“He’s daft,” said Burley as Batterston had read the letter aloud. “We can’t eat tobacco, and he’s not caught in the middle of this madness.”
Burley did get back to Fair View, hours later than expected. He had detoured around a Confederate encampment and it had taken him miles out of his way.
“And wait till you hear,” he said as he swung down from the high wagon seat as Nate and Ewan unharnessed the horses. “Virginia has split!”
“What?” the others exclaimed in unison.
Burley nodded. “It’s true. The western part has decided to break off and re-join the Union. West Virginia, it’s called.”
“I don’t believe it,” Batterston scowled, snatching the newspaper Burley had brought with him.
“Then it will be a non-slave state?” Caitríona asked.
“Yep,” said Burley. “Folks out that way are mostly just small farmers who work the land theirselves anyhow. Not many of ‘em have slaves.”
Everyone but Batterston helped carry the supplies Burley had been able to procure into the root cellar – salt, flour and a little cane sugar.
“Is this all you could get?” asked Fiona worriedly.
“It was like pullin’ teeth to get this,” Burley told her. “Not much is makin’ it past Richmond anymore, and the folks who can get these supplies are chargin’ five times what they’re worth.”
Caitríona pulled a small ledger out of her apron pocket and recorded Burley’s purchases, making a point of asking him how much he’d had to pay or barter for everything, as he handed the surplus gold back to Batterston. No one was accepting Confederate paper money any longer, and no shop keepers in the South could exchange Union paper money without looking as if they were trading with the enemy. Gold and silver had become the most desirable currency.
The others all assumed that Caitríona had simply taken over Orla’s duties of keeping the plantation’s books. Only she and Batterston knew that she was keeping her own records as a safeguard.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” she had said to him soon after Orla’s death. “I know that Lord Playfair was this close,” she held up her thumb and finger an inch apart, “to having you hanged for stealing. Now that Playfair is gone, you may be thinking you can go back to your old ways, but I’m warning you, I’ll be watching.”
Batterston had glared at her and, for a moment, she thought he might strike her, but then he turned on his heel and stalked away.
“He’s dangerous,” worried Hannah, to whom Caitríona had confided everything, including where to find hers and Orla’s account books in the event something did happen to her.
“I know he is,” Caitríona agreed. “That’s why we’re keeping these as security.”
§§§
Conn blinked to find herself still sitting under her tree. She had no idea how much time had gone by, but the men were putting their tools away for the day, and the dismantled floorboards were being put to use as makeshift tables, set on sawhorses out in the grass. Soon, everyone was gathered round, eating and talking. Conn watched her mother forego food herself to wander among the others, thanking each and every one for his or her contribution.
After everyone had eaten and the leftover food was wrapped up and put away in the refrigerator, people filed away with promises to return the following day. Soon, only Abraham and Molly were left.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Abraham said, his scar pulling his face to the side as he smiled.
“I’m astonished,” Elizabeth said, her hands falling limply at her sides as she shook her head.
“It felt like a barn-raising,” Molly observed.
“Mmmm, more like a latrine-raising,” Conn said.
CHAPTER 25
In less than a week, the bathroom was nearly rebuilt. The new logs fit seamlessly with the old. All that remained to be completed was the roof.
Elizabeth took a break to drive to the general store to collect the mail, the first time she’d been there since the day the Walshes had snubbed Abraham. Conn and Will decided to tag along.
Mrs. Walsh was behind the counter as they entered the store. “Hello, Elizabeth,” she said. “What can I get for you?”
“Just my mail, please.”
“Nothing else?” Mrs. Walsh asked. “You haven’t been in for two or three weeks.”
“That’s right,” Elizabeth said sweetly as the doorbell tinkled behind them.
“Mrs. Mitchell?”
Conn turned to see a tall man removing a fedora to reveal thick gray hair, with a matching gray beard along his jawline, like Abraham Lincoln, she thought.
