Tail Gait

April 22, 1781

Ewing Garth rode a Welsh cob, a sturdy horse, to the bridge being rebuilt over Ivy Creek. Spring brought the workers. He had driven over to the camp on a number of occasions during the winter, each time counting all the new barracks he could see. Others were being put up over the hill, hard by those two thousand acres owned by Peter Ashcombe.

Intelligent man that he was, Garth realized more men meant more supplies needed. He could supply in volume hemp, corn, oats, straw and hay, and tobacco. The question was not establishing price, it was getting one’s money from the Continental Congress, and it was moving the supplies themselves. Fortunately, he wasn’t cash poor, because his holdings down in New Bern, North Carolina, and those on Chincoteague Island provided that. Commerce on waterways, or the ocean, gave a man quite an advantage, that is, until a British ship decided to capture your ship and claim all the supplies as booty. So far, Ewing Garth had been lucky on that count. He spotted Captain John Schuyler on the rise above the bridge.

“Ah, Captain. I see progress is being made. The road is much improved.”

Tipping his hat to Garth, Captain Schuyler smiled. “With spring, Sir, we should speed along with raising and widening the bridge itself. My only fear is that melting snows will raise the creek too high, too soon.”

Nodding gravely, Ewing said, “This was a trying winter. As I age, they are all trying.”

Charles West, knee deep in the cold swift-running creek, set thick support logs for what would hold the wider bridge span. Corporal Ix worked beside him. The water coming down from the mountains was so cold that Charles’s teeth chattered. Piglet kept running along the bankside, fretting over his master.

“Captain, let us give these men some time by the fire,” said Garth. “I can see their distress.”

“Of course. Our concern is to set these before the waters rise. You are very kind to think of the prisoners.”

“Highly skilled, some of these fellows. I wonder what awaits them when they return to England? This canceling of the Saratoga Convention creates a new complexion, does it not? The Crown refuses to treat with us. Traitors, they say. But, sir, they abandoned their own! If anyone demonstrated tyranny, there it is.”

“Ah, Mr. Garth, unlike you, I do not understand politics. I should think the Crown would seek to utilize good men. As for good men with understanding, I wonder that you do not run for congress.”

Ewing appreciated this. “You flatter me, Captain. But as I like to get things done quickly, efficiently, I would be woefully out of place in a deliberative body.”

The captain motioned for the men to take a break by the fire, then turned once again to the older man. “I believe we can complete your bridge by next month if the weather cooperates.”

A large smile covered Ewing’s face. “Excellent. Excellent.” He placed his hand on his horse’s neck. The kind cob took care of Ewing, who was not much of a rider. “Tell me, Captain, what do you think of this war?”

“We will win, Sir. How much time that will take, I don’t know, but I do know we have a long, long coastline, and powerful as the British Navy is, they cannot control all of it. And they do not have enough men to land on our shores, nor to take and hold all our coastal and inland cities and towns.”

“Yes. Yes. My thought is, and perhaps it is because of my tobacco holdings, that they will shift their thoughts to our South. I would not be surprised to learn they are stealing our tobacco. They know that is how we pay for our supplies. Oh, how they hate the French. Clearly Saratoga dealt the British a grievous blow. But, of course, you were there.”

“A great honor. I will be happy when I can again take the field.”

Garth shifted in the saddle. “Now that winter is over, can we expect more fighting?”

“No doubt.”

Garth turned to see Catherine and Jeddie riding together, coming toward them. Catherine was on the difficult horse, Renaldo, that had terrified her father and had once given John Schuyler the chance to hold her in his arms, however briefly.

“I do wish she would not ride that beast,” Garth complained.

John looked at her with admiration.

“She has him under control.”

“Well, I ordered her to never ride him alone. Jeddie or her sister must go with her.”

“Jeddie has a natural seat,” the young captain said and nodded. “Slight fellow.”

“He is devoted to Catherine, which gives me some comfort.”

The beast Renaldo charged their way, then came to an abrupt stop with an arrogant snort.

On his back, Catherine said, “Hello, Father. Ah, Captain Schuyler. Is this not a beautiful day?” Her deep, liquid voice rang out as she regarded the awestruck captain.

Remembering Charles’s lessons, John swept his hat off, dropping his right arm alongside his horse and then raising it and placing his hat under his left arm, the hand of which held his reins. “Miss Garth.”

