Furmidable Foes

28

January 15, 1788

Tuesday

Brilliant blue skies and a few thin white stratus clouds announced a clear, cold day. January in Virginia fools you. Occasionally, snow on the ground, the mercury would rise up in the high forties, only to plunge the next day, snow flying everywhere.

Martin and Shank relished the good weather. The night before they cleaned up Sulli and William at the Ordinary in Orange County. Today would be the day they reached Big Rawly unless a wheel rolled off the cart, and this wagon was too well built for that, rough roads or not.

Cold though it was in the stable, the two men stripped down William, washed him, fished out a pair of pants not cut behind the knee. The two carried odds and ends like clothing to hide the booze for selling. This proved useful on many levels. They carried a few sweaters, bonnets, and canvas pants. Not much but items that could cover their travels. They’d have to post a guard to protect the liquor every night if people had any idea how much liquor they carried.

They allowed Sulli to clean herself using a stall. She had a bucket of water, soap, old towels.

One man held William’s arms behind him; the other washed. They took turns. William, erratic, could easily take a swing at them. Cold though the water was, it felt good being cleaned up. William cooperated enough to put the pants on. When his hamstring was cut, the wound bled very little. The slice was healing. The hamstring would never mend. William was crippled for life. Still they tied his hands together.

On the drive into the next county, the two captives sat in the back, a blanket over them.

The day, cold, was offset by the sun, a welcome bit of warmth.

The steep decline onto the old east-west road to Big Rawly proved no trouble at all. The wagon brakes, well made, could handle a slowdown without a stop. The steep rise up on the western side of Ivy Creek proved no problem either. The mare was strong, the cart about perfect in balance.

Not even two miles down the road, wide enough for two wagons to pass in opposite directions, the Big Rawly sign announced the estate.

Martin, reins in hand, clucked to the mare, who picked up a trot as they turned left. Shank checked on the captives. Sulli, no expression, looked around at surroundings she had known since childhood. Tears streamed down William’s face.

Pulling up to the stables, Shank jumped down and walked inside to find DoRe, whom he had met when he took the capturing job from Maureen. DoRe described William as well as Sulli, with Maureen standing there. If the big man had left out a distinguishing feature, the mistress would think him a liar. He described them vividly.

“Delivery,” Shank called out.

DoRe, harness bridle hanging over his shoulder, stepped into the aisle and recognized Shank, following him as Shank motioned.

Outside, immobile, sat Sulli and William in the wagon.

“Wanted you to see them before we took them to the house.” Shank held his hand out as though presenting the captured young people.

“I’ll be.” He studied the two, neither of whom looked him in the eye. “You might want to leave the wagon and mare here, I’ll take care of it, and walk those two up to the back door. Elizabetta will answer. She’s paid dearly for these two.” He didn’t elaborate but Sulli lifted her jaw as DoRe relayed that message to the two bounty hunters.

Sulli and William didn’t budge.

Martin stepped over the backrest, took a knife, and cut free William’s hands. He pushed William forward.

Sulli stood up. Martin had to haul up William, who did nothing to help.

As the two moved to the end of the wagon bed, DoRe lifted his hand to Sulli but she stepped back as William, dragging his leg, was pushed forward by Martin.

William stood looking down. DoRe did not offer his hand. Sulli moved behind William, put her foot on his ass, and shoved hard. He flew off the wagon, sprawled facedown in the snow, and was left on the ground. Then she took DoRe’s hand and hopped down.

DoRe allowed a small smile as he looked at Sulli, bent down, and put his hand under William’s armpit to haul him up.

As the four started walking to the big house, DoRe studied William’s gait.

Martin simply told him, “I cut his hamstring. He was too stupid to learn. If he’d cooperated, things would have gone better. No riding for him. But he won’t run away.”

DoRe nodded.

Reaching the back door, imposing for a back door, Martin knocked. Within a few minutes Elizabetta opened the door, beholding the two whose escape had brought down a savage beating on her. The scars would never go away, inside or out. Shocked to see them, she stepped back.