“I don’t expect you’ll remember me,” the man began. “Obediah Peregorn, Molly’s brother.”
“Of course I remember you, Mr. Peregorn,” Elizabeth said, shaking his hand. “And I cannot thank you enough for sending Lemuel and Buck with those logs. They’ve been such a help to us. It was so generous of you.”
He waved off her thanks. “Not at all. Glad to do it. As a matter of fact, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve got extra roof shingles from when Abraham repaired my barn, and if you could use them, I’d be more than glad to send them your way.”
“You are so kind,” Elizabeth said sincerely. “At the risk of taking advantage of your generosity, yes, we could use them.”
He chuckled. “Good. I’ll send them today with Buck and Lem.” He turned to Mrs. Walsh. “Mail, please, Betty.”
“Nothing else?” she asked, sounding displeased.
“No, no, I got everything I needed last Tuesday in Marlinton,” he said. “Ran into Abraham there,” he said to Elizabeth as Mrs. Walsh gathered his mail in a bundle. “He said you were there earlier.”
“Yes, we were,” Elizabeth smiled.
Conn’s eyes darted back and forth between her mother, Mr. Peregorn and Mrs. Walsh.
“Well, why in the world would you do your shopping there?” Mrs. Walsh asked in a voice much higher than normal, forcing a smile onto her face.
Elizabeth and Mr. Peregorn glanced at one another before she said, “You and your husband are perfectly free to do business with whomever you choose, Mrs. Walsh. And so are we.”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” asked Mrs. Walsh, no longer attempting to sound friendly.
“I mean that I will no longer tolerate the vicious gossip that you and your husband and your friends have propagated,” Elizabeth said, keeping her voice neutral. “Gossip that caused someone to want to set my house on fire. Nor will I do business with people who could treat Mr. Greene the way you and your husband have.”
“I’m afraid that goes for me, too, Betty,” Obediah Peregorn added genially, as if he was discussing the weather. “Abraham Greene is one of the best men I know. You won’t see any business from any of the Peregorns or any of our people. Not until you and Walter change your ways.”
He reached forward to retrieve the two bundles of mail Mrs. Walsh had set on the counter, handing one to Elizabeth.
“And that includes an apology to Mr. Greene,” Elizabeth said, sliding her mail into her purse.
“If it comes to that, I think you owe Mrs. Mitchell an apology as well,” said Obediah. “I’ve heard some mighty nasty talk in here the last good while. You should be ashamed. I know I am. I should have spoken up long ago.”
Conn grinned as Mrs. Walsh stood with her mouth hanging open. Mr. Peregorn held the door for Elizabeth and the children as they left the store together.
“Those roof shingles will be out your way later this morning,” he called, tugging the brim of his hat respectfully as he got into his truck.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said as he pulled away.
She hummed as she drove home. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning?”
Conn smiled broadly.
***
“Oh, Mr. Greene,” Elizabeth said a couple of days later as she inspected the finished bathroom, “it’s just like new. That fire might never have happened to look at the place.”
&nbs
p; Jed blushed furiously as she hugged him, saying, “And you were a tremendous help.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Everyone who helped was so kind,” she said. “I just don’t know how to thank them all enough.”
“I think they were happy to do it, Mrs. Mitchell,” Abraham said, surveying the new structure proudly. He turned to Conn. “I say we deserve an afternoon off for some fishing.”
“Yeah!” Jed grinned happily.
Within the hour, Abraham and all three children were piled into his pickup and bouncing along a dirt road to the river. Abraham got Will set up where he could sit on a rock and drop his line into the water while Jed and Conn waded out into the stream. They spread out, standing knee deep in the crystal clear water. Conn made a couple of casts, but her eye was drawn to the flashes of sunlight reflecting off the water….
§§§
By July, the weather was again sweltering, and tempers were running as short as the food supplies.
“Not grits again,” groaned Burley as he came in for breakfast.
