The sisters looked at each other.
Rachel said, “Men are fools. To die because of low gossip.”
Catherine inhaled deeply. “What choice do they have? Who will do business with Jeffrey if he is dishonored? And even if they do because of his newfound riches, he will never have any respect. We wouldn’t fight a duel but we don’t need to. We have nothing to prove and little is expected of us. You and I can work in our husbands’ shadows and who will know what we do or do not do?”
“Catherine, you can’t hide your abilities.” Rachel wasn’t having any of it.
“Not completely, but I can certainly disarm men. They can only try to beat one another down.”
“Our husbands aren’t like that.” Rachel’s lower lip stuck out.
“Rachel, my husband is a war hero and yours proved himself at Saratoga. It wasn’t his fault he was captured. Only a deranged man would challenge our husbands, because they are who they are, they could shrug it off. Or they could magnanimously refuse, citing their skills at firearms and fencing due to their military training.”
“I never thought of that,” Rachel admitted.
“Here, let’s go to the stable. I’ve got what he needs.”
As they walked out in the cool early spring air, Rachel wondered, “Do you think John and Charles can get there in time?”
“They just might. Even if Jeffrey finds Yancy and delivers his challenge via a letter or slapping Yancy in the face with his gloves, it would take at least a day to arrange the duel, find a quiet place to have it. There is some hope.”
“What if Jeffrey kills Yancy?” Rachel inquired.
“Unlikely.”
“I don’t much care for Yancy. He’s pompous.”
“He can be,” Catherine agreed. “But don’t forget during the war he risked his fortune, he openly worked against the king. Had we lost he would have been hung along with our father. He is worth some consideration. But yes, Jeffrey is far more likeable and even this wild behavior is understandable.”
“I suppose.”
They reached the stable as Charles, small travel bag slung over his shoulder and Piglet racing in front of him, emerged from the house.
John looked up as Serena came down with a big basket of goods.
Catherine stepped inside. “Charles wants to go with you. He’s packed.”
“Good.” John smiled. “Ralston, will you run up to the big house? Tell Mr. Ewing what happened.”
Ralston tore out of the stable.
Catherine ordered Serena, “Go along. Tell Father we’re down here.”
She curtseyed, ran out of the stable.
Barker O. and Jeddie rapidly hooked up the simple wooden cart, painted a dark blue, harness all set. They drove around to the front and Jeddie hopped down. As he did so, Ewing puffed down from the big house.
On reaching the stable, the older man handed Charles a second lovely gun. “I have pieces of the story.”
“Father, we will tell you all, but our husbands haven’t a moment to spare.”
The sisters kissed their husbands, who then swung up into the cart.
Ewing, deeply troubled, ordered Jeddie, “Go with Barker O., Jeddie.” He then handed the two men brass passes, Number One and Number Four, having had the presence of mind to grab them.
As the cart rumbled down the packed dirt road, up at the main house cobblestones had been laid, Catherine and Rachel gave their father the details.
“To think this started at our house.” He shook his head.
“Father, you aren’t responsible for Yancy drinking too much and having a loose tongue.”
“I know.” He hung his head a moment, then looked up. “But what he said was designed to hurt Mrs. Holloway and inflame Jeffrey. Even drunk, he had to know a bit of what he was saying.”
“You approve of dueling, Father?” Rachel took his hand.
“No, but I see no other way. Go to court for slander? A man would be a laughingstock. Gentlemen use lawyers for business, not for matters of honor.”
“No honor in the courtroom?” Catherine’s eyebrows lifted upward.
“Precisely.” He half closed his eyes.
April 6, 1786 Thursday
Mignon moved the long wooden rolling pin over dough on the back table while Eudes minced potatoes brought up from basement storage. Fortunately, the potatoes held out, a few more eyes than usual but good. The basement, dry, provided excellent storage. The two big ovens cooked chickens, the smell of hickory filling the kitchen as it slowly burned.
Herbs hung upside down from rafters, that odor pleasing as well.
