The Stablemaster's Son

The

Stablemaster’s Son

A Novel by

Johnnie Mcdonald

Frankie and Johnnie Publications

2 Grove Isle Drive, #1403

Coconut Grove, Florida 33133

Copyright © 2017, Johnnie McDonald

All Rights Reserved

Other Publicatons by Johnnie Mcdonald

NOVELS

The Deweyville Church Secretary Trilogy with Frankie Carroll:

Devil’s Basement, Book One

Loose LIPS, Book Two

Boilerman, Book Three

The Property

Final Test

Texans First, The New Republic

Haunted Hearts

Trail Ride

Channel Lineage Trilogy:

Bondsman, Book One

The Stablemaster, Book Two

The Stablemaster’s Son, Book Three

BIOGRAPHY

Something Special by Frank and Peg Brady with Johnnie McDonald

Disclaimer

No, the Channels of the Channel Lineage Trilogy are not the Channels with whom you may be acquainted or related in contemporary Virginia. Those Channels, as well as historical events, have inspired the author to create fictional stories and characters recounted in The Stablemaster’s Son. References to real people, incidents, dates, or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity, not to represent historical fact. Keeping to what could have been, what might have happened, is the intent.

No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Dedication

I set out to craft a series about indentured servants who comprised a major percentage of immigrants to the colonies in the first couple hundred years of our settlement. I was unable to write about these bondsmen without writing about the slaves who were brought here unwillingly. Both groups faced unknown futures, hardships, cruel masters, and the scorn of the well-to-do who often looked down upon them as inferior; in the case of black slaves, as chattel. The bonded eventually received freedom—the slaves did not. White and black often worked side by side, and it was upon their backs that the colonies were borne to prosperity, and it was their lives that were slain when wars tore it apart.

In the Stablemaster’s Son, I continue the Channel Legacy of horsemanship, and I write about the love of a father for a son, the devotion to an extended family despite their color, and the beginnings of the struggle for independence by a fledgling nation.

I am filled with admiration for unknown ancestors who dared to dream, and for those who continue to struggle to earn respect and a rightful place in our contemporary society.

Chapter One

They were dead. Robbins, Lambert, and Manchester were dead. The kidnappers, the murderers, the rapist: they were all dead. All had been erased from the earth by the hand of a Channel, and Finnie felt no remorse, no shame, no need to confess the crimes to the law or her maker.

As the rocker tilted back and forth, its gentle rhythm providing succor to the woman who had stabbed one man in the heart and shot another in the head, Finnie Channel attempted to rid her mind of the offenses she had undertaken for revenge. Rather, she envisioned the two-room cottage behind the stable where she and Will had first made love, and where Liam was conceived and born over thirty-five years ago. Her life with Lord Trammel and Lady Lucille Trammel at La Belle Plantation near the James River had been blessed beyond any she could have imagined when she stole aboard a ship bound for the colonies in seventeen hundred and two. Dressed as a boy, her Irish temper landed her in the bowels of the ship where Will Channel was taking care of the valuable Arabian horses worth more than the fee paid to the London courts for his freedom from Newgate Prison. Both Will, and Finnie when it was discovered she was a lassie, were indentured to the Trammels of Virginia, and their early lives of depravation converted to good fortune.

Will became the stablemaster caring for the horses he loved, and she a maid to Madame Lucille who not only educated her in house management as well as etiquette, but befriended her. In time, the love simmering between the shy Will Channel and the brazen Irish lass boiled to the surface, and their marriage was approved by the Trammels. But malevolent forces often interceded for the young newlyweds, upsetting the balance between farm work, family devotion, and a promising future. On more than one occasion during their marriage, Finnie found herself fighting against the foes of greed, power, and jealousy. When Will was murdered and her fifteen-year-old son Liam was forced to complete his father’s servitude by a greedy Norfolk magistrate, she nearly collapsed in despair.

She and Lucille both became widows as the result of murdering fiends. Lucille moved to Philadelphia to be near her daughter Michelle and her three grandchildren children, as well as her son Roget who lived in Boston. When Lucille received word of Will’s death, she returned to Virginia and forced Finnie to relocate to Philadelphia with her. Finnie soon discovered distraction in a growing city with congestion and noisy environs. And years later, when a grown Liam followed his employer’s son to Philadelphia for the boy’s education, she was happy to have her son close at hand. Liam’s charge was one Master Raynes Bridger, the confidential grandson she was unable to acknowledge.

It had been over a year since she had traveled to Surry County, Virginia to deal with Réne Lambert, the man exposed as the murderer of her husband. Over a year since Raynes had been kidnapped by Quentin Manchester. Over a year with peace and tranquility reigning in the lives of those she loved. It was the longevity of calm which concerned her, fearing it to be wrecked by a new calamity.

