Рита Браун - Probable Claws

Working together with the horses, playing with the horses as children, they’d grown close, could almost read each other’s thoughts. Jeddie was better at it than Catherine, three years his senior. Jeddie’s being a slave never occurred to Catherine. She took him and his station for granted. He, on the other hand, was far more careful. Being young, Jeddie deferred to all the older people whether it was Ewing, who in fact owned him, or Bettina. Jeddie watched, kept his mouth shut except with Catherine.

“I don’t know if I could be married. Look how Bumbee always fights with Percy. He lies to her all the time. She throws him out. Takes him back. And my mother. She and my father get along but I don’t think they love each other anymore. I don’t want to be like that.”

“Does make you think, and I suppose it’s as easy to marry the wrong person as the right one. But then, my father and mother were devoted to each other. You see my father visit her grave, bring her flowers?” He nodded, she continued. “Bettina and her late husband also cherished each other. And now she’s found a spark, something with DoRe. I do believe it’s mutual. Jeddie, you just never know.”

“I guess,” he replied without enthusiasm.

Smiling, Catherine promised, “I’ll see what I can do.” Looking toward the stable she sighed. “Yancy Grant. I see Ralston leading his horse into the stable.”

“He’s a hard man.” Jeddie pegged him. “But he rides, still rides with that smashed-up knee. Bet it hurts.”

“Bet it does,” she agreed.

They reached the stable and Ralston ran out to help Catherine down. Tall and skinny, he would soon be seventeen. While not a gifted rider like Jeddie, he was a good hand with a horse. Cleaning tack in the center aisle was little Tulli, intent on his task. Next to him, Catherine’s two-year-old, JohnJohn, handed him a clean rag he had dipped in water. JohnJohn performed this with great seriousness.

“You’re learning, JohnJohn. And Tulli is very good at what he does.”

The little boy, the spitting image of his father, grinned, then babbled, “I’ll be the best.”

“We’ll see, but if you are, son, don’t brag about it.” Catherine placed her hand on his head.

She loved him but she felt she would be more interested in him when he was self-sufficient and could read and write. Unlike her sister, Catherine did not feel she was a natural mother. But she truly loved JohnJohn and, in her way, she loved Jeddie like a younger brother. She didn’t think about love much, really.

“Tulli, where’s my husband?”

“He walked up to the house with Mr. Yancy. He lent Mr. Yancy a walking stick, too. Should I go down and fetch Ruth?”

Ruth was everybody’s mother and she took care of Catherine’s son and Rachel’s two daughters, as well as any other child sent to her.

“Finish the bridle, clean up. Then you can walk him down there.” She addressed JohnJohn. “JohnJohn, you clean up, too. Have you seen Sweet Potato today?”

JohnJohn nodded.

“Ralston put him up top, held him, and I led Sweet Potato around.” Tulli beamed.

“Good. Very good.” Catherine brushed her short jacket, snapped a towel at her boots. “Well, I’d better go up to the house. Was Yancy in a good mood?”

Ralston pursed his lips. “For him.”

“I see. Well, boys, I’ll ride tomorrow. Jeddie, I’ll expect you, let’s go early.”

When she left for the house, Ralston turned to the young man, a few years his senior. “News?”

Jeddie fudged it. “She’ll try to get Momma off her marriage ideas.”

“I’d sure like to get married.” Ralston’s smile grew wider. “Keep me warm at night.”

“Ha.” Jeddie shook his head.

“Your dog can keep you warm,” Tulli opined.

“Oh, Tulli, you don’t know nothing.” Ralston also shook his head.

Up at the house, Ewing, John, and Yancy enjoyed the comfortable chairs in Ewing’s library. Serena brought featherlight biscuits, fresh-churned butter, various jams, hot coffee as well as a pot of tea. Ewing offered spirits but Yancy declined.

“I am trying to moderate my habits.”

Ewing, hands now clasped over his chest, nodded. “Wise.”

“Ah, Catherine.” John stood as his wife entered, followed by Yancy, who bowed, and Ewing who kissed her on the cheek.

“Have I disturbed a conference?”

“No, no dear. Do sit down. Yancy was outlining a race program for next spring.”

She took a seat offered by her husband. “Mr. Grant, I believe we could all use a diversion. You’ve come up with a good one.”

Expanding with praise from a beautiful woman and a renowned horsewoman at that, he lowered his voice. “Perilous times. You go to the blacksmith, people are arguing. Pestalozzi’s Mill. Arguing about prices, the value of money dropping, Mr. Jefferson’s ideas about how we should proceed and then those ideas of others, in the opposite direction.”

Ewing, conciliatory, per usual, offered, “You’re right, Yancy, right. But then you foresaw much of what was to pass before we fought England. Perhaps it is in the nature of men to argue. Each man thinks he has a better plan.”

“True. Think of our neighbors who returned to England or fled to Nova Scotia rather than join the rebellion, as they put it. But that was clear. The wrong done to us was so clear. This, I don’t know. I was talking with Sam Udall. His focus is that without a national monetary policy we are doomed.”

“Yes,” Ewing simply replied.

“That is why your plan for sport, for shifting people’s focus, is so wise.” Catherine smiled at Yancy. “Perhaps their mood will lift. People will become more cooperative simply because the burden has been lightened for a short time. They’ve needed a good time.”

John, not a political bone in his body, paid little attention to this, but as a former combat major in the Army, he worried about future bloodshed. “Gentlemen, you know far more of the intricacies of this than I, but I do not want to be called to fire against my fellow citizens.”

Catherine reached for his hand. “Dear, surely it won’t come to that.”

“Let us pray that you are right, Madam.” Yancy leaned forward, a crunch could be heard in his knee. “What I propose is we host races, match races as done in England. An owner can pay a fee to run against a horse he feels is well matched with his own. Both owners must agree. We can’t promote lopsided races. As this is so new we would race only one day, let us say a card of four races, the last one being the highest contest.”

“Spring or summer?” Ewing inquired.

“Late spring perhaps. Early spring can be so wet,” Yancy replied.

“Where would you hold the races?” Catherine’s curiosity rose.

“Along the James. The Levels. We might need to do a bit of work but that seems the best place. The soil has much sand.” He took a breath. “Sam Udall knows the owner. Of course, he would need compensation, but I do think this is possible. I come to you because you own one of the best horses in Virginia. Reynaldo. If you would consider running him, I think great interest would be aroused.”

Catherine, silent, waited for her father to speak. She actually owned Reynaldo, Crown Prince, and Serenissima, a wonderful brood mare. Ewing, not ignorant of good horseflesh, lacked his daughter’s gift, but this being business, appearances had to be kept.

“You flatter us, Yancy.” Ewing nodded slightly.

“Might you express some interest?”

“I am intrigued. I will need to discuss this with my daughter, of course; she is the one training the boys, as she calls them. But I am intrigued and I do think your idea of some form of entertainment valuable in these times. We are spread so far apart. This would bring us all together.”