Furmidable Foes

30

January 22, 1788

Tuesday

Apart from less pain, Ralston had more energy. He still needed to take breaks, to sit and breathe deeply, before returning to his chores, but all was in order.

Miss Frances cleaned his wounds and complained he wasn’t eating enough.

“Keep your strength up.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ralston knew she was taking as good care of him as she could, so he let her boss him about. Miss Frances lived to boss.

Snow packed down. At least when the horses walked, those who were not shod didn’t carry half-moons of snow in their hooves. That would make a horse lurch a bit; then the snow would pop out. This repeated process slowed them down. Not having to put up with it was a relief.

It still hurt to bend over to pick out a hoof, but Ralston did it with the sturdy hoof picks Dipsy forged.

Night arrived early. It was time to bring the horses in.

Spring seemed a lifetime away.

Tidbit, a small mare, nickered, running up to him when he entered the paddock. She followed him into the stable, zipped into her stall. As he liked her so much, he lavished special attention on her before heading out to bring in the others. For those girls he’d slip halters on his shoulder, lead ropes attached. No one pulled on him as he carefully walked into the barn. Once everyone stood in their assigned stall, he closed the doors. This ritual always involved each horse, save Tidbit, seeing if she could duck into another stall. The food might be better there. He’d call their names, admonish them, halter still on so he had some control. They’d go to their stall, crabby as they did so. Then he would head for the doors, smiling.

Equine antics never failed to raise his spirits.

Ferocious cold numbed his hands. He closed the door behind him to the tack room, removed worn gloves, held his hands toward the potbellied stove, which he religiously kept going all day. Dog tired at the end of the day, having to fire up the stove seemed like the last straw—hence his devotion to that potbellied stove.

Hands working again, he walked out, finishing his chores. The last was sweeping the center aisle, straightening out anything hanging on hooks that may have become a bit crooked.

Finally back in the tack room, he pulled his pallet nearer the stove. Removing his clothing, he sat with his back to the stove. His healing puncture wounds itched. The heat also helped his back muscles loosen. The cold tightened him up. Ralston was determined to regain his suppleness and strength.

A small window, glass handblown so a bit wavy, bits of old towels stuffed around it, showed brilliant stars.

Seemed to the young man that the winter’s sky made the stars bigger and brighter. He watched them glitter, wondering if Sulli was watching the night sky.

—

Sulli, worn out, wouldn’t be able to drop into bed for at least another hour. The people living at the Hill often cried or put up a fuss. Wes, a slave so old his eyes were milky, would hold her hand at night. His mind was that of a child’s. Finally he would fall asleep. Then she could leave him. He cried frequently. Difficult and painful as Sulli’s situation was and appeared would forever be, she recognized that at least she was able-bodied and of sound mind.

Those most able at the house often assisted those who were not. Sulli, before her escape, rarely ventured down to the two-story cabin. The cooperation between the residents surprised her. This was the only life they knew. They couldn’t truly participate in the affairs at Big Rawly.

When Maureen was out of sight, with no snitches around, less afflicted people were free to follow their passions and curiosities. Small though that time might be, it was their own and they made the most of it. That was also the only life they knew.

Annie, same age as Sulli, would rock and sing the songs she heard others sing. She remembered every word, although she couldn’t carry on a conversation.

Olivia, frail now, had been in charge of the Hill since she turned twenty, a good fifty years ago. She thought of the residents as her children. Loving, patient, intelligent, Olivia never missed Sunday services at Big Rawly. She absorbed every reading, every lesson, memorizing parts of the Bible when she heard the Good Book read. Olivia couldn’t read, nor could most of the workers, including the white ones.

Wes now asleep, Sulli dropped on a stool in front of the stone fireplace. The logs’ aroma smelled wonderful.

Olivia, pulling her shawl tighter around her narrow shoulders, sat next to her in an old wooden chair.

“Cold gets me. Didn’t mind it so much when I was young.” She stared into the leaping flames. “Missus call for you?”

“No.”

“H-m-m, you’ve learned a lot in a short time. These children, even if they have snow-white hair, need gentleness, patience. If you gain their trust, they will try harder for you.”

“How did you wind up here? It’s a job nobody wants.”

“Meaning you don’t want it,” Olivia shrewdly said.

“I didn’t. But now—” She shrugged.

“They have no guile. It’s a gift God gave them. Their honesty is a rebuke to us.” Her quiet voice vied with the fire’s crackle.

“I’ve seen enough guile to last me until I’m as old as Wes.”

Olivia replied, “I expect you have. Don’t need to leave Big Rawly to see that.”

Shifting on the stool, Sulli bitterly remarked, “I believed William. I was a fool.”

Olivia tapped her foot, then slowly replied. “Every woman does that once. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

Wrapped up in bed later, Sulli reviewed Olivia’s words. She vowed never to repeat her mistake. She thought of Ralston, sweet enough, but in time he would have pushed her around, given orders like William. Seemed to Sulli men were all like that.

She realized Olivia didn’t answer her question about how she wound up at the Hill. Was it because of a man? Would she ever know?

But she did know she would spend the rest of her life at Big Rawly unless Maureen sold her for spite. She’d tasted freedom. Sweet though it was, William soured it. Olivia’s words on being fooled came back to her again.

She didn’t think Maureen would sell her. She’d use her for an example, for show. Sulli took comfort in the thought that she’d outlive that bitch and she would make certain to outlive William. Anything she could do to bring pain upon him she would do. Slave she might be, but she wasn’t helpless. She would never be a helpless woman.