“I’m sure we’re past the last frost,” Eudes hopefully predicted.
“I hope so. I’ll be happy when the garden in the back gives us some early carrots. When all else fails, you can do all kinds of things with carrots, even make cake.”
“True.” He glanced up at the clock. “Where does the time go? We’ll have this food ready just in time. The crowds are picking up, Georgina’s happy, the girls are happy. The men are spending.”
“Don’t you ever wonder where they get all their money?”
He laughed. “Some I know. Others aren’t worth squat. They live off other people. The most worthless are the ones that haven’t had to work.”
“Why?”
“Oh,” he smiled, “they inherited just enough money to make bums out of them.” He paused. “Some good ones, of course.”
The chatter intensified in the tavern. The murmur of voices floated into the kitchen. A good sign, always a good sign.
Then everything was quiet.
“Hmm.” Eudes opened the kitchen door slightly to behold Jeffrey Holloway handing Yancy Grant a letter.
Yancy, who had stood as Jeffrey approached, opened it with his unused dinner knife, read it, threw it on the table. “I am happy to oblige. Let us give ourselves a week to put our affairs in order. Best we do this back home.”
People figured out what was transpiring.
“I agree. I traveled here as I didn’t want this to take more time than necessary. I thought I’d find you here. But I request that you tell no one but your second, as I don’t want my wife troubled.”
“No one will know other than our seconds.” Yancy sat back down as Maureen, Sheba, and DoRe walked into the room to everyone’s amazement.
“I told you he’d be here.” Sheba gloated.
Maureen, eyes narrowed, rounded on her husband. “You beast!”
“I am here because I knew Mr. Grant would be here. Now you must leave.”
Georgina rushed from her office, where Lolly had sped to warn her.
“What is the meaning of this?” Georgina demanded.
Binky picked up a thin log from the fire stack just in case. If the antagonists didn’t explode, the boss might.
DoRe moved next to Binky. He didn’t say anything but Binky was aware of a large presence by his right elbow.
“I’ve come to fetch my husband and put an end to this foolishness.” Maureen threw her shoulders back.
“Mrs. Holloway, your husband has barged in here to offend Mr. Grant. I would be happy if you would remove him.”
Binky looked up at DoRe. “That’s Mrs. Holloway?”
“Yes,” DoRe replied.
Binky dropped the log, walked toward Maureen. “Your runaway is in the kitchen. You promised a one-hundred-dollar reward.”
“What?” Maureen was taken aback.
“The little tiny kitchen lady described on the bill. She’s in the kitchen.” Binky persisted.
Sheba whispered in her mistress’s ear, “The thieving bitch.”
“If you have my slave, I will demand compensation for the time lost!” Maureen shouted, furious.
“I do not have your slave.” Georgina was wise enough not to block Maureen, Sheba, and DoRe heading for the kitchen.
Eudes, hearing it all, stood in front of Mignon, holding a meat cleaver.
As the door pushed open he warned, “You come near her and I will kill you.”
“Mignon, you slut, working in a whorehouse,” Sheba crowed.
Binky, also now in the kitchen, in his mind was already spending the money.
Jeffrey pushed past Sheba, nearly throwing her on the floor. “That is not our servant!”
Mignon had put on a bit of weight, looking healthier than she ever had in her life.
“I ought to know my own kitchen help,” Maureen spit.
He grasped her elbow, drew his face close to hers. “My dear, she is close, very close, but you have suffered many shocks. Let us not add one more.” He spoke to Eudes. “We are mistaken. I am very sorry.”
Sheba screamed, “It’s the thief. I know it!”
Jeffrey turned to DoRe. “DoRe, you knew the little woman. Is this she?”
“No, Sir, but she could be her sister. This woman is a little taller, lighter in color.” DoRe stared at Mignon, who now stood beside Eudes, cleaver still in his hand.
