“Do they think unkindly even in Maryland?”
“Even in Maryland. Now, thou must not be late. Go along. Thy brother and sister await thee.”
Melba raced to the door of their tiny rented house, lifted the latch and scampered out. “Israel, wait for me!” she yelled.
But Polly was not fooled. She put on her shawl and went outside to watch. First, Melba slowed, allowed Israel and Jesse to get several yards ahead and then slowed even more. Finally, Israel walked back, swooped Melba up, laid her over his shoulder, and carried her out of sight.
“I thank thee, Lord, for Israel,” Polly muttered, starting back inside. Just then, she spotted her father at the far end of the field.
He hoisted the heavy plow strap over his shoulder, adjusted it and then gently slapped the reins against the rump of the horse. His hat was off, his jaw was set, and with one gloved hand on each handle bar, Ezekiel guided the plow in a straight line. He turned up the dirt, paused to hurl a rock away and then began again.
Polly pulled the door closed behind her and walked across the field. “Does thou intend planting in winter?” she asked, as soon as she caught up.
But Ezekiel did not stop. The muscles in his jaw flinched, and fierce anger was in his eyes. “How many generations have worked this land, daughter?”
“I’ve no idea,” she answered, struggling to walk on the upturned earth.
“Yet, there are rocks still, hundreds of them. A man removes the rocks, winter washes the dirt away, and in spring, a man removes the rocks again. It is never ending.”
Polly stopped, watched after him and then decided to catch up again. “It is not the rocks that make thee angry. Thou hast been angry since we sold the diamonds.”
“A man should not need to take his daughter’s diamonds,” Ezekiel said, halting only long enough to hurl another rock out of the field.
“Thou knows I kept back two. It is not the rocks nor the diamonds that truly anger thee; it is thy wife’s death.”
Finally, Ezekiel stopped and turned his eyes to the ground. At length, he lifted the heavy strap off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground. “We left them, Polly. We left thy mother, thy brothers and thy sisters with no one to tend their graves. We should have filed petition with the Virginia Land Commission and fought for what was ours. Instead, we simply walked away.”
“We were tired of fighting. Does thee wish to go back?”
“This unyielding land is the same misery we left before, it is not even our land and here, we shall have to pay taxes. Tell me true, does thee miss the wilderness?”
Polly lifted her eyes to meet his and slowly smiled, “Me, miss the quiet of a stream, the bay of wolves, a white-tailed deer peeking through the trees, or the smell of a striped skunk when Israel gets too close? I don’t miss it at all. But, if thee wants the wilderness, then I might as well go with thee. I have little to do here except wash, clean and cook—and that I can do anywhere.”
“You’ll go then?”
“I will, but promise to allow thy children a full year of schooling first. I grow weary of teaching them. And Papa, thee is a blacksmith. Leave the dirt and do what thee does best.”
Ezekiel’s anger quickly turned to delight. “Thee is a fine daughter, Polly Lewis.”
“And thee is a fine father—who knows full well, God will tend the graves.”
KENTUCKY
Uriah pulled his horse up next to John’s and gawked at the abandoned Lewis house. “Can you believe it? They’ve left the doors open to animals.”
“I’m surprised they did not burn the place, I would have,” John said, slowly scanning the edge of the forest for the simple grave markers Laughing Rain had described. “Over there,” he went on, pointing. Slowly, he walked his horse toward a small clearing. But when he drew near enough to see, he discovered someone had made sturdy new crosses. As well, they had cleared the leaves away and placed fresh fall flowers on each grave.
“La Rue?” Uriah asked.
“It cannot be.”
“It must be,” said Uriah. “He loves Polly more than I thought.”
DARK CLOUDS COVERED the moon making the night darker than most inside Maryridge. John lit a candle, made his way up the stairs, opened the door to his father’s bedchamber and went in. “Papa, wake up. Gideon has come and he brings others.”
“Gideon? Impossible,” Uriah said, forcing himself to sit up. “‘Tis the dead of winter.”
John lit a second candle on the crude nightstand by the bed and then hurried away. “He has come just the same.”
