“Do you think Governor Holloway was corrupt?” Deon asked.
“When he was governor, it was the Old Boys’ Club, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. They didn’t think of that as corrupt. I doubt that Governor Holloway or generations of Virginia governors questioned how business was done.” Harry vividly remembered her parents discussing politics.
“It’s still the Old Boys’ Network.” Deon, a young man of color, distrusted most all elected officials who were white.
Harry thoughtfully answered him. “Maybe it’s a shadow we’ll never shake. Little by little, the process opens up. I guess my question is, will it open up enough in time?”
“Hmm.” Deon listened.
“I’m going to be forty-two on Sunday.” Harry looked at Rae, Bethel, and Deon. “Sounds old to you, I’m sure, but it’s not that old and yet, I think about things a little harder, I feel things a little deeper, and I know I can’t turn my back on our problems. By the time you’re forty you know you have to step up to the plate. Otherwise you’ve left politics to all the creeps.”
“That means you’ll be working on Ned’s campaign next year.” Cooper smiled, then turned to Rae, Bethel, and Deon. “Thank you for your time. I may be back to ask questions as they occur to me. We’ll try to get to the bottom of this peculiar break-in. The good news is no one stole your equipment.”
Back outside, Harry climbed into Cooper’s squad car. “What an outburst.”
Cooper nodded. “It’s got to be painful being used by your grandson, used in a way that dredges up old hatreds.”
“Maybe they aren’t so old.” Harry fastened her seatbelt.
“I don’t know. I sure hope not.”
“I do, too, but Eddie wants to make political capital out of them.”
Saturday, September 18, 1784
Not wishing to offend, Jeddie bowed slightly to Jeffrey Holloway. “If you wait here, sir, I will fetch Miss Catherine.”
Handsome Jeffrey inhaled the fragrance of cleaned oiled tack. The bridles hanging on the tack room wall, bits gleaming, saddles on racks, also perfect, announced a well-run establishment.
Outside, divided into separate pastures, the horses grazed, mares separated from geldings, driving horses from saddle horses.
In the distance, Catherine approached with Jeddie. Struck by her grace, Jeffrey smiled.
“Mr. Holloway,” she greeted him, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Inclining his head, executing a half bow, he bounced back up, “Mrs. Schuyler, I’ve come to inquire if Serenissima has been bred?”
“Ah, Mrs. Selisse is taking an interest in affairs. That’s a good sign,” Catherine remarked. “Yes, she has been bred, but I would like to keep her for one more week. Of course, if Mrs. Selisse wishes her returned immediately, we will do so. There’s never a guarantee about these things. I hope she has caught, as it promises to be a fine breeding. Francisco relished an outstanding horse.”
“That he did.” Jeffrey cleared his throat. “You may be wondering why she sent me here.”
Graciousness itself, Catherine intoned, “I’m delighted that she did. You saw the crowd around her at the funeral. None of them horsemen, except Mr. Grant, of course, and I think of him as a gambler first.” She smiled conspiratorially.
Jeffrey’s face flushed. “Madam, I’m not much of a horseman myself. Yancy Grant fancies himself the best in the county, although we all know pride of place belongs to you.”
“You flatter me, sir.”
Taking all this in, Jeddie glanced out the barn doors. Covered in mud, John Schuyler walked toward the barn.
“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth.” Jeffrey smiled and Catherine knew Maureen had to be under his spell. “Mrs. Selisse sent me, as she is not yet ready to pay calls. Also, she fears that Yancy Grant will try to buy Serenissima from her. She is unsure of the mare’s true value, but she knows you will tell her the truth. She asked me might I inquire of you if you think she should sell the mare? Grant has offered her four thousand dollars.”
“A fine sum, Mr. Holloway, but Serenissima, especially if she’s caught, is worth far more.”
Jeffrey’s brow furrowed. “I knew he’d try to take advantage of her. Beg your pardon, I shouldn’t have—”
Catherine shook her head. “We all know what Yancy Grant is about. He wants to win, he wants the best horses, and I suspect he wants Mrs. Selisse.”
