Rita Brown - Whiskers in the Dark

Ruffy slept with them.

22

October 1, 1787

Monday

Summer’s last kiss brushed Catherine’s and Bettina’s cheeks as they sat outside in the late afternoon, the garden and Isabelle’s tomb drenched in gold.

Charles West designed and had a bench built so his wife and sister-in-law and whomever could quietly view the mountains and Isabelle’s lovely monument. Apart from Charles’s excellent education, the Baron had sent his sons on a Continental tour, considered vital for a young man of means. And so it was for Charles, who absorbed everything, most particularly loving Italy. Dutifully, he went into the Army, but he was an artist. No wonder he loved this new nation, for he could be what he was born to be.

Feet outstretched, eyes half closed, the two women felt the warmth. A clip-clop popped their eyes open. Tulli, with JohnJohn in front of him, rode Sweet Potato up to the women.

“Momma, Momma, I can ride.”

Catherine, trying not to resent her repose being disturbed, smiled. “And so you do.” She then smiled at Tulli. “I think we need another matching pony so the two of you can be a team.”

“Yes, Miss Catherine.” Tulli bobbed his head in agreement, knowing JohnJohn wouldn’t be riding on his own for maybe another year.

Catherine’s son, two, was big like his father. He was well coordinated like his mother, so age three, riding on his own with Tulli next to him, might be possible. At any rate, it fed the child’s ambition.

Bettina, hands folded over her ample bosom, shook her head. “You two are growing too fast. Why, Tulli, I think you’ve grown an inch since yesterday.”

As Tulli, age eleven, was slight, or what horsemen called “weedy,” a thin, small fellow, this sounded wonderful. “I have. I can feel it.” He sat up straighter and Sweet Potato turned his head to look.

Ah, yes, humans, but then Sweet Potato had long ago learned to humor them.

“I want you to turn around and trot halfway to the barn. And I’m watching. You do it correctly, Tulli.”

“Yes, Miss Catherine.” He carefully turned Sweet Potato toward the barn, visible in the distance, a lure for the pony.

A little cluck and squeeze and off the two boys went, JohnJohn screaming with delight.

Catherine looked at Bettina. “I will never be the woman my mother was. Both you and Mother loved mothering. Strict. But still.”

Bettina reached for Catherine’s hand, squeezing it. “There will never be anyone like your mother. I loved her. We all loved her. She understood life.”

“She did. But Bettina, you liked being a mother.”

“Most times. I never thought to outlive my children. Well, the little one, so frail. We all lose the little ones. My momma used to say, ‘If I can get you to seven, I can get you to seventy.’ ”

“Mother said that. Heard it from you.” Catherine watched clouds slowly slide overhead, long stratus clouds in an achingly blue sky. “I don’t really remember your mother.”

“You were tiny when she died. Just dropped. Boom.” Bettina inhaled. “The older I get, the more I want to go like my mother.”

“Bettina, don’t say that. You need to live forever.”

“When Rosalinda died, oh how my girl suffered. She wasn’t even twenty.”

“I remember.” Catherine nodded. “The coughing. Weakened her so and then she could barely breathe. Oh, why are we talking about dying!”

“It’s the light on your mother’s marker, the lamb with the cross. Gives me peace. But you’re right. You were talking about motherhood.”

“I am not cut out to be a mother. I love my son, I do, but I force myself to listen to his prattle, to his hundreds of little requests and questions. I swear, if someone isn’t watching over him, he’d probably walk off to Mr. Jefferson’s and ask him questions.” She laughed.

“Give him two more years. By four the worst of that is over. Tell you what, not enough babies at Cloverfields.”

“Does seem to be a lull,” Catherine remarked.

“Goes in cycles. I hope.” Bettina rose and pulled over a low bench, placing it in front of them.

Sitting back down, she rested her feet on the bench, as did Catherine.

“Hurt?”

“M-m-m.”

“You’re standing all day.”

“And I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat. You’re upholstered.” Catherine teased her. “Men like what you have.”

“As long as DoRe does.” She sighed. “Things settled at the stable?”

“Better. Ralston was creating one problem after another. It seemed to me to happen suddenly.”

“M-m-m.”

“Bettina, what do you know that I don’t?” Catherine asked the cook, the head woman slave.

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that.” Bettina patted her own arm. “That boy broke bad when his parts started working. Well, and his people are no-count.”

“I think he’s been stealing from us for a while. I’d leave a few coins in my little leather box in the tack room, or a bracelet would fall off and I’d drop it in. Then last month, I noticed those things would be gone. I’d ask Jeddie. He knew nothing. I’m not so sure he didn’t know.”

“If he did, what could he do? Ralston hated him.”

“Meaning he’d get even?” Catherine took a deep breath. “And how would it look if Jeddie ran to the Missus. I love Jeddie, but”—she took another deep breath—“it’s complicated, isn’t it?”

A long, long silence followed this, then Bettina finally said, “You have to follow your heart. Thieving isn’t like hurting someone. If Ralston would have lifted a hand to you, Jeddie would have tried to kill him.”

“I understand.” And she did.

“I thank you for talking your father out of trying to get Ralston back. Offering rewards. No good would come of it.”

“Rachel and I both talked to him. Rachel is better at it than I am because she’s so much like Mother. I’m too logical. Father was incensed that Ralston ran away. He didn’t know about Ralston pulling down Serena’s dress, or the fighting with Jeddie or the stealing. That made him angrier, but we told him he has so many large issues on his mind, these were things we thought we could take care of, give him some peace. And we made the point that Ralston’s disaffection might spread. The thieving wouldn’t stop. Once a thief, always a thief.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Bettina nodded her head, the slanting golden rays illuminating her head rag, bright green today.

“Barker O is happy. Things are quiet. And Tulli has taken on some of Ralston’s chores. That child is one of the sweetest children I have ever known. Sweet.”

“He is. Goes down to Ruth’s cabin to play with the babies. I know we might need some more young ones, but Ruth has four down there all wailing and needing to be held. Tulli holds them, rocks them, sings to them when he’s finished his horse chores.”

“You think people are born that way?”

Bettina turned to her. “I think we come out of our mommas exactly who we are.”

“I expect.” Catherine agreed and they sat in quiet harmony for a good fifteen minutes.

“Sugar Baby.” Bettina called her by her childhood name.

Catherine knew this was important. “Yes.”

“DoRe has asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

Picking up Bettina’s hand, Catherine kissed it. “He’s a smart man.”

A low, rolling laugh followed this. “I don’t know about that, but I think he loves me. I do. And I love him. Never thought it would find me again.”

“Happy. Happy forever.” Catherine kissed Bettina’s hand again. “You tell Rachel. She should hear it from you.”