“Never have I seen such cold,” Uriah muttered, pulling on his long pants, stuffing half his nightshirt inside and then struggling with the buttons.
Downstairs, the clock struck three times. “Three o’clock – in the bloody morning? I’ll see the man shot.” In the kitchen, two men, a woman, and three small children huddled on the floor, while John and Gideon worked feverishly to get a fire going in the hearth.
“Gideon, for pity’s sake,” Uriah started, yanking the door open. Suddenly, he stopped to stare at the Africans. Their clothing was abominably tattered, their eyes were wide and their bodies shivered. “I’ll get blankets,” he said, quickly closing the door again.
“He’s not so very pleasant when I wake him,” John said, carefully fanning a small flame with his hand. “But he’ll not harm you. Gideon, I believe you’ll find a full bread basket in the far cupboard.”
“Aye,” Gideon said, walking to the third of three new, handcrafted uprights.
When the kitchen door opened again, Uriah rushed in with an armload of bedding. He quickly handed blankets to the adults and the older children. Then he sat down on the floor, opened the last blanket and drew the smallest child into his lap. He wrapped her up tight and surrounded her with his warm arms. Only then did he notice the disturbed look on the face of the African woman. “It’s quite all right. I have held children before.”
“That’s not what surprises her,” Gideon said, giving each a slice of bread. “Whites don’t often cuddle our children.”
Uriah broke the little girl’s bread in half and held it until she wiggled her hand out of the blanket. “Why not?”
“They have a hard time selling children they have come to love.”
“Well, I say the world has gone mad. How can you not love a child? Worse still, how have I managed to live in a place filling with slaves and not take notice? When we set foot in America, there were only a few. Now there are thousands and I have shamefully managed to turn a blind eye.”
“Papa, may I remind you we suffered six years of war. We had our own plight to consider.”
Uriah checked to be sure the little girl’s feet were covered. “Still, we could have done something.”
“You’re doing something now,” Gideon said, “as is General Washington. He’s freed the slaves who fought with him in the war and shipmasters have agreed to pay passage for those who want to go back to Africa.”
“Good,” Uriah said. “It is comforting to know we are not alone in our dishonor. Now, who might these people be?”
Gideon set the bread basket on the table and took half a loaf for himself. “This is Whistler and his wife, Lilly. The other man is Lilly’s brother, Seth, and the boys are Carl and Peter.”
“And this one?” Uriah asked.
“That be Lucy, Massah,” Whistler answered.
“Hello, little Lucy,” Uriah said, peeking around to see her face. But Lucy had fallen asleep with a crumb of bread stuck to her lip.
WHEN URIAH AGAIN AWOKE, the smell of fresh eggs and biscuits filled the air. “Great glory, she cooks!” he shouted, leaping out of bed. He quickly dressed and rushed down the stairs with one shoe on and the other in his hand. Barreling down the hall, he threw open the kitchen door and glanced at the children on the floor. They were eating. Then he looked around at the others. Seth was filling the kitchen wood box, Whistler was pouring tea and John was seated at the table. Finally, he rested his eyes on Lil
ly. “A proper breakfast, at last!”
“It takes so little to please you, Papa,” John said.
Uriah dropped his shoe and scooted his stool up to the table. “And real tea, not that mint impostor.”
“I thought you liked mint tea,” John said, watching his father take a bite of biscuit, savor the taste and swallow.
“Only when I must. Where’s Gideon?”
“He’s gone to feed our new horses. Papa, the children have no clothing and Gideon says they don’t know how to play.”
“Not play? Your mother would not be pleased to hear that,” Uriah said, taking another bite.
John winked at Whistler and then watched his father’s face. “Can you teach them?”
“Well, I—” Uriah started.
Just then, Gideon came through the backdoor. “You will not believe what I found,” he interrupted. He walked straight to the table and opened his heavy cloak just enough for John to see.
“Perfect,” John said, taking the furry white puppy.
Uriah frowned, “A dog?”
John gently set the puppy down on the floor. “Not for you, for the children.” Instantly, three sets of tired eyes lit up as the puppy charged into their half-eaten plates. Lucy giggled when it climbed into her lap, wagged its tail wildly and then plowed back into the plates.
