Setting the tea in front of her and grabbing one for herself, Harry said, “What’s wrong?”
“Crozet Media came out here today, right?”
“Yeah. I told you I was hoping to create a professional website to help promote my produce.”
Taking a refreshing sip, Cooper nodded. “You did, but I have to check. Everything went fine?”
“Great. A lot of fun. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker got into the act. I’m sure they’ll be stars.”
“So when did the crew leave?”
“Oneish. Why?”
“Their office has been trashed.”
Thursday, September 16, 1784
So very becoming in a pale rose light silk gown, Sheba almost outshone her mistress. Maureen Selisse wore shimmering blue, her blonde hair with streaks of gray coiffed in the latest fashion. This being her husband’s funeral, Maureen took advantage of the situation to mourn with the smallest of lace kerchiefs covering the top of her head. The proprieties must be observed, and a lady is always covered in the house of God or for a sacrament. This particular house, Episcopal, was unadorned. It wasn’t that the Episcopalians of central Virginia ignored their churches, but all that red, gold, blue, gold, more gold, candles, lavish painting, and hangings smacked of Rome. Then again, red smacked of the recently defeated enemy. Perhaps the time would come when the Protestants of the state might add a bit of color and comfort—those pews were unmercifully hard—but who could predict?
Francisco’s casket was closed, with a spray of late-summer daylilies. Situated at the front of the church, the altar and priest were three steps upward on the raised floor behind the casket.
Often funerals were conducted at the home of the deceased, but Maureen wanted everyone to attend a church funeral and, of course, for all to see the honor she paid her murdered spouse. And she did pay him honor.
The service from The Book of Common Prayer was a dignified one, filled with the simple, beautiful phrases from the seventeenth century. It pleased everyone. Some of the pleasure derived from the fact that it didn’t last too long.
The church service was followed by a subdued procession, ladies under their parasols, to the expanding graveyard. Francisco was set aside an open grave but not put into it, and Maureen sagged onto Sheba, who held her up with the help of Yancy Grant, planter and horseman. Maureen was carefully walked back to a repast under large trees, the church meeting room deemed too small. Once Maureen was seated at the head of the table, many of her slaves in evidence, Francisco’s last meal began.
In livery, DoRe stood at a distance at the open carriage, the very latest painted Charleston green with gold pinstripes.
Catherine stood on one side of her father, Rachel on the other. Their husbands were next to them, and the group slowly walked to the occasion.
In a low voice, Ewing said, “I see Yancy Grant hasn’t lost a minute.”
No, he had not. He danced attendance and feigned sorrow upon Maureen, herself not averse to the attention but only slightly encouraging it. She sat in the catbird seat. Yes, a bit plump now but not overly so, she retained much of her good looks, which were tremendously enhanced by the fact that Maureen Selisse was now one of the richest widows in Virginia.
Catherine smiled, said to the family, “They aren’t punishing DoRe.”
Ewing wisely nodded. “People know he tried to restrain Moses in his wild passion for that girl.”
“She was very, very beautiful,” Charles West noted, then hastily added, “And Francisco was not renowned for his restraint when it came to a beautiful woman. How many times have I caught him staring intensely at my Rachel? I think I would have killed him myself.”
“Now, Charles.” Rachel’s admonition carried affection.
“Was any woman safe?” John Schuyler half snorted. “I would never have left Catherine, Rachel, anyone, alone with that man.”
“It was almost an affliction,” Ewing mused.
“In the end, it was a fatal one.” John put his hand over his wife’s hand, which rested on his arm, again quite the proper way for a lady to walk slowly with her husband.
“No sign of either Moses nor Ailee?” Ewing remarked.
Catherine felt herself stiffen, then relax. “Not yet, but I would think they’d be downriver by now or, perhaps more prudently, up in the mountains.”
“Mmm,” Ewing murmured as they reached the long table, parishioners, business associates, friends, neighbors enjoying the food, one another. “My darlings, allow me to stand in line and pay our respects first and then you all may follow when the hordes clear.”
“Yes, Father,” both daughters agreed.
Ewing patiently took his place, but due to his reputation and wealth most men moved him forward. He was quick to thank them, as well as remember who knew their place.
Upon reaching a seated Maureen Selisse, Ewing bowed low. He took her hand, brushing his lips over it. “My dear, my poor dear. You are so brave.”
Exactly what she wanted to hear.
Lowering her eyes then raising them, she fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, Ewing Garth, I can’t think of anyone the sight of whom could lift my spirits but you. You know, my dear Francisco always said you were the smartest man in this county and beyond. I do not know how I will recover from this dreadful event, but I will. He would expect it of me, you know.”
“I do and you will. Now I must reluctantly leave you as the line behind me grows, a testimony to your late husband and a great show of respect for you, madam.”
He moved away while her bosom heaved a few practiced heaves. Sheba patted her mistress’s cheek and forehead with a Belgian lace handkerchief.
“Now you take a sip of this, Missus. You mustn’t overextend yourself.” Sheba forced a few sips of iced tea or what looked like iced tea on her owner.
Bettina attended because Catherine insisted she and Rachel needed her. Also as head woman at the estate, Bettina should be seen, especially among the other slaves.
Bettina, next to Jeddie, who was dressed as a postilion, put her hand over her mouth to hide the sneer. “Sheba is so full of the milk of human kindness, she moos.”
Jeddie stifled a laugh. “Do you think she gets all of Mistress’s clothes? Sheba’s clothes are better than most of the white folks’ here.”
Bettina looked him up and down. “And who is in a most expensive uniform?”
“Uh.”
“Uh-huh. Sheba is how Maureen tries to put us under her thumb. She wears the jewelry, her dress is better than Sheba’s, but Sheba is just a rung down on that ladder, and having her lady-in-waiting so bedazzling shouts her wealth and her power. And you be careful. She does have power and she can be cruel.”
“Yes, Bettina.”
The other reason Catherine insisted Bettina accompany the family to the funeral was it might give Bettina a chance to speak with DoRe. Looking about, she saw DoRe standing by the exquisite carriage under large oak trees. Bettina walked toward him, her head high.
He smiled wanly when he saw her. “Bettina, I don’t believe I have ever seen you without your apron until now.”
She placed her hand on his, then withdrew it. “DoRe,” she whispered in his ear, “your boy is alive. I can say no more.” She kissed him on the check. “Our only hope is silence.”
Sensible to what she was really telling him, his eyes misted. He took both her hands in his, then looked over to the open grave. “The silence of the grave.”
He kissed her back and wiped his tears, and she returned to Jeddie. You never knew who had the searching eye, and she didn’t want Sheba to see her lingering with DoRe. Looking at Sheba, she realized she was in no danger. Sheba was too busy fulfilling her role as the ministering angel.