John strode into the barn at that exact moment. “Hello, Mr. Holloway.”
“John, you’ve arrived in the nick of time,” said Catherine. “I was being indiscreet and spoke much too directly about Yancy Grant.”
Her husband came alongside her. “Ah, well, no harm done. Mr. Holloway will keep a confidence.”
“Of course, I will,” Jeffrey responded, pleased to be taken seriously by his betters. Plus, he liked them. They were close in age.
“Husband, might I ask what you’ve been doing?”
“Charles and Karl wanted to reinforce the bridges over the narrow deep ravines. They held. We knew that, but you know how those two fret, so I’ve been waist-deep in water, as have they, as well as all the men we could pull off their chores. Done.”
“Mr. Garth has the gift of seeing into the future.” Jeffrey admired the older man. “The work he did on the main bridge during the war has opened up commerce. Mr. Garth just sees what we do not.”
“That he does,” John agreed.
Catherine invited Jeffrey to come up to the big house, enjoy a sip of tea or something stronger.
Studying her husband, she shook her head and laughed. “As for you, don’t set foot in that house until you’re cleaned up. Father will fret. He won’t say anything, but he’ll fret.”
“I know it.” John grinned. “Mr. Holloway, a pleasure to see you.”
As Catherine and Jeffrey walked up to the elegant brick Georgian structure, Jeddie returned to Serenissima, who was munching away in her large paddock. “Beauty, I won’t let Yancy Grant buy you. I don’t want you to go back to Mrs. Selisse, either.”
He climbed on the stout fence, legs dangling, and wished, just for one day, to have the money that Ewing had. Jeddie would buy Serenissima because she was fine, but mostly because he loved her.
The mare felt the same way. Sometimes two creatures strike a chord in each other, and this was the case.
—
Once in the house, Catherine called out, “Father, we have a visitor.”
Ewing replied from his office, “Yes, dear.”
“I don’t wish to disturb him,” Jeffrey said.
“Mr. Holloway, my father will be glad to see you.”
With spectacles pushed up on his head, Ewing popped out of his office. “Ah, please have a refreshment. Warmed up a bit today. Catherine?”
“I already asked him. I’ll dash back to Bettina and Serena. Where would you like to entertain, Father?”
“Let us sit in my office. It’s pleasant today.” He looked at Jeffrey. “If you can bear being surrounded by piles of papers.”
“I look forward to your company.” Jeffrey had always been well treated, even though of the middling classes but this was a bit warmer.
As the two men chatted, Bettina and Serena came in with drinks, a tray of cookies. Catherine followed.
“Sit down, my dear.”
Jeffrey informed Ewing, “Mrs. Selisse sent me a message if I might inquire about Serenissima. She’s trying to attend to her husband’s business.”
“Perhaps there are too many horses,” Catherine casually remarked. “Without Francisco she needs only four carriage horses and two saddle horses. Then again, she may wish to keep all, as a reminder of her husband.”
“She may be ready to part with a few,” Jeffrey allowed. “There’s much to do for her. She must manage the crops, the slaves, and deal with her husband’s many interests beside that. Some of those men are”—he paused—“perhaps not operating in Mrs. Selisse’s best interest. I cannot say as much to her. At this time
, casting doubt on others would only add to her sufferings.”
Smiling broadly, Ewing answered, “No doubt, sir, no doubt, but they underrate the lady. She is fortunate to have you quietly protecting her. Of course, she needs time—the shock, you know, the terrible shock—but I trust she will refrain from major business decisions until she has put this dreadful event behind her.”
“Yes.” Jeffrey sipped his tea, refusing spirits. “There has been no sign of Moses or the woman. It’s as though they’ve vanished.”
Voice modulated, Catherine remarked, “It may be better if they have. Mrs. Selisse has been through enough.”
“Oh, I quite agree, but her lady’s maid seems intent on revenge. Says her mistress should have satisfaction.”
Ah, yes, Sheba at work.
“Perhaps.” Ewing changed the subject. “How is your father?”
