Chapter 24

Anne was dressed to work in the overgrown kitchen garden when Moses announced that she had some visitors he had put in the front parlor. With her huge mop of red hair tied back and wearing muddy boots, her father's old trousers and an over-sized shirt that hung almost to her knees, her rope belt in her hand and, as she often was these days, corset free, Anne found three serious-looking, be-wigged men standing in the room, all three in rusty black coats of an old-fashioned cut and knee britches; all three wearing loyal cockades. She asked them to sit and took a chair herself, a bit embarrassed about her appearance but keeping her chin high.

"Mistress Conroy," said the oldest, who remained standing, his tricorn hat under his arm and a small, leather-covered tablet in his wrinkled hand, "this is a very serious business, very serious. Going through the courthouse records we have found that one Millard Conroy, giving this plantation as his address, signed an oath of loyalty to the new government, the government in revolt against his majesty, our dear king." He looked as if he had swallowed a very sour quince.

"Yes." Anne looked at the white-wigged man and found disdain, she was sure that was the acidic word. "He told me that he had done that. Said it would save our property from double taxes." She tried to ignore his cold stare of disapproval. "It did not mean anything to him." She licked her lips, a bit embarrassed and took a deep breath. "Or to me, sir."

"Your father?" the man asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "We can't have this, Miss Conroy, not from an old family like yours. I know him well, an honorable man."

"Yes, my father. He had to do it, sir." She nodded and waited, confused because the county government, as far as she knew, was basically for independency, had been hard on known Tories, calling them into tax courts, part of the new state process with its freshly-minted constitution. This was an old worry returning, finding its accustomed place and burrowing in.

"Where is he, the honorable Millard Conroy?" The group's obvious leader had not bothered to introduce himself or the other men.

"In heaven, I suppose," she said, holding back her anger.

"He's dead?" asked one of the other men, rubbing his bulbous nose.

"Buried right out there." Anne waved. "We haven't put up a stone yet."

"Well," said the third man, a gaunt figure with bony hands, "we are here to collect support for the loyal regiments, Miss, especially Colonel James Chalmers' brave boys of the First Battalion, some three hundred men, all from the Shore, from the best families. Winter's comin' on and they need support, heavy clothes."

"I fear I cannot help you. I am nearly penniless." Anne looked from man to man and got back stony stares. "Honestly," she said, hearing a quiver in her voice.

"You held an auction, young lady, did you not, recently?" The leader of the group wore an old-fashioned wig that had seen better days. "Sold some slaves, didn't you, at good prices?"

Anne nodded. "My stepmother and my sister received most of the money, divided it. I have inherited this place as my third of the estate. I don't have two shillings to rub together." It was an exaggeration but not much of one since most of what she had was paper money of dubious value.

"I see," said the oldest, waving at the other two. "We're sorry about your father, our condolences. But we really need some support. We expect it, and from some we demand it. It's disgraceful, the amount of wheat going down the Chester to feed the rebels."

"Don't want your family name dishonored, do you?" asked the red-faced man, a member of the large Sinclair family, some of whom still spelled it St. Clair.

"No, of course not," Anne told him quickly. "But I have nothing for you. I'm sorry." She controlled her breathing, bile in her throat. "Really."

As the other men rose, the oldest leaned toward her ear and breathed, "You know, young lady, old wooden places like this, there's always a danger of fire. Keep that in mind." He frowned at her, his mouth a thin line, and clamped on his mossy hat. His breath was foul.

Anne choked back a reply and got to her feet, feeling her anger rising. "I think we are done here." She took a deep breath and looked for Moses, feeling her legs quivering and her anger mounting.

She saw them to the door, closed it firmly and then went back to her work, her mind in turmoil. She spaded out the row of shriveled potato plants and salvaged a basket full and then did the same with what had been two rows of stunted carrots and another of fat turnips.

Since there was very little wind and with the old man's warning in her head, Anne set fire to her long kitchen garden and with the cautious help of both Philippa and Miranda managed to burn off most of the dead stalks, debris and weeds and then gave each girl a hoe and told them to dig out the roots that remained. She mucked out the open stable that sheltered her two horses and hauled the straw and manure to the garden and set her slaves to spreading it about. After putting fresh timothy grass and dry hay in the horses' stalls and a scoop of oats in the feed trays, she took a look at her tack and brought the heavy harnesses to the house for Moses to oil and mend.