Tall Tail

Wednesday, September 15, 1784

Piglet, nose down, followed a trail of fresh blood. Yesterday’s thrashing rains and the early morning’s cool temperature helped the scent stick. Above, the low clouds showed no promise of dispersing, nor did they show promise of more rain. The stagnant cloud cover also helped the corgi.

His nose filled with information. A grouse had scuttled at wood’s edge near an hour ago. An entire flock of wild turkeys left their distinctive signature scent as well as a few feathers. Once he got into the woods, a vixen was close. Then Piglet picked up traces of fading human scent. Someone had brushed by thick bushes.

Intrepid, Piglet continued. In the few places where blood splashed, the odor was overpowering. Otherwise, he followed drops magnified by the dew.

A rocky overhang stopped him. Good place for a bear, but this small cave under the overhang was disguised by saplings and bushes. Strong now, the smell of blood made the corgi cautious. He ducked behind joe-pye weed, high and blooming. He could hear humans talking, crying.

A deep voice ordered, “You go on. They’ll miss you before they miss me.”

Bettina stepped out; worry creased her face. “I can’t come back until dark.”

The deep voice that Piglet now recognized as the slave Father Gabe called softly, “No worry. I’ve got rags and good water here. I’ll stop by the kitchen. So you’ll know.”

Not a small woman, Bettina stomped away.

Piglet crept forward, belly low to the ground, until he could peer into the disguised place. A young man lay with his back against the rock, a deep diagonal wound across his broad chest. Next to him sat a beautiful woman, or she had once been beautiful. Her eye socket had been damaged. The cheekbone underneath had been smashed. Her right hand, wrapped in a clean cloth, bled through. Tending to them was Father Gabe, an old man with medical knowledge and some folks said more than that. He gently placed a compress on the woman’s cheek. She didn’t wince. The young man would awaken, then fall back to sleep. Piglet knew he’d lost a lot of blood because he’d followed it all the way here.

Turning for home, the little fellow wanted to tell Charles, but how?

—

Ewing Garth was up at dawn. He walked into the kitchen for his full breakfast at seven in the morning. He’d brushed his teeth, nestled in his chair to be shaved, then dressed. This was a leisurely morning, which he preferred. The big breakfast prepared him for the day. While he was never averse to eating, a big breakfast could hold him until one or two o’clock, when a light meal sufficed until supper. But in the summers and early fall even supper was light, unless he was entertaining.

Serena, a young woman helping Bettina, had her back to him and was just putting the finishing touches on Ewing’s poached eggs. He was most particular about his eggs.

“Good morning.” He beamed.

“Morning back at you.” Bettina turned, eggs now on the dish, placing it before him. “Serena, where’s Master’s coffee?” Returning to Ewing. “Chicory coffee this morning. That bit of tang to the air just whispered to me, ‘Chicory for the master.’ ”

“Bettina, you’re a mind reader.” He savored those eggs and that cup of coffee.

Now placed before him were biscuits light as air, an array of jams and honey. They came from the summer kitchen, still in use due to the fact that the day would heat up, no point using the kitchen even in the cool of the morning. The last thing anyone wanted was for heat to be hanging around as the mercury climbed upward.

Serena placed a plate of sausages in front of him, along with condiments.

“Serena, did you make this sausage?”

“Yes, sir.”

He tasted one, then nodded his approval. “Bettina, your pupil is learning her lessons.”

“If she don’t, I’ll beat her butt with a wooden spoon.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to go that far.”

He’d finished his breakfast, walked down the hall to see Roger, his all-powerful butler, speaking closely to his son, Weymouth. Weymouth shaved Ewing. The young man, so dexterous, was a fine barber.

On seeing Ewing, both men straightened up, nodding to him as he turned into his office. Just as he retrieved the papers that he and Rachel secured yesterday, he heard voices. Roger had opened the door.

“Drat,” he uttered, placing a paperweight on the papers.

What now and whom? Why was it so hard to get anything done in peace?

At his opened door, a serious Roger, voice low, said, “Master, there’s two men here from the constable’s office who say it is of the utmost importance to talk to you.”

Ewing, never fond of officials, wondered what they wanted. “Show them in.”

It was always something.

He stood up to greet the men. Hiram Meisner, the head constable, hat in hand, bowed slightly as did Dennis McComb, his deputy. Hiram was a man of middling status with a decent frock coat, tidy tricorn, and thick leggings. He smiled tightly.

