Whiskers in the Dark

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Bettina nodded her head, the slanting golden rays illuminating her head rag, bright green today.

  “Barker O is happy. Things are quiet. And Tulli has taken on some of Ralston’s chores. That child is one of the sweetest children I have ever known. Sweet.”

  “He is. Goes down to Ruth’s cabin to play with the babies. I know we might need some more young ones, but Ruth has four down there all wailing and needing to be held. Tulli holds them, rocks them, sings to them when he’s finished his horse chores.”

  “You think people are born that way?”

  Bettina turned to her. “I think we come out of our mommas exactly who we are.”

  “I expect.” Catherine agreed and they sat in quiet harmony for a good fifteen minutes.

  “Sugar Baby.” Bettina called her by her childhood name.

  Catherine knew this was important. “Yes.”

  “DoRe has asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

  Picking up Bettina’s hand, Catherine kissed it. “He’s a smart man.”

  A low, rolling laugh followed this. “I don’t know about that, but I think he loves me. I do. And I love him. Never thought it would find me again.”

  “Happy. Happy forever.” Catherine kissed Bettina’s hand again. “You tell Rachel. She should hear it from you.”

  “I will. But you and Little Sister need to tell Mr. Ewing.”

  “We will. He’ll be happy for you. I know he will.”

  Bettina smiled. “He’s a feeling man.” She then said, “It’s Maureen Selisse will not be feeling happiness.”

  “Oh, God.” In her excitement, Catherine had forgotten, just for a moment, that Maureen owned DoRe.

  Not that the now named Mrs. Holloway would refuse the marriage. Not at all. But she’d make it hard for DoRe to leave Big Rawly.

  “Your father said he didn’t want a big supper. I’ll go in and start a nice light soup for him.”

  As Bettina left, Catherine got up, walked to her mother’s tomb, the recumbent lamb promising Christ would shepherd them all to a better way. Little crosses marked the back of the base. Bettina once told Catherine that when someone is loved, people will ask her for help and make a little cross. If they want to call down harm, they scratch a square. But no squares were on Isabelle’s base, for no one could imagine her heaping harm on anyone.

  Francisco Selisse’s monument was at Big Rawly, an awful thing really, the angel with the flaming sword guarding the East of Eden, covered with squares. Even in death Francisco called down wrath. Big Rawly never seemed to be at peace.

  Catherine touched the cross between the lamb’s front legs. “Mother, I need your help. Bettina has found love. Maureen Selisse owns him. Help me find the way to free DoRe of Big Rawly.” A pause followed this. “I miss you, Momma. I’m not as good or as wise a woman as you were. I try.”

  23

  October 3, 1787

  Wednesday

  Yancy Grant accompanied the barrels of oats being hauled to Cloverfields. Ewing’s purchase enabled him to pay some bills as well as buy much-needed spring seed. Yancy’s finances were declining. Maureen Selisse Holloway had sued him after the duel with Jeffrey. When she’d drawn enough blood, she dropped it, knowing full well he couldn’t afford the legal costs.

  The overcast day, a slight chill in the air, enlivened the horses. Yancy, finally able to visit his Black Knight, smiled at how healthy his boy looked. Ewing was with him.

  “Splendid, splendid,” was all he could say as Barker O and Jeddie slightly inclined their heads.

  Catherine, too, had come down to manage this first visit. When Black Knight originally arrived at Cloverfields after being stolen at the races, Yancy couldn’t bear to see him or say goodbye. He loved Black Knight, who had not forgotten him.

  The animal let out a nicker, galloping to the fencing to nuzzle his old master. Tears rolled down Yancy’s cheeks. He couldn’t help it.

  “Would you like me to bring him in the stable, Mr. Grant?” Jeddie respectfully asked.

  “No, thank you. He’s happy out here, still a lot of grass, and he’s with friends.” He turned to Catherine. “Bless you.”

  “Yancy, you bred a fine animal.” She smiled at him.

  “You flatter me.”

