Murder in the Marsh

by Sara Whitford

  Adam’s eyes grew large and he clenched his teeth in mild horror, considering the sad circumstances of those male pigs. “Oh, I see.”

  He gave Cyrus a confused look. He then looked over at the sow. “But wait, how can you tell that sow is in season?”

  Cyrus looked like he was trying to decide whether he should explain. Apparently, he decided against it.

  “Just you trust me,” he said. “When you ’round pigs and you raisin ’em, it’s your business to know when they tryin’ to do their business. We got a boar hog, but we don’t keep him here in the same pen with the sows. All the male pigs in this pen done been fixed.” Cyrus lowered his eyes at Adam. “You understand, sir?”

  Adam did understand. What he didn’t understand, however, was how Cyrus could possibly tell that sow was in season. He sure couldn’t tell standing where he was just by looking at her. Second, he didn’t know what in the world that had to do with slaughtering her for barbecue anyway.

  Adam chuckled. “I’ll take your word on it,” he said. He studied the animals in the pen again but decided it was probably a waste of his time, as well as Cyrus’s, for him to try to choose a pig. “Why don’t you just pick out a good one for me?” he said.

  Cyrus looked like he was thinking about it for a moment. Then he nodded at Adam. “Alright. I’ll do it. I reckon I ought to be able to find you just what you’re lookin for. How big you want it?”

  “Emmanuel said about seventy-five pounds dressed weight.”

  Cyrus nodded, then walked down the length of the fence. “Seventy-five pounds.” He looked over the different pigs and said, “I think any of these three over here ought to be fine for what you needin.”

  Adam saw the animals he was pointing at. “Yeah, I’d say any of those look fine. How about that one there?” The pig he’d chosen had a mostly black body, but its sides, hindquarters, and legs were mottled with white. It also had a whitish pattern on its face around its snout.

  “Alright then,” said Cyrus. “I’ll get this one ready for you. Violet’s got to get that scaldin tub heated first, though.”

  “What does that do?” Adam asked.

  “After we kill the pig, we got to get all that hair off ’fore we can start to butcher him.”

  Adam looked again at the pig they had chosen. “How will you kill him?”

  “Oh, I’ll hit him in the noggin with a hammer.” Cyrus tapped on his own head where his hairline met his forehead. “One good hit ought to knock him right out, then I’ll stick him,” he motioned to his neck, “right here. Drain out all his blood. Then we can put him in the scaldin tub.”

  Sounded like messy business—far messier than killing chickens, something to which Adam was actually quite accustomed. One only had to wring their necks before cleaning and butchering them.

  Adam was still wondering about what Cyrus had told him earlier. He had to know. “Why is it bad to eat a pig in season?”

  Adam made a face as he asked a question. The idea sounded off-putting in and of itself, but he wondered if there was some other reason why it was a bad thing to do.

  Cyrus looked at Adam and said, “You really want me to tell you?”

  Adam chuckled, then said, “Well, maybe not.”

  Cyrus quickly walked over to the barn and grabbed a hammer, some rope, and a knife, then came back over to Adam and said, “When a sow’s in season, it sure ’nuff won’t kill ya, but it’ll give meat that’s tainted—smells real strong, and then it won’t taste as good. You know if somethin don’t smell right, ain’t nobody gon’ wanna eat it.”

  Adam nodded in agreement.

  “Listen, sir,” said Cyrus. “It’s gon’ take me a few hours to get the hog ready for you. If you want to, you can go take care of some other things while we doin this here. I reckon I’ll have him ready for you to pick up by three.”

  “That’s fine with me,” said Adam.

  He thanked Cyrus and left him to do his job. He would’ve liked to stay and watch, just to see how the process worked, but he got the impression Cyrus would rather he go on inside.

  Adam decided to return to the warehouse to help Boaz with getting the barbecue pit ready. He would come back later in the afternoon to get the pig.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS STILL DARK OUT, and Adam desperately wanted to sleep, but Boaz stood at his door telling him it was time to get up.

