Рита Браун - Tall Tail

“If she don’t, I’ll beat her butt with a wooden spoon.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to go that far.”

He’d finished his breakfast, walked down the hall to see Roger, his all-powerful butler, speaking closely to his son, Weymouth. Weymouth shaved Ewing. The young man, so dexterous, was a fine barber.

On seeing Ewing, both men straightened up, nodding to him as he turned into his office. Just as he retrieved the papers that he and Rachel secured yesterday, he heard voices. Roger had opened the door.

“Drat,” he uttered, placing a paperweight on the papers.

What now and whom? Why was it so hard to get anything done in peace?

At his opened door, a serious Roger, voice low, said, “Master, there’s two men here from the constable’s office who say it is of the utmost importance to talk to you.”

Ewing, never fond of officials, wondered what they wanted. “Show them in.”

It was always something.

He stood up to greet the men. Hiram Meisner, the head constable, hat in hand, bowed slightly as did Dennis McComb, his deputy. Hiram was a man of middling status with a decent frock coat, tidy tricorn, and thick leggings. He smiled tightly.

Dennis said nothing, which was just as well. Dennis had no reputation for either sense or etiquette.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Ewing,” Hiram said. “We are here on a most serious matter.”

“Please, gentlemen, sit down. Is it so serious you can’t enjoy a cup of coffee?” Ewing pleasantly offered, knowing neither man would detect the sarcasm.

“Thank you, no. I will come directly to the point. Francisco Selisse has been murdered by one of his slaves, who escaped. This wretch took with him another slave, a woman of great beauty. We will capture them and we ask for everyone to be alert. The woman is possibly a captive or a shield. We do not know, but we feel the man will not hesitate to kill again.”

Ewing narrowed his eyes. “I see. And what of Mrs. Selisse? Is she safe?”

“Yes. Not in her right mind, which is more than understandable. She witnessed the murder. Her lady’s maid Sheba says her mistress caught the slave Moses assaulting her husband. Sheba says Mrs. Selisse picked up a small split log—they were in the main room, in front of the fireplace—and swung at the man. He pulled a long knife from his waistband, drove it through Mr. Selisse’s heart, grabbing the other slave by the wrist. That’s all we know.”

Bettina also listened, ear to the door in the next room.

“How very terrible.” Ewing lied because Francisco was not a man he would mourn. “In the interests of safety for my own family, might you tell me if you saw the body and the wounds?”

“Blood over his waistcoat. Sheba said Moses pulled out the knife, keeping it.”

“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.