Broken Pledge Page 7

  “Stop,” Maralee laughed, playfully slapping John’s shoulder.

  “And why not? He’ll not want you once he knows anyway.”

  Dulane’s jowls tightened and his light brown mustache drooped. “Once I know what?”

  “Of her peculiarities, naturally.”

  “What peculiarities?” Dulane asked, oblivious to the snickers behind him.

  “The lady likes to dance.”

  “Oh, well, I already know that,” Dulane said, renewing his advance.

  “I don’t see how you could. I’m the only man she will dance with – in that manner.”

  “What manner?”

  “Stand aside, man, and I’ll show you,” John said.

  Instantly, the crowd erupted in applause and cleared the dance floor. Confused, Dulane glanced around, and then reluctantly descended the stairs.

  John took his place beside Maralee, and then stretched out his hand to Rose. “Ladies.”

  In a burst of excitement, all the twins rushed up the stairs – all except the youngest. Effie took her time, lazily climbing only halfway up, turning, and then plopping down. Her full skirt ballooned as she sat, and the snickering crowd once more quieted.

  “Effie, come here,” John commanded.

  Effie put her elbows on her knees, rested her chin in her hands and stared at the ceiling. Then slowly, she put out one hand, palm up. “A full pound sterling.”

  “A farthing,” John shot back.

  “A sixpence,” Effie said, standing up. She put both hands on her hips and turned to face him. “For each of us!”

  “I’ve not seen robbery such as this since before the war,” John said.

  “Oh for pity sakes, I’ll pay them,” Uriah called out, digging in his pockets. “At least he got her down to a sixpence,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Normally, I have to pay the full pound.”

  The crowd roared and applauded, until at last John said, “Gentlemen, play a Scottish jig.”

  They had practiced the dance since they were small. One of each set of twins took up a position to John’s right and the other to his left. In sync with the music, they crisscrossed until they reached the bottom of the stairs, and then hooked their arms together. Forming a straight line, they tap danced on the inlaid wood floor with delighted smiles and bobbing hair. They danced forward and backward, turned and then turned again. When the music stopped and the applause began, they took one long, slow bow, and then scurried off in seven different directions.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Uriah said, grabbing John’s arm as he passed.

  “What?”

  “Elizabeth cries. She fears this will be the last time all of you will dance for her.”

  “Where is she, Papa?”

  “Next to the statue.”

  “I’ll see to her, I’ve just the thing,” John said, heading instead toward Clifton.

  FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR, John mingled with the guests, danced, taunted his cousins, answered dozens of questions about the Kentucky Territory, and avoided Hester. Yet, he couldn’t help glancing at her. Hester did not seem to notice, giggling often and hanging on every word of each dancing partner.

  When Clifton approached, John was surrounded by three spinster sisters who wanted to hear, again, the story of meeting Laughing Rain.

  “Massah John,” Clifton said, smartly dressed in his favorite red jacket and long black pants, “Massah Adam, he say you best come to de porch. Pipes, Massah John.”

  “Thank you, Clifton.” John gladly excused himself and headed for the front door. But before he went out, he glanced back and saw Hester dancing with her uncle.

  “I wouldn’t let the Carson women hear that,” Adam was saying. He was seated with Dulane and Hester’s escort in the wicker chairs on the verandah.

  Two overhead lanterns yielded ample light and the small table held a candle, several long, thin lighting sticks, a filled tobacco pouch, and a bowl of water. Nearby, another table held service trays, a colorful box and several bottles of rum. “Oh, there you are, John,” Adam said. “I don’t believe you’ve met Hester’s escort, Mister Steven Grange of Georgia.”

  “Mister Grange,” John said, politely nodding, flipping his coat-tails up and then sitting down in the only remaining chair directly opposite Steven.

  Clifton quickly reached for the colorful box, opened the lid, walked around the table and offered the first pipe to Hester’s escort.

  Steven returned John’s nod and then began to mull over the items in the box. Lying in a neat row, four hand-carved, wooden smoking pipes awaited his decision.