“Father, will you lend me Captain Schuyler for a brief time? I want to show him the back of our lands, where they adjoin the far reaches of the Harvey land and where you can see the Ashcombe land. I’d like to do this before the foliage thickens, obscuring the view.”

“Captain Schuyler is in charge of the bridge, my dear. I don’t see how he can leave these men.”

She looked directly at John Schuyler with vivacious eyes. “Will they do as you say?”

“I think so.” He felt a shiver down his spine. “But your father and I must get this done before the snows melt upstream.”

She laughed lightly. “Dear Captain, Jeddie and I will have you back before the snows melt.” Then she turned her irresistible charm on her father. “Father, I have been thinking how difficult transport can be and how much you must move goods both east and west. At the back of our land are a series of deep gullies. If these men can build a wider bridge over Ivy Creek, why can they not do the same over the gullies and the one ravine? A shallow ravine, thankfully,” she said to John, before looking back at her doting father. “Then you could have the wagons go directly into Colonel Harvey’s land, where the barracks stand, and the prisoners can unload the provisions. It would save so much time, Father.”

The apple had not fallen far from the tree.

Ewing Garth considered her proposal, a slow smile crossing his lips. “Well, my dear, I can rarely refuse you anything, and this is an unusual idea. Perhaps it will bear fruit.” He looked at his orchard when he said that, provoking smiles in all.

“Might I take Corporal Ix and Lieutenant West, Sir?” asked John. “The corporal will give us the best advice. He certainly has been right about this bridge and creating the landings on the road. As for the lieutenant, he can make some sketches for you to approve.”

“Wonderful idea,” Garth agreed.

“Jeddie, go back to the stables and get two more horses for Corporal Ix and Lieutenant West,” said Catherine. “Bring them to the pin oak, the westernmost pin oak. We will meet you there.” She beamed, turning to her father. “I so want to help you, Father. I know you wanted a son to work with you, but I’m just as good, don’t you think?”

Flustered, red-faced, Ewing Garth sputtered, “You’re quite better than that, Catherine. Your worth is far beyond the price of rubies.”

She smiled at him. “I will pull my weight.” With that she turned and trotted off, Captain Schuyler replacing his hat, nodding to Ewing, hurrying to catch up.

—

Ewing Garth watched them and realized he would never understand his eldest. Her beauty was incomparable, her personality electric. Benjamin Franklin need never have put a key on a kite string. He had only to look at Catherine, Ewing was sure of that. With such prestigious gifts, why did she wish to be useful to him like a son? Well, he had never really understood her mother either.

Nodding to West and Ix as they left the fire to follow Jeddie, he thought better not to trouble himself over understanding his daughter. Better to just love her, which he did.

—

Back in front of his house, dismounting, his butler’s son running out to take his cob, Ewing then walked into his house. He could hear Rachel practicing her French lesson.

“Mademoiselle,” her tutor addressed her, frustration apparent in her strained voice.

“Oh, piffle! Why can’t the French speak English?”

Shaking his head, he walked into his office. A widower with two daughters, he felt outnumbered.

—

Catherine galloped ahead until John Schuyler came alongside, then she urged her horse to run faster. Side by side they thundered along, the cool April air in their faces. Laughing, she couldn’t help herself, she finally pulled up at the huge pin oak. John stopped too, a little out of breath.

“I want to live forever,” she declared. “I want to ride, dance, read, and just feel the wind.”

Speechless, he smiled, feeling entirely stupid.

She beamed back. “And I really do want to help my father in his successes. Does that surprise you?” she asked.

“Miss Garth, nothing about you would surprise me.” He noticed the first blush of spring on foliage, pale green buds on trees.

“I simply cannot swoon over moiré silk, serve tea from good silver, and listen to endless boring, dull chat. I cannot do it. I wish I had been born my father’s son.”

“I am exceedingly glad you were born his daughter.” John grinned, his teeth even.

Looking at this handsome man made Catherine giddy, perhaps even indiscreet. Not that she would compromise herself, or her family name. Still, ideas and feelings erupted, and she made no attempt to bottle them up.

“You flatter me.” She inclined her head. “Do you want a shadow, Captain?”

“A what?”

“Do you want a woman who shadows you, does your bidding, keeps to hearth and home?”

