Furmidable Foes

25

December 28, 1787

Friday

Clear deep robin’s-egg blue skies arched overhead. The snows stopped. The road, rutted in the best of circumstances, proved more endurable as snow had packed into the ruts. The cold nights kept the road packed tight and the temperature in the day nicked above 32ºF but not by much. Martin drove, observing the farms they passed, while Shank, scarf around his neck, tried to see mileposts.

“Too many covered by snow but we should make Red Store in maybe an hour.” He named a store at the crossroads of Alexandria Pike and Falmouth-Winchester Road.

“We’d better. Sun won’t be up much longer. At least it’s not snowing, but we’re dragging along.” Martin ached a bit.

“Yep. Might get better, though.”

“We sure don’t want it warmer. Roads will be slop. We’ll be digging out of the muck. This cold is our friend.” Martin sniffed. “Except my back hurts in the cold.”

“Right.” Shank shrugged.

“Might be no rooms at Red Store.”

“Someone will know where we can stay, especially if we buy something,” Shank laconically added, then looked back. “You know they haven’t spoken for two days. Think they’re struck dumb.”

“No. What is there to say?”

“Got that right.” Shank smiled. “Didn’t Richard Henry Lee give land to the Red Store place? So now it’s more than a crossroads.”

“Imagine being that rich,” Martin mused.

“Or as rich as Maureen Selisse Holloway. Three names. That way we have to talk about her longer.” Shank laughed. “Not a bad-looking woman.”

“Bet she was a beauty when she was young.”

“You’re right again. Bet she was a bitch young, too.” Shank rubbed his hands together. The gloves could have been thicker.

“Aren’t most women?” Martin posited.

“No. I expect there’s about as many rotten men as women. Nature doesn’t play favorites here.”

Martin came back. “I was married once. I tell people I am still. Once was enough.”

Shank grinned. “What’s made you think of that?”

“Bitch.” Martin laughed.

Riding in silence, they reached Red Store before sunset. The scarlet orb hovered above the horizon, turning the snowy fields equally scarlet.

Martin pulled up to the hitching post.

“I’ll do it.” Shank swung out. His feet touched the snowy ground, and he tied the mare to the post.

“If you want to make a run for it, go ahead.” Martin taunted them.

Neither Sulli nor William said anything as they sat in the back wrapped in their blankets, surrounded by straw, which did help cut the cold a bit.

Walking inside, stove belching out heat, Martin and Shank sighed, for it felt so good.

Martin said, “If you give me a hammer, I’ll break the ice on your water trough.”

A man behind the counter sporting a thick, white, long beard grunted, bent down, and stood back up with a hammer. “Been doing that all day.”

Martin took the hammer, went out, broke the water, untied the horse, and walked her and the cart over for a long drink.

Inside, Shank bought a thicker pair of gloves and asked about the closest inn. It wasn’t far.

“Good food?” Shank asked a bit more.

“Rebecca, the woman there, good cook, makes a cobbler using her peach preserves. Pours brandy over it. Worth the trip, I can tell you.”

Handing over money for the gloves, Shank turned when Martin walked back in.

“Think I’ll buy a few bales of your hay. Stacked up outside.”

The old man smiled. “Good hay, corn, oats. Wheat’s off and on. Don’t know why.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-five cents a bale.”

“Make it four bales, then.” Martin reached in his pocket, pulled out some coins, counted them out. “One dollar.”

“How far is Rebecca’s Inn?” Shank slipped his hands into the heavier gloves.

As the two walked to the door, the old fellow followed. “If the road’s good, ten minutes. If not, who knows?”

Running his right hand over his beard, he grunted. “New wagon?”

“Yes. Cost me one hundred and fifty dollars. My other one gave way. Pull on your coat. Come look at this,” Martin suggested.

“Why?” the old fellow wondered.

“Because, you could sell wagons like this. Come and look. It’s well built. Take a real beating.” Martin enticed him. “Yes, it is expensive, but this wagon will last for years. In the long run it will prove a prudent buy.”

The old fellow followed them out, paying no attention whatsoever to the two young people in the bed of the wagon. He couldn’t resist—he knelt down to look at the axle and the wheel wells.

“Sturdy.” Shank echoed Martin’s appeal. “Look again at that axle. It’s heavier than what you’ll find around here.”

The old man knelt down again. “Take a hell of a thump to bust it. How much?”

This time Shank replied, “One hundred and fifty, what we paid.”

“That’s a lot of money.” When the man stood up, his knees cracked.

“How much would it cost to keep repairing a cheaper one? Hours lost. Work lost. Repairs are what cost you.”

“Well, that’s the truth,” the old fellow replied.

