January 4, 1786 Wednesday
A profound silence enveloped Cloverfields when everyone awoke. The sunrise first touched the top of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a thin outline of pink. This widened as the sun rose, pink turning to gold. The mountains themselves, baby blue because of the snow set against a startling blue sky, glowed.
Catherine, wrapped up, as was John, walked toward the stables. Little John remained at home, cared for by his nurse. Both sisters could work as they pleased since nurses took care of the small children. If the children weren’t home they were with Ruth, whom they called Auntie Ruth. Rachel loved playing with her two girls. Catherine loved her son, but it was apparent her interest would increase once he could ride, once she could really talk to the boy. John proved a better mother, happily listening to the two-year-old’s babble, picking him up, taking him on his chores. Today, the cold won out. No little children, black or white, would be outside, plus the drifts, deep, could easily swallow a small child.
The drifts also could easily swallow Piglet, who prudently padded along the shoveled walkway. Charles waved at his sister-in-law and John, approaching them from his own house, east of theirs.
By the time the three reached the stables, Jeddie, Ralston, and Tulli, all of nine, had broken the ice on the buckets, fed everyone; each young man, and even Tulli, shoveled a path to the paddocks behind the stable in which he was working. Two large stables, aligned on the same axis, housed the prized carriage horses and the blooded horses for riding and racing if Catherine would chose to do that. She hadn’t yet made up her mind. The third stable, the oldest of the structures, solid, at a right angle to the other two, was home to the draft horses, playful gentle giants.
The two larger stables each had a small raised roof along the spine of the main roof. This was high enough for an interior walkway. On either side of the raised wooden walkway, rows of windows ran fore to aft. The stables, flooded with light, filled with fresh air when the windows were opened, proved models for other horsemen. Ewing Garth spent a great deal of money on these stables. Catherine convinced her father that light and constantly flowing air, if any breeze was available, made for happy, healthy horses.
Today, no windows were open. The glass was covered with snow, there had to have been at least two and a half feet, but some light filtered through those high roof windows. Given the slipperiness, that snow would not be shoved off the roof. At the base of the roofline, a row of wrought-iron clamshells would catch snow as it melted. This did not ensure that no one would get dumped on if and when the temperature rose, but it wouldn’t be as bad as it might without the little wrought-iron impediments.
Every structure at Cloverfields, whether a slave cabin, a stable, the weaving room, the icehouse, the blacksmith’s forge, all had been built to stand for generations. All had rain barrels to collect water just as every single structure, even an equipment shed, the carriage house, every single one, boasted glass windows. That cost half a fortune alone. But Ewing reasoned, as a young man and then again with his eldest daughter’s prompting, that lots of natural light meant fewer lanterns or candles. Fire was ever a fear everywhere not just at Cloverfields. Once the sun set, people did light lanterns, chandeliers. But by that time, most everyone was home, the stables empty of people.
Catherine, John, and Charles laughed as the draft horses were turned out. The matched pair, Castor and Pollux, charged through the heavy snow, kicking it up, running through the sparkling snow fountains they’d created. The other horses, also being turned out, watched the big boys, deciding it looked like fun. Soon squeals filled the air, the snow muffled their trotting.
“You know, I think snow helps tighten their legs,” Catherine mused to her husband, not a horseman, but he could ride.
Jeddie, seeing the three, walked down the newly shoveled path, through the stable, and popped out on the other side to speak to them. Had he tried to reach them by walking off the path to where they stood he’d still be struggling with snow.
“Miss Catherine, Mr. John, Mr. Charles, good morning.”
“Jeddie, you must have come out here before sunup?” Catherine smiled at this young man she loved.
“Did.”
“How’d you find your way in that darkness? Pitch black as the Devil’s eyebrows,” Charles wondered.
“Oh, I slept in the tack room. Ralston slept in the driving stables and Tulli started to sleep in the other stable but he got afraid and crawled in with Ralston. We wanted to stay close to the horses because it seemed like the snow would never stop.”
Appreciating his dedication and foresight, John put his hand on Jeddie’s shoulder. Broad but on a thin, wiry frame, the young man was built for riding. “Jeddie, you think of everything.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Well, let’s go tease Tulli.” Catherine was already headed to the older stable, where the little fellow could be seen standing at the paddock gate clapping to the horses.
On reaching him, Catherine called out, “I hear you were afraid of ghosts.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head, cap pulled down around his ears.
Ralston joined them from the middle barn.
Charles added, “We heard you slept with Ralston. Didn’t want to be in the dark alone.”
“Well…” Tulli frowned.
“I made him sleep on the floor.” Ralston, sixteen, poked Tulli. “And he snores.”
“Uh-uh.” Tulli’s vocabulary was not serving him this morning.
Piglet sat down, observing the boys. He could smell their happiness with one another. The stable team, so young, was a good team.
“I have an idea.” Catherine looked from one to the other. “Sweep out the aisles. Should take, oh, fifteen or twenty minutes. Carry some water out to the paddocks. Hang the buckets on the inside of the fence. You won’t be able to reach the water troughs. You can’t even see them. When you’re finished we’ll meet you in the kitchen at the big house. You know Bettina will be working her magic.”
Tulli beamed, as did Ralston.
Charles piped up. “You tell Jeddie when you’re done so he can come, too.”
Jeddie was already hauling water buckets to Crown Prince and Reynaldo, an unpleasant job, as some of the water sloshed out. Hand pumps, inside the barns and outside, could usually be coaxed to bring up water. When the ground froze hard, the inside pumps served everyone.
Pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Catherine looked toward the mountains, a clear sky, the mountains bathed in light. Gorgeous but really cold.
“Let me check the sleigh. Make sure the runners are waxed and the tack clean.” Charles headed toward the large carriage house.
“Why? We aren’t going anywhere,” John wondered.
“We don’t think we’re going anywhere, but you never know.” Charles smiled, his teeth still good, not stained.
“True.” John thought for a moment. “I don’t think anyone is going anywhere until much of this melts. I bet the James is frozen. Nothing is moving.”
“Probably.” Charles watched as Catherine headed toward the cabin rows.
She turned, calling back, “I’m going down to the weaving lodge. Won’t be long. Will one or both of you go tell Bettina, the boys plus ourselves will be in the kitchen? And I’m hungry.” She grinned.
John smiled and waved and she hurried down the long, wide row between the cabins, smoke curling out of chimneys. Each cabin now had a stone or brick chimney, an advancement for safety. In the old days, chimneys in inexpensive dwellings and workshops often were made from charred logs. Usually it worked. When it didn’t, everything burned to a crisp. Ewing, over time, made certain every single structure at Cloverfields had a safe chimney as well as the glass windows, no oilskins or heavy hides. He had no motto, but if he did it would be “Do it right the first time.”