“That it will, but the foundation is dug, as you may have seen, and the two buildings at the end of what will be connected by arcades, that also is dug out. Now comes the real work.” He grinned. “Perhaps it’s because this is a church, but we work together, sing as we work, very different than what would occur in England.”
“Do you ever miss it?” Jeffrey asked.
“Sometimes, perhaps Christmas, I miss hearing the bells peal in the village, but gentlemen,” he looked from one to another, “my wife was worth crossing an ocean, fighting a war to find. Sometimes I wonder at my good fortune.”
Jeffrey smiled. “You are indeed fortunate.”
Yancy snorted. “You, too, Sir. You fell into the honeypot.”
Such rudeness startled both of the younger men.
“Charles, excuse me while I take my leave.” Jeffrey half bowed to Charles as Yancy grabbed his elbow.
“I know you’ve seen Sam Udall, the banker, and I know where you’ve seen him. How would your rich wife like that?”
“Yancy, that is enough.” Charles firmly stepped between the two men.
John, noticing the tension, walked over to his brother-in-law’s side. Yancy was either too drunk or too angry or both to care.
“Holloway, you’ve taken advantage of Maureen. You’re spending her money without a single idea of how to replenish it and you consort with whores in Richmond and—”
He didn’t finish because Jeffrey hit him with a right cross to the jaw. Yancy crumpled like a linen napkin.
Charles knelt over the unconscious man as others gathered around.
“I’ll kill him.” Jeffrey lunged for the supine man.
John, tall and enormously strong, put his hands on Jeffrey’s upper arms, clamped them to his sides. “You will not.”
Jeffrey, lifted up like a small boy, was carried out of the room. He had sense to be quiet. John carried him outside and in doing so, two of Cloverfields’ larger men swiftly hurried to John’s side.
“Let’s walk him down to the stables. DoRe can handle him,” John advised.
“I don’t need handling. That son of a bitch. He’s been after my wife’s money even while Francisco lived. Furthermore, I am not lying with whores in Richmond!” He was about to sputter more when John silenced him.
Tulli, lantern in hand, scurried out of the stable upon hearing John approach.
“Tulli, fetch some ice.” He then released his grip on Jeffrey’s left arm. “Steady. Steady. That’s what I used to tell my men as we marched toward fire. Your wife may have heard three or four versions of what happened before she arrives down here. Allow as how you lost your temper, how you can’t stand Grant’s overzealous desire toward her. If she asks questions, try to answer them. If not, especially if she asks about Richmond, say nothing. Forgive me for giving orders.”
“You are a major.” Jeffrey had regained his composure.
John smiled. “And I have been married longer than you. I expect Mrs. Holloway will be down shortly or DoRe will bring the coach up to the house if you so deem.”
“Sir.” Tulli led Jeffrey on.
“Put his hand in ice, Tulli,” John ordered.
—
Back in the house, Charles called Rachel from the ladies’ gathering, briefly told her of what had transpired, and suggested she wait with Maureen while DoRe brought up the coach.
Maureen, center of the drama although she wasn’t sure about it, did gather that her husband had belted Yancy Grant unconscious. This display of violence did not displease her.
Back at the carriage, the boys brought up the Selisse carriage from the carriage house, DoRe donned his livery. He tucked Bettina’s basket into a wooden box affixed to the side of the carriage, stepped up, felt the smooth reins in his hand, clucked, and they moved forward toward the house, Jeffrey in the carriage, his hand in a small bucket of ice.
Once at the front door, Rachel, now assisted by Sheba, brought up from the women’s servants quarters, stood with Maureen. Sheba already soaked up as much as she could. Finally she had a wedge she could drive between husband and wife. No one was going to control the Missus but Sheba.
Rachel walked down the steps, stood at the carriage door while one of the Cloverfields men, in Cloverfields’ livery, Prussian blue and gold, opened the door for Mrs. Selisse as he dropped the brass steps from the carriage for her.
“Thank you. What a wonderful feast.” Maureen squeezed Rachel’s hand.
She then held the footman’s gloved hand as he steadied her up the steps.
“Jeffrey, what have you done?”
“Something, my dear, I wish I had done months ago.”
Sheba sulked outside the carriage, then Maureen indicated she could climb in and the footman assisted her.
John, walking briskly up from the stables, reached Rachel just as Catherine walked outside for a moment wondering what was afoot.
“Shall I assume the gathering is aflame?” John laughed.
Catherine answered. “Great excitement. We couldn’t have asked for more.”
Rachel laughed along with her sister. “No one will forget this spring celebration.”
“Where is Yancy?” John felt the plunging temperature.
“Carried out to the brood mare barn and placed on a pallet in the tack room. He’s still out cold. A blessing,” Rachel answered.
A few snowflakes twirled down. They looked upward, seeing low clouds in the night sky. The snow in a minute began to fall faster.
“Good Lord,” Rachel exclaimed. “Snow on the daffodils.”
“We’d best inform our guests.” Catherine felt John’s strong arm around her waist, glad for his warmth, as they climbed the stairs. “What a surprise.”
There were more to come.
November 15, 2016 Tuesday
“We’ve kept track of the bald eagle nest in Sugar Hollow,” MaryJo Cranston reported. “All eaglets survived and I wouldn’t be surprised if more eagles come in this far.”
“Why?” BoomBoom asked.
“They’ve made a big comeback on the James River and the Chesapeake. More population usually means looking for more suitable places to nest. Anyway, all good news,” MaryJo responded.
The Virginians for Sustainable Wildlife met this Tuesday at Susan Tucker’s. Each month they marveled at how quickly the time had flown by. The reports made, accepted, they finally broke for drinks, food.
Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, and Susan’s wonderful corgi, Owen, full brother to Tucker, shot into the dining room.
“Sounds like a stampede,” Liz Potter noted.
Tucker ever so helpfully spoke up from under the table. “That’s all Pewter. Two-Ton Tessie.”
“Die, dog!” Pewter whapped the dog right across her tender nose.
“Ow. I’m mortally wounded by a psychotic cat,” Tucker wailed.
“Oh, Tucker, when will you learn to leave her alone?” the corgi’s brother reprimanded her.
Mrs. Murphy, never one for these dramatics, sat beside Harry’s chair just in case a moment of sharing would wash over the humans engaged in chatter.
“I smell ham.” Pewter, happy to have smacked Tucker, sidled up to Dr. Jessica Ligon.
Being a veterinarian might have inoculated the young woman from falling victim to Pewter’s charms but, no, she slipped the cat a morsel of ham.
The back door opened, Ned’s baritone rang out. “I’m home.”
“We’re in the dining room,” Susan called out as Ned walked in, said his hellos, and joined them.
“I am starved. That damned city council meeting droned on and on and on. I should be paid by the hour. I try to attend one a quarter, give reports from the House of Delegates, but I might just change my mind.”