The Barracks. Then again, they would have missed it even if they had seen it.
Rachel quickly slipped her arm through her sister’s, propelling her away from the table and away from clouds of chat.
“Jeffrey Holloway!” Rachel breathed.
“All the wolves circling Mrs. Selisse. She’s the one with the longest fangs. You’d think some of these men would have the sense to, well, I don’t know. If nothing else, they might try to determine what truly happened.”
“She’ll never tell,” Catherine flatly stated.
“Why?”
“Maureen Selisse is the unstained widow, the hapless survivor of a slave attack on her blameless husband.”
“You don’t think she killed him, do you? Women do lose their minds over such things.”
Catherine shrugged. “There’s more to this than anyone knows. Sheba knows. I’m sure of that.”
“She’ll hold it over her mistress’s head for the rest of their lives.” Rachel, quieter than Catherine, missed little.
“Wouldn’t you?” asked Catherine.
A long silence followed this as they paused under a majestic tree.
“Yes, I suppose I would,” Rachel said at last. “One has to use what one can to live. I hate to think about it, though.”
“I’ll make you a bet.”
“What are we betting, before I agree?”
“Your hand is better than mine. I want embroidered pillowcases, rich blue against the white.”
“How many pillowcases?”
Catherine smiled. “Rachel, don’t be peevish. I know you. Four.”
“All right. What I want if I win this bet, whatever it is, is a trip to the milliner in Scottsville for a fall hat.”
“You think big.”
“I need a new hat, something with feathers for the season. I’m tired of gauze and ribbons.”
“I am, too. Here’s the bet. Maureen marries Jeffrey before one year of proper mourning.”
Rachel considered this. “That’s quite a bet. A flirtation is one thing. Should she engage in more than that, she is a widow. That’s some protection, but to marry a man without money, a cabinetmaker working with his father, oh, I don’t know. That is a big step. What does she gain?”
“A Greek god and the fountain of youth.”
Rachel stared at Catherine, then back at Maureen and then to Jeffrey. He was now politely speaking to the priest who officiated the ceremony. “I see what you mean. Sister, do you think age will affect us so?”
“No. It didn’t bother Mother.”
Rachel smiled, then led Catherine back to the funeral feast.
Carriages filled the road heading west toward the mountains. Most turned off on Three-Chopt Road, a few turned right to clop along the road to The Barracks. More farms were springing up in the area as more people flocked to Central Virginia, especially now that the native Indians had been driven across the Blue Ridge Mountains into the Shenandoah Valley.
By the time Ewing Garth, the Schuylers, and the Wests reached home, the sun was setting.
“Like a torch behind the mountains,” Ewing said.
“I never tire of it,” Catherine replied.
With help from Tulli, Jeddie took the carriage. Bettina asked if Ewing needed anything and he said he did not. She walked briskly back to her cabin.
Catherine looked down the distant row. The children played in front of their cabins, the boys ran after a hoop, the girls ran after the boys just to bedevil them. No sign of Father Gabe.
—
Late that night, Catherine slipped out of bed, changed into a shift, put on working shoes. She let herself out of the back door, thinking John remained asleep. He did not. He rose, looked out the window to see his wife heading for the woods. He also saw Piglet emerge from Rachel and Charles’s house. Catherine carried what looked like a blanket. He pulled on his socks, pants, and boots to follow.
This time, Catherine stopped before the cave, then called softly, “Father Gabe, I mean no harm.”
Bettina surprised her by stepping outside. “Missus—”
Catherine held up her hand; with the other she offered the thin blanket. The September nights could become cool, and this was one of them. “How are they?”
Bettina motioned for her to come inside. Piglet followed. Moses, feverish, moaned. Father Gabe soaked strips of cloth into a bucket of water, then wrung them out, carefully placing them over the inflamed wound.
Ailee sat on one side of Moses, holding his hand.
Someone had built two rough beds. Catherine now knew that other slaves knew. She also knew no one would tell. This would risk all of them.
Moses moaned louder. Catherine knelt down, inspecting his wound more closely.
“If he screams—” She didn’t finish.
Father Gabe reached down for rawhide strips an inch thick, long enough to tie around Moses’s head. This gag allowed him to breathe.
Tears rolled down Ailee’s cheeks; her smashed cheekbone and cloudy blind eye glistened. Catherine wished she had something, anything, for Ailee’s pain, as well as Moses’s pain.
Bettina whispered, “He’s burning up.”
Catherine placed the back of her hand on his cheek. “Dear God.”
Piglet barked. “Someone’s coming.”
Catherine reached down to hold the dog’s jaws shut when John shocked all of them by walking into the hiding place.
“John, oh, John, I wish you hadn’t found me,” Catherine blurted.
“I…you woke me up and I watched.” He took in the situation. “He’s in a bad way.”
“We’re hoping to break the fever,” Bettina informed him. “Father Gabe has been putting compresses on his wound and on his head. The fever’s climbing.”
Having seen men fall in battle, John knew what happened next. “The stream isn’t far from here, is it?”
“No, it’s right behind and below,” Catherine answered.
“All right, then. Father Gabe, help me lift him up.”
Father Gabe took a big step back, afraid of the big man.
Bettina spoke for the old healer. “Tell him what you want to do.”
“Yes, forgive me. Father Gabe, the waters are cool and swift. If I hold him in them, perhaps the fever will come down. I’ve seen this done.”
The old man nodded, lifted up his rattle gourd with the colored ribbons hanging from the neck, reached toward heaven with it and then the four corners of the compass. He put the gourd down and went to the other side of Moses. He lifted up Moses’s side as best he could.
