Whiskers In The Dark

28

October 20, 1787

Saturday

“He said Royal Oak. Seven miles from the river.” Ralston repeated what the carter had told them.

“We’ve gone seven miles,” William complained.

“Maybe not. The land rises above the Potomac and getting over that takes longer. It’s rolling here. This road looks well used,” Ralston, doing his best to think ahead, said.

“That river runs fast,” Sulli, tired but keeping up, observed. “You all were smart getting us a ride on the ferry.” She looked adoringly at William when she said this, which made Ralston want to throw up.

Not wishing to call undue attention to themselves, the three had waited on the Virginia side of the Potomac. While they had enough for their fare, they still waited. If they could align themselves with a white man, they might pass not unnoticed but unquestioned. Hours later, the air brisk, the day bright, a carter moved toward them and, as luck would have it, his cart stopped. He didn’t know why so he whipped the horse.

Ralston called to him. “Stop, sir. The problem isn’t your horse.”

Ralston remembered what Catherine had told him: “Never spur a willing horse.”

He and William walked to the cart as Sulli watched. William held the bridle as Ralston crawled under the empty cart.

Pulling himself half out on his back, he told William, “Get me a thick stick. Well, Sulli can find one.” Then he said to the carter, “A stone is wedged in the wheel well. I think I can pry it out. Your axle is fine.”

“Good” was all the fellow grunted.

Sulli, casting about, picked up two sticks of differing lengths but thick widths, handing them to Ralston, who pulled himself back under the cart, working on the wheel from the underside.

They heard one stick crack, a groan, then, “Got it.”

Ralston pulled himself out, looked at William. “Take a few steps.”

William did and the cart freely moved.

The man reached in his pocket to pay Ralston, but the slender young man instead asked, “If we could stand with you, sir, and you might pay our fare, that would be a fair trade, I think.”

As the fare was only sixpence for all three of them, not outrageous, the portly fellow nodded his agreement.

The three stayed with him as though he was their master, and on the Maryland side, Ralston asked if the gentleman knew of any breeding farms, preferably blooded horses. He named Royal Oak, owned by an Irishman, Cinian Finney. And he also mentioned that given the man’s temper, he always needed new help.

The sun hung low, the air cooled, and on they trudged. A mile down the road, southeastern direction, a zigzag fence appeared. Seemed to stretch on for miles. They walked along, seeing horses in the fields, divided.

“Royal Oak.” Ralston breathed the name hopefully.

“Whatever it is, money. Money and good horses.” William paused to look over the pastures, all well kept, as were the horses.

“Must be the broodmare field,” Ralston observed.

“No one has babies by their side.” Sulli liked the setting sun glistening on their coats.

“Not yet,” Ralston simply replied. “There’s a road up ahead, turns into the farm. I say we go on down. Got to be someone around. Time to bring in the horses anyway.”

They did, and that trek seemed like miles as they were tired. A wiry man, close-cropped ginger hair and a neat mustache, a horse on each side of him, nodded as he walked toward stables in the distance.

They followed.

“Can I help you, sir?” Ralston called over the horse’s neck. “I’m a dab hand with a horse.”

“Are you now? Cheeky, I’d say.” The fellow had an Irish accent. “Here.”

Ralston took the lead rope from the fellow’s hand, walking in rhythm with him and the horse, a dark bay mare, mane pulled, tail tidied up, hoofs trimmed. This was a first-rate operation.

They walked into the stable, brick floor, painted wooden stalls. The man put the first horse into a stall, then took the second one from Ralston and did the same. Hay was already in a hay crib and buckets of water hung in the corner. The back of the stall remained open and the horses were tied to their cribs with enough room to move around and even lie down if they so chose. But they couldn’t walk out of the stall.

“Sir, Ralston Moore.”

“Ard Elgin.”

William stepped forward. “William”—he paused for a moment—“Fields. And this is my wife, Sulli Fields.”

“If there’s work, put us to it.” Ralston smiled.

“Runaways are you?” Ard noted William’s pause and he figured, correctly, that the fellow was thinking of a last name.

“No,” William replied too loudly.

Ralston had learned a lot in his brief run for freedom. Well, it didn’t seem brief: He’d lost weight, his feet hurt, and he wanted to sleep on a pallet. No more sleeping on the earth, where the dampness crept into his bones.

“I see.” Ard smiled. “What can you do?”

“We’re both good with horses and my wife can cook or help in the house.” William puffed out his chest.

“Can always use hands.” Ard, tired of the turnover, wanted to keep his own job, so if he found some good workers who stayed, and he figured runaway slaves would stay, he’d receive a reward from the Boss.

“Day’s over but you can stay in the cabin there.” He pointed to a high-roofed cabin. “We can sort this out tomorrow. Pump out behind the cabin. If you head up this path you’ll come to the bunkhouse. Food’s in an hour. Miss Frances don’t like dirty people, so wash up. Any clothes?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll tell her, otherwise she’ll get her nose out of joint. If I can get you hired, you give me your first week’s pay. Then we’ll be even. I’m taking a chance on three people I don’t know. Hear?”

“Yes, sir. You won’t be sorry.” Ralston extended his hand.

Ard shook it. “You got a wife, boy?”

Ralston shook his head. “Not yet.”

Ard laughed. “Clean up. Do the best you can and don’t mind Miss Frances. She has a tart tongue.” He focused on Sulli. “I expect she’ll put you to work. Keep your mouth shut and do what she says.”

“Yes, sir.”

They left him, hurrying for the cabin. No one wanted to be late for food.

Sulli opened the door. “A fireplace.”

William stood in the opened door, looked at the bunk beds, and said to Ralston, “You take the top.” Ralston looked around for blankets. Six were neatly folded on a shelf. He walked outside with a bucket, filled it with water, took off his shirt, washed himself as best he could while William brought in firewood stacked at the side of the house. The sun had set. Ralston shivered but it felt good to be a little clean, even if he had to put his old shirt back on.

Sulli inspected every nook and cranny. An old pot sat on the shelf underneath the blanket shelf. It was a start.

Miss Frances lived up to her billing, but she handed the three of them patched shirts and two pair of pants. She told Sulli if Mr. Finney hired her, she’d find a decent dress. In her own way Miss Frances had a kind heart but no backtalk, no laziness.

As the three walked back in the darkness, Ard walking halfway with them, Ralston asked, “How many slaves here?”

“Royal Oak doesn’t have slaves. Mr. Finney says they’re worthless. Cost too much. He’ll give you a wage, a place to live. If you want to eat with us, Miss Frances is a fine cook, you pay three dollars a month for food and Miss Frances doesn’t stint on food. You have to make your own breakfast. Mr. Finney is a demanding man. Do what he tells you. Even if he cusses you like a dog, do what he tells you. For that matter, do what I tell you.”

“Yes, Mr. Elgin.” They all three replied nearly in unison.

“Dawn. Be at the stables. Sulli, Miss Frances will be coming to the bunkhouse kitchen. Best you meet her there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Back at the cabin, warm now, for there would be a frost tonight, William and Sulli went outside in the cold to wash each other. Ralston climbed up in the bunk, a straw pallet on top. Felt good. He took off his clothes, pulled the blanket up, happy for his small comforts. He knew not to trust William, who had proven to be a liar, out for himself. As for Sulli, well, she wasn’t his worry. He liked her. Thought she deserved better. He would work hard. He would make good. He was a free man and he would stay a free man.

The fates played games with people. Sometimes they were cruel, sometimes kind. But no matter what they did, how they rolled the dice, Ralston was free.