“You’ll eat it and be grateful,” said Fiona irritably. “We could tell you stories –”
“I know, I know,” he grumbled. “The horrible famine.” He stuck a spoon in his bowl of thin, watery grits. “But I dream of a big breakfast of bacon and eggs, and real coffee…”
Caitríona smiled as she gave Deirdre a small bowl of the grainy cereal and a tiny spoon. She was as tired of their meager rations as everyone else, but the horror of the famine would never fade for anyone who lived through it. She might grimace, but she would never complain.
“You might like it this mornin’, Mr. Burley,” said Dolly. “I put a little bacon grease in for flavor.”
Batterston came into the kitchen and helped himself to a bowl. “I want the slaves to work in the southwest field today,” he said.
“Then you take ‘em,” said Burley. “We’ve got corn needs pickin’.” He waved his arm in a vaguely southern direction, toward the sheds. “I don’t know where you think you’re gonna put more tobacco. The sheds are full to the rafters from the last season you couldn’t get to auction. We need food, not more tobacco.”
“I could fire you for saying that,” Batterston threatened.
“You just try,” Burley returned, knowing it was an empty threat. “When this dadblasted war is over and life gets back to normal, then we’ll worry ‘bout tobacco. But for now, we need to get through this comin’ winter. And to do that, you need all of us. Or there won’t be no plantation for Lord High ‘n Mighty to come back to.”
Batterston scowled and went back to his small house, calling over his shoulder as he did so, “I don’t know why we even keep so many god-damned niggers on the place.”
A couple of days later, everyone at the house, including several slaves, were mustered to husk the huge pile of corn that had been picked. Deirdre rocked away on the wooden horse Henry had made for her as Caitríona, Hannah and Ellie worked at an outdoor table, cutting the kernels off the cobs into large pots so that Fiona and Dolly could blanch them in preparation for canning.
They all paused and watched as a rider approached the house. He was rough-looking, with a dirty, unkempt beard and a shirt stained with perspiration under his suspenders. A rifle was visible in a scabbard buckled to his saddle, and he wore a pistol on his belt. As he drew nearer, they could also see large coils of rope strapped to the pommel of his saddle and hear the clank of manacles strung behind the cantle.
He touched a finger to the brim of his sweaty hat and said, “Afternoon, ladies. I need to see the owner of the place, if I may.”
The politeness of his speech created a better impression until he spat a large quantity of tobacco juice on the ground.
Looking up at him disapprovingly, Ellie said, “You’ll have to settle for the overseer, Mr. Batterston.”
Batterston appeared at that moment, and invited the stranger into the study. Suspicious, Caitríona carried a pot of corn into the kitchen and, ignoring Fiona’s complaint that it was only half-full, crept quietly down the hall.
“… could use ten to fifteen if I can get ‘em,” the stranger was saying.
There was a long silence.
“I could probably do that,” Batterston said at last. “Got more than I know what to do with anyhow.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” the stranger said, and Caitríona could hear the clink of coins.
“All right.” Batterston seemed to have made up his mind. “But we’ll need to do it after dark.”
The stranger laughed. “Just tell ‘em to smile, so’s we can see ‘em. I’ll have men with me to make sure there’s no trouble.”
“There’s a drying shed about a quarter mile down the lane,” Batterston said. “I’ll round up fifteen good, healthy ones and meet you and your men there at ten tonight. I’ll keep this as a deposit.” Caitríona could hear coins clinking again. “You’ll have the rest tonight?”
“I’ll have it.”
Caitríona’s heart was pounding as she went back to the kitchen. Batterston was planning on selling fifteen of the Negroes. She was only half-aware of what she was doing as she returned to the pile of corn.
“What’s wrong?” whispered Hannah.
Caitríona gave a tiny shake of her head. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon as she rocked Deirdre’s cradle in the shade and fanned her to sleep that she had an opportunity to tell Hannah what she’d overheard.
“He can’t do that!” Hannah exclaimed as Caitríona shushed her. She continued in an angry whisper, “Lord Playfair told him he wasn’t allowed to sell any more of us.”
