Whiskers In The Dark

34

October 25, 1787

Thursday

A light frost silvered the earth. Fall truly arrived, and with it the lavish colors beloved of Virginians living by the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Ewing would be finished with his breakfast, filled with Bettina’s wonders and rich, fortifying coffee. The two sisters slowly walked to the big house. They’d put this off as long as they could.

“Father,” Catherine called as she opened the back door.

“Me, too.” Rachel’s light, liquid voice followed her sister’s. Already in his library, Ewing nearly sang with delight. “My angels. Both of you.”

Catherine stuck her head in the kitchen. Bettina had been using the winter kitchen since the beginning of October, as the nights proved cold. “Wish us luck.”

Bettina came to the sisters, held each one’s hands for a moment, her kind face bright. “Bless you. No matter what, I bless you.”

“Oh, Bettina.” Rachel impulsively kissed her on the cheeks, cheeks she had kissed since infancy.

Catherine, less demonstrative, squeezed the good woman’s hand. “We really will do our best, but Bettina, this might take Father some time.”

Bettina nodded, letting go of Catherine’s hand.

The two sisters, nearly equal in height, took each other’s hands to walk down the hall. As unalike as they were in their abilities, they shared their mother’s kindness and their father’s hopefulness and the deep reverence for life that Bettina had taught them as children.

Just before they reached the open door of the library, Rachel turned to her stunning sister. “Catherine, I pray Mother is with us.”

Catherine, searching her equally beautiful sister, but beautiful in a classically feminine fashion, nodded. “She will be.”

As they walked into the library, Ewing stood up, strode to his daughters, kissing them. “Both of you at the same time. What a wonderful way to greet this frosty morning. Come, come, sit by the fire. You both wouldn’t be here if this were not important.”

He was hoping one would tell him she was with child. Ewing had turned into a predictably besotted grandfather.

“Coffee? Tea? Anything?”

“No, Father. I have actually learned a bit of cooking and made a breakfast today that even my husband gobbled.” Rachel laughed.

“Rachel, you’re a good cook.” Catherine meant it.

“Well, before you tell me whatever it is, I can tell you, Catherine, I received an inquiry yesterday—you were at the stables all day—from a London firm inquiring about tobacco. Now, if we can reach an accord, it will somewhat offset our French losses.”

Rachel, at the edges of European doings, mostly listening to her husband, said, “No one likes to lose money. And imagine what Maureen is thinking? No more fabrics from Paris.”

“Oh, I think Maureen will compensate. She has a cleverness.” Ewing stretched out his legs.

Apart from being a bit portly, he was in good health, but his knees ached a bit, as did his finger joints.

Catherine took a deep breath. Best to get on with it. “Father, we are here to ask a boon.”

“Yes.” He really did expect a notice of a forthcoming child.

“DoRe has asked Bettina for her hand. She has accepted,” Catherine calmly reported.

Rachel jumped in. “They’re very much in love.”

Ewing’s eyes widened. “Does Maureen know?”

“I don’t know, but surely you must have suspected the friendship was deepening.” Rachel leaned toward her father.

“I knew he was calling on her but well—”

“We are here because we hope you will convince Maureen to let him go.”

This provoked a grunt. “Let him go? She’ll sell him for twenty thousand dollars. Once she knows the situation, she will be merciless. She is a Midas in her own way.”

Catherine and Rachel looked at each other. They knew their father was right, but what to do?

Catherine spoke first. “She will make it as difficult as possible because she knows how much we value—adore really—Bettina. Here are a few things Rachel and I have considered. If Maureen could get her hands on Bettina, she would finally have the best cook in the state. Naturally, never, never, never.”

Rachel added, “Never.”

“I quite agree.”

“She can’t forbid a marriage. As a Christian, at least in name, and she certainly makes a show of her faith, she must agree,” Catherine continued.

“True. We will throw a sumptuous wedding here at Cloverfields.” He paused, voice dropping. “The only thing I can think of is giving Bettina time to visit at Big Rawly and we can only hope Maureen will do the same for DoRe.”

“That’s just it. She’ll seem to agree but I believe she will find impediments each time DoRe is to come here.” Rachel folded her hands together to keep from shaking. She desperately wanted Bettina to be happy.

Ewing rubbed his chin, then his cheek. “Ah, my dear, you are right. Of course I agree to the marriage. We are all Christians here. The wedded state is the best state and he has properly courted her. I can’t think of any way to get DoRe from Maureen unless I were to agree to what will be an exorbitant price.”

A silence fell over the room. He was right. It wasn’t that Ewing wouldn’t pay for DoRe, but to be held up—and by Maureen no less, even though he didn’t know what she had done to Moses or Ailee. Had he known, this would be even more painful.

