Chapter 21

The sun was barely a smear on the wide Bay when Anne's stepmother entered her bedroom and shook the sleeping girl's shoulder. "Wake, Anne. Wake up, girl," she said loudly.

Anne rolled over and opened her eyes, saw the stricken look on the woman's face, sat up and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Your father is dead, my girl. He died in his sleep. His body is already hard and cold."

Anne choked back a cry, inhaled deeply and put her feet on the floor. "Are you sure?" She felt as if there was a stone in her belly, a large cold stone and there was an odd ringing in her ears.

The obviously distraught woman nodded. "Quite sure. You should come and see him."

Anne shook her head. "I know what he looks like."

The funeral was held on the Eastern Shore with an itinerant minister from St. Luke's presiding and the burial was in the family plot at Pirate's Luck where Conroys had been laid to rest since 1687. After the brief ceremony in a cold rain, the family gathered with an attorney from Queenstown who had brought along a copy of Millard Greensbury Conroy's final will and brief testament. It was a very short document with no codicils that left each of the three women in her own small world of grief, need and confusion. The lawyer, who wore a loyal cockade on his lapel as well as on his tricorn, had been named executor.

Margaret Conroy cleared her throat, stood with her hand on the back of a chair, took a deep breath, and looked out the window at the sheets of rain. She sighed before she spoke. "You should know, girls, that your father died deeply in debt, mired very deeply, many would call it bankrupt. I was surprised, most surprised, quite disappointed. The new house in Annapolis and this dingy farm are both encumbered. He did own two ships, as you know, quite valuable ships, but they are both hired out, and the last I heard both may have been lost at sea. Let us assume that is," she took a deep and shuddering breath, "assume that is true. It decreases the estate by nearly half." She exhaled loudly, obviously displeased.

Anne nodded. She had heard of the loss of the Janet Lune to a British frigate near the mouth of the St. Lawrence and then the wreck of the April May in a Hatteras storm. Evidently there were survivors from both incidents who had carried the news. "What shall we do?" she asked, surprising herself by saying that recurrent thought aloud. She felt a shudder pass through her, a cold wind she labeled "dread."

The lawyer shuffled his papers, gave her a brief glance and said, "I suggest that you sell the Annapolis house, which I'm told is a fine place, pay your debts, and then share what is left, if anything. Bankruptcy is an option, but I would advise against it, causes bad feelings you know, and you can, I'm sure, sell this land. Slave prices, especially for fieldhands, have been rising recently. They should easily take care of the mortgage on this side of the Bay. I will see to the probate formality when you are satisfied. Just send me the accounting."

"We have more than a hundred acres here," said Anne's sister. "And then there are the slaves, quite a number of slaves."

"There are four people in Annapolis if you count that worthless stable boy," said the girls' stepmother. "How many are here on the farm?"