Рита Браун - Tall Tail

A knock on the doorjamb, then Mignon stepped in the room. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Edward just called me. He asked to read what the governor and I have written so far. He says he wants to help. Maybe we can move it along faster, to finish before—”

With no show of emotion, Penny pulled the thread tighter in the pillow. “Mignon, I’m sure you told him no.”

“Yes, Mrs. Holloway, I did. I also told him that to read work in progress without the author’s permission is considered bad manners in publishing.” She continued, “He said I was as much the author as your husband. He was persistent. I told him while I was working with the governor it was his life, I’m a jumped-up secretary. That ended the conversation.”

“I can’t speak for my grandson, who seems intent on upsetting everyone, but I am regretful that you had to be discomfited. Thank you for telling me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mignon left, returning to her small office next to the governor’s library/office.

Putting down her pillow, Penny walked to the edge of the room and looked down the hallway. “Millicent, come with me. I don’t want to shout for Mignon and wake Sam.”

Mother and daughter knocked, then entered Mignon’s makeshift office.

She rose. “Please sit down. You can have my seat.”

“No, dear. Allow me to ask you a question. Has Sam ever discussed his medical condition with you?”

“He has said he has leukemia. Nothing more.”

Penny’s next question surprised them. “Did Barbara Leader ever discuss it?”

“No. She only confirmed that he needed his medication at specific times. Well, she also confirmed that it is painful and that there’s not much more that can be done for him.”

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” said Penny.

“No trouble but may I make a suggestion?” Mignon pointed to her computer and the papers she had printed. “When I leave each day, I think we should secure the papers.”

“We don’t have a safe.”

“The next best thing would be the freezer. No one would think to look in the refrigerator. And if for some reason, not much of a possibility but should there be a fire, the refrigerator will still be safe,” Mignon suggested.

Millicent asked, “What about the computer?”

“I can put it in the trunk of my car, or perhaps somewhere else if you don’t want to have it off the premises.”

“Mother, why don’t I take it with me each evening?” offered Millicent. “Not that your suggestion is improper, Mignon, only that if someone wants to spy on your work they would think you had pages or the computer. At least, I think they would. No one would suspect me.”

“Good idea.” Penny nodded.

Tuesday, October 5, 1784

York Square sent roads off in each direction. Well-built houses, many of them brick, lined these roads along with churches and schools.

More shops surrounded the square itself since travelers from each point, north, south, east, and west, passed through it. About three thousand souls lived in a ten-mile area around York. Filling that ten-mile area were stores, taverns, inns, sawmills, hemp mills, grain mills, two oil mills, and an impressive iron forge.

The activity fed growth. Fifteen boardinghouses, all concerned that they be known as God-fearing domiciles, housed newcomers who would soon enough buy farmland or open a business once they acquired enough cash. Indentured servants, some slaves and some freedmen, plumped up the numbers kept by officials. The good soil, the abundant water, and the industriousness of the inhabitants brought people in like iron filings to a magnet.

The houses in town had mews in the back, and behind those tidy places for horses ran straight alleys, some cobbled. The dream of the city fathers and some mothers, although unelected, was to pave all alleyways, all the main streets. Anything to vanquish the mud.

John, Charles, and Moses had been in York for two days. They stayed in a boardinghouse close to Bartholomew and Mary Graves. John and Charles surprised themselves with the flood of emotion that overcame them when they saw fellow ex-soldier Bartholomew. It was mutual.

Bartholomew showed the men St. John’s Episcopal Church, which stood on the ground of York County Academy. Or perhaps the academy was on the church grounds. Built of fieldstone, it was simple but pleasing and it had wonderfully large windows. While Bartholomew taught his classes, the Virginia men walked the town that was truly filled with churches. Christ Lutheran, large, Georgian in design, once a log structure, was harmonious, retrained, beautiful. Charles made drawings of all them.

John would look over Charles’s shoulder while his brother-in-law executed swift strokes, in minutes capturing the subject on paper. Moses said little, but if he saw another person of African descent, they would nod to each other. It wasn’t clear who was free and who was not. In Virginia if a slave rode or walked off the estate, he or she usually carried a small brass square or rectangle, indicating they were on an errand for the master. Often the master’s name was engraved on the chit, sometimes a number. As most people knew one another, it may have seemed unnecessary, but rumors abounded of gangs of white men who would steal slaves and freedmen, only to sell them to plantations farther south or in the opening Delta. Sugarcane broke down bodies, especially from the cutting, but the carting and then the burning proved arduous also. Rice, an easier crop in some ways, grew in terrible summer heat that was harder on human bodies than harvesting wheat, corn, or tobacco. A captured man fetched a good price, and many a slave dealer never asked where they came from. That brass chit might save someone and might not, but if the name on the chit was powerful, a thief would think twice.

John and Charles also noticed the ease with which Africans moved throughout York.

In the mews, Martin the horse won Mary’s heart. Bartholomew hoisted his wife up on the fellow after he had a day’s rest, and Martin, sweet and kind, gave her confidence. She gave him carrots and apples; nothing was too good for Martin. She insisted the farrier see him at once. She raised the ceramic teapot wherein she kept what she called her “mad money,” marched out and bought Martin a blanket for winter.

A gregarious person, Mary not only didn’t mind cooking for four men, Moses ate with them, and she outdid herself. The former combatants would tell stories about the war. Mary and Moses would listen.

As this was to be John and Charles’s last night with the Graveses, Mary wanted it to be especially happy, with food so good the tales would reach Virginia.

The small house had a dining room that barely contained them.

They chattered on that night, and even somber Moses smiled.

“You men,” Mary shook her head in admiration, “how quickly you closed in part of the loft for Moses.” She turned to Moses. “The horsehair in the walls will help keep you warm and you will have heavy blankets but winters are hard here. You’ll be glad to come into the kitchen for breakfast. Sunup.”

“Yes, Miss Graves.” He nodded.

Bartholomew would chide Mary about her soft heart. Yet when he saw her with Martin or when he heard her with Moses he knew he wouldn’t have her any other way. Men could be too harsh. He knew he could.

“Can Virginia pay its bills?” Bartholomew asked John and Charles.

“Our governor says we can’t. They argue all the time and the people resist taxes. The memories of the king’s taxes are too recent,” John replied. “If old King George had sent troops to protect us, engineers to help us, I sometimes think there would have been no rebellion.”