by Mark J Rose
“Trouble has followed me ever since I met this family.”
“Oh!” she said. “It’s our fault?”
“Kind of.”
“Was it Levi?”
“Yes,” Matt answered.
“Were you involved in his death?”
“Yes,” Matt repeated.
Matt decided not to give any more details, and Grace decided not to ask. She guided him into the house and sat him on a kitchen chair. He watched her move back and forth from the sink and sat in silence as she worked on his face. She smelled like barn, horse, and woman all at once. As she leaned over him and her hair dragged across his arms and face, he remembered what he was fighting for.
50
1771
It was darker than it should have been for this time of day. David had predicted rain, and his storm clouds had already covered the sky. Scout and Duke moved their greying heads back and forth in unison, watching quietly as the men loaded the last few boxes onto the wagon.
“That all, then?” one man asked. The three men from Wilkins’ Shipping stood there waiting for Matt’s reply, distracted by the squad of British soldiers moving closer on the horizon. Soldiers were passing by the farm frequently these days, coming and going from the frontier. Matt did his best to ignore them when he could. He was hoping to get the shipment on its way before he had to deal with the unwanted visitors if they did decide to stop.
The shipping wagon, pulled by four horses, was packed full with boxes of Miller Head and Stomach Tablets. It was the biggest horse-drawn vehicle Matt had ever seen. He hadn’t expected the whole shipment of tablets to fit, but surprisingly, they managed to pack them neatly into the cargo area.
“I think that’s everything,” Matt finally answered, sneaking a glance at the soldiers to gauge the time he had left to get the wagon moving. He reached to take the form the man was holding, walked it to the inkwell, signed and returned it.
“It’s probably best you’re out of here before they arrive,” Matt said. “I don’t want this shipment delayed by whatever act they’ve passed.” He rolled his eyes for emphasis.
“Suit yourself,” the man said. He reached out his hand. “Another wagon will be here on Friday.”
“Tell Zeke I said hello,” Matt replied.
They got up on the wagon, situated themselves, slapped the reins, and moved quickly to the gate. Matt lingered there, watching the wagon and scanning the horses on the farm. They’d nearly tripled the number of animals since he married Grace. They were becoming good-humored rivals with the Brownes on the coast, each trying to outdo the other. The Taylors’ reputation went far beyond Virginia, having placed animals on almost every wealthy estate in Virginia and the Carolinas. They had regular customers as far north as New York. Matt’s brother-in-law, Will, had made it his personal challenge to add horse dealers to their network. They couldn’t breed enough animals to keep up with demand. Subsequently, the price of their stock had risen dramatically.
As Matt watched the soldiers get closer, he cringed thinking of the attention the farm had generated over the past few years. The Taylor farm had become rich and influential in Virginia based on both horse breeding and medical supply manufacturing. Unfortunately, Matt was learning that being rich and influential wasn’t always appreciated by those with political power. The simple fact that weighed constantly on him was that the farm and the horses were going to be hard to hide when the trouble started. The English soldiers who passed the farm regularly were a constant reminder of the coming storm.
The dogs barked as the soldiers rode through the front gate, and Matt got that disappointed feeling he always did in his stomach when dealing with something he didn’t want to do. He’d had the smallest, most remote hope that the men would continue past the farm into Richmond.
Matt stepped between the dogs, put his hands on their heads, and said, “Quiet down, boys.” This was more for himself than the animals. Most people in the colonies needed to practice some sort of calming ritual when dealing with English soldiers. They watched the captain leave his men and trot up the drive. Both dogs growled as he approached.
Matt turned to see Grace, who was now standing on the porch holding the baby. Johanna was already five months old. Matt thought back to their conversation over eight years ago when he joked about having ten children. He was surprised to find that Grace had taken him seriously. It was a different time indeed! Five down, five to go. She was his friend, his partner, and his lover, and he orbited around her. A wave of sorrow overwhelmed him at the future he had seen in his dreams—the one he couldn’t tell her about. How much would he sacrifice to keep his sun shining? If he had to make the choice right now, he would sell his soul for five more years.
Matt shook the thoughts from his head and motioned for Grace to take the children inside. Grace had seen the soldiers too and had already begun cleaning up quilts and toys. They’d been through this same charade a number of times since the Quartering Act.
The captain nodded hello as he approached. “We need lodgings for two days,” he said, “along with morning and evening provisions.”
“Richmond is another half mile down the road,” Matt said. “It’s usually boring for young men out here.”
“I want them away from trouble,” the captain declared. He pointed to the hay barn. “We’ll take that building.” It was English law that, as a farm owner possessing large buildings, Matt was responsible for housing and provisioning English soldiers as needed. Matt nodded. The captain motioned to his men, who trotted to the hay barn and began to dismount. “Our animals should be kept in that pasture,” the captain said, pointing.
“I’ll need to move my horses out,” Matt replied. “It will only take a moment.” The last thing Matt needed was for five years of breeding to be undone by sharing a pasture with a bunch of English cavalry animals.
