Broken Pledge

by Marti Talbott

  “Is MacGreagor that good at cards?” Rose asked, selecting flowers for the dining room table.

  “Indeed he is. And I tell you, the man will do anything for sport. In the space of a week, three Spanish and two French warships turned about when they saw us. Each challenged MacGreagor to a race. Once, in rough seas, he declined to take up the task for our sake, but he easily won the other four, even though they had more men and heavier sails. And just when the sea appeared to be without end—”

  “Land?” Rose grinned, examining a yellow daffodil. She clipped the stem with her scissors and added it to the ones in the wicker basket.

  “Glorious, solid, colorful land. A sight more delightful than gold to a man as tired of water as I was.”

  Rose giggled, “You have no heart for sailing?”

  “Not at all,” he said, giving her a hug. When he pulled away, his expression had grown serious. “Rose, tell me true, are you well?”

  “Of course I am. I am merely heavy with child and weary of the waiting.”

  John watched her choose a white flower, examine it carefully, and then cut the stem. “Twins, do you think?”

  “I have no idea. When they came to us at Christmas, Maralee worried her twins would injure one another with their kicking. But if such is the indication, I’ll have but one child.”

  “Steven must be beside himself with joy.”

  “That he is. He has three healthy children now to help ease the grief of Hester’s passing.” She wrinkled her brow, moved on to a bush thick with white roses and changed the subject. “John, do I look at all like our grandmother Mahala?”

  “A little. Oh, Rose, how I wish you had been there. Never have I seen a house so big. How splendid it must have been with candles blazing, warm hearths, and music coming from the ballroom.”

  “Ballroom?”

  “Aye. The ballroom is on the first floor and takes up fully half the house. Papa did not enter for fear his memories would overcome him, but he said the house was constantly filled with their society, and their society often stayed for weeks at a time.”

  “So, our grandparents were well loved, were they?” she suddenly snapped, throwing a flower in the basket. “And where was this grand society when our parents needed them?”

  “Do calm yourself, that was nearly forty years ago.”

  Rose slowly closed her eyes and took a long slow breath. At length, she began to smile. “Papa said a woman with child is like a mule.”

  “He did not.”

  “Indeed he did,” she giggled, “and with Mama in the room. He said, ‘a woman with child is like a mule who freely eats of the fall harvest, then resents the spring planting.’”

  “And Aunt Elizabeth did not kill him?”

  “She threw her book at him. Fortunately, he ducked in time.”

  John chuckled. Just then, he spotted a man on a horse heading down the road toward Richmond. “Is that Gideon?”

  Rose looked just in time to catch a glimpse before the man disappeared behind the trees. “It is, we got word of his wife.”

  “A wife?” John asked, following Rose to the next row of flowers in the garden. “Do you mean I spent nearly a year with a man who never mentioned a wife?”

  “I’m not surprised. Gideon would never go on about his wife while you mourn for yours. Besides, they were wed only two months before she was sold. He’s been looking for her for three years.”

  “No wonder he wouldn’t stay in England. You say you’ve had word of her?”

  “Before she passed, Hester sent a post to every plantation in the South. We thought none would answer, but just last week a letter came. Gideon is hopeful, naturally, but Cesha is such a common name for slaves.”

  John watched as she clipped three more flowers and carefully added them to the basket. When she headed back toward the house, he took hold of her arm. “Rose, is Gideon that Banutu they talk about?”

  “Of course he is, he and several others. He was the first, but lately, he’s had considerable assistance.”

  At the steps, he waited while she lifted her skirt enough to climb up the steps. “What sort of assistance?”

  “Banutu hung a man in Georgia, poisoned three in South Carolina, and shot a man in Fredericksburg – all while Gideon was with you.”

  “I see,” John helped her ease her bulky frame into a chair on the front verandah and then took a seat next to her.