When Maureen and Jeffrey visited England, Elizabetta overstepped her boundaries by assigning other people her own jobs while she laid around. Doubtful though it was that any slave on Big Rawly enjoyed watching her back get shredded, no one especially liked her or trusted her, although Kintzie nursed her and DoRe originally had carried her to the healer’s cabin.

The others managed to get along with Elizabetta but no one drew close. She had learned, brutal though it was. She knew she could never ask for help. She was alone.

Once the shock and disgust registered, she opened the door wider, allowing the four inside so they stood in the small back room, a coatroom for chore coats for Maureen and Jeffrey plus the usual odds and ends of daily life on a farm.

“Please wait here. I’ll announce you to the Master and Missus.”

Two benches, wrought-iron legs—Maureen favored wrought iron—faced each other as they stood against the wall. Martin and Shank sat down. Sulli and William stood, although William stood on one leg.

The rustle of a voluminous skirt could be heard, followed by a man’s heavier tread. Maureen appeared, followed by Jeffrey.

The Missus walked right up to William and hit him across the face with the back of her hand. She repeated the procedure with Sulli.

Jeffrey took her by the elbow, pulling her slightly aside as he moved in front. He had seen enough of his wife’s vicious temper when crossed. No point giving her room to vent.

“Where were they?” Jeffrey asked.

“Working in Maryland.”

“Did anyone want money to turn them over?” Maureen focused on the cash, of course.

“Surprisingly, no,” Shank smoothly replied, not offering the information that they had been abducted.

“I see.” Maureen appraised Sulli, a bit worse for the wear, but that would pass. “Elizabetta!”

The Mistress’s dresser returned, hands folded together. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Elizabetta, where do you think Sulli should lodge?” Maureen used a generous term, “lodge,” but she asked Elizabetta for the reason that the message is: You cause trouble, I will hand you over to the people you troubled once I am satisfied.

Without betraying her pleasure, Elizabetta nodded her head, replying smoothly, “Perhaps, Mistress, the Hill.”

“Very good.”

The Hill was where the simpleminded lived. Every large estate, slave or free, produced some people a bit slow or hampered in other ways through no fault of their own. Often they could be taught simple chores: The physically strong could sow and harvest, plow and cut, but many could not even do that. So Sulli would be surrounded by people needing constant supervision. The other able-bodied person at the Hill was becoming elderly. Sulli’s would be a severely circumscribed life.

“And William”—Maureen sounded almost sweet—“you will return to the stable, of course. You will be chained at night, by manacles attached to a center pole. You will be here until you die, William.”

“What about the stealing?” Elizabetta inquired, with barely concealed malice.

Light voice, Maureen waved her hand. “He’s not going to steal. Not unless he wants his hands cut off. His leg looks bad enough.”

“Hamstring, Mrs. Holloway,” Martin simply reported.

“He got violent. Kept trying to run away,” Shank declared in an even voice.

“That was prudent of you,” she replied. “Jeffrey, dear, allow me to leave you with these gentlemen.” She didn’t think they were gentlemen for one minute, but why not flatter them. “I’ll retrieve the funds.” Turning to them, she smiled. “With a bonus for your speed.”

Both bowed slightly.

Jeffrey, relieved that Maureen didn’t explode, looked at the two slaves and in a low voice said, “If only you hadn’t taken some of her jewelry. Bad enough you ran, but it was the theft, especially after the pearl and diamond necklace Sheba stole when she left.”

Both hung their heads as Maureen returned with two heavy leather pouches filled with coins. She handed each man a pouch. “Thank you. I do hope I will never need your services again, but I will highly recommend you to others.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jeffrey, eager to be out of this, smiled. “Allow me to walk you down to the stable.”

Grabbing a heavy coat, Jeffrey ushered out Martin, Shank, and William, whom Shank pushed to keep up. William hopped down to the barn.

Elizabetta, also wrapped up, riding crop in hand, took Sulli down to the Hill.

