Рита Браун - Probable Claws

“Most impressive,” Yancy complimented Jeffrey on the frame for a large coach, one that could handle almost all types of weather.

“My lady is determined that this venture will succeed. I am hopeful as you can see. And I’ve already received two more orders. One for a phaeton and one for a children’s cart.”

“Quite a difference in scale.” Yancy appreciated the particulars.

“So it is and you, more than anyone, can imagine what will become of my handiwork if the children’s cart is hitched to a naughty pony.”

Yancy smiled and Jeffrey, remembering his bad knee, offered, “Please sit down.” Then he turned to one of his apprentices, a very light-skinned young man of perhaps seventeen, who looked suspiciously like the late Francisco. “Pompey, run to the kitchen, will you, and bring back libations and something to entice Mr. Gates to eat?”

The younger man, considered an easy target, shocked Yancy when he shot the older man’s knee in a duel. It was shoot or be shot, so Jeffrey shot.

“No need.”

Jeffrey smiled. “Well, I’m famished. Perhaps you’ll join me. One never knows what they’re up to in the kitchen.”

“I am here”—Yancy cleared his throat—“to seek your help. Given our past that may seem most forward of me, but I would not ask if I didn’t have something to offer in return.” Sensing Jeffrey’s interest, he continued. “My lad, Ollie, has broken his leg. One of those accidents. He hit the ground hard and on the wrong foot, so to speak, and now his leg is broken. As the races will be on us in a month, I would like to rent your William.”

“He is good, isn’t he?”

“Working with DoRe would improve anyone and William has talent, plus he’s lean and light. How old is he, by the way?”

“Twenty, I think.”

“I would pay a dollar a day for his services, but even better, should Black Knight win his race, I will split the winnings with you and Mrs. Holloway, as well as reward William, of course.”

“Very generous.” Jeffrey considered how to present his position. “As you know, these are my wife’s people. She has known them far longer than I.” He paused, clearing his throat. “She evidences a keen interest in their skills.” He now held up his hand. “Yes, I know as her husband her possessions are mine but to keep harmony, I defer to her. As I said, she has lived with many of them for close to twenty years.”

“Very wise.” Yancy nodded.

“What I will do is present your offer to her, suggest it is much to our benefit. Of course, we will arrive at the races in the coach I built from Ewing’s model.”

“You will be besieged with orders. So many people east of here have not had the pleasure of viewing your creations. Tell me, how do you determine the colors?”

“The coach-in-four, the frame there, Mr. and Mrs. Volpe adamantly want a maroon body with gold pinstriping, black wheels with black spokes and a thin maroon and gold pinstripe on each spoke. As to the interior, we could live in it once done. Mrs. Volpe craves comforts.”

Yancy laughed. “The ladies do seem to incline that way. But it does sound arresting.”

“It does. My secret fear is one day someone will want a white coach.”

“Whatever for?”

“That’s exactly why. No one else will have one.”

Two ladies in bonnets and aprons carried trays of food while Pompey rolled down a food cart obviously built by Jeffrey. Tea, afternoon sherry, and a sparkling decanter of something a bit stronger was secured to the top of the cart by indentations cut down to fit the various pots. Jeffrey had thought of everything. On the bottom shelf rested heavier food items. The two cook’s assistants carried the sweets.

“My word, this is a feast,” Yancy exclaimed.

“I really am hungry. Your visit has given me the opportunity to indulge.”

The two men ate, chatted, somehow the better for their duel. It was done. Over. Yancy considered Jeffrey socially beneath him, but Jeffrey’s marriage to Maureen turned that upside down. As for Jeffrey, he craved male company. Maureen kept him on a short tether.

They talked about the expansion of Pestalozzi’s Mill, the number of people coming this far west now that their energies could be directed toward a free future.

“Have you seen Catherine Schuyler?” Jeffrey inquired.

“No. I heard she suffered a loss. She’s young and strong. But these things cast heavy sorrows.”

“Indeed.”

Yancy nodded as he cut a large chicken breast into smaller pieces.

“My lady will visit her. She said she wanted to give Catherine time and she also said fevers can accompany such a loss. Just carry away the woman.”

“Yes. Yes. Fortunately, that time seems to be past.”

“That’s what Maureen—I mean Mrs. Holloway—says, too. And if she agrees to your offer she will go to Catherine.” Jeffrey took a deep breath. “We will be racing against her Reynaldo.”

“I promise you, Jeffrey, this will be the best horse race in our new nation. My Black Knight against the Garths’ Reynaldo.”

“I believe you are right.”

“All the talk at the mill today was about this convention in Philadelphia. To start early May, so they say. The last time I remember this much talk was before the war. It’s a good thing, I think.”

“I hope so but unlike you, I am not political. Even when we fell afoul of each other, I always kept in mind the great risk you took during the war. You are a man of exceptional courage.”

“You are kind.”

“I often wonder if such a trial occurs in my lifetime will I be equal to it? I was too young during the war and I think my father kept a lot from me. Youth can be inflamed.”

“Indeed.” Yancy laughed. “I often wonder how we lived through it.”

They visited for another half hour then Yancy mounted up with help from DoRe.

Jeffrey walked up to the house, where his wife was giving orders in the garden, shoots popping up, lilacs ready to bloom.

She turned. “My tulips, spectacular though they were, are now asleep.”

“You have such an eye for color, my dear.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve had an interesting proposal, an interesting visit.”

He presented everything to her.

“Half of the winnings should he win?”

“Yes.”

“And does he want us to pay part of Black Knight’s feed and training now?”

“No, no. He wishes to rent William, as I said.”

She sat on a Chinese-inspired bench. “That really means he gets the benefit of DoRe.”

“DoRe will remain here, of course, but yes, my angel, William has been at DoRe’s knee since he was about that tall.”

She laughed. “Well, he has grown since then.”

“An advantage in this case.”

“Is.” She scanned the garden, eyes falling on the azaleas, some weeks from revealing their treasures. “I have no objection and I do think this is an opportunity for you to do business.”

“I hope so.” He now held her hand. “I’m looking forward to the races.”

“Yes,” she simply said, sighed. “I must call upon Catherine. Now is a good time. But I don’t want her to think we are actually competing against her. She bought Serenissma, Francisco’s blooded mare, for a princely sum. It’s important to keep good relations.”

“I’m sure she will be grateful for your call.”

Maureen picked up his hand, the one holding hers, kissed it. “I always wanted children. You know that but this dream never came to pass. When I see or hear of the sufferings of women I know, I think perhaps I was spared. Oh yes, she has JohnJohn—two, I think—but so many diseases carry the little ones away. It has to have crossed her mind that she can take nothing for granted.”

“You would have been a perfect mother.” He halfway believed it. “And to be surrounded by children as beautiful as their mother. And who knows, we might yet…”