Jeffrey then said to Georgina, “I apologize for all this. I had no idea my wife and her lady’s maid were following me along with our coachman. As for my challenge to Yancy Grant, I do not apologize for that. He grievously insulted me and brought misery to my wife. She has suffered much in the last year.” He drew Maureen closer to him. While stiff, she did not resist.
Georgina, business first, looked at Maureen. “Madam, I am sorry for your troubles. I want you to know your husband has only enjoyed food here with business interests. The men like to come, we serve the best food in Richmond. But he doesn’t even look at the women.”
Sheba’s face fell.
“Thank you.” Jeffrey then spoke to everyone, but mostly for Sheba’s benefit. “My wife has witnessed her first husband’s murder. She has been cruelly buffeted by fate. Anyone who adds to her worries, who preys on her as she recovers, will answer to me. And Sheba, if you are hoping that I die in that duel, I will not. I intend to live and to see my wife smile again.”
Jeffrey may not have had the best education, but he had a pretty good sense of what had been going on.
Maureen relaxed a bit, leaning on him.
DoRe stepped forward to open the door. They walked through the hushed tavern, out into the front yard.
Binky had signed his own death warrant, but he was too stupid to know it.
Georgina clapped her hands together in the kitchen. “Back to work. We’ve got a full house and they’re hungry. Binky, carry out the breads. Send Lolly in here. Let’s get what we can on the tables.” She looked at Eudes, shaking now, nodded her head, and left.
Once outside, Jeffrey said to DoRe, “Walk my wife away from here. This is highly irregular. I will be right back.”
“You aren’t going to fight with Yancy now, are you?” Maureen looked at him with doe eyes.
“Not here. But I do need to settle with the proprietress for the uproar we have caused.”
DoRe, Sheba trailing behind, walked Maureen out to the sidewalk and a few steps away from the house. “Mrs. Holloway, shall I call a coach?”
A beauty was clattering toward them.
“Yes, yes, do. See if we can hire it. I will pay well, extremely well. I want to fly out of the city.”
As DoRe negotiated with the driver of the coach, the owner inside, Jeffrey tiptoed into the tavern. He motioned for Lolly, putting butter on the tables.
“Will you please fetch Georgina?”
Within a minute, Georgina, a bit flushed, walked up.
“Mr. Holloway.”
He reached into his inside coat pocket, pulling out five hundred dollars. “I do hope this will repair the problems I have caused.”
She looked at this large sum. “You are most generous, Sir.”
“If you will allow me, I would like to make good the terror caused to that poor woman in your kitchen. And I would also like you to know I am sorry about the reward postings. I did that to please my wife but I was wrong.”
“Of course.” She led him to the door, opened it, and stepped back.
Eudes and Mignon, tearstained face, looked up at him, dumbfounded.
“I deeply regret how you have been disturbed. Please accept this and if you have worries about anyone trying to declare you slave, I will see that manumission papers find you. You will be free even though you were not on Big Rawly.” He looked her straight in the eye.
Mignon dropped her eyes, half curtseyed, then took the two hundred dollars.
Each knew the other knew. Each played their part. Jeffrey turned and left.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She handed the money to Eudes. “I don’t know anything about money. You take care of it.”
“I…” He thought for a moment. “I will.” Then he held her close, tears also running down his cheeks. “I will take care of the money. I will take care of you. No one will harm you. I will kill anyone who tries.”
She held him tight. “I think you would.” She released her grasp and smiled at him. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. You just need to accept that you will be spending the rest of your life with me.”
The door opened, Lolly breezed in. “The animals are hungry!”
Outside, the owner of the coach, a fellow in his late fifties perhaps, beamed. He’d sold the coach, the harness, the horses, for two thousand dollars, a princely sum at an enormous profit.
DoRe climbed up, took the reins from the driver, then pointed down the street. “Mr. Holloway!”
Jeffrey, outside now, beheld John and Charles, Piglet leading the way, walking toward them.
“What are you doing here?” Jeffrey handed his wife up into the coach, then moved a bit away as she leaned out the window.
“We came to keep you out of trouble,” John replied.
