“Head smashed like an old pumpkin,” Dennis blurted out.
“Mr. McComb, that’s quite enough,” Hiram angrily scolded the man he loathed working alongside.
“Terrible,” Ewing again said.
“The killer, Moses Durkin, possesses great strength, so should you see him, you must be wary. I would carry a pistol until he is found,” Hiram suggested.
“Quite right, Constable.” Ewing rose. “Are you sure you won’t fortify yourself with some coffee? This will be a long and trying day for you.”
Hiram rose, tapped Dennis on the shoulder so he, too, stood up. “Mr. Garth, thank you. Again, I am sorry to disturb you with such news.”
“I’m glad you did. We need more men like you, Hiram.” He shook the constable’s hand.
As the two men left, Roger silently glided to the front door, which he opened. Bettina tiptoed back into the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, Bettina sagged into a chair. She’d been up most of the night helping Father Gabe clean Moses’s wound. No one could set Ailee’s bones or tend to her eye. All they could do was put compresses on the wreckage.
Serena came and stood next to Bettina. “What do we do?”
Bettina reached up, patted Serena’s hand resting on her shoulder. “We say nothing.”
“I can slip down and take some food.”
“I know you can, honey, but we can’t go down in the day. Anyway, right now they hurt too much to eat. We’ll take food down after sundown, and perhaps some liquor to kill the pain.”
“Bad?”
Bettina nodded. “She’ll not see out of that left eye. He’ll heal, but, oh, it’s a long and ugly wound.”
Serena kissed Bettina on the cheek. These two had played their parts. Bettina would fuss at the younger woman; Serena would do as she was told, occasionally tossing her head or glaring back. The white folks loved it, and truth be told, so did Bettina and Serena. This bit of theater gave them a conduit for emotion. Then again, playing to an eager audience somehow lifts one up.
Roger came back to the kitchen. After checking, he closed the door to the hall.
“And?”
She held up her hand. “I hope we can save them, Roger. We can keep them from being found, although I don’t know how long. I don’t know how we can get them out.”
Roger dropped his eyes. “They’ll hang Moses.”
“And they’ll return Ailee to that bitch!” Bettina spat, surprising both of them by swearing.
“Which one, the Missus or Sheba?” Having been at the Selisses, Roger hated both women.
“I don’t know what to do.” Bettina sighed deeply, fighting back tears.
Roger came and held her other hand. “The Good Lord will show us the way.”
Hearing Ewing’s footfalls, Serena ducked out back to the summer kitchen and Bettina began clearing the table. Roger walked into the hall.
Ewing said to him, “The Bible tells us it is wrong to kill, but I’m not so certain that Francisco didn’t deserve it. I wonder sometimes, Roger, I do wonder if lives would be changed, or even history, by killing the wrong man at the right time.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, neither do I.”
—
Catherine watched as Hiram and Dennis rode out on their errand. Rachel, standing next to her, did also. Already at his drafting table, Charles knew nothing of it. With the sisters, John also watched.
“You know they want something from Father,” Rachel noted.
“Ever notice hardly anyone comes to him to delight him or bring him a book? Everyone wants something, as you said.” Catherine saw Piglet amble toward them from across the field.
“Piglet, tired of drawing?”
“Follow me. I can’t get Charles to follow me.”
“Well, back to my husband.” Rachel smiled.
Catherine looked up at hers. “I know, you and Karl are going down to check the bridges.”
John nodded. “I don’t think there has been that much rain in as short a time since we built them during the War, but then perhaps there was while I was fighting.”
“No. I think last night was the worst.”
“We’ll find out how good an engineer Karl is. If those supports didn’t hold or cracked, we’ve got a big job in front of us.”
She kissed him. “You’re equal to it. Why, John, you could just stand in the water and hold the bridge overhead.”
He laughed. “I’m not Hercules.”
“You’re my Hercules.”
“Will someone pay attention to me?” Piglet sharply barked.
“You’re making me dizzy, turning in those circles.” Catherine leaned over to pet the dog, who looked up at her with big brown eyes.
He took a few steps, turned to look at her. “I know something.”
Walking away, Catherine found her path blocked. Piglet circled behind her and nudged her leg with his nose.
“Follow me.”
Knowing a fair amount of animal behavior for a human, she turned and followed Piglet. The beige fellow would hurry ahead, nose to the ground, stop and wait for her. It occurred to her after five minutes of this to look down as she approached the edge of the woods.
She saw blood.
The thick woods rested on level ground that dipped down, eventually to a feeder creek. Much rock lay near the bottom. In some cases sheer rock faces loomed over narrow deer trails, unusual for this land, but common as one got into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Other places had flat rock beaches, or rocky sides and a few large boulders, like this area. A narrow trail followed the creek. One could travel it without detection. This portion eventually flowing into Ivy Creek was one of them.
Her senses alert, she followed the dog and followed the drops of blood. Piglet stopped near the hidden cave. Motionless, he pricked his ears. Catherine took his advice and stayed still, too.
She heard a moan, then Father Gabe’s voice. Catherine listened for what seemed a long time, then silently turned, headed back.
Back on higher land, she ran to the big house.
“Bettina!”
Having fallen asleep in the kitchen, Bettina startled, sat up straight.
“Bettina.” Catherine stepped into the room. “Something’s wrong.”
Just then, Ewing opened the kitchen door from the hall side. “Darling, Francisco’s been killed. Come into the office and I will tell you what I know. Weymouth!” He called out.
Weymouth appeared. “Yes, sir.”
“Go fetch Rachel, Charles, and John. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ewing looked at his daughter. “I only want to tell this story once, but seeing you, I know I will tell it twice.” And so he did.
When the others finally gathered in the library, the tale now told, Rachel looked to her father and then to Catherine. They all knew one another inside and out.
“Father, do you want us to search?” Rachel asked.
“No, my dear. We leave this to the constable. If I were a runaway slave, I’d make for the river.”
No one said anything, but then John nudged forward another opinion. “Yes, sir, that would be the fastest way out of here, but it might be the first place people would look and I expect there are militia men or others on the river now.”
Ewing wrinkled his brow. “I suppose so. They’ll kill Moses. There will be a show of legality if they can even get him to the courthouse, but he will die.”
Not being an American and never facing such a situation, Charles asked, “What would happen to anyone who assists him or Ailee?”
Ewing exhaled loudly. “Up to the discretion of the judge, but even if a man was not accused of stealing another man’s property or helping a murderer, he would be ruined for life. Certainly he would have to leave Virginia.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Charles replied in a low voice. “And where could such a person go? Every state has slaves.”
“There are some states which are talking about changing that,” said Catherine. “Vermont most especially, but I have heard Pennsylvania might be leaning that way.”