Tall Tail

by Rita Mae Brown

  As she released her, Susan glowed. She had worked to lose extra weight a few years ago and she worked even harder to keep it off. Oh, how those pounds want to sneak back.

  As Penny drove away in her Subaru Outback, which she adored, the two women watched her go.

  “I hope G-Pop has time to finish his autobiography,” Susan said. “Leukemia is a terrible disease. You know it’s not going away ever.”

  “Right, but aren’t the drugs better now? People can last longer.”

  Susan nodded. “What I notice about terminal diseases is how up and down people’s health seems to bounce. Some of that is getting the medication right. Pill A can create problems with pill B. But he’s ninety-six, frail, and he really can’t have too long.”

  “Guess not. What I’ve noticed about terminal diseases, since we’re on this dismal subject, is, well, have you ever noticed that sometimes before a person dies they’ll have a really good day? A day where they’re up and about, happy, talking to everyone, or if they’re in the hospital, they sit up and seem just fine.”

  “Odd.”

  “Know what else is odd? When Eddie first got elected he was conservative, of course, but more middle of the road. Now he can’t run to the right fast enough.”

  “Plucks my last nerve,” Susan growled.

  Harry shrugged. “Maybe these days no one can be middle of the road.”

  Susan nodded. “Much as he irritates me, he has done some good things. He tried so hard to legalize marijuana for medical purposes. He squared off against the Committee for Courts of Justice.”

  “Yes, he did.” Harry remembered. “And he hasn’t backed down on it, either.”

  “I will hand it to him when it comes to medical issues, he’s far-sighted. His oversight of the Virginia Board of Pharmacy and the Drug Control Act is pretty tough. So he’s not completely knee-jerk on this right-wing stuff.”

  “Mmm. Do you think he cares about those issues or is he courting the older citizen vote or those people with medical conditions?”

  “Harry, of course he is, but I actually think he cares, too. Cares about education, as well. What it comes down to is I’m not being one hundred percent fair. Eddie and I have never seen eye to eye.”

  “Maybe we’re all a mixed bag.”

  “Or just mixed up.” Susan laughed.

  The two worked for forty-five minutes in Susan’s garden spreading the mulch. The temperature in the mid-eighties, not bad for August, felt worse because the humidity hovered at sixty-five percent. The two felt this keenly since this unusual, glorious summer the humidity remained in the fortieth percentiles and for a few days even dipped down into the thirties.

  “Whew. Done.” Susan wiped her brow with a bandana. “Come on, let’s go have a Co-Cola.”

  “Be in in a minute. Let me put up the shovels.”

  By the time Harry joined Susan, two tall glasses filled with ice and Co-Cola sat on the kitchen table. A plate of quartered tuna-fish sandwiches and egg-salad sandwiches sat in the middle of the table.

  “I’m starved.” Harry plopped down in a chair, but she waited for Susan to sit before reaching for all the delicious food.

  “I can’t wait to see all the photos when G-Pop’s book is done,” said Susan. “I love photos of people when they were children, then young adults.”

  Stuffing her face, Harry nodded, swallowed, then asked, “Did you see the news this morning?”

  “No, why?”

  “Oh, a brief interview with Eddie. He was attacking the current governor for not doing more to aid economic recovery.”

  “It is slow, but Ned says jobs are creeping back. He also says it will never be like it was before the crash. So many small businesses were put down, so to speak, and the coal industry, others, destroyed by a Congress offering no alternatives.”

  “Eddie mentioned that.” Harry reached for another sandwich. “These are really good.” She then returned to the subject at hand. “Eddie fired off facts and figures. He said that in 2007 there were sixty-four jobs for every one hundred Virginians over sixteen. But now it’s fifty-nine jobs for every one hundred Virginians over sixteen. Gotta give it to him, he can argue effectively. When he was sent to Taft, he got such a good education. From Taft to Yale and then UVA School of Law. He did his homework. I just wish he weren’t so right-wing about some issues like race, immigration, that stuff.”

