Probable Claws

43

May 16, 1787

Wednesday

Spring, late this year, exploded. Dogwoods opened, the redbuds bloomed and bloomed longer than usual. The daffodils finished just as tulips popped up. Man and beast breathed in the delicious air, happy the last frost was finally over.

Catherine, watching Ralston ride, stood next to Jeddie.

“He’s stiff. His elbows are locked. Tell him to get off,” Jeddie criticized.

“He’s not the rider you are but the horses need a bit of work. I’ve seen a lot worse.”

“Just let me ride. I can do it with a sling. I only need one arm and I’ve walked them with this sling. I can trot and gallop.”

“No,” she sharply replied. “That’s final. Walking, yes. The rest, no.”

Grimacing, he stared at Ralston, his eyes narrowing. “All he thinks about is girls.”

“Well.” She decided not to pursue that.

“I can’t stand this.”

“A few more weeks. They’ll fly by. Now stop complaining. Have you any ideas how we can help Yancy?”

“Do what?”

“Well, he’s paid off Maureen for William’s labor. Actually, he paid double. She was insisting that Yancy pay William’s value, which of course she trebled. She did not offer to pay for the loss of Black Knight. Yancy quite rightly said this was a matter for the authorities.”

“William can’t keep Black Knight, although he could get a high price for the horse. If he’s smart and I think he is, he left the horse, started walking by foot.”

“Jeddie, there’s been so much to do you and I haven’t been able to study this. Did William say anything to you when you worked horses together?”

Jeddie shook his head “no,” which was the truth. “He bragged on himself. He kept telling me how he would outride me but I paid no attention.”

“He’s left you a scar on your cheek.”

“If I ever find him I’ll break his arms,” Jeddie hissed. “If he’d hurt Reynaldo, I would kill him.”

“I’d help you.” She touched his shoulder. “Be careful.” As he looked at her, puzzled, she quietly said, “I don’t want Maureen’s anger to travel to you.”

He looked at her. He knew what Maureen was capable of doing to her slaves.

Ralston trotted back, stopped at Catherine and Jeddie, who gave him a withering look.

“He’s such a lovely mover. Ralston, when you and Tulli wipe him down, turn him out, go to the carriage house and see if Barker O. needs a hand.”

“Yes, Miss Catherine.” He smiled, ignored Jeddie, rode toward the stable while Jeddie watched.

“I can go to Barker O.”

“Let him do it. We need to sit down and figure out if we’re going to breed Queen Esther. Have you studied your bloodlines?”

“Yes.”

Before she could answer, the rhythmic clip-clop of two horses working in tandem drew their attention as DoRe drove to the stable. Jeddie stepped forward to hold the matched pair with his good hand.

DoRe easily swung down, winced a bit as his one leg touched the ground. “Miss Catherine.”

“DoRe. How good to see you and on such a beautiful day. How did you manage to slip away from Big Rawly?”

He sighed. “She wants to know if anyone believes Sheba is behind William’s escape.”

Sheba had been missing since October 1786. As Maureen’s lady-in-waiting she exercised her power with deviousness, greed, and endless lies. DoRe knew she was dead, but no one else did.

“Sheba wouldn’t help anyone,” Catherine swiftly replied.

“True.”

“Go on to the house. Bettina will have something special. Perhaps we can all come up with something that will satisfy Maureen’s curiosity. She has lost five people in the last few years.”

“She believes it’s a conspiracy,” DoRe solemnly reported. “She’s offered me money to spy. For now. Who knows what she’ll do next?”

“Indeed.” Catherine nodded in agreement.

DoRe looked at Jeddie. “Hurt?”

“Not much. I want to ride but Miss Catherine won’t let me.”

“She’s right.”

“DoRe, go on, Bettina will be happy to see you,” Catherine urged him, then turned to Jeddie.

“Tell Ralston and Tulli to unhitch the horses, wipe them down, put them in a stall. Be a good rest. And don’t use your arm, hear?”

“I do.”

She left him and walked toward Rachel’s house. Her sister was bent over Charles’s drafting table.

