Probable Claws

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Jeddie, I hear your mother wants you to marry. Now,” Catherine said this flatly.

  “Every day she mentions someone, lists her good qualities.” He shrugged.

  “I’m sure each of those girls does possess good qualities. Your mother is hard to please. She’s looked them over.” She paused. “But you have not.”

  “Miss Catherine, I like being by myself.”

  “I understand that. I did, too, until I met John.” She decided not to discuss how her heart knocked her ribcage when he lifted her down from Reynaldo the first time she’d met him. “If I can arrange with Father for you to have your own cabin, do you think you can keep it up? It’s a lot of work, cleaning, keeping the fires going, cooking for yourself, tending the garden. Life truly is easier if there’s two.”

  “Do you think he might…might give me one?”

  “Let me work on him. Right now there’s only one empty cabin, down near the weaving cabin. You wouldn’t be around as many people as you are now. It’s at the end of the row and the weaving cabin isn’t but so close. You truly will be alone.”

  “I would like that.” He smiled. “I’d rather be with the horses.”

  “Yes, I understand.” She smiled her dazzling smile at this young man she adored.

  Working together with the horses, playing with the horses as children, they’d grown close, could almost read each other’s thoughts. Jeddie was better at it than Catherine, three years his senior. Jeddie’s being a slave never occurred to Catherine. She took him and his station for granted. He, on the other hand, was far more careful. Being young, Jeddie deferred to all the older people whether it was Ewing, who in fact owned him, or Bettina. Jeddie watched, kept his mouth shut except with Catherine.

  “I don’t know if I could be married. Look how Bumbee always fights with Percy. He lies to her all the time. She throws him out. Takes him back. And my mother. She and my father get along but I don’t think they love each other anymore. I don’t want to be like that.”

  “Does make you think, and I suppose it’s as easy to marry the wrong person as the right one. But then, my father and mother were devoted to each other. You see my father visit her grave, bring her flowers?” He nodded, she continued. “Bettina and her late husband also cherished each other. And now she’s found a spark, something with DoRe. I do believe it’s mutual. Jeddie, you just never know.”

  “I guess,” he replied without enthusiasm.

  Smiling, Catherine promised, “I’ll see what I can do.” Looking toward the stable she sighed. “Yancy Grant. I see Ralston leading his horse into the stable.”

  “He’s a hard man.” Jeddie pegged him. “But he rides, still rides with that smashed-up knee. Bet it hurts.”

  “Bet it does,” she agreed.

  They reached the stable and Ralston ran out to help Catherine down. Tall and skinny, he would soon be seventeen. While not a gifted rider like Jeddie, he was a good hand with a horse. Cleaning tack in the center aisle was little Tulli, intent on his task. Next to him, Catherine’s two-year-old, JohnJohn, handed him a clean rag he had dipped in water. JohnJohn performed this with great seriousness.

  “You’re learning, JohnJohn. And Tulli is very good at what he does.”

  The little boy, the spitting image of his father, grinned, then babbled, “I’ll be the best.”

  “We’ll see, but if you are, son, don’t brag about it.” Catherine placed her hand on his head.

  She loved him but she felt she would be more interested in him when he was self-sufficient and could read and write. Unlike her sister, Catherine did not feel she was a natural mother. But she truly loved JohnJohn and, in her way, she loved Jeddie like a younger brother. She didn’t think about love much, really.

  “Tulli, where’s my husband?”

  “He walked up to the house with Mr. Yancy. He lent Mr. Yancy a walking stick, too. Should I go down and fetch Ruth?”

  Ruth was everybody’s mother and she took care of Catherine’s son and Rachel’s two daughters, as well as any other child sent to her.

  “Finish the bridle, clean up. Then you can walk him down there.” She addressed JohnJohn. “JohnJohn, you clean up, too. Have you seen Sweet Potato today?”

  JohnJohn nodded.

  “Ralston put him up top, held him, and I led Sweet Potato around.” Tulli beamed.

  “Good. Very good.” Catherine brushed her short jacket, snapped a towel at her boots. “Well, I’d better go up to the house. Was Yancy in a good mood?”

