Рита Браун - Tall Tail

“And Sheba,” Bettina sourly added.

“Two harpies,” Rachel agreed.

“Let us consider this without emotion as though this were happening to someone in, say, Austria or, better yet, Russia, since they have serfs,” said Catherine. “Our first task is to keep Ailee hidden, to make certain she doesn’t entertain a notion to follow Moses.”

“She won’t,” said Bettina. “He made her promise. He swore the day would come when he would return for her. He said she’s worth dying for.”

“Let us hope that’s not the case.” Catherine sighed. “But again, no emotion. What comes next?”

They sat there, smelling the thyme.

“The cave is the best place we have,” said Bettina. “Can’t build a fire there. Can’t cook there. We can keep her in blankets and furs, but that’s all we can do. I believe the cold will make her face more painful. Father Gabe examines her face. Says the cheekbones are knitting together as best he could push them back. But the eye bones, he says they are so delicate. She won’t freeze, but she’ll be miserable. Nights are getting cold.” Bettina placed her hands on her knees, having released Rachel’s hand.

“What about the cabin with the loom?” Rachel thought out loud. “It’s at the end of the work row. The men never go down there. Father would have no reason to go down there and guests won’t go down there.”

The other two considered this.

Catherine replied, “It’s a big room, but open. She would have no place to hide if someone did come there.”

Rachel was hopeful. “Why can’t the men build a loft? Ailee can hide up there if she needs to. There’s a good fireplace in the weaving room. All it needs is an iron bar to hang a pot on it. Water nearby. It might work.”

“Until someone sees her face,” Catherine logically said.

“It’s only our people along that row,” Bettina added. “But you’re right, if anyone did see her, the cat would be out of the bag.”

Rachel racked her brain. “She could wear a large sunbonnet.”

“In the winter?” Catherine was incredulous.

“Maybe, maybe.” Bettina turned this over in her mind. “If her sunbonnet was longer on one side, she could pull it to hide her face. Winter, a scarf, something like that to cover herself with, I don’t know.”

“Bettina, we’ve heard that Maureen Selisse is offering a reward for their capture and Yancy Grant is adding to it, for the protection of our citizens.”

They didn’t know that Yancy had also offered Dennis McComb a goodly sum, off the record.

“Ha,” Bettina nearly shouted.

“But would anyone tell, anyone here?” Catherine pressed.

Bettina shook her head. “No. Never. And if they did, they wouldn’t live out the week. If one of us didn’t kill them when they walked off the farm, they’d be dead. Soon caught, anyway. How do you think Moses and Ailee got here that night? Hands, hands helping them along the creek, and there are other caves. It’s the most direct route. The only person we can’t trust is Sheba. She thinks she should be the missus. Lord, if you could hear her going on about how she’s the granddaughter of a queen. Hell, I could be a queen. Tulli could be a king in Africa, but we aren’t in Africa. Pride goeth before a fall.”

“That it does,” Rachel agreed. “Shall I ask Karl to have a loft built? No need to bother Father with it, and if he finds out, sees lumber being hauled down the row, or hears the noise, I’ll tell him it was my idea. Didn’t want to leave the fabrics and wool lying low. They should be high up. Someone should be in the weaving room. Which means we’d better put someone else in there.”

“I’ll think on that,” Bettina answered.

A breeze rustled the oaks. “Sounds like fall.” Rachel looked up to see the leaves moving, color just hinting at what was to come.

The catcalls of the children filled the air. The women tended their gardens behind their cabins. The men walked back home after a hard day’s work. Long, slanting rays of the sun coated everything in deep gold. Horses neighed; cattle walked toward their quarters led by the old head girl.

The three women watched this.

Rachel asked, “What do you think happens after we die?”

Bettina turned to look at her, but since she had known Rachel in her cradle she was not terribly surprised by the change in subject, only by the subject itself. “Bible says we will all be united upstairs.” She pointed straight up.

“How do we know there isn’t an upstairs and a downstairs?” Catherine smiled impishly.

“Betcha there is a downstairs.” Bettina pointed to the ground and they laughed.

“What brought that on?” Catherine asked her sister.

“It’s so beautiful right now,” said Rachel. “I don’t want it to end. I want us to be together forever. I want to see Mother. I want to always hold Charles, and I even want that silly dog to sleep on the bed. I just”—she paused for a long time—“want us to always be together.”

Bettina patted her hand. “In our hearts, we will.”

Friday, September 24, 1784

“Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” Constable Hiram Meisner grandly pronounced.

“Sir?” Dennis McComb stood up as his boss, Hiram, walked into the blacksmith’s shop.

Potter Manx, the burly blacksmith, apron covering his thighs, glanced up. “From the Trojan War,” he explained to Dennis. “The Greeks couldn’t defeat the Trojans so they withdrew their ships. The Trojans thought they sailed away. They left at the gates a large wooden horse as an offering to the gods, to peace.”

“Oh.” Dennis had never heard anything about this.

The constable finished the tale. “The horse hid Greek soldiers inside. That night after the horse had been hauled inside, the Greeks dropped a ladder, climbed down, opened the gates for their comrades, who had sailed back. They poured in. Hence the expression ‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.’ ”

“I should think,” said Dennis, amazed at the story, and the other two laughed at him.

“Ah, well, Dennis, best you stick to business.” Potter focused on the mare’s left hoof. “She needs time off. Give her two days.”

“Well, it’s lucky, then, that Mrs. Selisse has offered us an extra horse or two as we are tiring ours in the search,” said Hiram. “Won’t be the blooded horses but nonetheless…” His voice trailed off.

“Is Mrs. Selisse Greek?” Dennis inquired.

Hiram shrugged. “Selisse? Damned if I know. I thought Greek names ended in os and stuff like that.”

“That boy Moses plumb vanished.” Potter gently put the hoof down. “Hand me that pot, will you?”

Dennis handed the blacksmith a pot, a thinish black liquid therein. He painted it on her hoof.

“All her shoes are off. Let me finish this here. It will toughen the frog a bit. She’s in good shape and she has good hooves, but our roads do their work.”

The local roads were notoriously bad. Potholes, rocks, packed dirt. A few roads were corduroy, but most weren’t, and a steady rain turned everything into a quagmire. A gullywasher often took the road with it.

“Aye.” Dennis shook his head. “We haven’t far to go and she had a nice pasture. Two days?”

Potter nodded. “Press on her frog. If she flinches she’ll need more time, but I think she’ll be fine.”

“All right.” Dennis looked at his boss. “I’ll walk her to the pasture. My wife will see to her and then, if you wish, we can go to Mrs. Selisse.”