Tall Tail

Thursday, September 23, 1784

The night, cool in the low fifties, ensured neither John nor Charles would fall asleep as they waited for Moses to emerge from the woods. The unpainted steeple was nestled deep in straw, tied tightly to wagon sides so it wouldn’t slide. Inside, a cushion would allow Moses to sit comfortably. A jar of water and some biscuits and jam had been wrapped in a kitchen towel by Bettina. An old woolen shirt, socks, sturdy shoes, and a worn but presentable pair of breeches also had been neatly piled on the floor, as well as a black tricorn hat with black grosgrain ribbon where the crown met the brim.

Catherine thought Moses would need a hat when they felt safe enough for him to ride up with John and Charles, if that moment occurred. He had also been encouraged to grow a beard, which he was doing. By the time they reached York, his beard would be full.

Finally, Father Gabe, on one side of Moses, Catherine on the other, led the young man to his new hiding place. Not completely healed, his wound caused some pain. John stepped down and he and Father Gabe gave Moses a leg up.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, the slave opened the door as he was instructed, bent over, slipped inside, and closed the door, latching it from the inside. Charles, prudently, placed a small latch on the outside, too.

John kissed Catherine, then swung up onto the cart, picked up the reins, and clucked, and the draft horse pair, Castor and Pollux, walked away. Piglet sat next to Charles.

Catherine and Father Gabe watched. He returned to the cave, where Bettina sat with a distraught Ailee. Catherine returned to her home but couldn’t sleep for thinking of the flow of tears from Ailee’s blind eye when she and Moses had to bid each other goodbye.

—

Dawn greeted John, Charles, and Moses, although Moses couldn’t see it. They were now eight miles north of Charlottesville. Piglet awakened when the wagon stopped.

Trotting in the opposite direction came Dennis McComb.

Charles put his hand on John’s holding the reins.

“Good morning, Constable,” Charles flattered Dennis, as he was not a full constable.

Dennis stopped. “A fine morning. A steeple. And what might you two be doing with a steeple?”

Charles smiled. “You may have heard that I am designing St. Luke’s Lutheran Church, which will be west of Mr. Garth’s properties at Wayland’s Crossing.”

“I had heard that.” Dennis enjoying letting them know he heard much in his official capacity.

Charles smiled sheepishly. “Well, now, Mr. McComb, something tells me you’re not a Lutheran.”

John sat there wondering what Charles was doing, but he remained impassive, as he was not the quick thinker that Charles was. His social graces, improved by his former captive, served him well, but with Charles such flourishes were effortless.

Serious of mien, Dennis uttered, “Presbyterian.”

“A worthy sect, to be sure. Well, not being acquainted with Lutheran churches in the New World, I thought I’d best take this steeple to a former comrade-in-arms who knows Lutheranism well. He and his associates can make any corrections they see fit, for, as you know”—Charles lowered his voice conspiratorially—“one can make a misstep in such a delicate matter as ecclesiastical architecture. Don’t want to smack of Rome.”

“No, sir,” Dennis replied with vigor.

“And might I ask what you are doing north of town at such an hour? No trouble, I hope? After all, the good citizens should allow you your rest.”

Dennis smiled. “No trouble. I have been searching high and low for the murderous slave. Someone thought they saw a slave running in the night. Nighttime would be when he would move.”

“I would have thought he’d be long and far away by now,” Charles evenly replied.

“Too much clamor, sir. He or they would have never made it, no matter what direction they traveled in. They have to be here. It’s a matter of time, and then, of course, they will move, and I intend to catch them. Murder is no small affair.”

Charles’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, of course. I would never have thought of them sitting tight, Mr. McComb, but then you are a constable and I am not.”

Pleased, Dennis promised, “I will find them.”

“If anyone can, you can,” Charles complimented him.

“I will be on my way. Good day to you, sirs.”

“And good day to you, Constable.” Charles patted Piglet, now awake. John, reins loose, clucked to the matched pair of Percherons.

Once out of earshot, John remarked, “He’s smarter than I thought.”

“He’s ambitious. Hiram Meisner is slack and Dennis McComb burns to succeed him. He won’t shy away from whatever needs to be done. I’ve often thought that those who represent the law are as brutal as those who break it.”

Further along, Charles called back, “Moses, all is well.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

“Tap if you need anything, as we discussed,” Charles reminded him.

“I will.”

They rode along, then John said, “You study people. McComb. I hadn’t thought of his wanting to rise.”

“I was in the British Army, remember?”

At this, they both laughed.

—

Later that day, work with their father finished, the sisters walked down to Bettina’s cabin. The children looked up as the two dazzling beauties came among them. They were a bit afraid of such powerful people.

Tulli sat next to Bettina on her front porch, peppers, thyme, basil, and other herbs all hanging from the porch rafters.

Bettina placed her hand on the boy’s head, for she loved him as if he were her own. “Tulli, go on, now.”

“Before you go, Tulli. I saw where you cleaned Sweet Potato’s tack. Might you ride out with Jeddie and me tomorrow? We want to check the two bridges at the back of the farm and you could hold our horses. You would be a big help.”