Dennis said nothing, which was just as well. Dennis had no reputation for either sense or etiquette.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Ewing,” Hiram said. “We are here on a most serious matter.”

“Please, gentlemen, sit down. Is it so serious you can’t enjoy a cup of coffee?” Ewing pleasantly offered, knowing neither man would detect the sarcasm.

“Thank you, no. I will come directly to the point. Francisco Selisse has been murdered by one of his slaves, who escaped. This wretch took with him another slave, a woman of great beauty. We will capture them and we ask for everyone to be alert. The woman is possibly a captive or a shield. We do not know, but we feel the man will not hesitate to kill again.”

Ewing narrowed his eyes. “I see. And what of Mrs. Selisse? Is she safe?”

“Yes. Not in her right mind, which is more than understandable. She witnessed the murder. Her lady’s maid Sheba says her mistress caught the slave Moses assaulting her husband. Sheba says Mrs. Selisse picked up a small split log—they were in the main room, in front of the fireplace—and swung at the man. He pulled a long knife from his waistband, drove it through Mr. Selisse’s heart, grabbing the other slave by the wrist. That’s all we know.”

Bettina also listened, ear to the door in the next room.

“How very terrible.” Ewing lied because Francisco was not a man he would mourn. “In the interests of safety for my own family, might you tell me if you saw the body and the wounds?”

“Blood over his waistcoat. Sheba said Moses pulled out the knife, keeping it.”

“Head smashed like an old pumpkin,” Dennis blurted out.

“Mr. McComb, that’s quite enough,” Hiram angrily scolded the man he loathed working alongside.

“Terrible,” Ewing again said.

“The killer, Moses Durkin, possesses great strength, so should you see him, you must be wary. I would carry a pistol until he is found,” Hiram suggested.

“Quite right, Constable.” Ewing rose. “Are you sure you won’t fortify yourself with some coffee? This will be a long and trying day for you.”

Hiram rose, tapped Dennis on the shoulder so he, too, stood up. “Mr. Garth, thank you. Again, I am sorry to disturb you with such news.”

“I’m glad you did. We need more men like you, Hiram.” He shook the constable’s hand.

As the two men left, Roger silently glided to the front door, which he opened. Bettina tiptoed back into the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, Bettina sagged into a chair. She’d been up most of the night helping Father Gabe clean Moses’s wound. No one could set Ailee’s bones or tend to her eye. All they could do was put compresses on the wreckage.

Serena came and stood next to Bettina. “What do we do?”

Bettina reached up, patted Serena’s hand resting on her shoulder. “We say nothing.”

“I can slip down and take some food.”

“I know you can, honey, but we can’t go down in the day. Anyway, right now they hurt too much to eat. We’ll take food down after sundown, and perhaps some liquor to kill the pain.”

“Bad?”

Bettina nodded. “She’ll not see out of that left eye. He’ll heal, but, oh, it’s a long and ugly wound.”

Serena kissed Bettina on the cheek. These two had played their parts. Bettina would fuss at the younger woman; Serena would do as she was told, occasionally tossing her head or glaring back. The white folks loved it, and truth be told, so did Bettina and Serena. This bit of theater gave them a conduit for emotion. Then again, playing to an eager audience somehow lifts one up.

Roger came back to the kitchen. After checking, he closed the door to the hall.

“And?”

She held up her hand. “I hope we can save them, Roger. We can keep them from being found, although I don’t know how long. I don’t know how we can get them out.”

Roger dropped his eyes. “They’ll hang Moses.”

“And they’ll return Ailee to that bitch!” Bettina spat, surprising both of them by swearing.

“Which one, the Missus or Sheba?” Having been at the Selisses, Roger hated both women.

“I don’t know what to do.” Bettina sighed deeply, fighting back tears.

Roger came and held her other hand. “The Good Lord will show us the way.”

Hearing Ewing’s footfalls, Serena ducked out back to the summer kitchen and Bettina began clearing the table. Roger walked into the hall.

Ewing said to him, “The Bible tells us it is wrong to kill, but I’m not so certain that Francisco didn’t deserve it. I wonder sometimes, Roger, I do wonder if lives would be changed, or even history, by killing the wrong man at the right time.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, neither do I.”

—

Catherine watched as Hiram and Dennis rode out on their errand. Rachel, standing next to her, did also. Already at his drafting table, Charles knew nothing of it. With the sisters, John also watched.