  “Adam, you were telling of Mister Franklin,” Dulane said, not waiting for Steven to finish before grabbing a pipe, changing his mind, and then taking another one.

  “So I was,” Adam agreed. “Well, Mama heard it from Mrs. Dunlop, who heard it from Mrs. Wilcox, that Franklin freely gives advice on how to choose a mistress.”

  “Oh, I see,” Dulane said. “I believe the less a wife is reminded of a man’s need for a mistress, the better.”

  John was shocked. “You intend to take a mistress?”

  “All men do eventually,” Dulane answered, dipping two fingers in the tobacco pouch.

  “And some men tend to take more than one,” Steven added, in his noticeable southern accent. “Mister Carson, if I might inquire,” he went on, watching Dulane dribble tobacco from the pouch to his pipe, “is it your intention to return to the Kentucky Territory?”

  Himself distracted by Dulane, John took a while before he answered, “Someday perhaps.”

  “But not right away?”

  John slowly turned his glare on his handsome rival. “Have you a particular need to know?”

  “Not at all, sir, I merely wondered.”

  “We met Franklin once at a Carson ball,” Adam quickly put in. “John and I were quite young at the time, however.”

  “Pity he could not attend this one,” the doughty Dulane said. “Is he yet in France?”

  Adam helped himself to the only remaining pipe. “Last I heard.”

  “Aye,” John scoffed, “where he has conveniently been since the war began.”

  “It’s not as though he fled to avoid it,” Adam said. “Who better to intercede with the French? Besides, the man is in his seventies with poor eyesight. To my way of thinking, we did well to keep a gun out of his hands.”

  “Does he have a mistress in France, do you think?” Dulane asked.

  “I doubt he has the endurance,” Adam answered, noticing the uncommon glower on John’s face. He dared not look at the one on Steven’s.

  “And you, Mister Grange,” John asked, “will you take a mistress after you marry?”

  “Have you a particular need to know, sir?” Steven shot back.

  Adam glanced from Steven to John, then back to Steven. “Gentlemen, shall I have the swords sharpened?”

  “Not just yet,” John answered. Finally, he lowered his gaze. “Go on, Adam, I believe Dulane would like to discuss the ladies.”

  “And who can blame him. On the eve of marrying Rose, I could hardly think of anything else. A wife is a handy...”

  “Mister Grange, have you the means to support a wife?” John interrupted.

  “I own a plantation in Savanna, sir. What’s left of it. Nevertheless, a wife of mine will not go wanting, I assure you.”

  In silence, Clifton filled four glasses with rum, put them on a tray and offered the first to Steven.

  “What’s left of it?” Dulane asked, puffing on his pipe far more than was necessary.

  “Unfortunately, while I was fighting them in Guilford County, His Majesty’s redcoats burned my fields and half the house.”

  John suddenly stopped packing his pipe. “You were at Guilford?”

  “I was, sir, and at Cowpens before that. I had the great honor of serving under Brigadier General Daniel Morgan – the greatest general in the world.”

  John’s demeanor quickly changed. “I don’t believe it. General Morgan�
��s boys joined up with us. We fought under General Greene.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Steven said, a smile crossing his face. “As I recall, we joined up with you boys not far from where we are now.”

  “Not far at all.” John confirmed, leaving Adam and Dulane completely out of the conversation.

  Steven took a sip of rum, then began to chuckle. “After Cowpens, we fled north. But once we joined you boys, we were turned around and marched nearly the same path south again. Had we guessed, we’d have gladly sat down and waited.”

  “Aye, but the British were hot on your heels. Besides, we had the food, what little there was,” said John.

  “Scant little indeed, sir. But more than we’d seen in days. You were there then, at the battle?”

  “And the march before. We were the First Virginians,” John answered. “We were pleased to see the likes of you. You brought us a proper accounting of the victory at Cowpens – the first real victory the South had seen.”

  “Do you know Jacob Carter?” Steven asked.

  “The old man who played music on his bamboo pipe? Indeed I do. Many a man would have deserted except for the shame of doing so before that old man.”