  “Rise and shine, Fletcher. The fire’s good and hot. Get on up so you can come help me cook this thing.”

  “Ahhgghh.” Adam groaned as he forced himself to turn over, which wasn’t easy considering he was buried under the weight of three heavy quilts to keep warm. The room was always so cold in the morning, and there was something about being woken up when it was still dark that made it feel even colder.

  He liked having a window looking out on Taylor Creek next to his bed, but this time of year, in spite of the heavy curtain he’d hang over it at night, there was still a terrible draft that would come in over the framework.

  Boaz hadn’t moved from the doorway, and Adam could sense he was still there, even though his eyes weren’t open yet.

  “Bo, are you going to keep standing there?”

  “When I know you’re awake, I’ll leave.”

  “Fine.” Adam growled into his pillow. He turned his head to look at Boaz and opened his eyes. “I’m awake.” He propped himself up on his elbows, then dropped his feet off of the side of the bed and pulled the quilts around him.

  Boaz stood there for another few seconds, then turned to go back through his room and into the kitchen. As he walked away, he called back to Adam, “Don’t lay back down. You’ll fall asleep again. Get on up and get movin.”

  Adam knew as much as he wanted to crawl back into bed, he really did need to get up. Actually, he was looking forward to learning how to cook a pig—a whole pig, not just the cuts of meat Aunt Franny would fix for the tavern.

  It would be noon or even later before the pig was done. Emmanuel’s plan was to wrap up the meeting no later than eleven, then tell everyone to go home, bring their families, and enjoy a pig pickin that afternoon.

  After he got dressed and went downstairs, he had to help Boaz lift the split pig over the fire. It had been made in a pit in the ground not too far from the warehouse.

  Several hours later—by the time the meeting was over and folks would start coming to enjoy the fruits of their smoky labor—Adam felt like an expert at cooking pigs. He watched as Boaz demonstrated for him how to cut away large portions of a cooked pig and begin chopping it up.

  “You don’t want to chop it up too much,” he warned. “Just enough to break it up some and get the meat mixed up good with the crispy skin.” He quickly pulled some more aside and chopped it before popping a strip in his mouth. “Mmm-mmm! Go on, pull you a piece.”

  Adam reached down and tried to grab a piece that looked like it still had a bit of skin attached. He nearly burnt his fingers, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t wait to eat. He knew it would be delicious.

  He understood exactly what Boaz meant about how to chop the meat—and they wouldn’t really chop it all. They’d leave much of it intact on the pig so that folks could come along and “pick” it, hence the term “pig pickin.”

  While the pig was cooking, Boaz had shown Adam how to make the vinegar sauce that would douse the pork when it was served. It had been seasoned throughout the cooking process, but this would be a final step of flavoring.

  Meanwhile, Aunt Franny was cooking collards, stewed potatoes, and fried cornbread, along with some pies that would be delivered from the Topsail Tavern.

  Adam was surprised when Valentine came to bring the food and saw his mother had come along. He hadn’t expected her to be there. He went over to meet them. Valentine and Mary climbed out and walked around to the back of the cart to start unloading the food.

  “Y’all want some music over here today?” said Valentine.

  “How’s that?” A
dam asked as he grabbed one of the large pots of vegetables and led Valentine and his mother towards the warehouse, where they would set everything up.

  “It was his idea,” said Mary, motioning her head back towards Valentine as she grabbed a huge basket full of cornbread from the horse cart. She followed behind them into the warehouse and carried the basket over to the area where the food would be served and put it on top of a long table that had been fashioned out of several tall barrels and long boards. “Last night Valentine told those boys who’ve been playing together at the tavern about the pig pickin and mentioned they could come over here and entertain, maybe make a little extra money. You think Emmanuel would like that? If he’ll hire ’em, Valentine can let ’em know as soon as he gets back over there.”

  Adam smiled. “I think that’s a fine idea. They’ll liven things up.”