  He did breed a fine horse, and Catherine and her stable boys, as she thought of them, having brought Black Knight to a shiny coat, taut muscles, and a bright eye, would use him in the breeding shed. She now owned two extraordinary stallions, Reynaldo, hot as a pistol, and Black Knight, now sweet.

  “Well, shall we old men repair to the house? A light repast is not out of order.” Ewing touched his friend on his back and the two started walking toward the house.

  Jeddie, Barker O, and Catherine headed to the large, tight storage shed where the oats were being loaded and placed. The barrels proved heavy enough that it took three men to move them about: one to lift the barrel off the wagon, one to guide it down, and one to roll it and, with difficulty, tip it upright.

  “Let’s have a sniff.” Catherine looked to Barker O, who took out his penknife, running it under the barrel lid, which he then lifted off.

  She lingered over the barrel, filling her hands with the oats.

  Handing them to Barker O, she lifted her eyebrows. He, too, sniffed. Then Jeddie did the same.

  “Good,” Barker O pronounced.

  “We’ll be glad to have them, even though Father resisted. He said we had glorious hay, three cuttings, a miracle, but oats help those hard keepers.” She used the term for a horse who had difficulty putting on weight.

  Usually this betrayed a high metabolism, in animals or people, but sometimes difficulty putting on or holding weight pointed to a hidden illness. Catherine watched Tulli, nose at the top of the barrel, wanting to be part of the group. She wondered if his growth wasn’t in some way stunted. He stayed thin, too, yet seemed full of energy as well as ideas, lots of ideas.

  Rousing herself from this, she turned to watch her father and Yancy pace up to the house.

  “Old friends are the best friends. Mother used to say that, and I begin to believe it.”

  Barker O’s deep voice was comforting. “Miss Catherine, you will never get old.”

  “Ha.” She laughed, then tossed a handful of oats up in the air.

  Before Ewing could reach for the elegant curved brass doorknob, the door swung open. Roger bowed to Yancy, beamed at Ewing.

  “Ah, Roger, you anticipate everything.”

  “Mr. Ewing, Bettina has set out oh, tender veal. The aroma alone, well, Bettina has put out food for you two gentlemen to enjoy. She said she hasn’t seen Mr. Grant in so long, she wishes to spoil him.”

  “Ah!” Yancy clapped his hands together.

  Seated in an alcove, they chatted, discussed the weather as only farmers can, wondered when Maureen would finally be back at Big Rawly, wondering, too, what she would bring back from England.

  “What hear you from your friend Baron Necker?”

  Ewing leaned forward, a tiny, perfect carrot speared on his fork. “No hope of solving the financial crisis and the Notables have been dismissed.”

  “I thought, now this is some time back, reading a paper from Philadelphia, that the Court had devised new financial measures, new taxes.”

  “The Court did, but the Parliament refused to endorse same. If they sat regularly like England, perhaps, but the Baron fumes, fumes, truly, that no nobles will surrender or even share special privileges. For instance, if you had the fishing rights, say, for Marseilles, you would neither surrender nor utilize same to relieve the kingdom of its financial distress. Every single noble cared only for preserving his rights.”

  “The Baron?”

  “Actually, no. A few of the highborn realize the time has come to put the welfare of the state first. But w
ho is to say? It takes so long for word to reach me here, perhaps this has been resolved. France is too important to be set adrift.”

  “I would think we might have created an example.” Yancy leaned back in his chair for a moment.

  “We are or were Englishmen, Yancy. The French are, well, the French.”

  “Quite so.” Yancy half laughed, then changed the subject. “My man, my indentured servant, Sean, said he thought he saw your Ralston down by Scottsville. A fleeting glimpse with another young buck and a comely girl. His words.”

  “Ralston did run away.”

  Yancy’s eyebrows shot upward. “There’s a young fool.”

  “I agree, I agree, but Catherine and Rachel told me he had been pressing himself on the girls, even ripped Serena’s bodice. Not able to control himself.”

  “A fast way to die young.” Yancy patted his lips with the linen napkin. “Men have killed for less.”