  Steven puffed on his pipe to keep it lit, his smile almost as broad as John’s. “He was seventy-three and still living at last report.”

  “I wondered if he survived. I daresay he could snore louder than any seven men. Even the giant made certain not to bed by him.”

  “The giant?” Dulane asked, “I’ve heard of him. He’s seven feet tall and wields a sword as long as a wagon.”

  “A bit exaggerated,” Steven chuckled, “but not by much. We’d have lost the battle without him, I’m convinced. And I’d have given my entire pay to see the look on the faces of the Brits when they saw him.”

  This time it was Adam who laughed. “A great sacrifice that would have been. Mister Applebee papered his barn with his worthless Continentals.”

  “So that’s what we are to do with them,” John snickered.

  “We seven had a grand idea,” said Steven, hardly able to contain his laughter. “Or so we thought. After Guilford, we stayed to fight with Pickens a time or two, and then set out for home to plant our crops. With little to eat and the spring rains upon us, our vow was to cook a fine meal, if we could find one, over our money. One of us spied a rabbit, plump and round. I tell you it was the fastest rabbit alive and it repeatedly escaped all seven of us. We’d begun to suffer extreme weariness when to our dismay, the rabbit made straight for a British encampment.”

  “No,” Adam gasped.

  “I swear to you, sir, we turned tail and ran all the way to Savanna.” All four men roared with laughter. “And you, Mister Carson, where did you go after Guilford?” Steven asked.

  “We were given over to Light Horse Henry and rode hard after Cornwallis. We’d have had him too, except the Brits cut the only bridge over Cross Creek. At least we had horses. Unfortunately, my horse went with Light Horse Henry and I went south to fight Lord Rawdon.”

  “Have you heard, sir?” Steven asked. “The French captured Lord Rawdon at sea and imprisoned him. He has the swamp fever, they say.”

  “I’m not surprised; many of us succumbed to it. Tell me, have you kept your Continental money, Mister Grange?”

  “I have, along with Virginia dollars, North Carolina dollars and South Carolina dollars—none of which are honored in Savanna, Georgia.”

  “A circumstance which confounds the best of us,” Adam said. “What we need is a Congress empowered to establish common money – or a king.”

  “And you, Dulane,” Steven asked, “Where did you fight?”

  “Unfortunately I did not. I regret to say I suffered a grave illness which rendered me quite unfit.”

  “For the entire six years?” John asked.

  “I assure you, sir, my draft did not go unanswered. My father sent two of our best servants in my stead.”

  Adam calmly set his glass down on the table. “Dulane, precisely how were they convinced to go in your stead?”

  “They were indentured, sir. They were bound by contract to do my father’s bidding, and if you imply we were unjust, be assured they were happy to go. I further assure you we were more than generous to their wives. We gave them an additional ration of cloth and all the food they wanted for the children.”

  “And did the men return?” Steven asked.

  “They did, unfortunately. The ungrateful swine turned on us. They declared their contracts fulfilled, loaded their families in our best wagon and left.”

  “And you could not stop them?” John asked.

  “How could we? The militia gave them muskets!” Dulane gulped down the last of his drink, and then held out his glass. “Another, Clifton.”

  “Yez, Massah,” Clifton muttered, slowly bringing the bottle around the table.

  For a time, there was an uneasy lull in the conversation. Dulane watched Clifton take his time refilling his glass while Steven knocked spent tobacco into the water bowl. John kept his eyes downward, and Adam was struggling to suppress his laughter.

  “I’ll have another myself,” Adam said finally.

  Noticeably, the elder African hastened to reach Adam’s side of the table. “Miss Rose, she say she best not sees ya drunk, Massah Adam.”

  “Miss Rose is fortunate to have you, Clifton,” Adam said, rolling his eyes.

  “Yez, Massah, I knows it.”

  “A toast, gentlemen,” Steven said, “to the end of that abominable war!”

  “Hear, hear,” the others said, raising their glasses. They drank the toast, but the air remained uncomfortable.

