“You have to be to be the governor of Virginia, especially when people can cite precedent back to 1607.” Bill said, “Not the cannibalism, of course.”
They all laughed, especially Willoughby who then interjected, “I could run this state.”
Bill reached down to pet the handsome head. “How can anyone live without a dog? I couldn’t get up in the morning without this fellow.”
“Some people have no feeling for animals.” Cooper had certainly seen enough of that in her work.
“Speaking of that.” Bill picked up the striped shirt. “Can you believe Eddie Cunningham using his grandfather like that? Eddie’s doing a good job of whipping up the disaffected. I guess they need someone upon whom to blame their troubles.”
“It is shocking,” Harry agreed. “But, Bill, I suppose these are the times in which we live. It’s dog-eat-dog.”
“I resent that,” Willoughby barked.
Wednesday, October 6, 1784
The eastern side of the Blue Ridge Mountains glowed golden, then reddish, as the sun rose. At sunset the displays behind the range varied from a thin silver shine outlining the mountains to explosions of swirling scarlet, pink, lavender, gold, purple. Few people living within sight of these ancient mountains could resist being mesmerized by them. At sunrise, the mountains themselves change color as the sun, rising in the east, touches them.
Not yet nineteen, Jeddie fell under their spell. Sometimes, with a task completed, he’d sit on an upturned box, a hay bale, or the top of a fence and just stare. He thought about the horses, his desire to improve as a rider and a horseman. He was fascinated by breeding. One needed a powerful memory and for the last three years Jeddie studied every horse he saw, on the estate and off. He would recite their pedigrees the way some men recited John Milton. The more fun-loving recited Chaucer.
This morning, he led Serenissima through a heavy dew. She played with him. She’d push him with her nose. He’d correct her. She’d push his shoulder. Then he’d turn her out. She’d fly away, stop abruptly, turn to thunder right toward him. Then she’d stop in front of him and smack her lips. The lip smack meant many things, and “I love you” was one of them.
He’d pull her lower lip, run his hands over her ears; he’d smack his lips, too. She repeated the running away, the return, and finally a big, big kiss as long as he would continue playing with her.
This morning they played for twenty minutes, the lovely early morning light softening everything.
Jeddie didn’t hear Catherine walk up behind him until Serenissima flicked her ears.
“Jeddie.”
He straightened up. “Yes, Miss Catherine.”
“She likes you best.”
Pleased, he tilted his head to the side for a second and Serenissima nuzzled his cheek. “I love her, Miss Catherine. I will sleep in her stall if she needs me. I will do anything you ask or she asks.” His ear-to-ear grin made Catherine grin back. “I knew you wouldn’t let Yancy Grant have her!”
Catherine held out her hand for the mare to sniff. “He knows horses, but he doesn’t care about them. It’s all money to Yancy.”
“Everyone around knows he offered Mrs. Selisse four thousand dollars for her.”
“That he did. I offered more and this morning I’m feeling poor.” She laughed. “Well, Mother left me some of her money. I expect she thought I would use it as I saw fit. If we breed her with care, I think we will establish one of the finest lines of blooded horses in the country.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jeddie, there are fine horsemen all over. I find the northern breeders look for a longer angle on the hip. Here, I’ll show you.” She traced an elongated isosceles triangle on Serenissima’s hip. “They want carriage horses. More towns up there, and the estates are smaller. Soils not much in many of those states. A man with exceptional driving horses is a big bug. Here, more riding, running. But wherever breeders are, at least what I have observed, is they aren’t systematic.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s why I’ve memorized the bloodlines you told me about.”
Catherine smiled at this young man. “Good. Now tell me, how is Crown Prince doing?”
“He can be ornery, but he’s quick to learn.”
“Queen Esther’s bloodline is.” She inhaled the air. “Doesn’t it smell and taste like fall?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Here come Binks and Ralston.”
The two younger boys reached the paddock.
Catherine teased one of them. “The sun came up, but you didn’t.”
Binks, twelve, looked stricken. “Miss Catherine, Momma said I had to sweep out the room.”
“Binks, that doesn’t take that long, but better not to get on the bad side of your momma. Jeddie and I will be back in a little while. But you have time to loosen up Sweet Potato, and Ralston, walk out King David.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ralston liked King David, such a powerful fellow.
As Catherine and Jeddie walked toward the row of slave quarters, she said, “You’ve been wise, keeping quiet about Moses when he and DoRe brought the mare.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If people knew what Moses had asked of me to save Ailee from Francisco, they might think all manner of things. Sometimes, Jeddie, I wonder what goes on in people’s heads. Not much that’s good, I fear.”
“Yes, ma’am. Too much loose talk.”
With piles of firewood neatly stacked by the front door, walkways swept, back gardens tended, and colorful flowers by porches, on windowsills, the cabins bore testimony to the artistic impulses of the inhabitants. The slaves didn’t have much, but they made the most of what they had. In particular, the women cared about their flowers. Serena grew huge mums. No one else could match her mums. They all tried. Her sight failing, Old Paulette nurtured her white and purple morning glories, which climbed around her porch posts.
Catherine loved the display. She did her best with her mother’s garden, but she lacked the touch.
Walking down the straight row of cabins brought back memories of her mother in rapt discussion about their flowers with other ladies, who had also departed. Catherine would stand next to her mother as theories abounded and once she remembered Paulette, straight as a stick then, getting worked up with the late Abby over the merits of acorn squash versus pattypan. Paulette was a pattypan devotee.
They reached the weaving cabin, the last in the row, close to the woodline.
Catherine opened the door, the big loom in the center of the large room.
“I like to hear the click-clack.” Jeddie noticed the rug on the loom, half finished.
“Me, too. A woman needs good hands and a good eye for this work. One mistake and you’ve ruined the pattern. Let’s go upstairs.”
The wooden boards reverberated as they climbed up.
“They finished this in jack time.” Jeddie admired the loft.
“Did. I wish they could have tapped into the chimney and built a fireplace up here. Maybe next year. That would take so much reinforcement and time. It’s always warmer up top so maybe winter won’t be so bad up here. Just go to bed with a well-stoked fire.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Catherine looked out the window. The place had real glass, not an oiled skin pulled up or down. At the back of the cabin, the newly built kitchen jutted out. They realized one couldn’t really cook close to the loom and the stored hemp, cotton, linen, and wool, all of which lay on their sides on square shelves downstairs and now upstairs. The large center fireplace in the large cabin also had a mesh screen, a luxury, again to make certain no embers escaped from a downdraft, given the flammable contents of the cabin.