Рита Браун - Tall Tail

“You don’t have a horse.”

“How fast do you want to go?” Dennis asked.

“A walk.” Hiram smiled. “We’ll get there soon enough, where I’m certain we will receive an earful.”

After dropping off his mare, Dennis walked alongside Hiram.

“Tops of the maples are red,” Hiram noted.

“Willows already turning,” said Dennis. “They’re always early.”

“You’re fortunate to have a helpful wife. Then again, you haven’t been married that long.” Hiram laughed.

“She’s a good wife.”

“Dennis, she’d have to be, to put up with you.” Hiram teased him and Dennis knew it.

Within the hour, they reached the Selisse estate. The peaches had been picked mid-August. The fieldhands stood on ladders in the small but abundant apple orchard, picking the last of the apples, which would be fed to stock. The cornfields boasted tall stalks with succulent ears. Summer slid into fall, a rich, bountiful fall.

In front of the house, DoRe took Hiram’s horse.

The two men knocked on the front door. Sheba was glimpsed in the hall, but she wouldn’t open the door. That was the butler’s job. Everyone knew their tasks, their boundaries, and defended them.

Oliver, the ancient butler, opened the door. “The Missus is expecting you.”

He led them to the rear of the lovely house, where Maureen Selisse sat on the same porch where she had entertained the Garths. Jeffrey Holloway sat beside her. As the two visiting men bowed to her, she fanned herself languidly.

Jeffrey, rising, indicated they should sit down. Then he turned to Maureen. “Madam, I will take your leave. I do not wish to intrude on your business.”

She snapped her fan shut, pointing it at him. “You will do no such thing, Jeffrey. I want you to hear the constable and his assistant. You may gather something I miss.” This was followed by a radiant smile, and then a less radiant smile at Sheba, who disappeared briefly before reappearing. In her wake came two women bearing a tray of refreshments and drinks. Maureen intended to bestow her hospitality on these public servants.

Hiram decided to take the bull by the horns or the horn from the bull, who knows? “Mr. Holloway, it is a pleasure to see you here. Mr. McComb and I have fretted over Mrs. Selisse alone on this large estate. Having a gentleman drop in on her is a comfort to us all.”

Jeffrey smiled at them, then smiled slightly at Maureen. “Mrs. Selisse possesses rare courage.”

“Gentlemen, please,” she said, indicating the spread of food and drinks. “One of the stable boys ran up to tell us that you, Mr. McComb, walked. You must need some nourishment and a cool libation. It’s warm, not intolerable, but warm in the sun.”

“Thank you, madam. My horse is lame. Nothing serious, but she needs rest.” Dennis accepted the drink handed to him by one of the ladies.

“I regret to report that we have yet to find Moses. Both Mr. McComb and myself have called at every farm, dwelling, even the small houses in Scottsville, the river captains, nothing. We have looked into reported sightings of strangers but—” Hiram again shook his head.

“You, sir, do not have enough help,” said Jeffrey. “There are many calls on your time.” He knew that Hiram could make his life miserable in a way he could not to those of higher station. “If you deem it necessary, I know many of us would join you.”

Hiram considered this. “Thank you, Mr. Holloway. It may come to that. My suspicion is that neither Moses nor the woman has left the area. Someone is sheltering them. Had there been any movement at all, given how quickly we reported the news, I would have heard, but you know”—he looked straight up at Sheba—“slaves have many ways to subvert the law.”

“They aren’t the only ones,” McComb added.

Hiram took over. “Mrs. Selisse, if there is a poor white who has cause to protect these two or who is holding them, waiting for a large ransom, which is also very possible, we will find them.”

“I do hope so.”

“Fortunately”—Jeffrey again soothed the water—“I believe that even though Moses and the woman were fool enough to dispatch Mr. Selisse, they would not be fool enough to return to harm Mrs. Selisse. But we can all understand this good woman’s discomfort. This lady saw her husband murdered before her very eyes. I trust in good time you will find them and, as I offered, I know many men will aid you if needed.”

“Yes, Yancy Grant offered the same,” Hiram replied.

At this, Jeffrey’s lips pursed together while Maureen took it all as her due. One fascinating development about Francisco’s death was how many protectors stepped forward to cast their wing over her. Of course, men should, but so many? Perhaps Francisco should have died earlier? She looked at Jeffrey with a tenderness that did not escape him, nor the others.

So many men, yes, but only one so young and dazzlingly handsome.

Hiram and Dennis left, Dennis on Mrs. Selisse’s borrowed gelding, a stalwart fellow.

—

That night, after supper, Dennis McComb told his wife the story of the Trojan horse.

“What an awful tale.” Her hand fluttered to her breast. Although she had heard it in school, she pretended otherwise for him.

“Lies and deceit,” Dennis mused. “Sometimes I think that’s what holds the world together, a tissue of lies and deceit.”

“Oh, Dennis, no. You’re overtired and Hiram doesn’t realize what a good man he has in you. It’s wearing.”

He smiled. She always made him feel better. “Sooner or later he will step down,” said Dennis.

“Sooner better than later.” She grinned, then wrinkled her brow. “Dennis, could it be possible that Mr. Selisse’s killers are hidden in a Trojan horse?”

“What, my sweet?”

“They’re hiding in someplace, something no one would question. It could be on a boat, or just on a farm somewhere, but someplace ordinary, or just”—she searched—“in something one wouldn’t question.”

Monday, August 8, 2016

“Here.” Harry handed Susan an iron.

“I am not using my seven iron.” Susan handed it back. “Give me a wood.”

“No.”

“You were born to irritate me. Give me my five wood.”

“Susan, if I give you the wood, you will knock a real boomer. This is a tricky hole. You’ll lay up in a bunker or the rough. If you take the iron, you won’t hit as long a shot, but you’ll land in the middle of the fairway. Then your second shot will put you exactly where you want. You’re a great second-shot player.”

Susan snatched the seven iron from Harry, looked down at the ball, then up at the fairway. Her swing, always fluid, picked up the ball and sent it exactly into the middle of the fairway. Still mad at Harry, she refused to tell her best friend that she was right. She strode down the fairway, making Harry drive the cart on the path.

Remembering she needed her putter, she then trotted up to Harry on the path, exchanged clubs, walked onto the green, and sank a beauty, making par.

She plopped back in the cart. “I hate it when you tell me what to do.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Harry hit the gas pedal, lurching forward.

They’d started at eight, but the rest of the morning progressed silently. Harry handed Susan woods or irons without a word and Susan snatched them from her. She finished the eighteenth hole four under par, a very, very nice score.