  “Had anyone touched my Isabelle, I would have killed him. My angel.”

  “Of course, we all feel that way about our wives, daughters, sisters, but Ewing, there are men who prey on women. Rich, poor, free, slave, young, old. Some illicit thrill, I suppose. Will you bring him back if you can?”

  “No. My girls are adamantly opposed to it. I said I must make an example of him, but they said it would be worse to bring him back. Catherine even used the word ‘rape.’ ”

  A sharp intake of Yancy’s breath testified to that powerful word. “Good Lord.”

  “And she said, ‘Why harbor a thief?’ She has a point, but I think a wrongdoer should be punished.”

  Yancy nodded. “Perhaps the solution is for someone else to punish the wrongdoer.” He beamed when two of the young kitchen girls being trained removed their plates, and Serena, balancing a tray, carried in cherry cobbler. Following her was another youngster with a hot pot of tea. “Heaven. This is heaven.” He smiled up at Serena, who smiled back.

  Ewing liked seeing his friend awash in pleasures. The last year had not been kind to Yancy. His kneecap, shattered, pieced back together by a new young surgeon, held, but he walked with difficulty, needing a cane. Maureen’s blaming him for the loss of William, her stable boy, and the subsequent miseries with the law also dragged him down. Finally she relented, but he was exhausted and demoralized and broke. Yancy, slowly reviving, truly glowed in his old friend’s presence. The excellent food helped.

  “The horses and Charles’s dog, Piglet, are already growing winter coats. Might be a harsh one.”

  “My woodpile is full. What else can one do?”

  “True. How is this Sean fellow working out?”

  “He puts in a good day’s work, and if a larger chore needs doing, he seeks out day laborers. This saves me a great deal of money, though I can’t tend to as many acres.”

  “Your oats certainly are fine. Perhaps when finances improve, you can buy more hands.”

  Cup of tea in hand, Yancy sipped it, then set the fine china cup in its saucer. “No more slaves. The more I think about feeding, housing, clothing, medical things, I believe the slave system to be highly uneconomical. Harmful, really.”

  “Slavery is the way of the world,” Ewing simply stated.

  “Yes it is, but that doesn’t mean it’s efficient.”

  “You’re not turning into a Quaker, are you?” Ewing smiled at him.

  “Ah, well, in my trials I have thought much about their teachings. No, I am not a Quaker but”—he leaned forward, his voice low—“I much admire them.”

  24

  April 24, 2018

  Tuesday

  “ ‘I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’ ” Reverend Jones took a deep breath, read the next paragraph of the Order for the Burial of the Dead, then concluded with, “ ‘We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’ ”

  The Dorcas Guild, the St. Peter’s Guild, and a few parishioners feeling they should attend watched as the unknown bones, in a simple casket built by Fair Haristeen and Ned Tucker, was lowered into the open grave.

  The site, under the red oak as Reverend Jones had suggested, seemed perfect this first day that felt like spring. Tree buds swelled finally, promising to open soon.

  Arlene Billeaud, next to Harry, observed the burial with interest. Harry had told her about the circumstances of unearthing the bones. Arlene, at Harry’s invitation, had come to stay with Harry for three days, then Harry, Susan, and Arlene would drive up to Aldie for the Hounds F4R Heroes.

  “If you have to be buried, a wonderful day.” Janice Childe walked up to Harry, Arlene, and Susan after the service.

  “You’re right,” Harry agreed, as Mags also joined them.

  “The casket glowed. Fair and Ned must have rubbed it with oil for hours.” Mags praised the men.

  “They wanted it to be of her time.” Susan spoke for her husband. “I think we all feel a little uneasy that she was tossed on top of the Taylors.”

  “And you say she wore a fortune in roped pearls and pearl and diamond earrings?” Arlene was intrigued.

  “Isn’t it something?” Janice waited for the reverend to shake her hand, as was proper.

  They all did.

  Reverend Jones then said, “Let’s hope she’s with the Lord. Everyone deserves a proper Christian burial.”

