Рита Браун - Tail Gait

“In this case very deadly,” Harry agreed.

February 1, 1782

Walking in wagon ruts and a foot and a half of snow, Charles was in front. Piglet trailed behind. Finally, he reached what Charles hoped would be some sort of refuge.

Pushing through the snow, he arrived at the shoveled-out meandering walk to Ewing Garth’s imposing house. Shivering in the pale morning light, he climbed the front stairs, lifted the shiny brass pineapple knocker, and rapped loudly three times.

The butler, Roger, answered. Looking at Charles, Roger paused, his mouth dropping open.

“Pardon my appearance. May I speak to Mr. Garth?”

“I…I, come in, Sir. You’ll freeze to death out there.” The elegant older man saw Piglet. “The dog, too, Sir.”

Charles stood in the hallway, the warmth heaven-sent. Roger stared at his wrapped boots, the paper and cloth worn, too, and the rags wrapped around his hands.

Footsteps boomed down the stairway.

John Schuyler hurried to the still-shivering man. “Lieutenant!”

“Captain. I mean Major. I heard of your exploits.”

“Sit down, man, for God’s sake.” John turned to Roger. “Surely there’s biscuits left. Something. This man is starved. Hot tea.”

“We do meet again, God be praised,” Charles said to John, tears in his eyes. “Please don’t send me back to The Barracks.” Painfully he reached into his coat, handing John forged discharge papers.

John flipped them open. “Yes, fine. Lieutenant, the war is over and the camp doesn’t need one more man. Plus, you have your papers. Here, let me help you into the kitchen. Best we go there.”

With his hand under the elbow of Charles, who did not protest his assistance, John got him back to the kitchen. The cook, a slave with a gorgeous face, Bettina screamed when she saw him.

“Oh, Lord, let me help you.” The middle-aged woman grabbed some biscuits, cold bacon, put the water up, looking for anything to nourish this man who was in sorry shape.

Bettina was one of those women who knew only how to care for people. Fortunately, the centuries consistently produce such souls, regardless of station or gender.

Hearing the commotion, Catherine came down the back stairs, Rachel behind her. They too stared in shock at Charles West.

Rachel went over to Bettina. “Another pot of water for when he’s finished.”

“Yes, Missus.” Bettina nodded.

Catherine took one look and hurried back upstairs, returning with a shirt, underclothes, and a pair of breeches that might fit. “This will help after food and a bath. Where have you been?”

“Camp Security,” Charles said with a bit of renewed vigor, thanks to the hot tea and the food being brought to him.

Bettina winked at him, putting down food for Piglet. The little beast lived up to his name.

Charles slowly felt his bones warming. The shivering stopped, the ice melted on his mustache and beard, for he hadn’t been able to shave in weeks. Bettina kept handing him towels to wipe the water off.

Sitting opposite him, John smiled broadly. He looked at Catherine, who returned his smile. “I have stopped here before returning to see my mother and father,” he explained. “I have sought Miss Ewing’s hand in marriage, and she has accepted me.”

“Congratulations.” Charles grinned at them both. “Fate. You are fated to be together.”

“When you are thawed, bathed, and shaved, I will tell you about the campaign here and at Yorktown. Unless you would rather not hear of it.” John leaned forward, accepting a cup of tea, as Bettina poured another for Charles. “And your pistol did indeed save my life.”

“Where is Mr. Garth?” Charles, although interested in his pistol, tried not to sound nervous, but he knew his future depended on Ewing Garth.

“In his greenhouse. A new interest. It’s small, but affords free rein to his curiosities.” Catherine smiled.

Weymouth, a slender fellow, appeared. “Roger says I am to bathe and shave the lieutenant.”

Charles laughed. “I think Piglet needs to get into the bath with me.”

—

An hour and a half later, Charles, limping slightly, appeared downstairs in the library. The breeches bagged a bit, but the socks and shirt fit well enough. Surprisingly, Ewing Garth’s shoes fit him perfectly.

Ewing awaited him in the library, greeting him with open arms. “Lieutenant, I trust you have decided to become a Virginian.”

“I have, Sir.”

“Good, good. We need skilled young men.” He smiled. “The major has explained to me your situation. He said you had proper papers. No need to report your return to The Barracks. All is well.”

“I take it the camp is still full.”

“Indeed it is. Until a proper treaty is agreed upon, those men remain here, although I do hear many stay on the farms where they are working.”

“May I ask, Sir, if anyone has seen Corporal Ix? I know he was trying to make his way to you.”

“And so he did. Like you, half frozen, starved, but he did arrive, and with his discharge papers as well. He will be back tomorrow. I sent him down to Scottsville to purchase tools. He lives in one of our dependencies. He has already improved his quarter and those of my other dependents, especially the draws in their fireplaces.” Ewing, a Virginian, did not like to use the term slave quarters.

“I hope I may be able to see him. I have come seeking employment with you, Sir.”

Ewing smiled reflexively, looked at Weymouth and down at Piglet. “Might I have Weymouth fetch your papers?”

“Yes. What remains of my pitiful belongings are next to the tub.”

“I see that your dog has been properly beautified.” Ewing chuckled.

“Piglet appreciates looking his best. I barely recognized myself when I looked in the mirror. Thank you for having Weymouth shave me. He’s an excellent barber.”

Ewing inclined his head. “He will be glad to hear that.” Then he took the papers that Weymouth, just entering the library, handed him.

Unfolding them, tears along the cracks, Ewing read with care. “I see both you and Corporal Ix were discharged by Captain Alexander Fraser, your commanding officer at Saratoga.”

Charles swallowed, glancing at John, who betrayed no emotion. “Yes.”

Both Ewing and John knew perfectly well that Captain Fraser was nowhere near Camp Security. But the papers looked convincing. Even the sealed stamp looked right.

“Major, would you excuse us for a moment?” Ewing asked his daughter’s fiancé.

“Mr. Garth, of course.” John slightly nodded and withdrew.

Charles noted that the tall major had absorbed much of his gentleman’s training.

Indicating that Charles sit closer to him in one of the large chairs, Ewing folded his hands together over his stomach. “You have endured much.”

“I have learned much. I see clearly why you and others were willing to risk everything to break with the Crown.”

This pleased Ewing tremendously. “What would you want of me?”

“The opportunity to be your architect. To work with Corporal Ix and to work with your people here. I believe we can build anything, anywhere.”

“Yes, yes, I quite agree. And what would you ask for compensation?”

“I—” Charles stumbled, for his enthusiasm almost overtook him. “Sir, I am so grateful to be here, to be a new citizen of a new country. I never thought about compensation. Perhaps learning from you, such a successful man, will be compensation enough.”