  Ralston pursed his lips. “For him.”

  “I see. Well, boys, I’ll ride tomorrow. Jeddie, I’ll expect you, let’s go early.”

  When she left for the house, Ralston turned to the young man, a few years his senior. “News?”

  Jeddie fudged it. “She’ll try to get Momma off her marriage ideas.”

  “I’d sure like to get married.” Ralston’s smile grew wider. “Keep me warm at night.”

  “Ha.” Jeddie shook his head.

  “Your dog can keep you warm,” Tulli opined.

  “Oh, Tulli, you don’t know nothing.” Ralston also shook his head.

  Up at the house, Ewing, John, and Yancy enjoyed the comfortable chairs in Ewing’s library. Serena brought featherlight biscuits, fresh-churned butter, various jams, hot coffee as well as a pot of tea. Ewing offered spirits but Yancy declined.

  “I am trying to moderate my habits.”

  Ewing, hands now clasped over his chest, nodded. “Wise.”

  “Ah, Catherine.” John stood as his wife entered, followed by Yancy, who bowed, and Ewing who kissed her on the cheek.

  “Have I disturbed a conference?”

  “No, no dear. Do sit down. Yancy was outlining a race program for next spring.”

  She took a seat offered by her husband. “Mr. Grant, I believe we could all use a diversion. You’ve come up with a good one.”

  Expanding with praise from a beautiful woman and a renowned horsewoman at that, he lowered his voice. “Perilous times. You go to the blacksmith, people are arguing. Pestalozzi’s Mill. Arguing about prices, the value of money dropping, Mr. Jefferson’s ideas about how we should proceed and then those ideas of others, in the opposite direction.”

  Ewing, conciliatory, per usual, offered, “You’re right, Yancy, right. But then you foresaw much of what was to pass before we fought England. Perhaps it is in the nature of men to argue. Each man thinks he has a better plan.”

  “True. Think of our neighbors who returned to England or fled to Nova Scotia rather than join the rebellion, as they put it. But that was clear. The wrong done to us was so clear. This, I don’t know. I was talking with Sam Udall. His focus is that without a national monetary policy we are doomed.”

  “Yes,” Ewing simply replied.

  “That is why your plan for sport, for shifting people’s focus, is so wise.” Catherine smiled at Yancy. “Perhaps their mood will lift. People will become more cooperative simply because the burden has been lightened for a short time. They’ve needed a good time.”

  John, not a political bone in his body, paid little attention to this, but as a former combat major in the Army, he worried about future bloodshed. “Gentlemen, you know far more of the intricacies of this than I, but I do not want to be called to fire against my fellow citizens.”

  Catherine reached for his hand. “Dear, surely it won’t come to that.”

  “Let us pray that you are right, Madam.” Yancy leaned forward, a crunch could be heard in his knee. “What I propose is we host races, match races as done in England. An owner can pay a fee to run against a horse he feels is well matched with his own. Both owners must agree. We can’t promote lopsided races. As this is so new we would race only one day, let us say a card of four races, the last one being the highest contest.”

  “Spring or summer?” Ewing inquired.

  “Late spring perhaps. Early spring can be so wet,” Yancy replied.

  “Where would you hold the races?” Catherine’s curiosity rose. />
  “Along the James. The Levels. We might need to do a bit of work but that seems the best place. The soil has much sand.” He took a breath. “Sam Udall knows the owner. Of course, he would need compensation, but I do think this is possible. I come to you because you own one of the best horses in Virginia. Reynaldo. If you would consider running him, I think great interest would be aroused.”

  Catherine, silent, waited for her father to speak. She actually owned Reynaldo, Crown Prince, and Serenissima, a wonderful brood mare. Ewing, not ignorant of good horseflesh, lacked his daughter’s gift, but this being business, appearances had to be kept.

  “You flatter us, Yancy.” Ewing nodded slightly.

  “Might you express some interest?”

  “I am intrigued. I will need to discuss this with my daughter, of course; she is the one training the boys, as she calls them. But I am intrigued and I do think your idea of some form of entertainment valuable in these times. We are spread so far apart. This would bring us all together.”