  “Taft changed him,” said Susan. “Be like you or I going to Madeira or Westover. It’s so different from high school, public high school. Speaking of jobs, if I were young today, I’d try to work my way up in these research institutes. I’m willing to bet you that the figures Eddie Cunningham used came from the Commonwealth Institute for Fiscal Analysis. Everybody uses them, and the real brains there belong to Laura Goren.”

  “Never thought of that, of research. I admit that I do take notice if a senior officer or analyst or someone running for public office is a woman.”

  “Me, too. Doesn’t mean I agree with them.”

  “Susan, you don’t even agree with yourself.”

  The two laughed uproariously.

  Then Harry asked, “Where’s Owen?”

  Owen was Susan’s corgi, brother to Tucker.

  “With Ned. He took Owen to town with him today. Said he misses the dog. Didn’t say he missed me.”

  “Men.” Harry smiled.

  “What did our mothers say?” Susan reached over to poke Harry.

  In unison the two chanted, “Men, you can’t live with them, you can’t live without them.”

  Saturday, September 18, 1784

  The first hint of fall filled the crisp late afternoon air.

  Catherine and Rachel investigated the gardens around the house, thinking to make cuttings for their father and husbands. Ewing especially enjoyed cut flowers, as his late wife had filled the house with them.

  “Do you ever wonder how Mother organized her gardens?” Catherine asked. “By color, by size, by season. I don’t know how she did it nor where she procured the seeds.”

  “I don’t know, either. She did teach us how to weed, when to turn the soil, she had a gift. I like that she put the tall flowers in the back, the lower ones in front.”

  “You have more of her gift than I do,” Catherine truthfully stated.

  Pleased by her sister’s praise, Rachel’s open face glowed. “I want to create an English garden at our house. Charles promises to help, but he says he doesn’t really know that much about it. Oh, he knows about the geometry, the pathways and such, but he said he doesn’t know what will grow here, as opposed to what grows in England.”

  “Boxwoods.” Catherine laughed.

  Spotted in the distance, a well-dressed rider captivated their attention.

  Rachel, shielding her eyes, identified him. “Yancy Gates.”

  “Come with me.” Catherine started for the main stables.

  Both women reached the sparkling-clean stable shortly before Yancy arrived.

  Putting up one of the saddle horses, Jeddie smiled as Catherine and Rachel walked in.

  “Jeddie, Yancy Gates will be here any minute. Is everyone groomed?”

  “Everyone but King David.” He mentioned one of the driving horses. “I put him in light work this morning.”

  “Call Tulli over to wash him. I’ll tend to Yancy. I suspect he wants to talk about Serenissima. Rachel and I will entertain him. If I need you, I’ll send Tulli to fetch you.”

  “Miss Catherine, why don’t I work in the broodmare barn? Close, especially if he wants someone pulled out.”

  “Of course.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, then dropped it just as Yancy Grant reached the stable. A slender lad of fifteen, Ralston rushed up to hold his horse.

  “Should I untack him, sir, and rub him down?”

  “No, I won’t be long. A drink of water, perhaps.” Yancy treated the youngster kindly.

  Many people ordered their servants and slaves about, but Yancy appreciated anyone who worked with horses and he
knew anyone in Catherine’s stables was good, even if very young.

  Catherine and Rachel strode out to greet him. “Mr. Grant, how good to see you. Can we offer you a libation?” Catherine, the eldest, took over.

  “Or biscuits. Bettina made a batch this morning,” Rachel added.

  Looking at these two sisters, so beautiful, he smiled. “Thank you. I happened to be over at Pestalozzi’s Mill and thought to come by, as it is near. May I look at Reynaldo?”

  “Of course.” Catherine then called out, “Jeddie.”

  He appeared as if by magic the minute her voice lifted. “Miss Catherine.”

  “Mr. Grant would like to look at Reynaldo and”—she lifted her chin ever so slightly—“allow me to show you his younger half brother.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Jeddie motioned to Binks, a short twelve-year-old, to follow him. Within minutes, the two brought out Reynaldo and Crown Prince.