“Look at this.” Rachel called her over once Catherine came through the door. “Charles wants to gild, just one line on the trim between the wall and the ceiling. He wants to repeat the line on the pulpit and the lectern.”

“Beautiful.”

“He doesn’t want the church to look Papist, all that gilt, candles, you know.”

“St. Luke’s is safe from excess.” Catherine folded her arms over her bosom. “DoRe’s here.” She relayed his mission.

“She never gives up, does she?”

“No. Do you really think Hugh will sell his title?”

“It’s that or debtor’s prison. Charles says Hugh can’t actually vacate the title, but Jeffrey as his son, despite age, would be called lord. When Hugh dies Jeffrey becomes a baron.”

“If Hugh dies first.”

“Best not to look closely into the future. I have been thinking about Bettina. Until we know for certain that this arrangement has been effected, I don’t think we should upset Father. The losses from France and the uncertainty in Philadelphia capture his attention.”

“All he has heard from the convention is Mr. Adams pushes endlessly for his idea of government, with which Father is uncertain. He fears concentrating power in a few hands. He says that’s why we fought the king. But then he thinks Jefferson’s ideas are too loose. He is deeply puzzled!”

“Just so, Sister, we have no say, what we have created isn’t working.”

Catherine agreed. “A tidbit of gossip enlivened the news. A very pretty young widow who serves food at her mother’s tavern seems to have caught the attention of half the delegates. She’s Patrick Henry’s cousin.”

Rachel laughed. “I hope she has better morals.”

Catherine laughed, too, for Henry was known for fathering many illegitimate children, a concern for his mother and, of course, the women who bore them.

“Charles says fishing rights might be a difficult issue without a strong central government. One state can accuse another of poaching. He says a House of Parliament doesn’t mean there will be a king, but there has to be some form of representation.”

“Yes.” Catherine shrugged. “Virginia is vast. We should have the most representatives.”

“That will never work. Charles declares all the other states will line up against us if they haven’t done it already.”

“Good Lord.” Catherine threw up her hands.

Rachel smiled. “Prayer seems to be in order.”

Piglet slowly walked in carrying the huge bone from the races.

“That bone is bigger than he is.” Catherine laughed.

“He won’t let it out of his sight. We have to put it up if Piglet is to attend Charles.” Rachel laughed, too. “He won’t even let Isabelle and Marcia play with it. Do you know Marcia can name some flowers?”

“Ah, well let me know when she can weed the garden.” Catherine sat down on a bench, suddenly tired.

“Are you…?”

She waved Rachel away. “I’ve been on my feet since before sunup. Just a little weary.”

“Has everything returned to normal?” Rachel, close as she was to her sister, couldn’t summon the courage to ask if Catherine had a period yet.

“Yes.” She looked into her sister’s face. “John was afraid to touch me. He’s such a tender man. I told him we are man and wife, I’m fine. But, I don’t know if I want more children. I want him so I suppose I will.”

“Oh, I would love dozens.”

“I don’t know. I love JohnJohn but now I fear childbirth, and I hated it anyway.”

“Oh, you forget the pain.”

“You did. I didn’t,” Catherine said clearly.

Rachel now sat next to her. “Oh, Catherine.”

“I’m fine. It’s just that I am asking myself questions, questions one usually doesn’t speak out loud. Things like: Do we have men who can lead our new country? I see lots of strutting but I don’t know. I worry about Father. He reads me letters from his many business interests. If he gets a letter from Philadelphia he reads it to me. Seems like clouds of talk to me.”

“Yes, me, too. And a House of Parliament would enshrine the talk. We would be as bad as England.”

Catherine murmured, “Perhaps, but they are the most powerful nation in the world, king or no king.”

“What about the French?”

“Oh, Rachel, they are illogical.” Catherine spoke with all the rich prejudice of an English-speaking person.

“I think the world is changing too fast.”

“Maybe it always has. The trick is to change with it.”

“But what if you can’t?” Rachel’s voice was plaintive.

“Then you die,” Catherine replied starkly.