  After he left, John, arm around his wife’s waist, said, “You shouldn’t be riding close to the summer. I wonder should you be working so hard now?”

  “Honey, it’s only twelve weeks.” Catherine had known for twelve weeks that she was pregnant. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

  “What would you like. Another boy or a girl?” She put her arm around his waist now.

  “A little girl who looks just like her mother, her beautiful, radiant mother.” John, not the most verbal of men, came up with radiant, which impressed his wife.

  “You.” She kissed him.

  Ewing walked back having seen Yancy to the door. Roger, the butler, escorted Yancy down to the stable, glad to be out of the house for a bit. He offered the walking stick for Yancy to keep, compliments of Ewing, but once mounted Yancy handed it back.

  Up at the house, Catherine and John sat with Ewing for a moment.

  “What do you think, dear?”

  “If I’m going to run a horse, Father, it has to be for a big purse.”

  “Should we win, it would bring people here to breed, would it not?”

  “Yes. It is a good idea but I would like to see The Levels before agreeing to anything. And I want to hear about purses.”

  “Yes, yes.” Ewing nodded. “I expect Yancy is trying to see who might be interested and then he and Sam will gather the monies for handsome purses. Silver cups, too, I should think. We can’t let the English outdo us on such a pursuit.”

  John smiled. “We can’t let Yancy outdo us.”

  This made Ewing laugh, then he stared at his son-in-law. “John, do you think there might be violence? Do you think you might be called should this come to pass?”

  “I pray that won’t happen but yes, I would be called. We fought so long and so hard to free ourselves from the king. We can’t fall apart now. We must hold, find some agreement.”

  “Ah, John, I fear fighting is the way of men.”

  “Perhaps we can be different. We must be different,” John said with feeling.

  Catherine, sitting down and sampling a biscuit for she was hungry, listened. “The solution to these competing ideas is to let the women organize the men.”

  “My dear.” Ewing’s eyebrows shot upward.

  “Lysistrata.” She giggled.

  Ewing explained to John, not a well-educated man, about Aristophanes’s play in which the women go on a sex strike to knock some sense into the men.

  John laughed, turned to his beautiful wife. “That would work. Yes, it would.”

  The three laughed then Catherine, as though as an afterthought, pounced. “Father, if we do race, it will be Jeddie who rides. He will need quiet, good sleep. He does not have that under his mother’s roof.”

  “Felicia can be strong-minded. Rachel mentioned this to me the other day.” Ewing raised his eyebrows again. “Jeddie’s situation must be more pressing than before.”

  “Felicia wants him out of the house so she’s pushing him to get married. That’s what I think,” Catherine posited.

  “I see. Well, he is of an age. What is he now?”

  “Nineteen, Father.”

  “Ah yes.” A smile spread across Ewing’s face. “No girl in sight?”

  “No. He needs proper exercise, needs to exercise the horses. I must work with him. He bursts with talent but he’s raw. He’s never run in a true race.”

  “Yes, yes.” Ewing wrinkled his brow as John watched his wife maneuver her beloved father.

  “You have an empty cabin at some distance from the weaving cabin. That’s a possibility.”

  “Well, we can’t have Felicia”—Ewing exhaled—“causing a loss of concentration. I’ll ask Charles to look at the cabin. Is it tight? The boy would need wood. Does he know how to cook? It is quiet down there.”

  “What a wonderful idea. I’m sure Charles is the right person to make certain it is suitable.”

  Ewing said, almost as if to himself, “Nineteen and not a girl in sight.”

  “Don’t you start,” Catherine chided him.

  “I was just remembering being nineteen.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Yesterday. It seems like yesterday. I can recall the moment I saw your mother as though it were yesterday. I loved her the moment I saw her. Perhaps it will hit Jeddie that way, too.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Catherine rose, leaned down, and kissed him. “Thank you for helping me with the horses, for helping Jeddie.”