  “Each witness claimed the man had Gideon’s same white scar around his neck and each gave a different description. It’s a good thing for Gideon, because now, no one is certain what he looks like.” Rose started to giggle, “You will not believe this; after the man was shot in Fredericksburg, the Sheriff convened a band of deputies and scoured all of Virginia. They even thought to search Mahala.”

  “No,” John gasped.

  “But Adam surprised us all. He protested, naturally, but allowed them in and as they began to search, he boldly began a list of their properties. Finally, one thought to ask Adam’s intentions. ‘Taxes,’ our dear Adam answered, and no sooner had he spoken than the men turned and left.”

  “Taxes?”

  Rose giggled again. “It was Adam’s position in the Assembly, you see. The men thought Adam meant to increase their taxes.”

  “Good for Adam. Then the runaway slaves are still safe here?”

  “All but Gideon. A Clarence Whitley put a price on Gideon’s head—a rather large, tempting price of 5,000 pounds. Gideon knows the man, but claims his only offense was to leave Whitley beside the road without his clothing.”

  John’s eyes widened and then he started to laugh. “He left him naked?”

  “John, this is serious, Clarence Whitley can identify Gideon. He was the slave master on Gideon’s ship.”

  At that, John quickly became incensed. “And Gideon let him live? I’d have killed him on sight. Have you any idea what that man did to the Africans on that ship?”

  “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Oh, Rose, with a price on his head, how am I to keep Gideon safe?”

  “I don’t think you can. He will not give up until he finds Cesha or they kill him. However, he has one advantage. Gideon writes his own papers. He claims to be the property of men such as Franklin, Jefferson and Washington, and his penmanship is so good, no one questions it. Once, he even claimed to be the property of Louis XVI.”

  “The king of France?”

  “And why not? The French own slaves the same as we,” Rose answered.

  “So I’ve heard. Did Gideon take Miss Daisy? I meant for him to have her.”

  Rose reached out to take her cousin’s hand, “Yes, but enough of Gideon. It’s so good to have you home again, and I have a bigger problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “Well, if we do have twins, and if they are boys – Adam vows to name one King and the other George.”

  CAROLINE HENDERSON was the dearest friend the elder Carsons had. They’d met on the voyage from England nearly twenty years earlier, and now, three husbands, two children and one war later, it was Caroline who stood in the assembly room next to Elizabeth, staring at the portrait of Mahala.

  “Will you just look at it,” Caroline said, her graying hair in ringlets and her cream-colored frock a simple yet expensive one made in Boston. “It must have taken a year at least to embroider the bodice.”

  “Two, if I were doing the embroidery,” Elizabeth grumbled.

  “And how dare she be so beautiful! Her eyes are such an extraordinary brown, her hair so shiny and her skin positively flawless.”

  “Caroline, it is a painting. All women are beautiful in paintings. She was probably quite common in real life.”

  “Impossible, neither of her sons are common. Tell the truth, Elizabeth, do women still have designs on your husband?”

  “They do, and occasionally I’ve thought to give him up,” Elizabeth answered, sitting down on a davenport near the statue. “But my dear, I don’t think Caleb notices. In fact, he hard
ly notices me.”

  Caroline smoothed the back of her skirt and sat down beside her. “A little less passionate, is he?”

  “A little? He’s forgotten how, I am convinced.”

  “Nicholas too, and he’s a Frenchman. We’ve gotten old, it seems.”

  “But, Caroline, I don’t feel old. There was a time, and not so long ago, when Caleb could think of nothing else. I, on the other hand, feared having eighteen sets of twins. Now that I feel a girl again, he’s asleep before the sun sets.”

  “Have you thought about telling him how you feel?”

  “And have him laugh at me?”

  “He will not laugh.”

  Elizabeth thought for a moment, and then wrinkled her nose. “Have you said anything to Nicholas?”

  “Well, no.”

  “I thought not. And another thing, why did not we have a portrait made of Mary? What could we have been thinking of?”