  “Jeddie, trot Reynaldo for Mr. Grant. Straight up to us, then away, and then in two circles, opposite directions.”

  If Reynaldo favored one leg over the other, this imbalance would show in the circles, especially on an inside leg. Yancy Grant knew how to study a horse.

  After Jeddie trotted the sleek animal, Catherine instructed, “Now pass him in front of us.”

  “Majestic creature,” Yancy admiringly muttered.

  “Binks, do the same with Crown Prince.”

  Completely at ease with the stallion, the younger boy did as he was told.

  “All right, you can put them back in their pastures.” She turned to Yancy. “Unless you’d like to see more?”

  “Serenissima, after these two are turned out,” he prudently requested.

  Rachel briskly walked up to Jeddie and Binks, informing them as to Yancy’s request. The three of them waited at the fence. When Catherine and Yancy reached them, Rachel opened the gate and Reynaldo walked in first, followed by Crown Prince. Then each horse was turned to face the people, their halters slipped off. Both stood for a moment, then joyfully ran into the pastures.

  Yancy’s eyes never left them.

  “You can see that Crown Prince is lighter than his half brother. Built for speed, whereas Reynaldo is built to carry me up hills, down hills, through streams.”

  “Same dam?”

  Rachel interjected, “Catherine’s favorite mare, Queen Esther. She’s in the next pasture.”

  The three horses, with the two young fellows behind them, walked to an adjoining pasture separated by about twelve feet, so no hanging of heads over fencelines.

  “I remember Queen Esther.” Yancy smiled upon seeing the mare. “Of course.”

  Not only did he remember Queen Esther, he knew her bloodlines and most of her get. Why he was being coy only he knew, because both sisters knew Yancy was a fervent student of bloodlines.

  Catherine called the mare over for a nuzzle. “She’s dear to me.”

  “Serenissima?” Yancy underlined his own, pretending not to remember Queen Esther by identifying Serenissima.

  “Here to be bred, before Mr. Selisse’s unfortunate end. I’m keeping her until I’m quite sure. You’re the second person to check on her.”

  His eyebrows raised, his voice did, too. “And who might I ask was the first?”

  “Just this morning Jeffrey Holloway came to check on her condition.”

  He snorted. “He’s a cabinetmaker, not a horseman.”

  Rachel coolly observed while Catherine acted nonchalant. “True enough, but he mentioned that he wished to see to Mrs. Selisse’s mare, she being under such duress.”

  Yancy’s face reddened, but he composed himself. “Upstart.”

  Catherine shined her best smile upon him. “Well, he certainly doesn’t know horses as you do, but then how many do?”

  “You flatter me.” A worried look flashed over the anger. “That poor lady is under great duress, as you stated. I can’t see how Jeffrey Holloway can relieve any of it. He has no experience managing slaves, he has no business experience other than that of a tradesman. Ladies, I fear, his motives are”—he paused to effect—“for personal gain.”

  “Oh, Mr. Grant, I hope not. She has been through enough,” intoned Rachel, now in on the game.

  If Yancy could win over Maureen Selisse, his moderate fortune would be enlarged by a great one. Not that he would hint as such, but his feelings about Jeffrey Holloway betrayed his own motives—plus, Holloway was incredibly handsome and young. Yancy was not a bad-looking man, but was middle-aged with a paunch. He could not have been immune to the figure in his mirror.

  He shook his head. “Women in distress can be easily swayed. I have seen it.”

  “You are kind to be so concerned.” Catherine fed his vanity.

  In Yancy’s defense, he deserved some of that vanity. He’d supported the revolution, worked tirelessly for the cause, kept his estate afloat during the financial debacle that followed. Like Ewing, he had a broad vision.

  Settling down, he walked back to the main stable with the ladies.

  The slender fifteen-year-old Ralston stood outside the stall into which he had put Yancy’s horse. Catherine nodded to him, so he opened the stall door.

  “Mr. Grant, please consider staying and enjoying a drink, some food?” Catherine repeated her offer.

  “Thank you, but I’d best get back.”

