“Catherine!” Rachel exploded.
Catherine reached over, putting her hand on her sister’s forearm. “I am doing the right thing, and don’t go running to Father.”
“All right,” Rachel agreed, quite thrilled at how their plan worked.
No sooner had Maureen placed the paper folded next to her plate than a sheepish Sheba came into the room. “Missus, Lemuel says Hiram Meisner is at the door and should he allow him inside?”
“Send him in.” Maureen lifted up her hands, palms inward. “Whatever it is, I want you to hear it.”
A humble Hiram entered, standing. “Mrs. Selisse.”
“Yes, Hiram.”
“On Tuesday morning, Dennis McComb’s wife came to me with apologies saying that Dennis would be tracking Moses and would not be back until he captured him. He thought he knew where the killer was fleeing.”
“Yes.” Maureen did not ask the constable to sit, but he didn’t expect it.
“He has not returned and he was riding your gelding. Nor has he sent word.”
“I see,” she coolly answered. “Did Dennis say where he thought Moses was running and where he heard such a thing?”
Hiram sighed. “He did not tell his wife.”
“And?”
“I fear Moses has killed again.”
“Oh, Mr. Meisner, I do hope you are wrong,” Catherine interjected, keeping the pretense that she thought Moses was the killer.
“I do, too, Mrs. Schuyler, but Dennis would have sent word if he had captured the man. Since I don’t know where he went, I don’t know how long it would have taken to reach me, but a horse trotting and galloping can cover many miles a day, as you know. I should have heard something.”
“Well, I am sorry to hear this,” Maureen simply replied.
“The gelding—”
“Don’t worry, Hiram.”
“Thank you, madam.” He bowed and left.
After they heard Lemuel’s voice and the door close, the three remained silent.
Finally, Rachel spoke. “At least Moses is away from here.”
“But what of the woman, that terrible woman?” Maureen’s voice rose.
Catherine calmly said, “If he killed because of her or to steal her, he wouldn’t run away and leave her. She must be with him.”
Maureen weighed the thought. “True.”
Sighing inwardly, Rachel added, “It must be a relief to know they are fleeing.”
“It’s certainly better than having them here,” Maureen agreed. “But I look forward to the day when they are caught and punished.”
“It may take some time, but I’m sure they will be.” Catherine sounded truthful. “Forgive me for being forward, but, Mrs. Selisse, might you consider hiring a strong fellow or someone you can trust to manage the farm or to simply protect you until things become more clear? You’re here with your people, of course, but with no strong protector.”
“Mr. Holloway would do it.” Rachel sounded all innocence.
“Rachel, that really is enough!” Catherine scolded.
Pretending such an idea was foreign to her, Maureen smiled indulgently at Rachel. “I am most grateful for your concern and most grateful, Catherine, that you will now own Serenissima. I am not a horseman. Well, you know that. I enjoy a ride, but you should have the mare.”
“Who will tell Yancy Grant?” Catherine asked.
A smile crossed Maureen’s slightly colored lips. “I will.”
—
Driving home, Catherine holding the reins, for she loved anything to do with horses and she was a good whip, the two sisters and Bettina giggled, exchanging stories. Then they considered what might have happened to Dennis McComb.
“Something about him. I couldn’t abide him,” Rachel said.
“He’s dead, I expect, or he’d be back by now,” said Catherine. “Either he was set upon by robbers or he met with an accident.” She felt the smooth leather in her fingers.
Catherine, Rachel, and Bettina drove, dappling sunlight bouncing off the two horses’ hindquarters.
“I think horses enjoy a good carriage ride as much as we do.” Rachel noticed King David’s pricked ears and alert expression, as well as Solomon’s happiness.
“I like the rhythm.” Bettina smiled. “Miss Catherine, you got your Serenissima.”
“So I did.” Catherine grinned, then changed the subject. “Wasn’t it odd to be with two murderesses and act as we did?”
“We have no choice,” Rachel replied.
“I can bear Miss Selisse more than that two-faced bitch who destroyed Ailee’s face.” Bettina clipped her words.
“Even if Maureen Selisse hadn’t killed Francisco, we wouldn’t warm to her. Vain. Arrogant. Possessive.” Catherine thought out loud. “Then again, she had endured his philandering under her nose probably for years. Ailee can hardly have been the first.”
“I suppose,” Rachel agreed.
“It’s not so much the loss of love, it’s the humiliation,” Catherine opined.
“People don’t always need a reason to kill,” Bettina shrewdly noted, then smiled. “Miss Selisse and Sheba will be yoked together for the rest of their lives. That’s punishment enough.”
Catherine and Rachel laughed.
Then Catherine asked Bettina, “What did you find out?”
“Mrs. Selisse has commissioned a statue for her husband’s tomb and it will take a year to be carved. Sheba says it will rival great statues in Europe. Mrs. Selisse is paying a fortune for it.” Bettina rocked sideways a little with the carriage motion. It was an open carriage, so the breeze felt wonderful on her cheeks.
“A statue of what?” Rachel inquired.
“The Avenging Angel, flaming sword in hand,” said Bettina, nodding. “You know there is a flaming sword which turns in all directions at the east of Eden to guard the tree of knowledge.” Bettina sure knew her Bible.
“So Maureen’s put the sword in the hand of an angel,” Rachel said. “Or maybe there is such an angel and I don’t know much about it.”
“Well, we know there is one east of Eden,” Catherine declared. “Genesis, chapter six, or is it five? Anyway, it’s Genesis,” Catherine declared.
“Now, why did Adam eat that apple?” Bettina wondered. “And then we womenfolk get all the blame? Bearing children in pain and working our fingers to the bone. All because of one shiny apple. And we’ve got acres and acres of them at home. But why did Adam eat that one apple and make such a fuss?”
“Because he was as dumb as a sack of hammers.” Catherine let out a peal of laughter.
They laughed, gossiping all the way back home.
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Sam Holloway lay back in his recliner. The ex-governor fell in and out of sleep. Although a lifelong Virginian, and one would think he’d root for the Orioles or the Nationals, but he’d always been a Phillies fan. But even Sam’s beloved Phillies couldn’t keep him alert, although a double play brightened his outlook, before he fell back asleep.
Outside, the high humidity and a high temperature convinced even the insects to slow down or sleep. Maybe Sam was following suit.
Penny peeked in. His wife knew better than to turn off the TV when a baseball game was on. She also knew better than to say too much about her favorite team, the Kansas City Royals.
For their generation, baseball was the game; football followed second.
Walking back to the air-conditioned sunroom where she’d been working on a needlepoint pillow, her daughter ducked in. Millicent Grimstead came to the house each day and stayed most of the day to help her mother and cheer her father.
“You’ve made progress.” Millicent dropped in a chair. “Wendell, here.”