  Caroline slipped her arm around Elizabeth’s, leaned back, and gazed at Mahala’s painting. “My dear, we have seen much, you and I, but never have we seen a competent artist. And now that even the wealthy in America are impoverished, Europe will not soon be sending us any of hers.”

  “I believe you’re right.”

  “We could take up painting ourselves.”

  “Could we?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes brightening.

  “Why not? We have little to do now that we’ve rolled our last bandage. And really, how hard can painting a picture be?”

  “But will our husbands allow it?”

  “We’ll ask them in front of the family. They will not deny us in front of them.”

  MAHALA’S DINING ROOM was aglow with bright lights, mountains of food and enthralling conversation. With Caroline and her husband bringing firsthand news from Boston, the talk soon turned to the state of the American Empire.

  “It is the most extraordinary thing, taxes, I mean,” Adam said, scooting his chair far enough away from the dining room table to cross his legs. “We can hardly do without them, but we’ve lost all reason when it comes to imposing them. Some states intend taxation on ships of other states, and the ships need not land, but merely pass through the waters. Naturally, those unfortunate states without waterways are infuriated.”

  “Tell me,” Uriah said, hurrying to swallow a bite of chicken, “will we see revenue ships again...the same sort of revenue ships we suffered from the British?”

  Adam grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Do you recall the one that forever annoyed us at the mouth of the James?”

  “The one with the odd-shaped bow?” John asked.

  “That’s the one. We took it from the British in 1779 and pressed it into service late last month.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes and laid her biscuit back in her plate. “Have we learned nothing?”

  “On the contrary, Mama,” Adam answered. “We’ve learned to keep the taxes for ourselves. And next, they’ll tax whiskey.”

  “But they cannot,” John put in. “It is Kentucky’s only means of support. How are the farmers to survive?”

  “Well, we must tax something. The Empire is so poor we have no funds to pay our militia...meager as it is.”

  Uriah folded his arms and leaned back. “How meager?”

  “Seventy-six.”

  “Seventy-six men to protect the whole empire?” Elizabeth asked, a hint of a tear forming in her eyes.

  “You need not fret, Mama,” Adam said. “We are so completely insubstantial, no other country wants us.”

  “But has Congress found no way to collect tariffs?” Uriah asked.

  “They have not. We are ten years since we declared our independence, and three beyond the signing of the peace treaty. Yet, Congress, in their haste to declare the states equal, bound themselves. They must have the consent of all thirteen states to pass a law.”

  “There are dissenters, even though the law concerns tariffs?” John asked.

  “Always one or two no matter how the tariff legislation is written. Meanwhile, the British continue to deluge our markets and happily extend credit.”

  Caleb reached out to take his wife’s hand. “There, you see, they need not attack; they’ll own us by default.”

  “I hardly find comfort in that,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, her tears still close at hand.

  “What we need is...” Adam started.

  “Not a king,” Rose interrupted.

  “Well, if not a king, then someone who has the courage to make decisions. We flounder, Rose. We sink to our knees in despair and we need a king.”

  Nicholas winked at Caroline and raised his glass. “And to the cause, monsieur, France will happily send Louis XVI and his charming wife Marie Antoinette.”

  “Hear, hear,” Caleb chuckled, lifting his teacup.

  “Will he bring lots of handsome Frenchmen with him?” Rachel asked.

  “I hope so,” Suzanne put in. “The war took all the handsome Americans.”

  Caleb eyed his middle twins and leaned closer to his wife. “We would do well to marry these two off, and quickly.”

  When she spoke, Caroline was beaming. “While in France to resign his commission, my handsome and brave husband, Nicholas, was presented in court.”

  “Indeed?” Rachel asked. “Oh, do tell us about it.”

  “It was exquisite,” Nicholas said. “The women wear white satin dresses and white wigs. The men wear white satin suits and white wigs. The children play, as does the king, and they all talk endlessly about the Hungarian Mozart and his ingenious musical talents.”

