Whiskers In The Dark

11

September 13, 1787

Thursday

As the earth neared the autumn equinox, the sunsets arrived earlier and the day’s heat cooled off faster. The days, warm, no longer sweltering, presaged a beautiful fall. Better, one needed a blanket at night but not yet a fire.

Bumbee set her loom and rose from her bench, which she preferred to the chair she occasionally needed. The girls spinning yarn or cutting patterns in heavier fabric in preparation for cooler weather had left for the evening.

Moving around the room, Bumbee checked everyone’s work. Like any other job, variations in talent revealed themselves, but no one was awful, and a few of the younger women evidenced a flair. Rubbing the thin, light wool between her fingers, she smiled. This would make a blouse or dress draping the female frame and the bit of warmth would be pleasant. On a cool morning Catherine or Rachel could throw over a heavier sweater.

Bumbee checked all the shelves. Sometimes in their haste to leave to go to husbands, children, or boyfriends, the girls would stick the wrong bolt in the wrong place. Bumbee would chide them the next morning, but she remembered those heady days.

She pulled off her shift, the cooler air noticeable. Then she walked over to the large pot over the low fire. She liked to keep warm water going, easy to bring to a boil if someone wanted tea. Mr. Ewing made certain everyone could have a bracing cup of tea. Bumbee mixed her own leaves together. She had her brisk morning tea, an afternoon tea with tiny bits of lemon rind, and then her evening tea with her secret mixture. Put her right to sleep.

She poured out some water into an enamel bowl, grabbed a washrag, and washed herself. After a long day at the loom, this felt so good. A small noise by the back window alerted her. She threw the rag in the bowl and stepped to the window to see Ralston running away.

“That boy will be trouble,” she muttered to herself.

Then she put on a light robe and sat by the hearth. Even though there were no logs burning in the large step-down fireplace, she liked to sit by it. The low flame in the back of the hearth where she’d hung the water pot was flickering out. The aroma of applewood filled the air.

Ewing had planted an apple grove two years ago. The trees, slender, sometimes shed a branch or two and Bumbee made sure to get some. Hardwood stacked by each cabin, a large stack by the weaving room, promised a toasty winter. But a few little branches of apple, pear, peach created a wonderful scent.

She began to doze off. Then a knock on the door snapped her back.

“Who is it?”

“Serena.”

“Come on in, girl.”

The attractive assistant to Bettina slipped through the door, sat in the old rocking chair across from Bumbee.

“Lord, it’s good to get away for a minute.”

“Husband?”

“No, he’s fine. Tired. Bringing in the last cutting of hay. There was so much of it. By the time I walk back up, he’ll be sound asleep. That man can sleep through a thunderstorm. I swear he could have slept through Yorktown if he’d been there.”

“Your Joe is a contented man.”

Both rocked a bit, then Serena leaned forward. “Bumbee, Ralston is asking questions.”

“Well, he tore your bodice.”

“Got a big lump on his head, too. I grabbed one of Bettina’s tenderizers. She puts a store by beating the meat to bits.” She sighed. “She would know. But Bumbee, I can knock that fool upside the head anytime. No, he’s asking questions about Marcia.”

This made Bumbee sit up straight. “Tell me.”

“He knows, everyone knows, that Marcia isn’t Rachel and Charles’s child. The story about this being the outside child of her distant cousin stuck. All the white people believe it, as well as our people who didn’t know.”

“Marcia looks white. Selisse blood.”

“He asked about the woman who was sick who stayed here. He has figured out she wasn’t sick.”

“He never laid eyes on her.” Bumbee’s voice was raised.

“I’m not so sure.” Serena folded her hands in her lap.

“I caught him sneaking around just before you came in.” Bumbee sharply drew in her breath. “It’s possible he was spying. But she had half her face smashed in. If he’d seen Ailee, he would have seen that.”

“True. She wore a heavy shawl, drew part of it over her face. But if she went to sit down, he would notice her difficulty. I don’t know why he wants to know. I mean, he asks did anyone ever see Miss Rachel’s cousin. Stuff like that.”

Bumbee ran her hand along her cheek for a moment. “Might be he wants money if he’s figuring something out. He never saw her body when we took her out. We buried her in the dead of night and there’s no stone. That poor woman.” Bumbee shook her head.

“Ralston is a sneak. Money, well, maybe. Buy himself a girlfriend.”

“Dear Lord,” Bumbee muttered.

“All he thinks about. Or so I hear. And he’s fighting with Jeddie.”

“That’s stupid, bone stupid.”

“Barker O keeps his eye on the two of them and Miss Catherine, of course. I worry that Ralston might harm Jeddie, hurt his riding ability. And let’s face it, Jeddie is a handsome boy. Girls notice him.”

“Yes.” A pause. “Yes. Serena, there’s not much we can do unless Ralston opens his big flannel mouth to the wrong person.”

“Do you think I should tell Miss Rachel?”

“No. It will only worry her. She loves the child. She believes, as do I, that Marcia will pass. No one will ever know except those of us who cared for Ailee. Even DoRe doesn’t know. He thinks the child died when Ailee hung herself. I’m pretty certain he knew she was going to have a baby. I expect he figured it was his son’s. I don’t know.”

“Terrible things happen, don’t they, Bumbee?”

“They do. Things have been quiet here. Best to keep it that way.”

“But if Ralston gets out of line?”

“Then we go to Barker O. He’ll know what to do. They’re all in the stables. By the way, is DoRe here?”

Serena nodded. “He slides over two or three times a week now. That will stop when Maureen gets back.”

“M-m-m. I’m willing to bet Sheba is in Philadelphia or even Boston. All those years she stuck to Maureen like a tick. Waiting.”

“They both smashed Ailee’s face. I believe it.” Serena’s mouth formed a grim line.

“More to it than that, but we’ll never know and Ralston must never know. You know, Serena, I believe he will grow to be the kind of man that forces himself on women. Something’s not right there. Oh, I understand how they can get. We all do, but usually it stops with pleasing and promising.”

“Certainly does when we give in.”

They both laughed.