  Catherine and John left. Ewing, lost in memory for a time, did recall every detail when he first beheld Isabelle. He had returned from the Grand Tour, his father had some resources but Ewing wished to strike out on his own. A gala affair at Williamsburg, his best friend from college was getting married and he was invited. Who couldn’t have a good time in Williamsburg? There with the bridal party was a goddess, a true goddess. Isabelle, slender, hair in a modest becoming coiffure, somewhat loose around her face to frame it, glowing in a rose silk dress, ribbons woven into exquisite lace around her bodice. He was introduced to her by the groom’s family. He couldn’t speak. He stammered. She touched his forearm, remarking how dry the day was. A bit of punch would help. Music. Her cultivated voice was music. As he escorted her to the monstrously large silver punch bowl, he vowed he would win this woman if it took him years. She had beaus far more handsome than he, rich men, sons of rich men, military men, men fell all over themselves to court her. He listened to her. He listened with all his heart and he spoke from the heart. She fell in love with him. He wanted to know her, not possess her. She, young as she was, felt the difference. Loving Isabelle was the best decision he had ever made. He hoped it would happen to Jeddie. A man, slave or free, thrives with love, grows with love, becomes a better man.

  Yes, he would see to the cabin.

  14

  January 10, 2017

  Tuesday

  Crouching down at the chink in the back door of Gary’s office, Pewter whispered, “I know you’re in there.”

  “That spider isn’t coming out,” Tucker advised.

  “Why would you want her to? She’s big. Let her be.” Mrs. Murphy’s whiskers swept forward.

  “So I can chase her.”

  “Ugh,” the tiger replied.

  “Look, we chase mice and they’re bigger than this spider.” Pewter felt bold because, of course, the spider wasn’t coming out.

  “Mice have four legs. Spiders have eight. Gross.”

  Tucker, agreeing with Mrs. Murphy, said, “She does have a point, Pewter. Eight legs. Too many legs.”

  Pewter edged just a little closer to the chink, squinted. She could see the spider in there. Seeing the cat so close, the spider lifted her two front legs, the long ones. Pewter backed up.

  As the animals discussed the merits of chasing mammals versus insects versus spiders, the three people in Gary’s workroom hovered at the drafting table.

  Tazio pointed to the corner fireplace in the drawings. “The big wood-burn
ing fireplace has the far outside corner, the small propane fireplace sits in the corner near the bathroom, smart. You need the steady heat by your pipes. He thought of everything.”

  “Propane isn’t cheap. Prices go up and down. I can cut my firewood. Storms bring down branches,” Harry stated.

  Tazio came back. “The cost of filling the propane tank will vary. Let’s say, since you have a big tank, fewer trips out for Tiger Fuel.” She named a local company. “Eight hundred dollars. Will that last the entire winter? Who knows? We’ve had bitter long winters and surprisingly short ones, but for the sake of argument, let’s say your winter propane bill totals sixteen hundred dollars. That’s a small price for unfrozen pipes, a small price for you to walk into the work space, which will be reasonably warm. You build a fire in the traditional fireplace and soon enough you can remove your sweater, inhale the wonderful aroma of a wood fire. You’re being perverse. You have a propane stove in the tack room and you told me you have one in the bedroom. Just do it.”

  “She’s right.” Cooper nodded.

  “Well, okay.” Harry knew perfectly well Tazio was right, just as she had known Gary was right. “So will you take the drawings, turn them into blueprints? And I am happy to listen to ideas you might have in addition to Gary’s.”

  Tazio smiled sadly. “He was a mentor to me. Whatever I might suggest would be or will be something small, perhaps something decorative. How he wanted to build you La Petite Trianon.”

  The three, silent for a moment, heard the animals at the back entrance. Brinkley, quietly attending to Tazio, rose to investigate.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Brinkley.” Pewter’s voice carried excitement. “I have trapped in the chink the world’s biggest ground spider. We need to get National Geographic here.”

  The yellow Lab laid flat down, nose to the floor. “I can kinda see her.”

  That fast the spider popped out, waved her forelegs at the big dog, scooted back in. The dog wiggled backward, scared.

  “She’s dangerous,” Pewter warned. “I’ve been keeping her at bay.”

  Mrs. Murphy and Tucker looked at each other. Best to keep quiet.