“We could free Bettina,” Rachel quietly suggested.

“She wouldn’t go live with him. Bettina will not go to Big Rawly.” Catherine was right, too.

“If we freed her and she left, perhaps DoRe could run away,” Rachel blurted out.

“Daughter, think what you are saying. Apart from the fact that I don’t believe in slaves running away, this would be a death sentence for DoRe and he would be easy to identify. The limp, his size, and his age. She’d kill him for pleasure when he was returned.” Ewing shook his head.

Catherine, mind whirring, said carefully, “There might be another way. What if—and this will cost us but force Maureen to work closely with us—what if you plant a huge apple orchard for her. We pay for everything. All she has to do is prepare the ground, and we can help there, too.” Catherine held up her hand. “And as a nod to her power, we pay a reasonable sum for DoRe.”

This struck Ewing forcibly. “Why?”

“Well, Father, she is uncommonly shrewd. If we both have orchards, then she will work hard to see that those apples bring a high price on the market. And I would not be surprised if she sought markets in England touting the wonders of apples grown by the Blue Ridge Mountains. Knowing Maureen, she’ll concoct a story about learning the secrets of longevity from the Monacans who used these very apples, and they lived forever.” Catherine couldn’t help but laugh.

Her father did, too.

Rachel, smiling, added, “In a sense, Father, we will be in business together, at least by growing apples. Vile as she can be, Maureen never does anything halfway.”

Folding his hands over his chest, he played with the chain of his heavy gold pocket watch, which his daughters had given him for his birthday. “Girls, you may have hit upon something.”

“If you agree, the next step is we must call upon Maureen, and we’d better make sure Jeffrey is there.” Rachel liked Jeffrey and knew he could sway his wife.

“Yes, yes.” Ewing exhaled from his nostrils. “Roger.”

Within seconds Roger was at the door, so of course he had heard everything. Roger was born to be a politician, whether elected or unelected. White or black, he could gather information and closely observe, then gently guide, others.

“Yes, Mr. Ewing.”

“Will you prepare my pipe and bring it to me? I need an infusion of my own tobacco.” He smiled broadly.

“Of course.” Roger disappeared.

“Whatever price she sets upon DoRe’s head will not be the price she accepts. We have to take the first blast in good grace.” Ewing was already on board.

Rachel, realizing they had won, nodded. “No one can negotiate better than you.”

He waved his hand. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Roger reappeared with the pipe, took a taper, held it in the fireplace, then touched it to the pipe bowl while Ewing took a deep draw. “God bless the Monacan.”

“Did they grow tobacco?” Rachel wondered.

“I expect they did.” Catherine steered them back as Roger bowed out. “Shall we leave it to you to discuss this with Bettina?”

“No, no. You girls are closer to her and it is women’s desires that count in these matters. Your mother taught me that.”

Rachel, out of the blue, hearing about her mother, said, “I think Mother would wish us to free Bettina and DoRe after we procure him from Maureen.”

Catherine looked at her sister as though Rachel had lost her mind.

“What?” Ewing sat bolt upright.

“Mother would want this. Bettina sat by Mother’s bed, she washed her, sang to her, she prayed over her. And she with Mother raised us. Set her free, Father.”

To his daughters’ surprise he burst into tears. “Oh, my dear, Bettina keeps your Mother close. How can I part with her? I—”

“She would be free. That doesn’t mean she would leave. She and DoRe might stay. This is her home. She was born and raised here. But Rachel”—Catherine paused, shocked at the lump now in her throat—“Rachel is right. This is what Mother would want now that Bettina has found love.”

Tears cascaded down Ewing’s cheeks. The three of them cried. Rachel, on her feet, now knelt before her father, kissing his hands. Catherine stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

Finally able to speak, he rasped, “I will see to it.”

When the sisters left, they briefly stopped to tell Bettina that they would do their best to get DoRe to Cloverfields. They promised to talk more in detail later, as both were overwrought and unexpectedly tired. Ewing, pipe in hand, put on his jacket, took a deep puff, and went outside to his wife’s tomb. He dropped the pipe into his pocket absentmindedly as he placed both hands on the recumbent lamb with the cross. He sobbed. He sobbed as hard as he had sobbed when he had buried this glorious woman.

“I am about to do something highly unusual, Isabelle, but I believe as our daughters have pressed me that this is your wish.” He continued to sob. Then he smelled his pocket burning.

Looking down, he saw that his pocket had caught fire, and little tendrils of smoke billowed out of his right pocket.

He slapped at his pocket, pulling out the pipe, dumping out the tobacco from the bowl where he stomped on the lit tobacco. His pocket was ruined. His coat was a mess. He stood there for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. He laughed until the tears flowed again, for he knew Isabelle had sent him a sign. She had a wicked sense of humor.