Bettina joined him, as did Catherine. Together they helped roll Moses, moaning louder, into John’s arms. Now John could stand up, his burden secure.
Catherine followed her husband down to the creek, as did Bettina. Father Gabe held Ailee back. The dark night made walking difficult, but all feared lighting a candle. The light could be hidden in the cave but not outside. Piglet led the way.
At the creek, about four feet deep at this spot, John laid down Moses, pulling off his boots and socks.
“We need to strip him,” John ordered.
Catherine knelt down to remove Moses’s pants when Bettina knelt beside her. “Let me do it, Missus. You keep watch. You and Piglet.”
John picked up the naked man, gingerly finding the best way into the water without dropping Moses, who weighed about one hundred eighty pounds. Once secure in the stream, he held one arm under the man’s back, the other under his buttocks. Moses dropped his head back. Catherine knew John possessed the strength of a bull. Now she learned how patient he was. He stayed in that stream, teeth chattering for a half hour.
“Honey, come out,” Catherine said.
“Perhaps a bit longer?” John asked.
“Long enough. Let’s get him back up and see if this has helped. If you can put him down, you can get your socks and boots on. You can’t carry him barefoot over these rocks and stones.”
John came to the edge, lifted Moses up and over. When he stepped out, Catherine used the hem of her dress to dry his feet. Bettina dropped her head rag over Moses’s genitals.
Piglet again led the way. The three could hear animals moving about. One owl called overhead, then stopped. They heard the needles on the pine branch swish.
Back at the small cave, John placed Moses on the makeshift bed. Ailee reached for him, felt his forehead. She uttered a low noise. Father Gabe put his head to his chest, listening to his heart. Then he, too, felt his forehead.
“Better,” Father Gabe said.
“Father Gabe, can you pack the wound? Anything like beeswax with all those herbs you have?”
“Yes,” Father Gabe replied.
Teeth chattering still, John sat down on the dirt. “Do you need more clothes?”
Bettina answered, “No, but if we do, they’re easy to come by.”
Catherine gently touched Ailee’s good cheek. Tears flowed again. “Ailee, we can’t save your eye, but when the swelling goes down, Father Gabe may be able to shift your broken bones back into place.”
Ailee nodded.
With his hand on Piglet’s head, John told them, “We can’t come here again. We can’t take the chance of leading someone down here like I followed Catherine. If you need something, tell me. I will place it on the high shelf in the hay barn.”
“The tack room is better,” said Catherine. “We can put whatever you need on the highest shelf there. We will never tell. When this is all over, we will never tell about this hiding place.”
John nodded in agreement.
“Bettina, come back with us. You’ve got to get some sleep. Father will notice if you’re not yourself tomorrow. He depends on you so.”
Bettina sighed. “Father Gabe, can you manage?”
He asked for the child. “Send me Tulli.”
“I will.” Bettina rose, touched Moses’s cheek, then Ailee’s. “May the Lord bless thee and keep thee.”
No one spoke until reaching the high meadow beyond the woods. Candlelight in the houses, cabins could be seen in the distance.
Bettina said, “Thank you.”
“Is Ailee all right—in her mind, I mean?” Catherine inquired.
Bettina nodded. “I think so, but she has lost the power of speech. She opens her mouth. Silence.”
Thinking ahead, John offered an idea. “If and when Moses recovers, we must get him out. How, I don’t know. There must be a way to disguise him.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Catherine remarked, tired and troubled. “There’s no way we can smugg
le out Ailee. The smashed cheek, blind eye will give her away. Hiram and Dennis know about that. Sheba’s told her version of the murder to all and sundry. Rachel and I heard it at the funeral, but we heard pieces of it from others.”
“Ailee will not stand for murder,” John stoutly said. “No one has accused her of that.”
“She’ll be returned to Mrs. Selisse and Sheba,” Bettina bitterly replied. “They’ll kill her. They’ll take their sweet time about it, but they will torture and kill her.”
Catherine whispered, “I fear you’re right. When Moses is able, he can tell us what really happened.”
John looked up at the stars. “We have to separate them when the time comes. Catherine, Bettina, you do nothing. You can lose everything.”
“It’s too late for that now,” Bettina replied.
“She’s right, John. We’re all in this together.”
“No, you’re not. Bettina can pretend to be ignorant. You can, too. I can always go back to Massachusetts, even if I’m found guilty. We’ll find a way.”
“If you go to Massachusetts, I go with you.” Catherine’s voice brooked no argument. “It’s father and Rachel I worry about. We have to save Moses and Ailee and protect them, too.”
John rubbed his forehead with his right hand. “God help us.”
“He’ll have to,” Catherine said.
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Although the mercury climbed up to ninety degrees by one in the afternoon, the humidity hung at thirty-seven percent, quite unusual for Virginia in the summer.
On scaffolding, Harry and Fair started painting the outside of the equipment shed at seven A.M. Using rollers on long poles, they made quick work of it, each painting on a different side, then both painting across the broad back of the shed. The low humidity helped considerably.
Back on the ground, they stepped away to study their handiwork.
“Looks brand-new,” Fair bragged.
“I wouldn’t go that far, but it does look good. We’ve still got to trim, remember, bright white.”
“Well, that can wait until tomorrow. I need to shovel an avalanche of paperwork.” He draped his arm around her shoulder. “Tell you what. If you put the paint away, clean the rollers, I’ll make lunch. I might surprise you.”
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