Hiram Meisner stood at the back of the crowd. As a county servant, he was not of this group, but he was allowed there, as was everyone who wished to pay their respects to the grieving widow. Hiram watched everyone.
Catherine, John, Rachel, and Charles paid their respects, followed by Yancy Grant swooping in for a second pass.
“Might I fetch you some refreshments?” asked Yancy.
She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Grant. Sheba will see to that.”
Jeffrey Holloway made his way to Maureen. Of medium build, strong-jawed, blond, and tremendously handsome, Jeffrey, of the middling orders, harbored ambitions. Hardworking, careful of drink, he had a decent reputation for a young man. His lack of education, and the fact that he worked with his hands as a cabinetmaker, proved a hindrance to the advancement of his station. Jeffrey bowed to Maureen even lower than Yancy, as he should, being lower down on the social scale.
“Mrs. Selisse, allow me to express my sympathy.” The handsome Jeffrey Holloway tilted his head upward to look deeply into her eyes.
Maureen didn’t know Jeffrey. The handsome fellow’s dealings had been only with Francisco.
Yancy, discounting him, half turned his body to Maureen, interrupted whatever Jeffrey was going to say.
“Madam, you inherit complicated business and legal matters. Consider me at your service.”
She smiled up at him, then focused her attention back on Jeffrey.
“Madam, you helped your husband in numerous ways,” said Jeffrey. “Your acumen is well known. I think what Mr. Grant means to say”—he stared right at Yancy Grant, whose face registered surprise at this upstart—“is that we all want to protect a beautiful woman alone in these turbulent times. As you can see, Mrs. Selisse, I am not a man of Mr. Grant’s standing, but I wish to see to your comfort and safety. If you need anything, pins, flour, a book from Europe, call upon me. I will do your bidding.”
With that, Jeffrey bowed again, not as low, took her hand and kissed it, again looking directly into her eyes with his remarkable green ones.
Yes, Maureen had loved Francisco once, and yes, she was mourning. That mourning abruptly ended. Her bosom lifted upward, she let her hand linger in his, then whispered, “I shall call upon you, sir.”
Inclining his head slightly, with a hint of a smile, Jeffrey then looked directly at Sheba.
Sheba got the message.
So did Catherine and Rachel, observing the brief transaction. Missing it were John and Charles, engaged in a conversation with the aging former commandant of The Barracks. Then again, they would have missed it even if they had seen it.
Rachel quickly slipped her arm through her sister’s, propelling her away from the table and away from clouds of chat.
“Jeffrey Holloway!” Rachel breathed.
“All the wolves circling Mrs. Selisse. She’s the one with the longest fangs. You’d think some of these men would have the sense to, well, I don’t know. If nothing else, they might try to determine what truly happened.”
“She’ll never tell,” Catherine flatly stated.
“Why?”
“Maureen Selisse is the unstained widow, the hapless survivor of a slave attack on her blameless husband.”
“You don’t think she killed him, do you? Women do lose their minds over such things.”
Catherine shrugged. “There’s more to this than anyone knows. Sheba knows. I’m sure of that.”
“She’ll hold it over her mistress’s head for the rest of their lives.” Rachel, quieter than Catherine, missed little.
“Wouldn’t you?” asked Catherine.
A long silence followed this as they paused under a majestic tree.
“Yes, I suppose I would,” Rachel said at last. “One has to use what one can to live. I hate to think about it, though.”
“I’ll make you a bet.”
“What are we betting, before I agree?”
“Your hand is better than mine. I want embroidered pillowcases, rich blue against the white.”
“How many pillowcases?”
Catherine smiled. “Rachel, don’t be peevish. I know you. Four.”
“All right. What I want if I win this bet, whatever it is, is a trip to the milliner in Scottsville for a fall hat.”
“You think big.”
“I need a new hat, something with feathers for the season. I’m tired of gauze and ribbons.”
“I am, too. Here’s the bet. Maureen marries Jeffrey before one year of proper mourning.”
Rachel considered this. “That’s quite a bet. A flirtation is one thing. Should she engage in more than that, she is a widow. That’s some protection, but to marry a man without money, a cabinetmaker working with his father, oh, I don’t know. That is a big step. What does she gain?”
“A Greek god and the fountain of youth.”
Rachel stared at Catherine, then back at Maureen and then to Jeffrey. He was now politely speaking to the priest who officiated the ceremony. “I see what you mean. Sister, do you think age will affect us so?”
“No. It didn’t bother Mother.”
Rachel smiled, then led Catherine back to the funeral feast.
Carriages filled the road heading west toward the mountains. Most turned off on Three-Chopt Road, a few turned right to clop along the road to The Barracks. More farms were springing up in the area as more people flocked to Central Virginia, especially now that the native Indians had been driven across the Blue Ridge Mountains into the Shenandoah Valley.
By the time Ewing Garth, the Schuylers, and the Wests reached home, the sun was setting.
“Like a torch behind the mountains,” Ewing said.
“I never tire of it,” Catherine replied.
With help from Tulli, Jeddie took the carriage. Bettina asked if Ewing needed anything and he said he did not. She walked briskly back to her cabin.
Catherine looked down the distant row. The children played in front of their cabins, the boys ran after a hoop, the girls ran after the boys just to bedevil them. No sign of Father Gabe.
—
Late that night, Catherine slipped out of bed, changed into a shift, put on working shoes. She let herself out of the back door, thinking John remained asleep. He did not. He rose, looked out the window to see his wife heading for the woods. He also saw Piglet emerge from Rachel and Charles’s house. Catherine carried what looked like a blanket. He pulled on his socks, pants, and boots to follow.
This time, Catherine stopped before the cave, then called softly, “Father Gabe, I mean no harm.”
Bettina surprised her by stepping outside. “Missus—”
Catherine held up her hand; with the other she offered the thin blanket. The September nights could become cool, and this was one of them. “How are they?”
Bettina motioned for her to come inside. Piglet followed. Moses, feverish, moaned. Father Gabe soaked strips of cloth into a bucket of water, then wrung them out, carefully placing them over the inflamed wound.
Ailee sat on one side of Moses, holding his hand.
Someone had built two rough beds. Catherine now knew that other slaves knew. She also knew no one would tell. This would risk all of them.
Moses moaned louder. Catherine knelt down, inspecting his wound more closely.
“If he screams—” She didn’t finish.
Father Gabe reached down for rawhide strips an inch thick, long enough to tie around Moses’s head. This gag allowed him to breathe.
Tears rolled down Ailee’s cheeks; her smashed cheekbone and cloudy blind eye glistened. Catherine wished she had something, anything, for Ailee’s pain, as well as Moses’s pain.
Bettina whispered, “He’s burning up.”
Catherine placed the back of her hand on his cheek. “Dear God.”
Piglet barked. “Someone’s coming.”
Catherine reached down to hold the dog’s jaws shut when John shocked all of them by walking into the hiding place.
“John, oh, John, I wish you hadn’t found me,” Catherine blurted.