“Have you considered my proposition?” Yancy hoped his desperation didn’t show.
“I have. I believe this will be a good year for corn, hemp, annual crops unless we suffer a July and August drought. One can never discount that, but it has been a wet winter and spring. I am prepared to lend you fifteen thousand dollars against your estate at five percent interest.”
Yancy swallowed. Five percent was outrageous. “When would you wish repayment, Sir?”
“A year from April 15. You may pay quarterly or all at once. But I must have the total sum plus interest by April 15.”
“We have never discussed what would befall me should I fail, not that I will,” Yancy hastily added. “It’s just that I had not considered such a dolorous event.”
“The land becomes mine. I have the documents for you to sign, granting me the title should you fail or perish. All is in my office and we can review same on Monday. My clerk will be there and should corrections be needed he can do so.”
“Would you keep the land or sell it?” Yancy sounded unconcerned, just curious.
“Sell. Mrs. Sel—I mean Holloway, whom I know through her first husband and, of course, I am adjusting to Mr. Holloway, has expressed interest.”
Yancy’s voice shot up. “Has she now? And how did she learn of my situation?”
“That, Sir, I don’t know. Our dealings are in strictest confidence, but as I am one of the few financial men making speculative loans, someone could reach such a conclusion as we have been seen together. Naturally, I replied through a letter that I am not at liberty to discuss any such business and I had not made a loan to you, which at the time I wrote the missive was true.”
Color flushing in his cheeks, Yancy, with his voice level, said, “I feel this uncertainty will pass. The land I purchased before all this confusion is valuable and I think I will be fortunate I did not let it slip through my fingers.”
“Indeed. We must develop financial consistency. We need businessmen in Congress, men who understand something as simple as you cannot expect states to raise militias, train them, feed them, clothe them and yet only Congress can declare war. This is a burden that must be shared, a true national expense regarding our protection. As to our currency problems, again, businessmen must untangle this mess.”
“Indeed. And what do you think will happen in Europe?”
“Ah.” Sam’s walking stick was raised up higher from the ground for emphasis. “If the various kings live, we can consider a stable foreign policy. The men we send on missions to England, France, even Russia, seem highly intelligent, but, Sir, should a king die unexpectedly, who is to say? That’s the terrible crisis of a monarchy, a sudden death or a king who is mentally unable to rule.”
“They all seem healthy,” Yancy murmured.
“Well, King George is fat.” Sam laughed as they approached Georgina’s.
Walking in the opposite direction, chattering away, were Eudes and Mignon, who opened the back gate to go to work. Eudes had given Mignon an early tour of houses close to Georgina’s with lovely gardens.
Yancy stopped.
“Are you well, Sir?”
“Oh, quite.” The horseman paused. “It’s just that I recognize that tiny little woman.”
“I don’t believe I have ever seen her but the fellow is the cook, best cook in town.”
“She’s a runaway slave.” Yancy spoke with emphasis on runaway.
“Ah, well, Sir, I would keep that to myself as I am certain she is not the only such woman at Georgina’s.”
“There is a one-hundred-dollar reward.”
Sam’s reply cut. “A pittance to a man of your standing. One should stay on the good side of Georgina. She has long talons. Do keep it to yourself.”
April 2, 1786 Sunday
The gorgeous weather held, the temperature when all returned from church hovered in the midfifties. The doors to the big house stood open for fresh air but the windows remained closed. A bit of cooling in the house would be welcome, but once the sun set it would become cold quickly.
The late-afternoon sun drenched the meadows, the orchards with gold.
Pink and white hyacinths formed a low arrangement in the center of the table where cakes and cookies were piled on the table along with small wrapped gifts.
JohnJohn, Marcia, and Isabelle raced around the table screaming while Piglet chased them.
Ewing commanded the head of the table while his daughters and sons-in-law teased him about turning forty-eight.
Marcia grabbed a gift before Rachel could smack her hand and she leaned on Ewing’s thigh to drop it in his lap.
“Birfday.” She mangled the word.
“My, yes.” He noted the name on the small card. “Piglet. Well, this will be good.”
The three stopped to watch their grandfather open the box. He pulled out a handsome collar that one of the estate’s leatherworkers had made.
“A collar for you, Grandpa!” Isabelle clapped.
They all laughed, then Ewing solemnly remarked to the children, “I believe Piglet has made this present for himself. Let’s see if it fits.”
Charles stood up, called his beloved friend to him, walking him to Ewing. Piglet sat down and, yes, the collar fit perfectly.
One by one the gifts, useful items such as gloves, cravats, an elegant silk bottle-green waistcoat, were opened with appreciative noises. The children did not find the clothing and books that thrilling but they did quiet down.
Finally, Catherine and Rachel disappeared into the kitchen, returning with Bettina, Serena, Weymouth, and Roger.
“Now, what are you all up to?” Ewing loved every minute of this.
The sisters approached their father, Catherine took the smallish beautiful wooden box that Bettina handed to her.
“Hiding things?” His eyebrows raised.
“Mr. Ewing, you can poke around.” Bettina laughed. “But we all thought the pantry would be safe.”
“Now, what is this?”
“Open it, Grandpa!” The three small children were flush with excitement.
The two sisters stood a bit nervously, as did their husbands.
He untied the ribbon, opened the box, and there nestled in royal blue silk gleamed a pocket watch, gold with his initials on the back in an elegant script.
Lifting it out, he admired the hands, the wonderful numbers, and was so very glad no one in his family had heard him at the dinner party crab about this newfangled piece of jewelry, a pocket watch.
“Father, it chimes the hours. May I show you?” Rachel held out her hand. He dropped the expensive watch into it.
She moved the hands to four o’clock and a low chime rang out four times, which made Piglet bark and the children scream again. Then Rachel reset the time, handing him the watch with its heavy gold chain, an oval at the end with Cloverfields engraved on it so he could wear the gift on his new waistcoat.
He stood and kissed his daughters, put his hand on his sons-in-law’s shoulders, then picked up each child one by one for a big hug and a kiss.
“My dears, such a sumptuous gift.”
“We couldn’t stand the thought of everyone else pulling out their timepiece to look at it and our father having none. You are always the apogee of fashion,” Catherine gushed.
As Catherine was not a gusher, her father realized how important the gift was.
—
Later, when the evening star arose, everyone was back in their house or cabin. Ewing threw on his coat to visit Isabelle’s grave.
“My angel, how you would surprise me on my birthday. The kisses alone.” He stopped. “Well, our girls have kept up your doings. I now have a timepiece so, like it or not, I am a modern man.”