Impending Love and Madness

by Laura Freeman

  Bryce grinned. “Does it matter? I know horses.”

  Zach leaned against the fence rail in a casual pose. “What do you think about this year’s foals?”

  “Good potential. Ought to fetch a good price when you sell them.”

  “I won’t be selling them for several years.” Zach tugged on the brim of his hat. “Better get them out of this sun.”

  “I’m waiting for the lead mare to come closer,” Bryce said. “I always like to take her in first.”

  “Phantom.” Zach remembered the gray mare with a black mane and tail. “She’s been around since I was a boy.” He held out his hand for the halter and lead rope. “Do you mind if I lead her in?”

  “You were in the Union cavalry?”

  “Infantry.”

  Bryce snickered. “No one who owns a horse chooses to walk in a war.”

  Confederates provided their own horses. “I enlisted against my grandfather’s wishes so no horse, but I remember how to care for them.”

  Bryce handed over the equipment.

  Zach waited for Phantom to spot him and approached from the side to avoid the blind spot in front. He talked to her in a low, calm voice and held out his hand to allow her to sniff his scent. He took a position on the left side near her head and stroked her neck. He slipped the halter noseband in place and moved the crown behind her ears. He buckled the halter and led the mare to the gate. Her foal followed.

  Bryce opened the gate. “She likes the second stall on the right. Don’t forget the piss bucket.”

  Zach put her in the stall with her foal and looked for a bucket. He placed it under the mare in time to catch her urine. It kept the straw cleaner longer.

  He carried the bucket outside the stall and locked the door.

  Bryce escorted another mare inside with her foal tagging along.

  When they were done, Bryce and Zach fed the mares and added water to the buckets. The man who had mucked the stalls boarded the wagon with a load of manure and wet straw. Bryce told the driver to wait and extended his hand to Zach. “I have to head to the barn by the lake. Lot of work on a place this size.”

  Zach shook his hand. “I appreciate your help.”

  “You’re not a bad guy for a Yank.”

  “You’re not a bad guy for a Reb.”

  “Seymour didn’t ask the major what side we were on when he hired us,” Bryce said. “Should we pack?”

  Zach shook his head. “The war is over, but who’s the major?”

  “Vance Edwards,” Bryce said. “He’s been our commanding officer the past two years.”

  “I’d like to meet Vance. Ask him to join me for supper.”

  “I’m sure he’d like to meet you.”

  ****

  Zach spent the afternoon in the study reviewing the ledgers in which Seymour had recorded the income and expenses for Ravenswood. He could find nothing wrong in his accounting. Money had run short with the sale delayed, and Seymour had cut as many expenses as possible.

  He closed the book and stared at the portrait of Elijah Ravenswood on the wall to his right.

  The portrait had been painted shortly after Elijah’s marriage to the fair Rachel Young of Philadelphia during happier times. Years later, Rachel had taken their son, Clayton, to her hometown amid rumors of Elijah’s infidelity. She never returned to Ravenswood, but Clayton visited when he was older and arrived with his bride, Allison. His parents. They had moved to the cabin by the lake when Zach was a baby.

  In the portrait Elijah had dark hair and whiskey-colored eyes, a far cry from the white haired frail man he had last seen. Zach bore little family resemblance. Clayton had resembled his fair mother, and Zach had inherited his father’s blond hair and mother’s sour apple green eyes.

  Seymour burst through the door. He was immaculately dressed, but his eyes were bloodshot and dark circles emphasized his deep-set eyes. “What are you doing in my study?”

  Zach didn’t move. With Seymour in front of him, he could study any resemblance to Elijah’s portrait. He could see none. His grandfather possessed a strong square jaw and piercing eyes. Seymour had a weak chin and avoided eye contact. He couldn’t confront Seymour about his illegitimacy without opening wounds of guilt and shame. The topic was better ignored. His remark was a different matter. When had Seymour claimed Elijah’s study as his own? “Isn’t there a room next door where you did your work?”

  Seymour shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I moved my belongings in here when Elijah took ill.”