“Well, thank you.”
Ewing pointed to his special bird’s-eye maple bureau holding his papers. “You were small when your father crafted that for me. No one better, not even in Philadelphia. And the drawers slide as evenly and well as the day he delivered the bureau.”
Jeffrey smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“And you, too, have taken up the profession?” Catherine made polite conversation, although it wasn’t really polite, she was reading between the lines.
“I work with Father, but my heart’s not in it. I prefer being outside, but we do not always get to choose how we will make our way in the world.”
Seizing the moment, Catherine smiled at him. “Yes, I have often thought of that. One never knows what lies ahead. I suppose you have to keep your eyes open, as my father always counsels me. And if you would, please tell Mrs. Selisse if she needs anything at all, we will do our best to assist. She has been fortunate to have your concern.” This was uttered with warmth.
Jeffrey dropped his eyes for a moment, then returned her gaze. “I can’t stand to think of Mr. Selisse’s business associates trying to take advantage of her at such a time. Your interest in her well-being will help her, I’m sure. I do believe women know better about such things than men.”
—
After he left, Catherine waving him off at the front door, she returned to her father. “I made a bet with Rachel.”
“And?” His eyebrows raised.
“I bet that Jeffrey Holloway would marry Maureen Selisse before a year’s time. If I win, she owes me four embroidered pillowcases. She has Mother’s hand, you know.”
“She does. Very artistic, Rachel. Well, what does she win?”
“A new hat from the milliner.”
He tapped the arm of the chair, laughing. “It is a fascinating bet.”
“He hasn’t let the grass grow under his feet.” Catherine used the old saying. “He’s obviously attentive and handsome.”
“And young.” Ewing broke into a broad grin. “Ah, well, this is a bet I shall avidly follow.”
—
Once in the kitchen, Catherine relayed the visit to Bettina.
“Sheba will demand her pound of flesh.” Bettina used the line from Shakespeare even as she didn’t know its provenance.
The woman soaked up everything, even though she couldn’t read. Her mind was broad and retentive.
“No doubt.” Catherine leaned against a thick counter. “How are they?”
“Better. His fever’s down. He can think more clearly. We must find a way soon.” Bettina didn’t wish to speak directly, nor did Catherine.
“I will speak to John.”
As Catherine left the big house, sun noon high, she saw Father Gabe standing before her mother’s grave. He stared directly at the tombstone. Fetching a small, sharp stone out of his pocket, he scratched something at the rear of the stone.
Seeing this, Catherine stood still, hidden behind a large black gum tree. He spoke as he marked the base of the fine monument, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Once Father Gabe left, Catherine carefully made her way to her mother’s grave. She walked to the back of the beautiful sculpture, the recumbent lamb with a cross between its front legs. This was on a sizable marble rectangle, the right side of which had Isabelle Garth’s name, birth date, and death date. The left side showed Ewing’s name and birth date. His intent was to be beside his beloved wife for eternity.
A small cross had been scratched on the back of the base. Catherine knew Father Gabe would never disfigure her mother’s tomb. This small cross had to carry some deep meaning, but what?
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
“He has good days and bad days,” Penny Holloway said as Harry shoveled mulch for Susan from the back of her F-150. “Sometimes the medication agitates him, just sets him off, but he tries to stay upbeat. It’s better if his mind is occupied.”
Waiting for her mulch pile to grow bigger, Susan stood next to Penny.
Her grandmother had dropped by for a visit, needing a break from tending to the governor.
Penny smiled, looking up at Harry on the truck bed. “Harry, you will never gain an ounce.”
“No, but I will.” Susan laughed. “If I so much as look at a chocolate-chip cookie, a pound.”
“Oh, your mother always says the same thing. She kept her figure and so have you.”
Susan exaggerated her pain. “G-Mom, it’s so hard.”
“A woman must suffer for beauty,” Penny responded. “The French said that first, of course. You know, when Sam was governor, we met so many people when we traveled on government trips. Every time I was in Paris, the women had perfect clothes, perfect hair, perfect makeup, and, of course, perfect deportment!”