“I think he’ll not be worrying about that any longer,” said Caitríona grimly. “He knows there’s nothing Lord Playfair can do from England.”
Hannah’s eyes filled with angry tears. “It’s not right,” she said bitterly. “You said that the proclamation meant we’re not property anymore.”
“I know,” Caitríona said. “But who in the South is going to care about that? This trader will buy and sell those men and no one will ask questions.”
All that day, Caitríona stewed, trying to think of how she could stop Batterston. The only thing she could think of, and even she had to admit it was weak, was to threaten to write to Lord Playfair. But she had to find a more immediate way to thwart him in case the threat didn’t work. Later that evening, she went to find Ruth and Henry.
“Hannah told us,” Henry said quietly.
“We’ve got to keep those men from going with him,” Caitríona said. “Do you know who he picked?”
Henry nodded.
“If they ran away, they’d just be caught,” she said. “Could you tell them to go to the far pastures, spend the night in the woods there. They can say they were sent to move the cattle and horses.”
“He’ll just find them the next day,” Ruth said.
“But it will give me more time,” said Caitríona.
“For what?” asked Henry.
Caitríona didn’t answer. She asked Ruth to keep Deirdre and went to check on Batterston’s whereabouts. He stayed in his house all evening, emerging only to get a dinner plate and take it back with him.
Caitríona waited until after the kitchen was cleaned up, and then went to the overseer’s small house. She knocked and was startled when Batterston jerked the door open.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said nervously. “What do you want?”
Caitríona looked past him and saw a stuffed valise sitting on the floor. “Going somewhere?” she asked, pushing by him and entering the small parlour.
“What do you want?” he repeated in a more menacing tone.
“You’re not going to sell those men,” she said, deciding to take the upper hand with a direct approach.
If Batterston was startled to hear that she knew of his plans, he hid it well. He closed the door and walked to the window that faced the big house.
“Are you going to stop me?” he asked quietly as he pulled the curtains closed.
Mustering as much bravado as she could, Caitríona said, “I’ve already written Lord Playfair.”
Batterston chuckled and turned to her. “By the time he gets any letter and tries to do anything, I’ll be long gone. I’m not going to stay here and wait for this damn war to kill me or starve me.”
Caitríona had known her bluff had little chance of succeeding. “Well, the ones you were going to sell aren’t here,” she said. “I sent them away.”
Batterston’s eyes widened. “You sent them… you!” His face twisted into a snarl, his lip curling as his teeth were bared. “I’ve had enough of you!”
He lunged across the room, reaching for her throat. Caitríona ducked, but Batterston managed to grab her dress at the shoulder. He slammed his other fist into her face, knocking her to the floor. In his rage, he dropped to his knees, pinning her and pummeling her with his fist. It felt as if her nose was broken as blood gushed over her face, choking her.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and slammed her head back against the hearth stones. Caitríona saw lights pop behind her eyes as her head hit the stone. Batterston placed his hands around her throat. Gasping for air, she tried to prize his hands from her throat as she looked into his crazed eyes. Desperately, she reached out, her hands flailing about, searching for something, anything that might help. Her hand hit a heavy earthen crock used for kindling. She floundered for a moment, trying to get a grip on the heavy pot, and finally managed to swing it up, smashing it hard against the side of Batterston’s head.
He crumpled to the floor beside her and didn’t move. Caitríona lay there, still gasping. She rolled to the side and spat out the blood from her mouth. She struggled to her hands and knees, prepared to fend Batterston off when he got up. She looked over at him, and saw that the side of his head was sunken in where the crock had hit him. His lifeless eyes stared up at nothing as blood trickled from his ear.
She sat heavily on the floor, trying to gather her wits. Batterston was dead. It seemed to take a long time for that fact to sink in. The mantel clock indicated it was nearly nine o’clock. What would that trader do when Batterston didn’t show up at ten?
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