“Yes, Miss Catherine. Yes.” He was thrilled to ride with the two best riders on the Garth estate and beyond.

Catherine gathered her light skirt to sit next to Bettina on her long bench. “If you’re tired, Serena can make a stew. She’s learned so much from you. Go to bed early.”

“I believe that girl will grieve herself to death,” Bettina half whispered.

Rachel sat on the other side of Bettina. “People do die of broken hearts.”

“Yes, honey baby.” Bettina reached for Rachel’s hand. “Yes, they do.”

“Ailee’s not going to die,” Catherine declared. “She’ll live for the baby.”

“If she lives,” said Rachel, of practical mind, “she has to remain hidden, have a healthy baby, and live, and then what? Her face will give her away even if we managed to get her to Massachusetts or down to South Carolina. She will always be in danger as long as Maureen Selisse lives.”

“And Sheba,” Bettina sourly added.

“Two harpies,” Rachel agreed.

“Let us consider this without emotion as though this were happening to someone in, say, Austria or, better yet, Russia, since they have serfs,” said Catherine. “Our first task is to keep Ailee hidden, to make certain she doesn’t entertain a notion to follow Moses.”

“She won’t,” said Bettina. “He made her promise. He swore the day would come when he would return for her. He said she’s worth dying for.”

“Let us hope that’s not the case.” Catherine sighed. “But again, no emotion. What comes next?”

They sat there, smelling the thyme.

“The cave is the best place we have,” said Bettina. “Can’t build a fire there. Can’t cook there. We can keep her in blankets and furs, but that’s all we can do. I believe the cold will make her face more painful. Father Gabe examines her face. Says the cheekbones are knitting together as best he could push them back. But the eye bones, he says they are so delicate. She won’t freeze, but she’ll be miserable. Nights are getting cold.” Bettina placed her hands on her knees, having released Rachel’s hand.

“What about the cabin with the loom?” Rachel thought out loud. “It’s at the end of the work row. The men never go down there. Father would have no reason to go down there and guests won’t go down there.”

The other two considered this.

Catherine replied, “It’s a big room, but open. She would have no place to hide if someone did come there.”

Rachel was hopeful. “Why can’t the men build a loft? Ailee can hide up there if she needs to. There’s a good fireplace in the weaving room. All it needs is an iron bar to hang a pot on it. Water nearby. It might work.”

“Until someone sees her face,” Catherine logically said.

“It’s only our people along that row,” Bettina added. “But you’re right, if anyone did see her, the cat would be out of the bag.”

Rachel racked her brain. “She could wear a large sunbonnet.”

“In the winter?” Catherine was incredulous.

“Maybe, maybe.” Bettina turned this over in her mind. “If her sunbonnet was longer on one side, she could pull it to hide her face. Winter, a scarf, something like that to cover herself with, I don’t know.”

“Bettina, we’ve heard that Maureen Selisse is offering a reward for their capture and Yancy Grant is adding to it, for the protection of our citizens.”

They didn’t know that Yancy had also offered Dennis McComb a goodly sum, off the record.

“Ha,” Bettina nearly shouted.

“But would anyone tell, anyone here?” Catherine pressed.

Bettina shook her head. “No. Never. And if they did, they wouldn’t live out the week. If one of us didn’t kill them when they walked off the farm, they’d be dead. Soon caught, anyway. How do you think Moses and Ailee got here that night? Hands, hands helping them along the creek, and there are other caves. It’s the most direct route. The only person we can’t trust is Sheba. She thinks she should be the missus. Lord, if you could hear her going on about how she’s the granddaughter of a queen. Hell, I could be a queen. Tulli could be a king in Africa, but we aren’t in Africa. Pride goeth before a fall.”

“That it does,” Rachel agreed. “Shall I ask Karl to have a loft built? No need to bother Father with it, and if he finds out, sees lumber being hauled down the row, or hears the noise, I’ll tell him it was my idea. Didn’t want to leave the fabrics and wool lying low. They should be high up. Someone should be in the weaving room. Which means we’d better put someone else in there.”

“I’ll think on that,” Bettina answered.

A breeze rustled the oaks. “Sounds like fall.” Rachel looked up to see the leaves moving, color just hinting at what was to come.

The catcalls of the children filled the air. The women tended their gardens behind their cabins. The men walked back home after a hard day’s work. Long, slanting rays of the sun coated everything in deep gold. Horses neighed; cattle walked toward their quarters led by the old head girl.

The three women watched this.

Rachel asked, “What do you think happens after we die?”

Bettina turned to look at her, but since she had known Rachel in her cradle she was not terribly surprised by the change in subject, only by the subject itself. “Bible says we will all be united upstairs.” She pointed straight up.

“How do we know there isn’t an upstairs and a downstairs?” Catherine smiled impishly.

“Betcha there is a downstairs.” Bettina pointed to the ground and they laughed.

“What brought that on?” Catherine asked her sister.

“It’s so beautiful right now,” said Rachel. “I don’t want it to end. I want us to be together forever. I want to see Mother. I want to always hold Charles, and I even want that silly dog to sleep on the bed. I just”—she paused for a long time—“want us to always be together.”

Bettina patted her hand. “In our hearts, we will.”