  Rachel asked him, “Have you heard, sir, any news of the slave who killed Mr. Selisse or the woman?”

  “No. No one has. They’ve vanished. For now. If they can be found, that will relieve Mrs. Selisse. I can imagine she fears their return, and she may fear for her own life. It was a vicious business.” He swung himself up in the saddle without using the mounting block. That damned Jeffrey Holloway might be much younger, but Yancy could swing up like a young man and he knew he could outride Holloway. Still, he was worried.

  “You honor me by wishing to look at my two boys; I call them my boys.” Catherine looked up at him while thinking about how to tell Rachel not to discuss Moses without giving anything away, although Rachel didn’t know the fugitives were on the farm.

  Peering down into Catherine’s gorgeous upturned face, he smiled. “I shall send over my best mare. We can discuss terms later, but I would like her put to Crown Prince.”

  She shamelessly flattered him. “Your best mare will make Crown Prince’s future.”

  —

  Yancy made one more stop before returning to his own estate. He called out at Dennis McComb’s small cottage on the way home.

  It was now late in the day and Dennis had done all he was going to do for the county. His young wife could be seen in her flourishing garden at the rear.

  Hearing Yancy’s voice, Dennis came out. “Mr. Grant. No trouble, I trust?”

  Damned if Yancy was going to dismount and mount again. He reached into his waistcoat pocket.

  “A down payment.”

  Dennis took the coins from Yancy’s hand. “Yes, sir?”

  “There will be fifty more when you bring in Moses. If you find the woman, sixty, but Moses, bring in Moses.”

  “We’re doing all we can, Mr. Grant.”

  “Damn the constable’s office, Dennis. You do what you must, you hear me, and don’t tell Hiram. Hiram lives by rules. If you must bribe people, do so. I will make good any expenses, but find that killer. A lady’s peace of mind depends on it.”

  Thrilled at the possibility for future gain, Dennis promised, “I will find them both.”

  Thursday, August 4, 2016

  “I thought I heard someone out here,” Mignon greeted Harry.

  “Sorry, I tried to be quiet.” She finished spreading the mulch on Penny Holloway’s front plantings.

  “You were, but the truck makes a rumble. I’m taking a brief break from making notes with the governor. Perhaps sometime I can interview you, since you know the family so well. And Susan is your best friend.”

  “Most days. Other days we fuss.”

  The petite woma
n laughed. “Family history is how I became interested in Virginia history and beyond. Like the Holloways, the Skipworths have been here a long time.”

  “Well, you’re standing on a pile of history.” Harry smiled. “Big Rawly goes back before the Revolution. French inspired, all these buildings. Gives it an exotic look.”

  Mignon replied, “You do know the history around here.”

  “I was raised here, but a year ago I found myself learning a lot more about The Barracks prisoner-of-war camp. Also, I’m a congregant at St. Luke’s Church, which was the first Lutheran church this far west.”

  “Very beautiful. Designed by an Englishman. Working for the governor, I’ve been poking around western Albemarle County. Everyone focuses on Monticello and Ash Lawn and, of course, the University of Virginia, but a great deal happened out here. It was the Wild West for a while.” Mignon clearly enjoyed research, her work.

  “Funny, isn’t it? Nothing is really lost. We just have to find it.”

  “Good way to put it,” Mignon agreed.

  “If I learn about the past it’s usually through farming practices, seeds, livestock,” said Harry, ever the farmer. “My paternal family has farmed here since shortly after the Revolution. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree, and as you know, lots of apples in Virginia.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mignon said and chuckled. “Just this morning when I was reviewing the governor’s first year in office as governor, he recalled the primary crops, which were corn followed by apples. He keeps right up with things. He informed me that Virginia now ranks sixth in the nation for apple production, ten thousand four hundred acres devoted to apples, one hundred ninety-five million pounds of apples. He’s amazing how he can remember details. Can rattle off figures from the past and the present. He told me that the owner of all the land on the other side of Garth Road first started big apple orchards.”

  “Ewing Garth,” Harry added.

  “Yes.”