  “Nicholas,” John asked still lost in thought, “how does France view our circumstance?”

  This time Nicholas winked at Rachel, “The French love Americans, particularly American women. And we too pay no tariffs.”

  “Aye, but the French sell what we need most, guns and munitions,” Uriah said.

  “And let us not forget satin,” Suzanne said.

  “Oui, mademoiselle, the French would have all women in fine French satins.”

  John scooted his chair away from the table. “But are the people resentful? We cannot repay them.”

  “Monsieur, the king is resentful, but the people are not. Many a Frenchman gave his life for America, but for that, they blame the British. Now, they speak of their own freedom.”

  Uriah gasped, “The French think to rebel?”

  “Oui, monsieur, and soon.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and hung her head. “Not another war.”

  “Well, we are in no position to help,” Adam said. “We sadly commit what little resources we have to our own unpleasantness.”

  “Oh, Adam, you make everything sound so very serious,” Rose said.

  “Do I?” Adam asked, glancing at the others. “I did not think I did.”

  “The mule,” Caleb muttered, wincing only slightly under Elizabeth’s glare.

  “Go on, Adam, have you any more happy news to tell?” John asked.

  Adam quickly took a sip of tea before he answered, “Well, there are the ‘stay laws.’ They are a blessing to the poor and a curse to the rich. Allow me to illustrate. A man must borrow from the moneylenders to buy the land he needs. He then grows the crops...to sell and thus pay the moneylenders. But just now, they cannot sell their crops. As well, the farmers are to pay property taxes, you see. When they can neither pay the taxes nor the moneylenders, they are called to court to answer charges they cannot deny. Naturally, their land is taken, their families are put out, and they are sent to debtor’s prison.”

  John rolled his eyes, “Are these the same men who fought the war?”

  “The very same. Now, to the astonishment of even me, a state or two has come to the understanding that a man in prison pays no one. Therefore, stay laws allow a man to postpone his debt and keep the land by pledging to pay with his next crop. However, not all states intend to pass the law, and because of it, fear a rebellion.”

  Tears finally flooded Elizabeth’s eyes. “Will this war
never end?”

  “Please don’t excite yourself, my dear,” Caleb said.

  John put a comforting arm around his aunt and turned to Adam. “They will not rebel; they’ll simply throw up their hands and cross over the mountains to better land and no taxes.”

  “Will we go with them?” Uriah asked, closely watching his son’s face.

  John looked at his father for a long moment before he answered, “Aye, but not until spring.”

  “Spring? But that’s seven or eight months still,” Uriah argued.

  “So it is. In the meantime, we’ll see Steven, Maralee and the twins in Savanna. And we’ll have ample time to enjoy the company of fine friends, a loving family and a new baby.”

  “Or babies,” Adam muttered.

  “Besides, we have a lot to do.”

  “Such as?” Uriah asked.

  John removed his arm from around his aunt and leaned forward so he could see his father better. “Papa, we have a barge to prepare and you hate the cold. We’ll need all of spring and summer to build warm lodging. Besides, how can I avoid your complaining if we have no tea and no cups to drink it from?”

  “But...” Uriah started.

  “Papa, I’ll not be budged until spring.”

  Uriah looked at Caleb and frowned. “He becomes more like you every day.”

  “Me?”

  As soon as Hazel placed his dessert plate in front of him, Adam scooted back up to the table. “Nicholas, how goes the rebuilding in Boston?”

  “Boston will never be the same,” Caroline answered instead of her husband. “The British pile their goods wherever they wish and we simply cannot build warehouses fast enough. Immigrants land daily, hungry and diseased, and we cannot turn the ships around or they will all die.

  “Well, I think...” Caleb began.

  “I’m sure you do, but we are discussing Boston,” Elizabeth snapped. “Dearest Caroline, you are always welcome here. We have lots of room now that the girls constantly marry, and John goes off to that godforsaken wilderness with his father. We’ll be all alone”