  At last John spoke, “Dulane, will you be taking my cousin Maralee to your plantation? I cannot think she would be happy so far from Mahala.”

  “Her father said the same just last week. He has begged me to take a post in Yorktown, and I have accepted.”

  “What sort of post?” John asked.

  “Furs, Cousin John,” Dulane answered. “I am to oversee consignments of furs on his ship.”

  John wrinkled his brow, “Are you quite certain he said furs? I wasn’t—”

  “Speaking of Ben Franklin,” Adam quickly interrupted, “I hear he’s turned his attention to the abolition of slavery.”

  “Yes, and the man owns slaves himself,” Dulane sneered.

  “A two-sidedness not lost on the South,” Steven added.

  “Yes, but he’s an old man. How’s he to manage his property without them?” Adam asked.

  “He cannot, sir, none of us can,” Steven answered.

  “You favor slavery?” John asked Steven.

  Steven shrugged. “Favor, no. In dire need of slavery, yes. A man has no choice if he expects to prosper. He can, however, see they are treated fairly.”

  “Fair treatment or not, they lack the freedom to come and go as they please,” John said.

  “Go where, sir? Freed, they would soon fall to the mercy of slavers. Without land, they must seek employment, and who can afford to pay? Fortunate indeed is the freed man who can provide more than one meal a day for his family.”

  “We could send them back to Africa,” Adam said, his pipe burned out and his glass again empty, “were any whites willing to pay their passage.”

  “And we could free them and offer fair wages,” said John.

  Dulane’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “Good heavens, man, we cannot free them. How would they survive without our supervision? They cannot think as well as we.”

  “Nonsense,” said John.

  “Cousin John, no matter how hard we attempt to teach them, they cannot even speak proper English,” Dulane countered.

  “Indeed? Do you teach them with a whip?” John asked, his ire rising.

  “Well...”

  Steven calmly interrupted, “There is one who might prove you sadly mistaken, Dulane. They say he can recite the entire Bible, including the begets.”

  “You must mean Banutu?” Dulane smirked.

&
nbsp; “Who?” John asked.

  “Banutu,” Dulane answered smugly. “He’s a fearsome, monstrous darky who’s obviously been hung. Pity they did not kill him. The slaves believe he is an African king come back from the dead to free them. What he truly is, sir, is a heartless, cold-blooded murderer. Three whites dead at last count.”

  “Seven,” Steven corrected, “and if, as you say, he cannot think so well as we, how has he managed to avoid every sheriff in the South?”

  “Seven?” Adam asked incredulously. “Have they any proof against him?”

  “What proof do they need?” Dulane asked. “Once a darky murders, he acquires a taste for it.”

  “Just as slave owners acquire a taste for slavery?” John asked.

  Dulane narrowed his eyes, “Might I remind you, Cousin John, you own them yourself.”

  “I do not own them, they...” John started. But before he could finish, Maralee walked out the front door. Quickly, all the men got to their feet – all except Dulane, who took the time to down the last of his drink before rising.

  “Dulane,” Maralee softly asked, “aren’t you going to dance with me?”

  “Of course, my dear,” Dulane replied, making his way around the table. When he reached her, he gently kissed her cheek. Then he remembered the pipe in his hand. “I was about to come in anyway,” he went on, tossing his lit pipe in the box.

  As soon as Dulane and Maralee were out of sight, the other men slowly sat back down in silence. Clifton poured more rum for Steven, and John relit his pipe. Adam retrieved Dulane’s smoldering pipe and began knocking the tobacco into the water bowl.

  “He’ll simply not do,” Steven moaned finally.

  “I cannot think why my uncle has allowed this to happen,” John said. “And what’s this about furs?”

  Adam shrugged. “First I heard of it, but think of the benefits to Maralee. Dulane will often be out to sea.”

  John bowed his head. “The entire Empire would benefit if Dulane were out to sea, but a full week of him and MacGreagor will give up sailing.”

  Busying himself with his chores, Clifton discreetly watched each man’s face.

  “Perhaps we might pay this Banutu to frighten him away,” Adam suggested.