Tall Tail

Saturday, September 18, 1784

The first hint of fall filled the crisp late afternoon air.

Catherine and Rachel investigated the gardens around the house, thinking to make cuttings for their father and husbands. Ewing especially enjoyed cut flowers, as his late wife had filled the house with them.

“Do you ever wonder how Mother organized her gardens?” Catherine asked. “By color, by size, by season. I don’t know how she did it nor where she procured the seeds.”

“I don’t know, either. She did teach us how to weed, when to turn the soil, she had a gift. I like that she put the tall flowers in the back, the lower ones in front.”

“You have more of her gift than I do,” Catherine truthfully stated.

Pleased by her sister’s praise, Rachel’s open face glowed. “I want to create an English garden at our house. Charles promises to help, but he says he doesn’t really know that much about it. Oh, he knows about the geometry, the pathways and such, but he said he doesn’t know what will grow here, as opposed to what grows in England.”

“Boxwoods.” Catherine laughed.

Spotted in the distance, a well-dressed rider captivated their attention.

Rachel, shielding her eyes, identified him. “Yancy Gates.”

“Come with me.” Catherine started for the main stables.

Both women reached the sparkling-clean stable shortly before Yancy arrived.

Putting up one of the saddle horses, Jeddie smiled as Catherine and Rachel walked in.

“Jeddie, Yancy Gates will be here any minute. Is everyone groomed?”

“Everyone but King David.” He mentioned one of the driving horses. “I put him in light work this morning.”

“Call Tulli over to wash him. I’ll tend to Yancy. I suspect he wants to talk about Serenissima. Rachel and I will entertain him. If I need you, I’ll send Tulli to fetch you.”

“Miss Catherine, why don’t I work in the broodmare barn? Close, especially if he wants someone pulled out.”

“Of course.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, then dropped it just as Yancy Grant reached the stable. A slender lad of fifteen, Ralston rushed up to hold his horse.

“Should I untack him, sir, and rub him down?”

“No, I won’t be long. A drink of water, perhaps.” Yancy treated the youngster kindly.

Many people ordered their servants and slaves about, but Yancy appreciated anyone who worked with horses and he knew anyone in Catherine’s stables was good, even if very young.

Catherine and Rachel strode out to greet him. “Mr. Grant, how good to see you. Can we offer you a libation?” Catherine, the eldest, took over.

“Or biscuits. Bettina made a batch this morning,” Rachel added.

Looking at these two sisters, so beautiful, he smiled. “Thank you. I happened to be over at Pestalozzi’s Mill and thought to come by, as it is near. May I look at Reynaldo?”

“Of course.” Catherine then called out, “Jeddie.”

He appeared as if by magic the minute her voice lifted. “Miss Catherine.”

“Mr. Grant would like to look at Reynaldo and”—she lifted her chin ever so slightly—“allow me to show you his younger half brother.”

“I’d be delighted.”

Jeddie motioned to Binks, a short twelve-year-old, to follow him. Within minutes, the two brought out Reynaldo and Crown Prince.

“Jeddie, trot Reynaldo for Mr. Grant. Straight up to us, then away, and then in two circles, opposite directions.”

If Reynaldo favored one leg over the other, this imbalance would show in the circles, especially on an inside leg. Yancy Grant knew how to study a horse.

After Jeddie trotted the sleek animal, Catherine instructed, “Now pass him in front of us.”

“Majestic creature,” Yancy admiringly muttered.

“Binks, do the same with Crown Prince.”

Completely at ease with the stallion, the younger boy did as he was told.

“All right, you can put them back in their pastures.” She turned to Yancy. “Unless you’d like to see more?”

“Serenissima, after these two are turned out,” he prudently requested.

Rachel briskly walked up to Jeddie and Binks, informing them as to Yancy’s request. The three of them waited at the fence. When Catherine and Yancy reached them, Rachel opened the gate and Reynaldo walked in first, followed by Crown Prince. Then each horse was turned to face the people, their halters slipped off. Both stood for a moment, then joyfully ran into the pastures.

Yancy’s eyes never left them.

“You can see that Crown Prince is lighter than his half brother. Built for speed, whereas Reynaldo is built to carry me up hills, down hills, through streams.”

“Same dam?”

Rachel interjected, “Catherine’s favorite mare, Queen Esther. She’s in the next pasture.”

The three horses, with the two young fellows behind them, walked to an adjoining pasture separated by about twelve feet, so no hanging of heads over fencelines.