“I don’t particularly like dogs, but I suppose this one will do...for the children,” Uriah murmured.
“Yes, but a dog will alert us to strangers and wild animals,” John said, watching Gideon hang his cloak on a nail and then delve into the heaping plate of food Whistler handed him, without bothering to sit down.
As usual, Uriah watched with fascination as Gideon consumed his meal. “How did you manage it? Coming on the Wilderness Road with horses and slaves, I mean?”
Gideon hurried to swallow and began waving his fork in the air. “We came straight.”
“Do you mean straight across the mountains from Richmond?” Uriah asked.
“Aye. Whistler and the others were halfway up the Blue Ridge when I happened upon them.”
“But the snow must be a thousand feet deep,” Uriah said. “How did you...” Suddenly, he drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, nooo.”
“What?” John asked.
“How are we going to explain this to the Widow Puddifoot?”
“The widow Puddifoot?” Gideon asked, breaking open his fourth biscuit.
“Aye,” Uriah answered. “On a good day she is merely irritating. But most of the time she is unbearably annoying.”
John finished his last bite of breakfast and moved his plate away. “Well, I like her.”
“You would,” Uriah shot back. “She’s no bother to you at all. She watches us, you see, from the porch of her cabin across the road.”
John laughed. “And he should know, he looks to see often enough. I think she hopes Papa wants a wife.”
“Marry her?” Uriah scooted away from the table to put his other shoe on. “The woman leans.”
“Leans?” Gideon asked.
“Aye. She is rather well positioned, in the front I mean, and she watches her feet when she walks. Why she does not fall forward is beyond comprehension.”
Lilly suddenly got the giggles.
“Now that’s more like it,” John said. “What Maryridge needs is the sound of laughter...and despite my father’s objections, you’ll like Mrs. Puddifoot. She is delightful.”
Uriah huffed, “She’s only delightful because you flatter her every time she comes, which I remind you is daily. Lilly, do sit and eat, you look exhausted.”
Still standing near the cupboard, Gideon quickly raised a hand, “Mister Carson, slaves do not sit at the master’s table. We must keep up pretenses.”
“I know, but not today. Let them rest, let them savor their freedom for one day at least. Besides, we only have one table.”
Gideon raised his eyebrows and then motioned for Whistler to come closer. “As I warned, they need teaching, particularly the elder Mister Carson. Can you manage it?”
“Yez, boss,” Whistler answered.
“Good man. Do as he says, Lilly, sit, but just this once.”
Lilly finished filling her plate and sheepishly sat down between Uriah and John.
“Tell Gideon about La Rue,” Uriah said.
“Isn’t he the one who threw Polly off her land?”
“The same,” John answered. “Unfortunately, we were forced to buy this land from him, and he suspects we cheated him. I have often seen him search the woods or panning the creek, looking for the vein of gold he fears we found.”
“And did you cheat him?”
“We did not. We paid the man exactly what he asked...ninety pence an acre,” John answered. “Then we demanded he write the deed immediately.”
“And he thinks you gladly paid a king’s ransom because you knew something he did not?”
John couldn’t help but chuckle, “I suspect the man loses sleep over it.”
“Well done, and well done on the house. Did the barge come?”
“We have not heard a word and it’s been nine months since it was to set sail down the Ohio. Of course, they faced the spring rains, strong currents, Indian raids, river thieves, and now ice. Then, once it reaches the delta, the barge must be pulled up the Kentucky. Still, I remain hopeful.”
“If the men you hired did not make off with it,” Gideon said.
“There is that possibility,” said John, wiping his mouth with a shabby but clean napkin.
“I hope not,” Uriah put in. “We have window panes on that barge. Until they arrive, we must keep the shutters closed in winter against the cold, and in summer to keep out the bugs. I find the darkness quite disheartening.”
“Along with everything else,” John muttered.
MORNING PASSED QUICKLY with everyone busy chopping wood, preparing the noon meal, making beds and watching the children play with the puppy. Finally, Gideon followed Uriah into the sitting room to await the Widow Puddifoot’s arrival.