“Tell you what. You tell me what color you want. I’ll bring you a wagon. Paint for free. Now, it will take maybe two months. If I can hurry it up, I will. You give me half when I deliver and half when you sell, and you will sell it. Before you know it, you will have good money coming in from something that doesn’t spoil. You got food in that store. That spoils what isn’t in jars.”

Martin and Shank could almost see the wheels turning in the old man’s mind.

“I’ll bring it to you. If you don’t want it, I’ll sell it somewhere else.” Shank shrugged.

“Bring one here. I may be old but I’m willing to take a chance. Like you said, it’s repairs that fritter away time and money.” He looked more closely into the bed of the wagon. “Runaways?”

“Yes,” Shank replied.

“Young and healthy. Where are you headed?”

“Down to Albemarle County. Owner lives there. Lady from the Caribbean.”

“Don’t know where that is.” The old fellow turned to go back into the store.

“No snow there.” Martin grinned.

“Might like to see that.” Then he shut the door.

The two climbed back in after untying the patient mare.

“One hundred and fifty dollars. Why didn’t you add some?” Shank prodded.

Martin smiled. “Because if we can sell more along the way, I bet we can get the price down to one hundred and twenty dollars apiece. I’ll start at one hundred but I know we can settle with Dipsy for one hundred and twenty.”

“Dipsy don’t run the farm.” Shank pulled his cap down a bit.

“Mr. Finney is a shrewd man. He’ll go for it. All Dipsy has to do is talk to him or allow me to talk to him.” Martin was confident.

“We’ll have to slip money to Dipsy.” Shank knew the way the world worked.

“Yes. But maybe we can find someone to build carts here in Virginia. Someone who has a forge, ability. So we buy a few off Royal Oak, then we begin to make them here.”

“Martin, you want to be a wagoneer.” Shank laughed.

“It’s better than fooling with runaway slaves.”

A silence followed this as they drove south. Then Shank grinned. “We could own slaves ourselves.”

“Damn right.” Martin breathed a sigh as Rebecca’s came into view, a two-story mustard-colored clapboard place, an addition to the side, and smoke curling out of the chimneys.

This time Martin went in, paid for a room, and paid for space in the barn where, as usual, there were groom’s quarters.

They drove the mare inside the wide aisles and unhitched her. Shank wiped her down, grabbed her rug from the back of the wagon, tossed it over her, and put her in a stall. The water hadn’t frozen. Then he put down three flakes of that good hay.

“Like to feed hay I picked out.”

Martin nodded. “Lot of people charge you for stuff filled with broom sage. Only good for cattle. There’s a thousand ways to cheat.”

“My turn again in the barn.” Shank found the groom’s quarters.

“Yeah, but come on in. Let’s eat together and try that peach cobbler that old fella told you about. Been thinking about it since we left Red Store.”

“Let’s tie these two up.” Shank helped Sulli down as Martin pulled out William. William refused to cooperate so Martin cuffed him, leapt onto the bed of the wagon, and kicked his ass out of the wagon. Shank looked out of the corner of his eye as once more he had to fire up the potbellied stove in the groom’s quarters. “Sorry son of a bitch, ain’t he?”

“He’ll be sorrier when we get him back to Mrs. Holloway.” Martin grinned. “Wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of that woman.”

The sparks caught in the kindling.

“You know once I saw a potbellied stove that sat in the corner of a house, rich people, Swedes. The damn thing wasn’t iron, and it was huge, filled up half the wall, went to the ceiling. White with gold corners, kind of like a pattern. Huge and it heated most of the house. Don’t know why we can’t do that.”

“Well, the Swedes do.”

After tying up Sulli and William to a sturdy post, they went inside, ate a good meal, then brought out potato salad and some sliced turkey for the two runaways. Shank untied their hands so they could eat.

The two talked for a while as their captives silently ate. Martin noticed that Sulli rarely looked William in the eye. As for William, he grew increasingly more sullen.

After they ate, Shank stood up and William grunted that he needed to go outside.

Martin handed Shank the flintlock as the slender man walked William outside where he relieved himself. Then he walked him back in, tying him with one leg, hands pulled behind his back.

The pallets, about the same everywhere, allowed some comfort. But William and Sulli’s hands behind their backs, that hurt. Sulli, more tractable in the eyes of her captors, was allowed to have her hands tied in front of her.

“See you in the morning,” Martin said, then checked on the mare as he left, closing the doors behind him.

Martin, awake before sunup, ate pancakes in the inn and then walked out to the barn to find Shank sound asleep but the other two awake.

“I’ll bring you some food. Shank, up.”

“Yep.” Groggily the younger man sat up, looked around. “Good food?”

“Good as last night’s. You go on in. I’ll sit with these two. Bring something out when you’re done.”

Shank must have inhaled his food because he was back out shortly, carrying an old bucket, clean, full of pancakes and syrup. Untying their hands, they waited for the two to eat.