  Zach lifted the ledger. “I’ve been reviewing the accounts. He opened the heavy leather-bound book and flipped to the last marked page. “I see you kept the entries current.”

  “It was my job to oversee the financial well-being of Ravenswood.”

  “I appreciate your diligence in my absence,” Zach said. “I’d like a list of the domestic staff and any grooms you dismissed. I might want to rehire them.”

  “If you reviewed the numbers, the debt at Ravenswood won’t allow any hiring.” Seymour pointed to the bottom desk drawer. “May I?”

  He removed a metal box and opened it. All the bills, receipts, and invoices were sorted by month. He placed a stack on the desk top. “These are the outstanding bills I haven’t been able to pay.”

  Zach examined the invoices. Seymour had been telling the truth when he said the funds from last year had been depleted. The farm depended upon the annual sale of the mature horses to pay for feed, equipment, household necessities, and taxes. “Do you think we could attract enough buyers this late in the summer to sell the trained horses?”

  Although he kept his head lowered, Zach could see a sly grin appear on Seymour’s face.

  “It’s the only way to pay the debts, sir.”

  He paused, waiting for Seymour to admit to the sale. “I’ll need to send out an advertisement.”

  “Allow me, sir,” Seymour volunteered. “I have old ones I can use as a reference for the wording.”

  “I’ll want to see the flier before you send it out,” Zach called as Seymour left the room. He had given him an opportunity to confess, but instead Seymour had denied any plans.

  He needed to clear his head. Zach saddled one of the geldings in the carriage house and rode to the family burial plot on the high ground near a grove of trees. The grave of his great-grandfather, Gabriel, was in the center with a large stone. On his left were markers for his two wives and on the right was the fresh grave of his grandfather, Elijah Ravenswood and an empty grave beside him. Rachel had been buried in Philadelphia. Zach’s parents and brother Paxton were in another row with space for wives and children. He knelt by Pax’s grave. “I made it home, Pax. I wish you had, too.”

  From the gravesite he could see the cabin by the lake. Memories of his parents and brother filled those walls. That was home. He surveyed the farm’s fenced pastures, the run-in sheds, storage sheds, and training rings. Horses were separated by age. Yearlings were taught verbal commands and accustomed to a saddle blanket and long reins. The two and three-year olds were introduced to equipment and the weight of a rider. The four and five-year olds were saddled or hitched to a vehicle and taught to maneuver.

  Training a horse properly involved hands-on work. Ethan and Harry would find plenty of work at Ravenswood, but to pay them he would need a profitable sale. Pay. There had been no entries for wages to Vance Edwards or his men. What arrangement had Seymour made with his hires?

  ****

  Zach entered the dining room where Seymour was talking to the man he had recognized as military. The major. Vance removed his hat to reveal straight brown hair and a high forehead. A scar was visible near his hairline. His droopy mustache and goatee covered most of his face. His brown eyes were lined and tired. He extended his hand as Seymour introduced them. “This is Vance Edwards, Ravenswood’s foreman.”

  “Bryce mentioned you,” Zach said. “I’m glad you could join us.”

  Mrs. Graves served the food while Zach talked with Vance. Seymour concentr
ated on his meal, but slight reactions betrayed his interest in their conversation.

  “Are you from the area, Vance?”

  “No, I’m from Virginia.”

  “I toured the Virginia countryside during the war,” Zach said. “What part are you from?”

  “The western part.”

  Vance was cautious, but Zach remained friendly, hoping to learn more. “I was only as far west as Harper’s Ferry. I served in the Twenty-ninth Ohio Veteran Volunteer Infantry.”

  “I was in the cavalry.”

  “Who was your commanding officer?”

  “John Mosby.”

  Zach didn’t reply. Mosby’s Raiders had formed shortly before Gettysburg. The Twenty-ninth Ohio had skirmished against them after the Confederate retreat. It didn’t take the accomplished Southern riders long to gain a reputation for lightning strikes. Its small bands on horseback attacked and withdrew before a response by Union forces could be organized. The raiders disappeared into the countryside like ghosts on a foggy night.