“You know they want something from Father,” Rachel noted.

“Ever notice hardly anyone comes to him to delight him or bring him a book? Everyone wants something, as you said.” Catherine saw Piglet amble toward them from across the field.

“Piglet, tired of drawing?”

“Follow me. I can’t get Charles to follow me.”

“Well, back to my husband.” Rachel smiled.

Catherine looked up at hers. “I know, you and Karl are going down to check the bridges.”

John nodded. “I don’t think there has been that much rain in as short a time since we built them during the War, but then perhaps there was while I was fighting.”

“No. I think last night was the worst.”

“We’ll find out how good an engineer Karl is. If those supports didn’t hold or cracked, we’ve got a big job in front of us.”

She kissed him. “You’re equal to it. Why, John, you could just stand in the water and hold the bridge overhead.”

He laughed. “I’m not Hercules.”

“You’re my Hercules.”

“Will someone pay attention to me?” Piglet sharply barked.

“You’re making me dizzy, turning in those circles.” Catherine leaned over to pet the dog, who looked up at her with big brown eyes.

He took a few steps, turned to look at her. “I know something.”

Walking away, Catherine found her path blocked. Piglet circled behind her and nudged her leg with his nose.

“Follow me.”

Knowing a fair amount of animal behavior for a human, she turned and followed Piglet. The beige fellow would hurry ahead, nose to the ground, stop and wait for her. It occurred to her after five minutes of this to look down as she approached the edge of the woods.

She saw blood.

The thick woods rested on level ground that dipped down, eventually to a feeder creek. Much rock lay near the bottom. In some cases sheer rock faces loomed over narrow deer trails, unusual for this land, but common as one got into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Other places had flat rock beaches, or rocky sides and a few large boulders, like this area. A narrow trail followed the creek. One could travel it without detection. This portion eventually flowing into Ivy Creek was one of them.

Her senses alert, she followed the dog and followed the drops of blood. Piglet stopped near the hidden cave. Motionless, he pricked his ears. Catherine took his advice and stayed still, too.

She heard a moan, then Father Gabe’s voice. Catherine listened for what seemed a long time, then silently turned, headed back.

Back on higher land, she ran to the big house.

“Bettina!”

Having fallen asleep in the kitchen, Bettina startled, sat up straight.

“Bettina.” Catherine stepped into the room. “Something’s wrong.”

Just then, Ewing opened the kitchen door from the hall side. “Darling, Francisco’s been killed. Come into the office and I will tell you what I know. Weymouth!” He called out.

Weymouth appeared. “Yes, sir.”

“Go fetch Rachel, Charles, and John. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ewing looked at his daughter. “I only want to tell this story once, but seeing you, I know I will tell it twice.” And so he did.

When the others finally gathered in the library, the tale now told, Rachel looked to her father and then to Catherine. They all knew one another inside and out.

“Father, do you want us to search?” Rachel asked.

“No, my dear. We leave this to the constable. If I were a runaway slave, I’d make for the river.”

No one said anything, but then John nudged forward another opinion. “Yes, sir, that would be the fastest way out of here, but it might be the first place people would look and I expect there are militia men or others on the river now.”

Ewing wrinkled his brow. “I suppose so. They’ll kill Moses. There will be a show of legality if they can even get him to the courthouse, but he will die.”

Not being an American and never facing such a situation, Charles asked, “What would happen to anyone who assists him or Ailee?”

Ewing exhaled loudly. “Up to the discretion of the judge, but even if a man was not accused of stealing another man’s property or helping a murderer, he would be ruined for life. Certainly he would have to leave Virginia.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Charles replied in a low voice. “And where could such a person go? Every state has slaves.”

“There are some states which are talking about changing that,” said Catherine. “Vermont most especially, but I have heard Pennsylvania might be leaning that way.”

“It will ruin businessmen,” Ewing said.

“Not if it is done in stages, Father, which some people have suggested. It’s not a popular idea, but it is interesting, is it not, that a few people in a few places are thinking of such things?” Catherine added this as though of little consequence.

“I suppose.” Ewing folded his hands together across his middle. “The world is changing too fast for me. So many improvements, and then again, a falling away from the old ways. Such ideas will create turmoil.”

“Yes, they will,” John agreed.

Unbidden, Piglet came into the room. He stared right up at Catherine. They shared an enormous secret, a crushing burden.