Tall Tail

by Rita Mae Brown

Charles West drove his not-quite-so-expensive but elegant phaeton. Sitting next to her husband, the air brushing her cheeks, hearing the wonderfully musical beat of the two horses, Rachel beamed. Charles could drive just fine. Once at the Selisses, Charles tipped Francisco’s people to assist Jeddie, who took charge of the horses.

  Visits such as this early evening dinner fueled friendships, business, and, of course, gossip. The ladies might bring a lady-in-waiting, a slave, to help them, and once the white folks gathered for drinks, dinner, and sitting a spell, the slaves could gossip with relish. The men talked about shipping, cargo costs, harvests. The slave gossip was ever so much more exciting. After all, the house ladies changed sheets. They knew just how those sheets were used, including those not of the marriage bed. Who ate what. Who was allergic to what. Who was a hothouse flower. Who was barking mad. Who was fair-minded. Who was kind. Predictions for the future usually accompanied such gossip.

  Wiping down one of Ewing’s beautiful bays, Barker said to Moses, “Yancy Grant going to run his big horse, Jack Night, down on the levels come fall. Put money on Jack. Longest stride I ever saw, once he gets going.”

  “He’s talking it up.” Moses had heard from some other people about Yancy’s fine runner. “He’d better run that horse and win ’cause I heard his tobacco crop ain’t worth squat.”

  Focused only on horses, Jeddie flicked a cloth over King David’s well-muscled rump, asked, “Why grow ’bacca?”

  Barker patted Solomon’s neck. “People all over this big world want Virginia ’bacca.”

  “Yes, I know that, but you get a drought, you get hard rains, there goes the ’bacca,” said Moses. He looked at Jeddie, a slight fellow a few years younger than himself.

  “Mr. Garth grows it on his North Carolina land,” Jeddie remarked. “Risk must be worth it.”

  “Mr. Garth is plenty smart. Easy to ship out of Carolina. I don’t reckon Ewing could ever spend all his money.” Moses admired the fancy coach, which two young boys were wiping down, hoping to be rewarded with a bit of change. “That coach could buy a farm, a farm with a couple hundred acres.”

  “Yes, it could.” Barker smiled broadly. After all, he drove that coach and he was a respected man in these parts, slave or no. Everyone knew about Barker O.

  The men straightened up as Aileen—Ailee, to most people—flitted by the stable. “Master’s had two drinks. He’s in a good mood. Missus has snuck three.”

  Face darkening, Moses pleaded, “Say you’ve taken the vapors. Don’t you stay in the house if they pour more down their throats.”

  She kissed him on the cheek, her cat eyes sparkling. “Honey, I can’t do that, but I’ll do my best to disappear into the kitchen and work my fingers to the bone.” She laughed, then skipped back to the house.

  Moses glanced down at the ground, then up.

  Jeddie, not too familiar with the Selisses, asked, “Ugly?”

  Moses nodded. “My God, that Selisse woman’s hateful mean, but hateful as she is, she doesn’t force herself on Ailee.”

  Barker shook his head. “Nothing you can do, Moses. Only the women can help her and there’s but so much they can do.”

  Moses clenched his teeth. “I can kill the son of a bitch.”

  Barker walked over, put a huge hand on his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that, Moses. That’s crazy talk.”

  —

  The conversation over dessert centered on iron supplies for the foundry.

  Francisco sipped a light tea to cleanse his palate after the good wine, plus he enjoyed light teas. “Just about a mile south of Scottsville there’s a good landing.”

  “River’s a boon,” Ewing mentioned.

  The Upper James River flowed by Scottsville, the county seat. From there, one could load about anything to carry down to Richmond and beyond.

  “You probably know the James better than we do.” Francisco nodded to John.

  “The Marquis made us study maps, but Tarleton worked his will before the war shifted to the South, wish we could have gotten him. It’s a formidable river.” John quietly spoke, not one to revisit his wartime service.

  “We finally got them in the end.” Francisco looked up as Ailee swept by.

  Maureen observed his lingering look, and a tight smile crossed her lips.

  Quick to surmise the situation, Rachel engaged her hostess. “Mrs. Selisse, you know your gowns are the envy of the state. Won’t you divulge your seamstress’s name?”