  Valentine nodded. “I sure think so. All the big parties have some kind of music, but I figured ol’ Emmanuel might not remember that, since it’s probably been so long since he had one.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Adam. “I’ll mention it to Boaz, and then he can find out.”

  Just then Boaz came into the warehouse.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Adam. “Hey, Bo. Valentine suggested we hire the musicians from over at the tavern to play for the pig pickin. You think Emmanuel would agree to that?”

  Boaz raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I don’t see why not. That’d be good. Who are they?”

  “They’re a trio,” said Mary. “One plays the fiddle, one plays guitar, and one plays a flute… No… what’s that thing called? A tin whistle.”

  “I think they’re good, and they must be willing to work cheap if Valentine’s hired ’em,” Adam joked.

  Boaz chuckled. “I can’t see Emmanuel findin any fault with that. Tell ’em to come on down.”

  “Will do,” said Valentine. “In fact, I’ve got to get on back to the tavern now.”

  When he left the warehouse, Adam and Mary followed him out.

  Valentine climbed back up into the driver’s seat of the horse cart. “Some of us gotta work.”

  Mary started to get back into the cart as well, but Valentine said to her, “No, no, missy! Why don’t you just stay here and enjoy the party? You’re not workin today.”

  Mary shook her head at Valentine, then looked at Adam defensively and said, “I’m not working in the tavern today, but I’ve got washing to do.”

  Adam wrinkled his brow. “But it’s already lunchtime. And it’s cold out. By the time you get home and get the washing done, the sun’ll be going down. Then what are you gonna do? Hang out the washing in the dark?”

  “The boy’s right,” said Valentine. “Stay here. You need to get out of the tavern—be around some regular folks. You don’t even have the Widow Simpson to go see anymore. You’re turning into a hermit.”

  Mary sighed. She apparently couldn’t think of another excuse to leave, and neither Adam nor Valentine would help her come up with one.

  “Come on, Mama,” said Adam. “Stay here and get you somethin to eat. Enjoy the music. Laney Martin’s back in town—I forgot to tell you. You and her can sit and visit. You can also meet Will’s wife, Catherine. She’s expecting a baby around the same time as my birthday.”

  Valentine didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He smiled at her and Adam, then snapped the reins of the horse and clicked his teeth. “Hyah. Let’s go, Penny.”

  Adam led Mary back into the warehouse, where she decided to set the serving table while he went back outside to see if Boaz needed any more help with the pig.

  WITHIN THE NEXT HOUR THE warehouse had been creatively transformed by Mary into a much more inviting venue. She discovered several empty barrels in a corner of the warehouse, so she got Martin, who arrived shortly after Valentine left, to help her set them up as tables. They grabbed crates and whatever other things as they could find to use as chairs. It would be a welcome sight for partygoers, as no one would want to stand around outdoors very long on a day like this.

  The enormous building was chilly, with its high ceiling, but it was not as cold as it was outside, and it would soon be more comfortable as it filled with warm bodies.

  Had she not improvised those improvements for the guests, they would’ve likely been standing and eating at several long communal tables that would’ve been thrown together with long boards over crates.

  Soon Emmanuel came downstairs so he could be ready to welcome folks as they arrived.

  The gathering was far from pretentious, and yet nearly all of Beaufort’s gentry came. The handful of men who had been at the meeting with Emmanuel were among the most influential, and deep pocketed, in the county. These were the men upon whose shoulders—and wealth—it would depend if the canal project would ever come to fruition. More realistically, the work would fall upon the shoulders of the slaves belonging to many of these men, but nevertheless, lending their laborers to such a task would mean those same laborers were unavailable to work at the jobs they were originally purchased to do.

  The success of the project was entirely dependent on these civic-minded gentlemen.

  When Laney Martin arrived with her brother and his wife, Adam warmly remembered the party at Richard Rasquelle’s estate where he had first met the girl. That was a very different affair—with a string trio and harpsichordist providing music to a formal garden party with a waitstaff, rather than a ragtag band of tavern musicians playing jigs in a dusty warehouse with barrels for tables and crates for chairs.

