She poured out some water into an enamel bowl, grabbed a washrag, and washed herself. After a long day at the loom, this felt so good. A small noise by the back window alerted her. She threw the rag in the bowl and stepped to the window to see Ralston running away.
“That boy will be trouble,” she muttered to herself.
Then she put on a light robe and sat by the hearth. Even though there were no logs burning in the large step-down fireplace, she liked to sit by it. The low flame in the back of the hearth where she’d hung the water pot was flickering out. The aroma of applewood filled the air.
Ewing had planted an apple grove two years ago. The trees, slender, sometimes shed a branch or two and Bumbee made sure to get some. Hardwood stacked by each cabin, a large stack by the weaving room, promised a toasty winter. But a few little branches of apple, pear, peach created a wonderful scent.
She began to doze off. Then a knock on the door snapped her back.
“Who is it?”
“Serena.”
“Come on in, girl.”
The attractive assistant to Bettina slipped through the door, sat in the old rocking chair across from Bumbee.
“Lord, it’s good to get away for a minute.”
“Husband?”
“No, he’s fine. Tired. Bringing in the last cutting of hay. There was so much of it. By the time I walk back up, he’ll be sound asleep. That man can sleep through a thunderstorm. I swear he could have slept through Yorktown if he’d been there.”
“Your Joe is a contented man.”
Both rocked a bit, then Serena leaned forward. “Bumbee, Ralston is asking questions.”
“Well, he tore your bodice.”
“Got a big lump on his head, too. I grabbed one of Bettina’s tenderizers. She puts a store by beating the meat to bits.” She sighed. “She would know. But Bumbee, I can knock that fool upside the head anytime. No, he’s asking questions about Marcia.”
This made Bumbee sit up straight. “Tell me.”
“He knows, everyone knows, that Marcia isn’t Rachel and Charles’s child. The story about this being the outside child of her distant cousin stuck. All the white people believe it, as well as our people who didn’t know.”
“Marcia looks white. Selisse blood.”
“He asked about the woman who was sick who stayed here. He has figured out she wasn’t sick.”
“He never laid eyes on her.” Bumbee’s voice was raised.
“I’m not so sure.” Serena folded her hands in her lap.
“I caught him sneaking around just before you came in.” Bumbee sharply drew in her breath. “It’s possible he was spying. But she had half her face smashed in. If he’d seen Ailee, he would have seen that.”
“True. She wore a heavy shawl, drew part of it over her face. But if she went to sit down, he would notice her difficulty. I don’t know why he wants to know. I mean, he asks did anyone ever see Miss Rachel’s cousin. Stuff like that.”
Bumbee ran her hand along her cheek for a moment. “Might be he wants money if he’s figuring something out. He never saw her body when we took her out. We buried her in the dead of night and there’s no stone. That poor woman.” Bumbee shook her head.
“Ralston is a sneak. Money, well, maybe. Buy himself a girlfriend.”
“Dear Lord,” Bumbee muttered.
“All he thinks about. Or so I hear. And he’s fighting with Jeddie.”
“That’s stupid, bone stupid.”
“Barker O keeps his eye on the two of them and Miss Catherine, of course. I worry that Ralston might harm Jeddie, hurt his riding ability. And let’s face it, Jeddie is a handsome boy. Girls notice him.”
“Yes.” A pause. “Yes. Serena, there’s not much we can do unless Ralston opens his big flannel mouth to the wrong person.”
“Do you think I should tell Miss Rachel?”
“No. It will only worry her. She loves the child. She believes, as do I, that Marcia will pass. No one will ever know except those of us who cared for Ailee. Even DoRe doesn’t know. He thinks the child died when Ailee hung herself. I’m pretty certain he knew she was going to have a baby. I expect he figured it was his son’s. I don’t know.”
“Terrible things happen, don’t they, Bumbee?”
“They do. Things have been quiet here. Best to keep it that way.”
“But if Ralston gets out of line?”
“Then we go to Barker O. He’ll know what to do. They’re all in the stables. By the way, is DoRe here?”
Serena nodded. “He slides over two or three times a week now. That will stop when Maureen gets back.”
“M-m-m. I’m willing to bet Sheba is in Philadelphia or even Boston. All those years she stuck to Maureen like a tick. Waiting.”
“They both smashed Ailee’s face. I believe it.” Serena’s mouth formed a grim line.
“More to it than that, but we’ll never know and Ralston must never know. You know, Serena, I believe he will grow to be the kind of man that forces himself on women. Something’s not right there. Oh, I understand how they can get. We all do, but usually it stops with pleasing and promising.”
“Certainly does when we give in.”
They both laughed.
12
April 18, 2018
Wednesday
“If we get one thousand people, we should celebrate that so many want to come home,” Harry calmly answered. “And we can start fundraising when the announcement goes out.”
Susan jumped in. “Mags, do we need to hire a caterer? We do. But we can still bring dishes. If we’re careful, those costs can be controlled.”
Janice Childe, another hard worker of the Dorcas Guild, rapped her pencil on the meeting table. “I sincerely doubt one thousand people will journey to St. Luke’s from wherever they may be in the world but”—she emphasized “but”—“three hundred, perhaps more, I expect that. First of all, look how many of us still attend St. Luke’s. Those of us still in the Mid-Atlantic or even New England may well make the journey. Do we have a great deal to organize? We do, but it is doable.”
Mags, not yet convinced, added, “Janice, apart from the food, the chairs, the parking, and the tents, tents’ cost. After marrying our oldest daughter, I can tell you about tents. Then there are the games to organize.”
Susan held up her hand. “Isn’t that why we have the St. Peter’s Guild? I think some of this comes under the heading ‘Men.’ ”
This provoked laughter.
“Speaking of men, surely there are those in the congregation who would write a few restorative checks,” the much older Pamela Bartlett advised.
“Well said.” Harry smiled at Pamela, whom she much respected.
“What about the jewelry that was found with that old body? Why can’t the church sell that? I have no idea what it’s worth. All the papers said was that there were jewels with the bones, but those jewels belong to us.” Janice surprised them with this. “Where are they? Harry, you’re in charge of building and grounds. You must know.”
“Well,” Harry prevaricated. “Almost a year and a half has elapsed. If someone were going to come forward, they would have done so by now. But no one has. Still, we might want to wait longer. Can you imagine the mess if we did something like that and a person shows up, DNA test in hand?”
“Oh, Harry, that’s TV stuff.” Mags shrugged. “That body was in there for over two hundred years. No one is going to appear claiming to be a relative. Remember when the reverend gave a sermon shortly after the body was discovered? He said, if I remember correctly, that the abandoned, those without a proper service, prayers, or tears still deserve consideration.”