  Tilting her head, Maureen cooed, “Madame Varnese, Paris. Duchesses, countesses, princesses flock to her. She can enhance any woman, even those not blessed by Nature.”

  “Not a problem for you, Mrs. Selisse.” Rachel beamed at her hostess, who waved her hand as though dismissing the compliment.

  Catherine then added, “But it’s not just your seamstress. Where do you procure such unique fabrics?”

  “Ah, I have an agent in Amsterdam, and I tell you, Italy is much overlooked. Milan alone produces such beautiful fabrics, light as air. But then one must be patient, the Italians are not celebrated for punctuality.” On and on she rattled, occasionally catching a glimpse of Ailee. A flash of anger would momentarily appear then be gone. The two visiting sisters kept Maureen talking.

  Finally, an hour after sunset, Ewing effusely praised host and hostess. Time to go.

  Having been alerted, Jeddie brought out the coach-in-four first, then the phaeton. Barker slipped on his livery, impressive as the driver.

  Jeddie whispered to Ewing, “Sir, the two boys there wiped down the coach.” He repeated this to Charles.

  Both men tipped the boys, then Ewing slipped two dollars in large coins to Moses. Charles followed with a silver dollar, quite generous.

  The Selisses lived three miles south and east from Ewing’s estate. The same creek bordered part of their lands. If you walked along the creek you’d reach Ewing’s or Francisco’s estates. For a leisurely walk, the path proved pleasant.

  Next to John, Catherine breathed in the night air. “Do you think it’s possible to die of boredom?”

  “Not until tonight,” he replied, and they both laughed.

  —

  Behind them, Charles West wore his red-gold hair neatly tied at his nape. The thought of a wig on a night like this made him sweat, but wigs, while always fashionable, were being ignored more and more.

  “Such a beautiful night. The stars like portals to heaven, sparkling, inviting us to smile.” Charles put the reins in his left hand while placing his arm around his wife’s tiny waist.

  “Do you think Francisco will offer you a commission? He’ll have to build some kind of storage house down on the James?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to work for him. Besides, Karl and a small group of Lutherans have been talking to me about designing a church west of us, near Wayland’s Crossing, at the foot of the mountains right on Three Notch’d Road. I can say I’m engaged in a project.”

  “Think they’ll do it?”

  “I do. Few churches west of us, and the ones east are too far to travel unless people want to leave at four in the morning.” He changed the subject. “You were so clever.”

  “Me?”

  “You see things I don’t, or you see them before I do, and you and Catherine lured Maureen into a fulsome discussion of her wardrobe.”

  She leaned on him. “Vain.”

  He teased her. “Aren’t all women vain?”

  “Men are worse. Think of the pompous fools you knew in uniform.”

  “Put a little braid on a man, epaulettes on his shoulders, a few shiny buttons, and you’re right. Maybe men are as bad as women, but you certainly did keep Maureen busy and puffed up.”

  “Like a broody hen.” Rachel laughed, then added, “Not a happy henhouse.”

  “Not at all.”

  It was soon to become desperately unhappy.

  Saturday, July 16, 2016

  “Had she ever mentioned financial problems or domestic troubles? Disagreements with anyo
ne?” Cooper was gently asking questions about Barbara Leader to Penny Holloway and her daughter, Millicent Grimstead, Susan’s mother.

  “Not a thing,” Penny replied. “Barbara never really complained about anything.”

  The three women sat in the air-conditioned part of the summer porch.

  Hearing a noise from the main part of the house, Millicent rose, briefly leaving the room before returning. “Wendell Holmes, trying to get into the garbage.”

  Wendell Holmes was the Holloway’s springer spaniel.

  “Good. I was afraid Sam had awakened.” Penny lowered her voice. “Deputy, we haven’t told Sam anything about Barbara’s accident. It will greatly unnerve the governor, he liked her so.”

  “He hasn’t read about the accident or seen a TV report?”

  “We’ve monitored the news,” Millicent replied. “Mostly he reads The Washington Post, The New York Times, and The Wall Street Journal. He watches CNN and sometimes the other channels, but he doesn’t have much time for TV. He says if you want to find out about something, you read the newspapers.”

  “We’ll never run out of news.” Cooper smiled.