  Regardless of where she was—warehouse or fine garden—to Adam she was the loveliest thing in all of Creation.

  Naturally, Ellison Smythe, the Port Beaufort customs inspector, was an invited guest. When he showed up with his arrogant son, Francis, Adam was understandably annoyed. Francis was close to Adam’s age but was spoiled rotten thanks to his frequently absent father’s insistence on having servants meet his petulant son’s every need. From what Adam had heard, though, the senior Smythe had tightened the reins a bit after his son’s altercation with Adam the previous year.

  As long as he stays the hell away from Laney, we’ll be just fine, thought Adam. He knew Laney and Francis had been associates at least, if not friends, because of their families moving in the same circles. But Adam was thankful he didn’t have to make a habit of fraternizing with the obnoxious brat.

  After all the guests arrived, Emmanuel invited the Reverend Miller, who was also in attendance, to say the blessing. Then the party began.

  EVERYONE LINED UP AT THE end of the long table with all of the food on it and made their way down either side. A large portion of the cooked pig had been brought in and placed on the table inside, and folks would “pick” out what they wanted, then move down the line to fill their plates with vegetables and cornbread.

  Tall and lanky Ed Willis and straw-haired Fred Canady, who had served on board the Carolina Gypsy with Adam and Martin on their trip to Cuba, were put in charge of serving the drinks. Ricky Jones, whose dark features could easily let him pass as Adam’s brother were it not for his English accent, was also there, but Emmanuel had given him fair warning about getting drunk, just as he had Martin, so the two of them split their time between visiting with guests and cleaning dishes.

  The Martins and Adam’s mother all sat together at one table. Adam would’ve liked to have joined them, but Emmanuel had him busy, along with the other employees of Rogers’s Shipping Company, in making sure that all of the guests were having a good time and eating plenty.

  Adam couldn’t help but occasionally glance over to see how his mother was getting along with Laney and the Martins. He also couldn’t help but keep an eye out to see if Francis Smythe was trying to drop in on their conversation. He was relieved that Francis seemed occupied talking with some of the other high-society young men who were there.

  The musicians did help liven up the party. Adam couldn’t imagine how dull the event would be if the
y weren’t there, with everyone just standing around, an assortment of wooden and china plates in hand, eating and trying to mingle.

  Finally, Adam was able to take a couple of moments to spend some time at the table with the Martins. His mother gave him her seat and said that Martin and Ricky could use some help with the dishes, as things were beginning to wind down. He was relieved to at least see a sincere smile on her face when she excused herself. It was the first time in recent memory that he could recall her genuinely appearing to have a good time. He was glad Valentine had made her stay behind. It was obviously just what she needed to rejoin the land of the living.

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Miss Catherine,” Adam commented.

  Will chuckled. His wife blushed and held her hand over her mouth as she nodded while chewing a piece of cornbread.

  “Don’t forget,” Will offered, “she’s eating for two, you know. She certainly doesn’t let me forget at any expense.”

  Catherine jokingly slapped her husband’s shoulder. “This condition is full of surprises,” she said. “Early on I had no appetite whatsoever. Now it seems I can’t get enough to eat. Everything tastes so good!”

  Laney playfully tipped her head to the side and said, “Except my cooking, right?”

  Catherine’s eyes grew big and she gasped, “Oh, Laney!”

  Will lowered his head in mock shame, and Adam couldn’t help but be amused at the situation.

  “There’s little doubt you make a genuine effort to feed us all well, sweet girl,” said Will, “but there’s a reason we’ve always needed Aunt Celie. Women in our family are hardly known for being good cooks.”

  “Will, Will, Will…” said Adam, shaking his head. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What a thing to say to your sister!” He was trying very hard not to smile.

  Laney looked at Adam and gave a half grin as she reached over to lightly touch his hand, which was resting on top of the table.