“I’ll check on the mare. Maybe we can make fifteen miles today. Twenty miles would be better.” Martin opened the wooden door to the center aisle.

Shank turned slightly to watch Martin shut the door. William saw his chance with his hands untied. He leaned over to untie his one foot, which Shank saw as he turned around.

Advancing on the much younger man, Shank underestimated William’s dexterity. He’d untied his foot and that fast bolted by Shank, knocking him down in the process. Sulli stayed rooted to the post. Shank rolled, got up, ran outside the room.

Martin, in the stall with the mare, saw William run by. “I got the gun.”

“Let’s get him.” The two flew out of the barn, oblivious to Sulli. William running through the four inches of snow, six in spots, was maybe one hundred yards away.

“Bugger is fast.”

Martin said to Shank, “Not as fast as a bullet.”

“You can’t kill him. He won’t be worth a penny.”

“Don’t worry. You run ahead of me, distract him if you can, turn him if you can.” Martin checked his flintlock.

Shank tore after William, not gaining ground. The snow covered bad footing underneath. William went down, snow all over his face. He hurriedly rose as Shank closed on him and so did Martin, not far behind him.

Martin fired in the air, which made William drop facedown. He then got up again, ran to the left, but Martin had gained a bit more and so did Shank, who wasn’t slow.

Stiff from sitting in the back of the wagon, William struggled. Youth was on his side but not much else.

Martin took careful aim and fired again, this time hitting William in the buttock. His hand flew to his backside; he stumbled. The pain burned but he got up again. Too late, for Shank reached him and kicked him, knocking him back over. Both men grabbed him now. William couldn’t fight them off. He swung but missed and fell down again. This time Martin and Shank each grasped an arm as they dragged him back. William hopped from foot to foot.

Once back in the stable, Shank realized he’d left Sulli. Blasting into the grooms’ room, there she was, foot still tied, resigned to her fate. Sulli had sense enough not to get beaten. She knew her captors carried a gun. She also believed they wouldn’t use it, keeping her alive to deliver her to her fate.

Martin dragged William into the room, shoving him down face-first.

Sulli felt no pity for him. In her mind he was her enemy, as were Martin and Shank. At least Martin and Shank didn’t beat her. Not yet anyway.

“Hold him down,” Martin ordered.

Shank knelt in front of William as Martin pulled down his pants.

“Butt?”

“Yeah. Keep holding him. I’m going to make sure he never runs again.” Martin walked to his pack and pulled out a sharp hunting knife. “Keep holding him.”

Martin then rolled up his pants leg, carefully placing the blade behind his kneecap, measuring. Then with one swift motion he sliced his hamstring in two as William screamed. Martin rolled the pants leg back down.

“He’s not running anywhere.”

Shank nodded.

“Let’s get the wagon ready. Tie him up again.”

“Sulli, do I need to tie you?” Shank asked.

“I am tied,” she replied.

“Your hands? I expect you don’t want anything painful to happen to you?” Shank warned.

“No, sir.” She watched William sobbing, his hand reaching back to touch the sliced hamstring, but it hurt so bad he couldn’t do it. She found she enjoyed watching him writhe and she also swore no one would ever touch her again. If Maureen beat her, nothing much she could do, but if anyone promised love and did her like William, never. She felt strangely calm and peaceful.

Mare hitched up, fed and watered, Martin doused the fire in the stove, grabbed his gear and Shank’s as Shank, hand under William’s armpit, dragged him to the wagon. He lifted him up as William whimpered, shoving him onto the wagon, making him crawl to the front.

Sulli, hands untied, walked out with Martin. She hoisted herself up into the wagon.

Martin, voice soft, reminded her, “If you don’t try to escape or hurt either Shank or myself, I’ll leave your hands untied. You’ve seen what we can and will do. It will be easier on both of us and your wrists won’t be rubbed raw.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you agree to be quiet?” Martin wanted a clear answer.

“Yes, sir, I agree to be quiet.”

She moved up, leaning against the backrest, pulled the blanket around her as Martin pushed up straw. The day was going to be cold.

Martin threw William’s blanket at him, which William pulled around himself. Then Martin tied William’s hands together in front of him. He pushed some straw up.

“I won’t kill you,” Martin promised. “But I’ll cut your other hamstring or I’ll geld you if you really bother me. If anyone kills you, it will be Mrs. Holloway, but I expect she’ll work you until you die. Since you can’t run away, you’re probably worth more than before. You’ve been stupid, beyond stupid.” He then climbed up into the front as Shank picked up the reins. It would be days before they reached Big Rawly. Days of suffering for William. Days of determination for Sulli.

It wasn’t lost on Martin or Shank that she had not spoken to him since their capture. She evidenced no interest in his welfare. They each concluded that she hated him, which would make their job easier, but then he brought it on himself. He was hardheaded.