  “Deputy, you asked us about complaints, domestic problems. Why?” Penny missed nothing.

  “My experience is if a person is upset, they drive badly. Perhaps Barbara was distressed about something. It’s curious. She was dead when Harry Haristeen opened the door. It was quick and I hope painless.” Cooper tried to be soothing.

  “We thought we’d tell Daddy next week,” said Millicent. “We told him she’d taken a week off, and since he can be a little forgetful, he was okay. We fibbed and said she’d informed him.” She leaned back in the blue-and-white striped chair.

  Penny nodded. “Sam becomes attached to people,” she said, her voice lovely. “Barbara would jolly him along. She’d ring the ship’s bell in his library when it was time to take a pill and she enlivened it with a bit of bourbon. She’d bring him a real drink at five. Funny thing, the young woman working with him on his autobiography is sweet and smart. He likes going back with her in time, but I think he talked to Barbara more. He trusted her, but then she made him feel better. If he was becoming tired, she’d find a way to suggest a nap.”

  “This is such a loss,” Millicent confided.

  “Yes, I can understand that,” Cooper said sympathetically.

  “Leukemia is a cruel disease.” Penny folded her hands together. “He’s fought it so long. He doesn’t get angry or fuss. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself.”

  “Daddy’s concern is leaving Mother,” said Millicent. “He wants to make sure she’s all right. He’s organized me, really, to run this big place when he’s gone.”

  “You two made a wonderful life together,” Cooper complimented Penny.

  She brightened. “We did. We met so many exciting people, people who did things, whether it was in the arts or business or medicine or politics. As you know, politics is bruising, but my Sam would always bounce back no matter what, and he’d be ready for the next problem.” She smiled slightly, then added, “A year ago when he received his diagnosis that nothing more could be done, Sam took my hand and said, ‘I’m not ready to leave you yet.’ Not ‘How much time have I got?’ Not ‘Do you recommend more chemo just to try?’ Nothing like that. He never mentions it. Forgive me. I’ve rattled on and you’re here to discuss poor, dear, Barbara.”

  “Mrs. Holloway, anything you can tell me is helpful. Often a casual remark can help.”

  Suddenly super-alert, Millicent said, “Barbara died in an accident, right?”

  Cooper cleared her throat. “That seems to be the case, but we must always double-check.”

  Saturday, September 11, 1784

  As promised at the Friday dinner, DoRe Durkin and his son Moses brought a blooded mare to Catherine. Catherine Garth Schuyler’s fame as a successful breeder had spread throughout the mid-Atlantic. Ewing, proud of his daughter’s singular achievement, one that no man could subsume, urged Francisco Selisse to deliver his best mare to be bred to Reynaldo, Catherine’s powerful yet refined stallion. Catherine adored riding this fierce horse, scaring her father and sometimes even John, for the animal was hotter than a pistol. Yet he loved Catherine and obeyed most times.

  Jeddie Rice hurried out of the barn when he heard the open wagon clunking along. The mare, Serenissima, was tied to the back, trotting along.

  “She’ll live like a queen.” Jeddie took the sleek chestnut by her halter, good English leather.

  Moses fell in on the other side of the horse while his father pulled the wagon away from the front of the large stable, large enough for three cupolas and one big weather vane in the center of the roof.

  DoRe climbed down slowly. Like most horsemen, sooner or later one limps. He walked into the stable, his lopsided gait giving off an irregular beat.

  Looking around, he said admiringly, “Best stable in Virginia. Miss Catherine thought of everything.”

  “That she did,” Jeddie agreed. “The hardest part of building this stable was getting her father to agree. We still use the old stable.” He indicated it with his eyes as he led Serenissima into her stall. That was in an older, smaller stable twenty-five yards behind this one, a covered hallway connecting them.

  DoRe shook his head. “Francisco wouldn’t spend a penny on a walkway, but he’ll order furniture from France.”

  Moses, glum, said nothing.

  As she’d seen the mare arrive, Catherine walked from the house to the stable. She handed an envelope with tips to DoRe and one to Moses.

  “She’s a beauty. DoRe, did you talk Francisco into this? He can be hardheaded, you know?”

  DoRe grinned. “No, Miss Catherine, you did.”