  The cats, reposing in the office window, which was a series of paned-glass windows to allow as much light as possible, observed the ceremony.

  “Poppy takes this so seriously.” Lucy Fur loved her human.

  “Well, you can’t just let human bones lay about,” Elocution added.

  “The dogs could chew them. They wouldn’t last long.” Cazenovia flicked her long-haired calico tail.

  “That’s the point,” Elocution replied.

  After the burial, the three women drove over to Big Rawly. Arlene enjoyed historic homes. Big Rawly qualified. As they drove down the narrow road off of Garth Road, they turned left onto Big Rawly land, passing the imposing graveyard with the large tomb of Francisco Selisse guarded by the angel with the flaming sword.

  “East of Eden.” Susan filled Arlene in. “When Adam and Eve were driven out of Eden, the Lord placed an angel with a flaming sword to keep people out and guard the tree of life.”

  “A little like closing the barn door after the horses have fled,” Arlene wryly commented. “Shall I assume that Francisco Selisse was rich and powerful?”

  “He was. He was murdered, so they say, by one of his slaves who escaped. As it turns out, he wasn’t much loved, including by his widow, who quickly remarried Jeffrey Holloway, my ancestor,” Susan replied. “Before I married Ned, I was a Holloway.”

  “You’re still a Holloway,” Harry affirmed.

  “There’s no end of drama around here. We bury an unknown woman, not a Lutheran, right?”

  “Right. If she were, we would know who she was, but she was found as we told you, on top of two Lutherans who helped found St. Luke’s. Old crimes. And now we face a new one. Killing is a part of being human, I fear.” Susan stopped at the rear of the French-designed home.

  As Susan walked Arlene around the gardens, pointing out garden features as well as the elegant home, Arlene said, “I suppose the mystery of an unclaimed body, bones, an old crime has a kind of pull. When we were all at Aldie, Geoff Ogden recalled Paula Devlin. Another unsolved crime, the body never found. I miss her. Once, shopping, we walked into an expensive woman’s clothing store in Washington. We walked right out,” Arlene mused.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t take over two hundred years to find her,” Harry blurted out.

  “It’s the killer I worry about, just like
the killer of Jason Holzknect.” Susan opened the graceful wrought-iron gate leading to the back door.

  “I’m not too worried about Jason’s killer,” Arlene said.

  “Why not?” Harry inquired.

  Arlene didn’t answer as Susan’s mother and grandmother greeted them at the door, inviting the ladies inside, where Susan’s mother gave Arlene another tour.

  Tea followed and both older women told stories about Big Rawly, starting with the questions unanswered about all that Caribbean money Maureen’s father made, much of it sent on to Big Rawly by his daughter. But Big Rawly, well served throughout the centuries, stood firm and remained beautiful despite all.

  Back in the car, Harry returned to the question about why Arlene wasn’t worried about Jason’s killer at Aldie.

  “I think the murder was specific to him,” she answered calmly.

  “Like his money or something?” Susan wondered.

  “I’ve been asked by the sheriff about his finances, did I know anything, but I just don’t think this is broader-based. I hunted with Jason twice a year at Aldie over the years. Also visited Chesapeake Beagles to hunt on his territory. He was a good huntsman. He never lacked for anything. I can’t say I felt close to him or Clare. They were good members of the National Beagle Club. Very helpful. It does seem dramatic that such a seemingly bland fellow would be killed, but this has nothing to do with us.”

  Susan asked, “You think we’re safe?”

  “I do. You aren’t going to get your throat slit.”

  25

  October 17, 1787

  Wednesday

  Her back laid open in long strips, Elizabetta fainted. Her dress, ripped down the back, streaked with blood, evidenced her beating as she was tied to a vertical pole. Fincastle, Maureen’s overseer, performed the service. While not a harsh man, he did his employer’s bidding, for he had five children to feed, no education, and an ailing wife.

  Given his faithfulness, he stayed on the good side of Maureen, if she had a good side. The slaves at Big Rawly, called together to witness the punishment, hung their heads. Who would be next, for the Missus seethed in a fury?