“We’ve been riding all day,” the captain insisted.
“It will only take a moment,” Matt repeated.
“How long until we can get food?” the captain asked.
“We’ll slaughter a pig.”
“My men are hungry.”
“I understand,” Matt replied. He tried his best not to get irritated. It was like being stopped by the police for speeding in his own time. No matter how much you might disagree, you acted respectfully and nodded politely. He had to remind himself, too, that this wasn’t the man who would be responsible for burning his home to the ground.
The captain was looking now at the pasture and all the thoroughbred horses. “Some look fit for King George himself,” he said.
“We do our best.”
“Where’s your well?” the captain asked, already on to something else.
Matt pointed to the side of the hay barn. It was the same well he had used when he awoke here for the first time many years ago. It took him back to the younger man he once was and the rash decision he’d made to stay.
“We’ll pull some food together,” Matt said.
The captain reached into his pocket and tossed a purse to Matt. “That should cover the two days.” He pulled his horse around and trotted to the barn to join his men. Matt had a collection of purses in a drawer in the house. He’d long since stopped opening them. In his mind, it was better to believe falsely that the English officers were paying the compensation prescribed by law than to verify their lack of integrity. He watched the soldiers situate themselves, made a point to calm himself again, and then turned to find David or one of the boys to round up the horses. They too were becoming used to dealing with English soldiers.
The fact that things were only going to get worse weighed heavily on him. The incident in Boston was now being called a massacre, and the events Matt expected to lead to the American Revolution were being checked off his list, one by one, as regular as the ticking of a clock. Matt’s theory that all his monkeying around in the cosmic soup might somehow change history was being discredited. The universe went unhindered despite his best efforts to the contrary, seem
ingly unaffected by anything he was doing in his small part of the world. Even Franklin appeared unchanged by things Matt had told him about the future and was going about his business like he was following a script written from an American history book. Nothing had changed at all! People were beginning to take sides, including his brother-in-law.
Will had taken to spending long periods in England. The only time he visited the farm was to gather new horses to distribute to wealthy business associates and politicians across the colonies. Will cared little for the daily operations of the horse farm. Matt suspected that the high price they were getting for these animals was coming directly from the Martin business. A well-bred horse, delivered into the hands of an influential man, opened doors wide to any businessman willing to take the step.
The Martins’ business had grown substantially since Matt moved to Virginia, and this was in large part due to Will’s contributions. Richard Martin was treating Will like the son he’d never had. The one thing that did bring Will back to the farm was his growing interest in politics, and he’d begun debating Matt on every visit. Will had become an intense loyalist since marrying Graine and as far as he was concerned, the Crown could do no wrong, and the colonies could do no right.
Matt looked up at the dark clouds and blinked away drops of rain. The storm was almost upon them.
The End of Book Two
Letter
London, England, March 21, 1771
My Dearest Matthew,
Fondest greetings from London. I must apologize for the poor stewardship I have demonstrated as of late concerning my correspondence. There is no excuse save for the constantly changing dynamic regarding Parliament’s opinions of the American colonies, which has frequently occupied my time. I have been and will always be an advocate for the continued good will between England and her citizens across the sea.
Presently, there are many in England who support the incorporation of the American colonies into the government, with a representation similar to others in the kingdom. I hold out still that these prominent men, one or two that I call good friends, may yet initiate a process that alleviates an objectionable condition so keenly protested by the American colonies. I have hopes that the American colonists may soon find themselves sharing the same voice in Parliament as any other citizen of Great Britain.
Having read the preceding, I know that you must think I am on a fool’s errand and presently wandering about the mother country in a state of bewilderment. This would especially be the case upon considering our shared knowledge of your somewhat fortuitous arrival in the Virginia Colony. I promise you that I am in full control of my faculties and am guided daily by your unique insight in all my dealings with the English government. That said, to live with myself, I feel I must use this insight to smooth relations between a mother and her most promising child.
Enough of politics! I should say that I am quite impressed by the royalties that I am receiving from Miller Head and Stomach Tablets. You should also know that the last shipment received here in London was applauded by every colleague with whom I had the pleasure to share this wonderful medicine. I have often boasted of our friendship and am proud of any influence I may have had in your success.
Speaking of success, I had an opportunity recently to dine with your relations William Taylor and Robert Martin. Both have developed reputations of some prominence here in London. If I had not been previously aware that these men were Virginians, I would surely testify that they are longtime residents of this great city in which I now reside.
I have saved the most significant news for last with the knowledge that this revelation will cause you some concern and may wholly occupy your thoughts. Parliament was quite taken yesterday by an impassioned speech presented by none other than Patrick Ferguson, the man for whom we have searched so long. He has become a businessman of consequence here in London and now has the ear of men who may have the ability to influence the workings of the Crown. I will report on his activities and motivations as they are presented to me. Though I cannot presently imagine a purpose for you to cross the ocean and apply yourself in a similar pursuit, your role as a protector of Virginian interests may dictate such a course of action. I will keep you informed.
As always, your loyal friend,
