Рита Браун: Tall Tail

Harry rolled out the wheelbarrow to the manure pile. She covered the big compost heap, cut down six feet into the earth with a tarp so it would degrade faster. Made the best garden mulch ever, which she would deliver to friends. As she and Fair rarely gave dinner parties due to his work schedule, this was her gift, a way of keeping in touch.

After sweeping out the center aisle, she retreated to her tack room, which was invitingly cool. The mercury hovered at seventy-three degrees Fahrenheit, unusual for July.

Picking up the phone, she dialed Susan Tucker’s number.

“You okay over there?” Harry asked after Susan answered.

“Yes. What about you?”

“Two trees over fences by the creek. Actually, that’s about it.”

“Same here. Have you watched the weather?”

“No, I’ve been out doing chores,” said Harry. “When I left, still no power. Thank God for the generator. I rode up to check on the timber, yours and mine. Fine. A few branches down low, but once you climb, fine. If that wasn’t the damndest thing. One minute it was calm and the next minute, Kaboom !”

“The power came back on about an hour ago, so the first thing I turned to was The Weather Channel. Should be clear until the weekend, then maybe a few pop-up thunderstorms.”

Harry filled Susan in on yesterday’s sad event.

“Barbara Leader?” Susan repeated.

“Right.”

“Oh, dear, she was such a nice person. G-Pop adores her. He needs help in the house now. He refuses to go to hospice.”

“This will be hard on your grandfather.”

“Barbara could handle him. She’d whisper to him, ‘I know you have secrets.’ And he’d laugh. He needs to laugh. You’ve seen him. He’s lost so much weight, but he’s a real fighter.”

Samuel Holloway, a World War II naval hero, became governor of Virginia in the early 1970s, helped in part by his war record and strong leadership qualities. Susan and Harry had both been born in the middle of his gubernatorial term. They had no memory of his years in office.

“Yes, he’s a fighter,” said Harry. “He was such fun when we were growing up. We were too little to know anything about politics, but he would play with us when he was home. I wonder if elected officials still do that?”

“Harry, of course they do.” Susan laughed. “They aren’t all egotists and monsters.”

“Your cousin weighs in heavily on the egotism scale.”

Edward Holloway Cunningham, the son of Susan’s aunt, Pauline Cunningham, had a seat in the state Senate. At forty-two, he was readying for a run for senator, the election in the fall. Campaigning never stops in America, and Eddie was coming out swinging.

“I’m not Eddie’s biggest fan, but Mother always says, ‘Don’t hang your dirty laundry on the line,’ and I don’t. Mom and Aunt Pauline saw a lot of political turmoil growing up.”

“They got through it.” Harry complimented the two sisters, now in their late sixties.

“One of the good things about sexism is that although I was the granddaughter of a governor, no one expected much of me other than being a good hostess. And here I am married to a state delegate, but in Ned’s defense, that came late. He didn’t start out to be in politics.”

“He’s lucky to have you. You handle it well, all those fund-raisers, charity events, dinner parties. You amaze me.”

“Harry.” Susan felt a rush of gratitude. “What a sweet thing to say. As long as I have my kids, both out in the work world, you, my dog, and golf, always golf, I can keep sane, I think.”

“You can. Hey, know what? When I passed the Avenging Angel, he still scares me!”

“Me, too.” They both laughed.

Monday, September 6, 1784

The setting sun, bisected by a spearlike gray cloud, was turning scarlet. It was 7:30 P.M., shadows lay long on the fields. Most of the forage crops, piled loose onto open wagons, had been stored in a seventy-two-foot-by-forty-eight-foot shed, twenty feet high. Charles West, a former British prisoner of war and self-taught architect, had designed the shed so air would circulate through it. Three inches open between the roof and the side wall allowed air to flow, while the overhang protected the hay from all but the fiercest blowing rain. At the foot of the building, small louvers opened to allow more air inside. In the middle of the sides, two-inch round holes had been drilled out. The hay sat on a solid wooden floor so moisture would not rot the hay on the bottom.

A few hay ricks stood in the fields for cattle and horses to enjoy. The ricks, giant overturned thimbles, shed water. The outermost layer might suffer some, but all an animal had to do was dig in deep and the reward was sweet hay.

John Schuyler was imposing, well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and heavy muscles. He stood next to his former prisoner Charles West, who was almost as tall, muscled but more slender. West folded his arms across his soaked shirt. They’d worked hard that day. At Charles’s feet sat Piglet, his faithful corgi who had gone through the War for Independence with him, as well as imprisonment in two separate camps.

The Barracks was a more-than-two-hundred-acre prisoner-of-war camp. Abutting the back of Ewing Garth’s three-thousand-acre estate, The Barracks still hosted remaining Englishmen, Irish and Scots, although not as prisoners. Initially, these men were to be repatriated to the United Kingdom, an agonizingly slow process, as King George and his advisers dragged their feet. Living in makeshift buildings, one by one, the men gave up on returning home. Resourceful, they plied the trade they had learned before soldiering while they lived without rent in the log buildings. Each dreamed of saving enough to buy a patch of land and strike out on his own. The state of Virginia bore them no ill will, and since the state need not pay any expenses, the men were free to squat.

Both John Schuyler and Charles West would call on these highly skilled squatters, from time to time making use of their crafting or iron work, or hiring them for day work on the Ewing estate. Karl Ix, a captured Hessian, became close to Charles and John when building three bridges on Ewing’s property. Charles and Karl Ix worked hand in glove, two young men from different backgrounds and countries, who grasped the limitless possibilities in the new nation.

As all three men, John, Charles, and Karl, had married American women, great sweetness was added to the future’s limitless possibilities. While still a major in the Continental army, John married first. Perhaps he didn’t know the first time he set eyes on Catherine Garth that they would marry, but just about everyone else did. Catherine was wealthy, well schooled, and beautiful. She also brought John and Charles West together. Back when Charles was still a resident of The Barracks, in exchange for extra supplies for his men, he trained John in the ways of a gentleman. Certainly, a lady of Catherine’s station couldn’t marry a Massachusetts farmer’s son like John Schuyler, devoid of refinement, although not of good looks. Charles West, a baron’s younger son, would never inherit, but he had all the polish of a titled aristocrat with none of the snobbery. The openness of this New World enchanted Charles even as it sometimes shocked him.