“I remember Queen Esther.” Yancy smiled upon seeing the mare. “Of course.”

Not only did he remember Queen Esther, he knew her bloodlines and most of her get. Why he was being coy only he knew, because both sisters knew Yancy was a fervent student of bloodlines.

Catherine called the mare over for a nuzzle. “She’s dear to me.”

“Serenissima?” Yancy underlined his own, pretending not to remember Queen Esther by identifying Serenissima.

“Here to be bred, before Mr. Selisse’s unfortunate end. I’m keeping her until I’m quite sure. You’re the second person to check on her.”

His eyebrows raised, his voice did, too. “And who might I ask was the first?”

“Just this morning Jeffrey Holloway came to check on her condition.”

He snorted. “He’s a cabinetmaker, not a horseman.”

Rachel coolly observed while Catherine acted nonchalant. “True enough, but he mentioned that he wished to see to Mrs. Selisse’s mare, she being under such duress.”

Yancy’s face reddened, but he composed himself. “Upstart.”

Catherine shined her best smile upon him. “Well, he certainly doesn’t know horses as you do, but then how many do?”

“You flatter me.” A worried look flashed over the anger. “That poor lady is under great duress, as you stated. I can’t see how Jeffrey Holloway can relieve any of it. He has no experience managing slaves, he has no business experience other than that of a tradesman. Ladies, I fear, his motives are”—he paused to effect—“for personal gain.”

“Oh, Mr. Grant, I hope not. She has been through enough,” intoned Rachel, now in on the game.

If Yancy could win over Maureen Selisse, his moderate fortune would be enlarged by a great one. Not that he would hint as such, but his feelings about Jeffrey Holloway betrayed his own motives—plus, Holloway was incredibly handsome and young. Yancy was not a bad-looking man, but was middle-aged with a paunch. He could not have been immune to the figure in his mirror.

He shook his head. “Women in distress can be easily swayed. I have seen it.”

“You are kind to be so concerned.” Catherine fed his vanity.

In Yancy’s defense, he deserved some of that vanity. He’d supported the revolution, worked tirelessly for the cause, kept his estate afloat during the financial debacle that followed. Like Ewing, he had a broad vision.

Settling down, he walked back to the main stable with the ladies.

The slender fifteen-year-old Ralston stood outside the stall into which he had put Yancy’s horse. Catherine nodded to him, so he opened the stall door.

“Mr. Grant, please consider staying and enjoying a drink, some food?” Catherine repeated her offer.

“Thank you, but I’d best get back.”

Rachel asked him, “Have you heard, sir, any news of the slave who killed Mr. Selisse or the woman?”

“No. No one has. They’ve vanished. For now. If they can be found, that will relieve Mrs. Selisse. I can imagine she fears their return, and she may fear for her own life. It was a vicious business.” He swung himself up in the saddle without using the mounting block. That damned Jeffrey Holloway might be much younger, but Yancy could swing up like a young man and he knew he could outride Holloway. Still, he was worried.

“You honor me by wishing to look at my two boys; I call them my boys.” Catherine looked up at him while thinking about how to tell Rachel not to discuss Moses without giving anything away, although Rachel didn’t know the fugitives were on the farm.

Peering down into Catherine’s gorgeous upturned face, he smiled. “I shall send over my best mare. We can discuss terms later, but I would like her put to Crown Prince.”

She shamelessly flattered him. “Your best mare will make Crown Prince’s future.”

—

Yancy made one more stop before returning to his own estate. He called out at Dennis McComb’s small cottage on the way home.

It was now late in the day and Dennis had done all he was going to do for the county. His young wife could be seen in her flourishing garden at the rear.

Hearing Yancy’s voice, Dennis came out. “Mr. Grant. No trouble, I trust?”

Damned if Yancy was going to dismount and mount again. He reached into his waistcoat pocket.

“A down payment.”

Dennis took the coins from Yancy’s hand. “Yes, sir?”

“There will be fifty more when you bring in Moses. If you find the woman, sixty, but Moses, bring in Moses.”

“We’re doing all we can, Mr. Grant.”

“Damn the constable’s office, Dennis. You do what you must, you hear me, and don’t tell Hiram. Hiram lives by rules. If you must bribe people, do so. I will make good any expenses, but find that killer. A lady’s peace of mind depends on it.”

Thrilled at the possibility for future gain, Dennis promised, “I will find them both.”