  “I’m afraid I was fighting in Tennessee and Georgia during your attacks in the Shenandoah Valley.” He noted the .44 caliber Colt army revolver worn in Vance’s belt holster. Mosby’s raiders preferred revolvers to rifles. They were deadly shots as well as expert horsemen. His foreman was a dangerous man.

  “If your reputation is true, my horses are in good hands,” Zach said. “How many of the men working at Ravenswood are under your command?”

  “Three.”

  Was he telling the truth? It didn’t matter. Four trained soldiers was an army next to the old men who had worked for his grandfather and had remained. Would Ethan and Harry be walking into trouble or would they help to even the odds?

  Mrs. Graves served chicken halves. “Will Sister Lucia be joining you?”

  “No,” Seymour said, “but she’ll need a plate delivered to her room.”

  “I was looking forward to meeting Sister Lucia,” Zach said. “I wanted to thank her for taking care of my grandfather.”

  “She isn’t feeling well,” Seymour said. “I’m allowing her to stay on until she’s strong enough for the trip to the convent.”

  “I’m sorry to hear she isn’t well. Of course she’s welcomed to stay as long as necessary.” Zach sliced into the tender meat. “Have you finished that flier we talked about? I’d like to start on repairs at Ravenswood, but I’ll need funds. When do you think we can have the auction?”

  “Vance thinks we can send the word out and have plenty of buyers by July 29.”

  “That soon?” It was the date on the flier Zach had seen at Fred Kettler’s store. He turned to Vance. “How many horses do you think I’ll be able to sell?”

  “Two dozen,” Seymour blurted before Vance could answer. His gaze was directed at the major, sharing a silent message.

  “Are they all trained for saddle and harness?”

  “They’re all in fine shape and ready to be put to work,” Vance said. “You should have a profitable sale.”

  “Do you figure a hundred fifty dollars each?”

  “More,” Vance said. “The demand for horses is high because of the conflict between the states.”

  “You mean the bloody war,” Zach said. “It made me cry to see the horses crippled and slaughtered on the battlefields. The only thing more of a waste were the corpses of men left to rot in the sun while we marched to our next confrontation.”

  “Who did you serve under, Zach?”

  “Who didn’t I serve under? Hooker, Meade, Sherman.”

  “Sherman?”

  “He took us for a march through Georgia.” A flash of hatred sparked in Vance’s eyes. “We fought on opposite sides, Vance. But we fought.” He glanced at Seymour. “I respect you.” The implication hung in the air.

  “You were on the winning side,” Vance said. “I bet you have more to show for your labors and sacrifices than the worthless paper money we were given.”

  “My Union wages will help pay the bills until the auction,” Zach said. “And pay your salary if you and your men don’t want to work for a Yankee.”

  “Your money is better than any I’ve seen these past years. Seymour promised our pay and a bonus after the sale.”

  He had an answer to the absence of wages in the ledger. Vance trusted Seymour more than he did.

  Seymour surveyed the others. “The sale of the horses could net more than three thousand dollars.”

  “You’ll be a rich man, Zach,” Vance said. “I envy you. I have land but nothing to grow on it. I could take my pay in horses instead and start my own farm.”

  Zach stabbed the bird on his plate. “Take my advice, Vance, and raise chickens instead.” He looked at Seymour. “From what I can decipher from the books, the sale of the horses barely pays the bills from one year to the next, isn’t that right, Seymour?”

  “Ravenswood is an expensive place to maintain, but your grandfather always paid his debts.”

  Zach took a bite and looked from one man to the other. “I plan to do the same.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day Zach joined Vance at the pasture holding the older horses that would be auctioned. He had brought a list of each horse with its description to match with the actual inventory. If Vance was interested in horses, he could be holding a few back from the sale to claim as his own.

  Vance ordered Bryce to lead one horse forward at a time for Zach to examine and evaluate. It would have been nice to have Harry’s expertise to help him, but he knew what flaws to look for that might lower the price.

