Whiskers In The Dark

23

October 3, 1787

Wednesday

Yancy Grant accompanied the barrels of oats being hauled to Cloverfields. Ewing’s purchase enabled him to pay some bills as well as buy much-needed spring seed. Yancy’s finances were declining. Maureen Selisse Holloway had sued him after the duel with Jeffrey. When she’d drawn enough blood, she dropped it, knowing full well he couldn’t afford the legal costs.

The overcast day, a slight chill in the air, enlivened the horses. Yancy, finally able to visit his Black Knight, smiled at how healthy his boy looked. Ewing was with him.

“Splendid, splendid,” was all he could say as Barker O and Jeddie slightly inclined their heads.

Catherine, too, had come down to manage this first visit. When Black Knight originally arrived at Cloverfields after being stolen at the races, Yancy couldn’t bear to see him or say goodbye. He loved Black Knight, who had not forgotten him.

The animal let out a nicker, galloping to the fencing to nuzzle his old master. Tears rolled down Yancy’s cheeks. He couldn’t help it.

“Would you like me to bring him in the stable, Mr. Grant?” Jeddie respectfully asked.

“No, thank you. He’s happy out here, still a lot of grass, and he’s with friends.” He turned to Catherine. “Bless you.”

“Yancy, you bred a fine animal.” She smiled at him.

“You flatter me.”

He did breed a fine horse, and Catherine and her stable boys, as she thought of them, having brought Black Knight to a shiny coat, taut muscles, and a bright eye, would use him in the breeding shed. She now owned two extraordinary stallions, Reynaldo, hot as a pistol, and Black Knight, now sweet.

“Well, shall we old men repair to the house? A light repast is not out of order.” Ewing touched his friend on his back and the two started walking toward the house.

Jeddie, Barker O, and Catherine headed to the large, tight storage shed where the oats were being loaded and placed. The barrels proved heavy enough that it took three men to move them about: one to lift the barrel off the wagon, one to guide it down, and one to roll it and, with difficulty, tip it upright.

“Let’s have a sniff.” Catherine looked to Barker O, who took out his penknife, running it under the barrel lid, which he then lifted off.

She lingered over the barrel, filling her hands with the oats.

Handing them to Barker O, she lifted her eyebrows. He, too, sniffed. Then Jeddie did the same.

“Good,” Barker O pronounced.

“We’ll be glad to have them, even though Father resisted. He said we had glorious hay, three cuttings, a miracle, but oats help those hard keepers.” She used the term for a horse who had difficulty putting on weight.

Usually this betrayed a high metabolism, in animals or people, but sometimes difficulty putting on or holding weight pointed to a hidden illness. Catherine watched Tulli, nose at the top of the barrel, wanting to be part of the group. She wondered if his growth wasn’t in some way stunted. He stayed thin, too, yet seemed full of energy as well as ideas, lots of ideas.

Rousing herself from this, she turned to watch her father and Yancy pace up to the house.

“Old friends are the best friends. Mother used to say that, and I begin to believe it.”

Barker O’s deep voice was comforting. “Miss Catherine, you will never get old.”

“Ha.” She laughed, then tossed a handful of oats up in the air.

Before Ewing could reach for the elegant curved brass doorknob, the door swung open. Roger bowed to Yancy, beamed at Ewing.

“Ah, Roger, you anticipate everything.”

“Mr. Ewing, Bettina has set out oh, tender veal. The aroma alone, well, Bettina has put out food for you two gentlemen to enjoy. She said she hasn’t seen Mr. Grant in so long, she wishes to spoil him.”

“Ah!” Yancy clapped his hands together.

Seated in an alcove, they chatted, discussed the weather as only farmers can, wondered when Maureen would finally be back at Big Rawly, wondering, too, what she would bring back from England.

“What hear you from your friend Baron Necker?”

Ewing leaned forward, a tiny, perfect carrot speared on his fork. “No hope of solving the financial crisis and the Notables have been dismissed.”

“I thought, now this is some time back, reading a paper from Philadelphia, that the Court had devised new financial measures, new taxes.”

“The Court did, but the Parliament refused to endorse same. If they sat regularly like England, perhaps, but the Baron fumes, fumes, truly, that no nobles will surrender or even share special privileges. For instance, if you had the fishing rights, say, for Marseilles, you would neither surrender nor utilize same to relieve the kingdom of its financial distress. Every single noble cared only for preserving his rights.”

“The Baron?”

“Actually, no. A few of the highborn realize the time has come to put the welfare of the state first. But who is to say? It takes so long for word to reach me here, perhaps this has been resolved. France is too important to be set adrift.”

“I would think we might have created an example.” Yancy leaned back in his chair for a moment.

“We are or were Englishmen, Yancy. The French are, well, the French.”

“Quite so.” Yancy half laughed, then changed the subject. “My man, my indentured servant, Sean, said he thought he saw your Ralston down by Scottsville. A fleeting glimpse with another young buck and a comely girl. His words.”

“Ralston did run away.”

Yancy’s eyebrows shot upward. “There’s a young fool.”

“I agree, I agree, but Catherine and Rachel told me he had been pressing himself on the girls, even ripped Serena’s bodice. Not able to control himself.”

“A fast way to die young.” Yancy patted his lips with the linen napkin. “Men have killed for less.”

“Had anyone touched my Isabelle, I would have killed him. My angel.”

“Of course, we all feel that way about our wives, daughters, sisters, but Ewing, there are men who prey on women. Rich, poor, free, slave, young, old. Some illicit thrill, I suppose. Will you bring him back if you can?”

“No. My girls are adamantly opposed to it. I said I must make an example of him, but they said it would be worse to bring him back. Catherine even used the word ‘rape.’ ”

A sharp intake of Yancy’s breath testified to that powerful word. “Good Lord.”

“And she said, ‘Why harbor a thief?’ She has a point, but I think a wrongdoer should be punished.”

Yancy nodded. “Perhaps the solution is for someone else to punish the wrongdoer.” He beamed when two of the young kitchen girls being trained removed their plates, and Serena, balancing a tray, carried in cherry cobbler. Following her was another youngster with a hot pot of tea. “Heaven. This is heaven.” He smiled up at Serena, who smiled back.

Ewing liked seeing his friend awash in pleasures. The last year had not been kind to Yancy. His kneecap, shattered, pieced back together by a new young surgeon, held, but he walked with difficulty, needing a cane. Maureen’s blaming him for the loss of William, her stable boy, and the subsequent miseries with the law also dragged him down. Finally she relented, but he was exhausted and demoralized and broke. Yancy, slowly reviving, truly glowed in his old friend’s presence. The excellent food helped.

“The horses and Charles’s dog, Piglet, are already growing winter coats. Might be a harsh one.”

“My woodpile is full. What else can one do?”

“True. How is this Sean fellow working out?”

“He puts in a good day’s work, and if a larger chore needs doing, he seeks out day laborers. This saves me a great deal of money, though I can’t tend to as many acres.”

“Your oats certainly are fine. Perhaps when finances improve, you can buy more hands.”

Cup of tea in hand, Yancy sipped it, then set the fine china cup in its saucer. “No more slaves. The more I think about feeding, housing, clothing, medical things, I believe the slave system to be highly uneconomical. Harmful, really.”

“Slavery is the way of the world,” Ewing simply stated.

“Yes it is, but that doesn’t mean it’s efficient.”

“You’re not turning into a Quaker, are you?” Ewing smiled at him.

“Ah, well, in my trials I have thought much about their teachings. No, I am not a Quaker but”—he leaned forward, his voice low—“I much admire them.”