“That is irritating,” replied Susan, who knew Paris well.
Harry told on herself. “I’m safe. No one will ever accuse me of being fashionable.”
Susan compressed her lips, thought for a moment, then actually said, “Well, Harry, that may be the case, but you will always be the one with the best body.”
“Don’t forget BoomBoom.” Harry mentioned a classmate who was quite beautiful and with a tremendous bosom, hence her nickname.
Her given first name was Ursula.
Penny laughed, then lowered her voice. “Too much to carry.” She paused, then turned to Susan. “When I look at you, I see your mother at the same age. How the time goes and what fun we had. She’d canvass door to door when Sam would run for office and she swore she would never marry a politician. She didn’t.” She paused again.
“Daddy liked banking and Mom did, too,” said Susan. “I thought I was safe when I married a lawyer,” she forthrightly admitted. “Ned kind of slid into politics.”
“You get used to it.” Penny sighed. “I wish Sam and I could do it all over again, I wish we could correct our mistakes, accomplish more of what we hoped to do, but as you know”—she looked directly at Susan—“so much of that depends on who sits in our legislature.”
“Ned’s eloquent on that.” Susan smiled. “My ever-so-levelheaded husband can actually swear like a sailor—just to me, of course.”
“How do we know he’s not swearing at you?” Harry jabbed her.
“He doesn’t need to do that.” Susan sweetly smiled. “You’ll do it for him.”
Penny laughed out loud. “You two. Never ends. I remember one time when your father built a sandbox. Do you remember your sandbox?”
“Do,” Susan replied.
“We all called it the Taj Mahal. Never saw anything like it. Well, the two of you, such lovely little girls, were playing in there, building castles, and the next thing your mother and I heard was screaming. Out we ran, and you, Harry, had torn out a side of the sandbox. How a child of six could have done that I don’t know. Susan, being the lady she is, hit you over the head with her sand bucket. It took two adult women to separate you.”
Harry pointed her shovel at Susan. “Violent. I’ve always known you had a streak of violence.”
Ignoring this, Susan motioned to the ever-growing pile. “Well, let’s fill up ou
r wheelbarrows.”
Hopping down from the truck bed, Harry said to Mrs. Holloway, “If you need mulch for your gardens, I’m happy to bring some over.”
“What do you charge?”
“Not a thing. I don’t charge Susan anything, and right now I like you better than Susan.”
They all three laughed.
“I will leave you girls to it,” said Penny.
“A quick question before you go.” Harry stuck her shovel into the large pile. “Is the governor really writing his autobiography?”
Penny threw up her hands. “Driving me crazy. ‘Honey, do you remember what LBJ’s oldest girl wore the first time we were invited to the White House?’ ‘Honey, whatever happened to that officious fellow who ran The Valentine Museum when I got elected to the state Senate for the first time?’ Yes, oh, my, yes, he is writing his autobiography. Thankfully, Mignon’s a treasure.”
Susan smiled. “G-Pop likes to talk.”
“These days, you can’t have one fact wrong or the media pounces on you.” Penny shook her head. “Sam and I were in politics when you could actually get something done. It’s so vicious now.”
“You all didn’t have the easiest time,” Susan said sympathetically.
“No public servant does. And sometimes one has to say and do things he doesn’t believe because if you don’t you won’t get elected or reelected. I always thought the trick to politics was knowing not what you can do but what people are ready to accept. Your conscience can take a real beating.”
“Neddie says one of the greatest moments of the last half of the twentieth century, speaking of conscience, was when LBJ signed the Voting Rights Act.”
Penny slipped her arm through Susan’s. “When it happened, Sam simply said, ‘There goes the Democratic Party in the South.’ And he was right. But so was LBJ. Of course, I couldn’t publicly say anything at the time, but I could to Sam. He didn’t see it then. He learned. But we all learn.” She pulled Susan to her, gave her a squeeze with her arm now around Susan’s waist. “Now what are you talking about, putting on a pound?”
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