  Bryce escorted a tan mare with a brown mane into the training ring. “Here’s a beauty, Major.”

  Zach examined her joints and conformation. Bryce led her around to detect any lameness or health problems. Zach rubbed her muzzle. “She’s a gentle girl. What’s her name?”

  “Peaches.”

  Zach wrote a five next to Peaches’ name with five being the highest for ranking the horses.

  “Put her with the best ones,” Vance said.

  “Yes, Major.” Bryce led the mare to a separate fenced area.

  “The war is over. Why do your men still address you as major?”

  “Habit,” he said. “What rank were you, Zach?”

  “I was a sergeant when I mustered out. I quit college to join. My grandfather wasn’t happy with my decision, but he eventually accepted it.”

  “My father’s death prevented me from going to college, although I had little interest in books or studying. A degree wouldn’t have helped to run the farm. I learned that through trial and error.”

  “That’s how I plan to learn how to run Ravenswood,” Zach said. “It would have been easier if my grandfather had lived long enough to pass on his knowledge.”

  “The future is unpredictable,” Vance said. “I was going to be a gentleman of leisure. Then the war came. It took my wife and son.” His brow furrowed and a sadness entered his voice. “The war took everything.”

  “Not quite,” Zach said. “We survived.”

  “You’re too young to have been married and lost the love of your life.”

  “But I am in love.” Zach’s voice betrayed his excitement. “I’m hoping she visits soon.”

  Vance showed a rare smile. “I look forward to meeting her.”

  They worked on evaluating the horses through Friday, but Zach was unable to gleam any more information out of Vance about any subterfuge plans Seymour might have designed. The evaluations appeared above board so why had Seymour lied about the original flier? It was time to confront him.

  Zach found Seymour in the study seated at his grandfather’s desk. He stood. “I was looking for the inventory for the sale.”

  “Vance has it. We finished rating the horses today. He made a list for the sale.” Zach looked around the room, giving Seymour a chance to vacate the desk so he could claim it. Seymour finally took the hint and stood. Zach claimed his seat. “He made a copy for me. Would you like one as well?”

  “No need.
I trust Vance to prepare everything for the sale.”

  “It’s remarkable how quickly you arranged the auction.”

  “I’ve done it in years past,” Seymour said. “Elijah picked a date, and I would make the necessary contacts.”

  “But it took months to prepare.” Zach withdrew a sales announcement from the top desk drawer and placed it on the desk. “The printers did a good job with the flier. Have all of them been sent out?”

  “Yes, yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Zach asked. “Don’t you mean a week ago?” He withdrew the one Fred had given him from his coat pocket and spread it next to the other. They were identical except for a notation on the new one that Zachary Ravenswood would conduct the sale. “Why the lie, Seymour?”

  His face reddened, and he snatched Zach’s flier and examined it. He returned the paper to the desk. “I was desperate, sir. The money was running out after your grandfather’s death, and you had not sent word when you would be mustered out. As you can see for yourself, Ravenswood needed funds. As the family accountant, I arranged a sale and hoped you would return in time to supervise, which you did.”

  It was all plausible, but Zach’s instincts cried otherwise. “I’m glad you took the initiative, Seymour. I hope that in the future you don’t feel it necessary to lie to me.”

  He bowed his head. “Of course, sir. I am deeply ashamed of my behavior. I hope you will overlook it.”

  The contrition appeared natural to Seymour, like a part in a play, but was it sincere? He had seen plenty of soldiers give lip service to the officers only to insult them behind their backs. “Don’t let it happen again.” Zach placed both fliers in the drawer, but noted Seymour’s clenched fists before he spun on his heels and departed.

  Elijah had provided for Seymour, but he had never acknowledged him as his son. It was a secret that everyone knew but never spoke of. Most bastard children didn’t inherit. The church said they were soulless and wouldn’t allow them to be buried on hallowed ground. It was pulpit blackmail to discourage fornication and encourage marriage if a child resulted from a premarital union. Had Elijah included Seymour in his original will? Zach had always treated Seymour as an employee in his grandfather’s home. Did he expect anything different?