“And here she comes, right on schedule,” Uriah said. He pushed the shutters open a bit more so Gideon could see. “First, our dear Mrs. Puddifoot peeks out her door, looking for Indians, I’ve come to believe. Then the basket of bread appears followed by her musket, which she carries simply everywhere. Every day is precisely the same. There, she’s made it across the road. Now, halfway up the hill, and our hill is not that steep, she’ll pause to catch her breath. She’ll pretend to admire the countryside or some withered flower she neglected to notice yesterday. Then, she’ll take the first step up the stairs with her right foot. She needs six steps to cross the verandah and—” Suddenly, Uriah’s eyes danced with delight. “Gideon, could you get the door?”
Gideon returned with a grin, “Yez, Massah.”
“This, I shall enjoy immensely,” Uriah said, rushing into the foyer. He changed positions twice before choosing a place to stand—just behind Gideon. “She’s nearly here, I can hear the woman breathe,” he whispered, listening to her footsteps. “Four...five...six...now!”
Dressed in a copper-colored skirt with a matching vest, a white blouse, high top boots, a plain white bonnet, and a brown wool coat, Emiline’s hand was poised to knock when the door opened. Her mouth was agape and her hand was still poised to knock several seconds later when Uriah took her arm and pulled her inside. “Great glory, Emiline, you’ll let out all our warmth. Oh, John, Emiline has come,” he yelled.
But John was already leaning against the foyer wall with his arms folded watching. “So she has.”
Confused, Emiline allowed Gideon to take her coat and musket, and then turned to John. “Your father bought a slave.”
“You need not speak as though I’m not here. Come in, won’t you? Lilly makes a fine cup of tea and...”
“You have more slaves?” Emiline asked.
“Seven,” John answered, “three of which are children.”
“I’ll get the stools,” Uriah said, heading down the hall.
John quickly grabbed his father’s arm. “We have slaves for that, remember?”
“So we do,” Uriah said, quickly turning back and ushering Emiline into the sitting room. “Gideon, bring the stools.”
“Yez, Massah,” Gideon answered. Torturously, he held his laughter until he got to the kitchen.
While his father checked the fire in the hearth, John admired Emiline’s frock. “I must say, that color becomes you.”
“Why thank you, John.”
“It was in the dark of night, you see, when the slaves—” Uriah suddenly blurted out.
“Papa, I doubt Emiline cares how we got them.”
“Oh, but I do,” she argued.
“Of course she does,” Uriah said, watching Gideon bring all three stools and set them down in the middle of the empty room.
Emiline Puddifoot did not quickly sit. Instead, she eyed each stool and then carefully checked the nearest one for sturdiness. “Where’s the one that tilts?”
“I believe that’s the one my father normally brings for you,” John answered.
“I see,” she said, once more glaring at Uriah. Finally, she sat down.
Uriah quickly looked away. “Gideon, stoke the fire will you? I feel a chill in the air.” Then he turned back to face her. “What news have you from Harrodsburg?”
Emiline did not answer. She was distracted instead by the huge African.
“Emiline?” he asked again.
She gawked as Gideon easily lifted a heavy log and added it to the fire.
“What?”
“The news from Harrodsburg.”
“He’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen,” she said finally.
“Harrodsburg, Emiline, Harrodsburg. We so look forward to your report on Mondays.”
“Do you?” she asked, at last tearing her eyes away from Gideon.
While John made himself comfortable on the second stool, Uriah rolled his eyes. “Of course we do, we wouldn’t hear a thing without it. Tell me, is there any news of the Lewis family?”
“Mister Carson,” Emiline suddenly snapped, “as I have reported on all Mondays, the Lewis family, what’s left of them, boarded a raft and sailed away. They left behind no word as to how to find then, no family and few friends. And is it any wonder? They were quite difficult to understand, you know, what with that Quaker way of speaking. And should they return, I’ll be more than pleased to have Mister Montigue fire his cannon to alert you.” She paused, allowing her voice to soften. “However, there is one bit of news.”
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