“You take one wrong step, you filthy slut, and I will beat you as badly as they beat me.”

Sulli remained silent.

Elizabetta walked in front of her, slamming the riding crop across her face with all her might. “Answer me, bitch.”

“Yes.”

Another crack. “Yes, what?”

“I will not take a wrong step.”

Satisfied, Elizabetta moved beside her, walking Sulli to a dismal fate.

Back at the stable, DoRe greeted Jeffrey.

“Master, come look at this.” DoRe led Jeffrey to Dipsy’s wagon. “Nothing like your work, but people need more carts and wagons than coaches. Look underneath.”

Down on one knee, Jeffrey checked the axle and the alignment of the wheels as best he could. “I see.”

“Mare’s good, too,” Martin remarked in an offhand manner.

“She looks strong enough. Age?” DoRe asked.

“Well, you can look at her teeth. I say she’s five.” Shank had sense not to make her out to be younger. You couldn’t fool DoRe.

DoRe checked, holding open her lips for Jeffrey.

Quick to put the pieces together, plus a big workshop, allowed Jeffrey to make decisions without dragging it out. “How much do you want for the cart and the mare?”

“Well,” Martin drawled, “we weren’t planning to sell her.”

“Two hundred,” Jeffrey said.

“Three hundred. You’re getting a good mare. The wagon is worth two hundred alone,” Martin countered.

DoRe patted the mare’s neck, then stroked her muzzle. Jeffrey got the signal.

“That’s pricey for these parts. I don’t think I can sell a wagon for two hundred dollars, but I’ll give you three hundred for the wagon and the mare. I’d like to study this wagon.”

Martin held out his hand. “Done.”

Shank did also. “A good choice.”

“Gentlemen, I’ll be right back.” Jeffrey left the stable and trotted to the house to get the money. He’d tell Maureen later, although she rarely interfered in his business decisions. He never inquired about hers, especially since his coach building proved quite successful. The sales were finally paying for the expense of that large, impressive shop. Jeffrey had every tool known to man.

Martin, directing his gaze to William, sitting on a trunk against a stall, said, “You can’t trust him. Not for a skinny minute.”

DoRe nodded. “I know. He stole another man’s horse. Broke the other jockey’s collarbone in a race. Pushed him hard. Snuck back months later. The horse actually showed up down along the James, down near the falls. Anyway, he showed up, stole Sulli and some things from the Mistress.”

“Maybe you should put an iron collar on him,” Shank suggested.

“Up to the Missus,” DoRe replied.

Jeffrey returned with more money and said to DoRe, “How about if you take them down to Hare Field. Good place to stay for the night. Give you a chance to test the wagon.”

“Yes, sir, I will, but let me turn this mare out and harness a fresh horse. Won’t take long.” DoRe called for one of the stable boys, who stopped cold when he stepped inside and saw William.

As the mare was unhitched and a Percheron put in her place, Jeffrey mentioned to DoRe, “Mrs. Holloway wants you to chain William at night. Granted he can’t get too far, but she is deeply angry as well as mistrustful. I think she’ll come down here to tell you exactly what she desires.”

“Yes, sir. In the meantime, I’ll”—he looked around—“chain him to one of the stall rings. Can’t leave him here while I take these two to Hare Field.”

The stall rings were round iron rings used to tie those horses in an open stall. Some had regular boxes; others stood with lots of water and food in a closed stall. Over time DoRe was switching from open stalls to those with doors. He was finding he liked them better and he felt the horses could move around more.

The young man hitching up the Percheron heard every word, which were also meant for him. William as well as Sulli would be ever-present examples of what happens when you cross Maureen Selisse Holloway.

If they proved more considerate of those harmed because of them, maybe over time a few people would sneak them helpful things, better clothing, food, perhaps. But it was doubtful anyone, slave or free, at Big Rawly would ever help William or Sulli, because they had never been kind to others. Those two especially must pay for their selfishness.

The biblical lesson, “As you sow, so you shall reap,” was vividly apparent.