“Uh, climb up into the coach. I am partially out of trouble and please let’s not discuss this in front of my wife. I will pay all your expenses. Thank you for trying to save me.”
Charles lifted up his hands. “Someone had to.”
Jeffrey walked back to the coach. “My dear, our neighbors will be riding with us.”
“Of course.” Maureen felt happier than she had in years.
She didn’t know the duel was set but she’d seen her husband declare his love in his own way. She believed he did want to make her happy.
Sheba, by the coach, pouted. “We will be squeezed in.”
“No, we won’t. You sit up with DoRe,” Maureen commanded.
Sheba’s face fell as Charles helped her up. She sat next to DoRe, who refused to look at her.
The men climbed in, then Piglet was lifted up, and he jumped into Charles’s lap.
The two-and-a-half-day trip allowed them to watch spring unfold from the falls of Richmond into the Piedmont. Spring, about ten days behind in the Piedmont, filled the air with fragrance. John and Charles kept offering to pay for lodging when they would stop for food, or to hire another coach that they might be less crowded.
Both Jeffrey and Maureen refused. And everyone had to admit it was a beautiful ride home, filled with talk of politics, of planting hay, corn, flax, even a bit of wheat.
The happiest creature was Piglet. He’d ridden in carts but never a coach-in-four. Surely there was no dog as stylish in Virginia.
November 22, 2016 Tuesday
Oak leaves shivered on trees. They turned gold or sometimes orange then brown. Many did not fall off the tree. Instead, they shook a little. If a breeze intensified, what seemed to be self-inflicted shaking grew more pronounced. The dried leaves would then loudly rustle. Harry often thought no other fall leaves sounded like oak. Virginia abounded in many types of oak. She couldn’t remember if it was forty or fifty or what.
“Susan, how many kinds of oak are in Virginia?”
Next to her friend in the Volvo, Susan shrugged. “I don’t know. Why do you think of these things?”
“I don’t know.” Harry smiled.
“No cat would waste time on that.” Pewter tossed off this criticism.
“No hu
man would waste time on catnip.” Tucker, next to Pewter in the backseat, stared out the window.
“Oh, yes they do,” the gray cat fired back. “They make catnip tea. Why you would want to waste a heavenly herb on tea, who knows?”
“All that catnip she harvested mid-September, hanging upside down in the high rafters of the tractor shed. How I wish we could get at it,” Mrs. Murphy dreamed.
“She’ll bring it down for Thanksgiving and she’ll also make you catnip socks for Christmas,” Tucker predicted.
“She is good about that,” Mrs. Murphy affirmed.
Back in the front seat, Harry asked, “Did you like target practice with the flintlock?”
“I did, actually,” Susan replied. “I’m glad you took me to the shooting range because I would have had a hard time without an instructor. What I found interesting was how good the pistol feels in your hand. Thanks for letting me use it.”
“Does, doesn’t it?” Harry nodded. “So many modern pistols are heavy. ’Course, most law enforcement people like Glocks. Coop uses a Glock. Actually, for a modern gun I still prefer a revolver.” She took a curve on Garth Road. “So many people are dead set against firearms, but I find shooting targets at home or going to the range relaxing. Also, when you consider the history of guns and rifles, that’s fascinating.”
“Today is the day Kennedy was shot in 1963, speaking of firearms.”
Harry thought a moment. “Right. Ever notice if you haven’t lived through an event yourself, you might pay attention but it doesn’t emotionally affect you too much? The people who remember it will be remembering where they were at the time. I’m glad we were born later.”
“Richard Neville was born today in 1428.” Susan held the hand rest as Harry turned right. “Speaking of dates, I’ve always been fascinated by the War of the Roses, and Neville was a brilliant man. I love Philippa Gregory’s books.”
“I think the world does.” Harry slowed on the country road although it was paved. “Some people have the knack of making history come to life. Academics are snotty about historical fiction. I think it’s a great way to learn.”
“You went to Smith. You aren’t an academic but you certainly received the best education.” Susan said this admiringly.
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