“I never thought about it,” he truthfully replied.

“Well?”

He thought about it now. “I think a woman’s sphere can be taxing, and perhaps for you, as you indicate, boring. I would hate to think of you being bored! I— I am rather afraid I would bore you. I am not a wealthy or an educated man.”

“But you are a brave one. You fought, and I suppose you will again.” Catherine stared intently into his eyes. “Captain Schuyler, if you would let me be me, you would never bore me. I truly do want to ride, dance, laugh, and I admire my father. He sees opportunities everywhere, and he works for them.” She rushed on. “My father is a builder. He is not a man to waste time. He cares a great deal about his place in society, and I don’t give a fig, but then I wouldn’t have my place in society were it not for him.” She abruptly shifted topics. “What is your mother like? Would I shock her?”

He sighed. “My mother is kindness itself. Four of us survived. She and my father taught us, taught us many things. Would she be shocked by you? I do think she would be as dazzled as anyone who sets eyes upon you, but then she would look more closely.”

“And would she like someone who serves a perfect tea?”

“Miss Garth, my father is a carpenter. We have a small farm. Farming is much harder in Massachusetts than here. Mother tends the farm. She has rough hands, she walks with a limp, as she broke her leg years ago and it was not set properly. The hard life tells on her, but what she would really want to know is: Do you have a good heart?”

Tears filled Catherine’s eyes. “How I envy you. She sounds wonderful.”

“She is. And so is my father, although he speaks but little. I fear you would find us, what is the expression, ‘beneath the salt.’ ”

Her face flushed, her eyes flashed. “Captain, I am not that superficial. And I hope someday I will have the honor to meet your mother and your father.”

The two sat on their horses. Neither one knew what to say. John felt as though this woman could turn him inside out. He didn’t even know what was inside him to turn out.

Jeddie and the two prisoners reached them at last and called out, “Miss Garth, you must have galloped the whole way.”

Smiling at John, she turned, now in possession of herself. “I outran him.”

—

The group of five spent an hour looking at the two narrow gullies and the wider ravine.

“It evens out a bit to the east,” Corporal Ix noted. “That’s a better place.”

“It is, but that land belongs to Peter Ashcombe,” Catherine said. “We have heard that he was with Howe in Philadelphia. Others have said he went to Nova Scotia. The estate, which is sizable, two thousand acres, is in the care of a farm manager who is for our freedom, but he is loyal to Peter. He betrays nothing.”

“I see,” the Hessian corporal murmured.

While his legs were still cold and not dry yet, Charles West nevertheless sketched quickly, incorporating the Hessian’s suggestions. From her mount, Catherine peeked over Charles’s shoulder. “I’ll make this tidier for your father,” he said.

John Schuyler dismounted, lifted Catherine down. They tied their horses next to the other three, as Jeddie had brought halters and ropes.

“It is possible,” Corporal Ix called out at the bottom of the ravine. “Can you tell me, Miss Garth, have you ever seen water flow through here?”

“In very bad storms. Both there in the wider depression, and then also in the gullies, and the waters run faster in the gullies.”

“M-m-m,” was all the engineer replied.

Once mounted again, they rode back to the Garths’ house.

“If you fell the thickest trees, hardwoods, we can sink them into the earth,” Ix said. “That will take a great deal of digging, but we can do it, then fill and brace around the logs. The force of the water in the narrow gullies demands a strong underpinning, stronger than the bridge we are finishing. That really is the most difficult part, but the timber is here.” The engineer thought it through.

Catherine added, “We can cut our own planks. That will save hauling lumber to a mill and hauling it back…”

“The trick is not to be the man in the bottom of the pit,” John Schuyler remarked, and the others laughed.

“How long might this take?” Catherine asked Corporal Ix.

“That depends on the number of men available. If I had fifty men, I could sink the supports in three weeks. It’s more difficult here than rebuilding the bridge, as I said, and I wouldn’t want to build the bridge itself until we reinforced the supports.” He added, “All in all, figuring in the weather, three months for the supports and the bed. Remember we have to improve this old road to it. This is just ruts, a farm road.”

Catherine smiled. “I think my father will be pleased.”

He was. So much so that he didn’t notice when Catherine slipped upstairs to her bedroom, selected another book, and gave it to John Schuyler before he departed that afternoon.