  Moses knelt down on one knee. “Miss Catherine, I beg you to help me.”

  Shocked and fearful, DoRe put his hand under his son’s armpit, hauling him up. “Pay him no more mind than if he was a goat barking.”

  Eyes filling with tears, the young man disobeyed his father. “He violates my Ailee. He forces her, Miss Catherine. She has finger marks on her throat and sometimes a black eye and Missus Selisse beats her, declares she entices him.” Trembling, Moses sobbed, big racking sobs.

  Catherine, distressed, touched Moses on the shoulder as she looked from his father back to him. “Sit over here, Moses. You, too, DoRe. Jeddie, please fetch these men something cooling.”

  Led by Catherine, the two men dropped onto stacked hay bales. She pulled one into the aisle while DoRe swiftly put another bale onto that.

  “Miss Catherine, this isn’t a fitting chair for you.”

  Catherine smiled her dazzling smile at DoRe. “It’s not only fitting, it’s welcome. I’ve been standing and talking to my father for over an hour. You know how Father can go on.”

  Nodding, smiling, DoRe sat down. “Do, Miss Catherine, do. But he knows what he’s talking about.”

  Moses was crying still. Looking over at Catherine, he said, “You have your mother’s heart. Oh, please, help Ailee, Miss Catherine.”

  Jeddie returned with lemonade; Bettina had fixed a pitcher and a tray with four glasses. Before Jeddie reached the stable, Bettina hustled up behind him.

  “Gimme that tray, Jeddie. You have no more couth than is on a yellow stick.”

  Meekly, the wiry young man allowed Bettina, who had tied on a brighter headscarf than she wore in the kitchen, to take the tray. Jeddie followed.

  Catherine looked up. “Oh, Bettina, thank you.”

  “Jeddie, pull over another hay bale,” Bettina ordered. “Now you all refresh yourselves. I know you two men are hungry, but I wanted to find out would you like something cold on this September day or something warm?”

  While the soul of hospitality, Bettina also wanted to visit a bit with DoRe, who had lost his wife two years back. She knew a good-looking man when she saw one, and a hard-working one, too.

  DoRe stood up, as did Moses. “Oh, Lord, an angel can’t cook as good as you.”

  Waving him
off, Bettina repeated, “Cold or hot? I have stuffed eggs, sliced chicken with crisp skin and my special tiny potatoes, in a bit of crème with parsley. That’s to set you up for peach pie. Oh, I forgot the biscuits, butter, and you know my raspberry jam. You two men need to fortify yourself for that drive home.”

  DoRe held up his hand. “Bettina, stuffed eggs, cold chicken, you are temptation itself. Our missus would kill to get your cold-chicken recipe.”

  Bettina, with an edge to her voice but smiling, said, “She’d have to.”

  “Can we help you carry anything?” DoRe offered.

  “No, the girls can help.” She shot a look at Jeddie. “You get on in the tack room and fix up some kind of table, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jeddie nodded.

  As Bettina left, Catherine watched her walk, head high, singing to herself. Jeddie sped into the tack room.

  Catherine returned to Moses. “Shall I assume everyone knows?”

  “Can’t hide the bruises.” Moses wiped his eyes.

  “I say leave it,” DoRe added. “It’s the way things are, and Master will flay Moses alive if he gets in the way.”

  “Yes, he will. Francisco’s evil temper is no secret,” Catherine agreed.

  “You have your mother’s heart and your father’s brain. That’s what folks say about you. I will do anything you say to help my Ailee,” Moses pleaded.

  “Yvonne is the head woman over there. Can she help?”

  “She tries to keep Ailee busy, away from him,” Moses answered, “but he comes looking for her when he wants her.”

  “Is there anyone who has it in for Ailee? Another pretty girl? A field hand who wants her?”

  “All the men want her, but she’s mine.” Moses uttered this with pride. “She’s a good girl. She pays them no mind. She’s polite. I don’t think any of the girls want to hurt her.”

  DoRe interjected. “They’re glad he’s after her and not them.”

  “Yes, of course.” Catherine understood. “Can you think of anyone who would feed the missus anger or foolishness?”

  “She don’t need no help,” Moses bitterly replied. “Sheba fans the flames.”