Finnie continued to rock on the rear porch of Madame Lucille’s impressive brick house on Front Street and attempted to compose her wandering mind and alleviate unfounded fears. She watched the help, both hired and enslaved, go about their business of marketing, hocking, delivering, toiling in the early morning hours of a late winter’s day, and enjoying the unusual sunshine while dodging mudholes from thawing snows. She preferred the rear over the front where the wealthy drove down the street in well-appointed carriages or sauntered along the boardwalk in silk frocks with four-foot-wide panniers and ridiculous plumed hats atop foot-high pompadours. Although there was the time a mouse ran under the hoops of the mayor’s wife who became excited, jumped off the walk into on a pile of horse manure, and landed with her feet in the air atop a broken jumble of whale bone. And the other occasion when a Blue Jay swooped down on the wealthy Dowager Woodson and plucked the ostrich feathered-hat off her wigged head causing the entire structure to wobble, making Woodson weave like a drunken harlot across the walk to finally totter over into the geraniums. Of course, Finnie had the gall to laugh at the women whose humiliation was worse than the grief of a deceased spouse. Ah, twas a fine humorous sight if ever I seen one, Finnie announced when she described the incidents to Lucille. But I may be summoned before the mayor and fined for public hilarity for laughin’ at them ladies. I’ll take me chances at the rear of the house from now on, if ye please, Lucy. The alleyway consisted of authentic working people and it was there Finnie occasionally gossiped with a scullery maid who spoke the Irish or at least maintained the brogue. She felt comfortable with the working class, with those who did not put on airs or were not overwrought by slight inconvenience. Even the recent title Lucille had christened the house, La Belle Maison, seemed to Finnie a pomposity. But Lucille favored everything belle: La Belle Plantation and Lady Belle Equestrian Farm, her previous homesteads.

Not many in Philadelphia knew Finnie’s background; they certainly had no idea the petite blonde with the dancing green eyes and faded freckles could be a cold, calculating murderess, a subversive, or a woman who more than once portrayed herself as the male sex to achieve an objective. The Finnie Channel of Pennsylvania was known as the witty companion of Madame Lucille Trammel, former owner of Lady Belle Equestrian Farm of Virginia. No one questioned Finnie’s background, despite the lapsed grammar and the Irish tilt, because she and Lucille found themselves hobnobbing with the likes of entrepreneurs, financiers, elite, even Benjamin Franklin. These progressive individuals found Finnie and Lucille fun and clever, progressive, as well as outspoken abolitionists. Franklin and his Leather Apron Club friends often took refuge at La Belle Maison, enjoying home cooked meals prepared by Rose, the slave who refused freedom, and discretely discussing ideas deemed outrageous in other salons. It was these liberal-minded personages whom Madame Lucille intended to entertain this very evening.

I’m supposin’ I ought get up from this here chair and prepare meself for tonight. Hope that old fart Viscounte Dado Vasseur with his horse hair wig don’t come. His breath is bad enough to gag a pig and his proposals of sexual congress are insultin’. Hope I sit by Mister Franklin and hear more about the glass tube sent over from Germany. Don’t understand this electricity or what good tis. Wish Liam would come to our soirees, as Lucy calls these shindigs. He’d like Mister Franklin’s ideas, but my son is content with his horses or bein’ at his cottage in the country when Raynes is home from school. Um. Glenneth will be here tonight. I wish Liam would break it off or marry the woman. Her reputation as a schemer don’t bother me, nor the rumors she’s taken many lovers. What bothers is her love for Liam, a passion he doesn’t share—one of ‘em is gonna end up hurt. Ah, me mind keeps flittin’ ‘round. Now I’ve got thoughts of Raynes, Lilith, and Ned runnin’ through me head. Keepin’ Raynes from learnin’ I’m his natural granny and Liam is his genuine daddy is a torture.

Ah, the truth is a worriment with so many secrets to keep, and secrets keep you a prisoner to your heart. Finnie’s thoughts turned to Raynes Bridger, and prayed he would not learn the truth of his birth: that he is the son of an indentured servant and a scullery maid. To ensure his son’s entitlement to a future of education and privilege, Liam swore to conceal the truth from the boy and to dedicate his life to protecting him.

Another secret to keep is that of Ned Belle. The year before, Liam followed his mother to Virginia where she shot Rène Lambert, the crazy Frenchman who murdered her husband to gain control of Lady Belle Equestrian Farm. While in Virginia, Saul Belle begged Liam to help Ned escape to the north where he would learn his letters and a skill. Ned, son of Saul who worked as a saddle maker at Lady Belle and Julia, a mulatto slave on the Captain Elias Dearbourne Estate, was nearing thirteen and his future in the cotton fields appeared grim. Now residing at Liam’s cottage and with Raynes as his tutor, Ned had proved to be an apt student, but the family lived in fear that Dearbourne would find Ned and enslave him again.

And the other confidence to maintain regarded Lilith, the delightful and spirited girl adopted by Lucille. Lily had shown herself to possess an intelligent and independent streak to match that of her friends, Raynes and Ned. I worry what will become of the sweet girl when she grows up. Mary, dear Mother of God, I got to balance the good with the bad, and count me blessin’s. Can’t go livin’ in the past or go lookin’ to heap more trouble on me head. I took me revenge on Lambert, and years ago on Lord Byron Trammel’s killer Jack Robbins, and now I got to get on with me life and pray for the best. Me Aunt Cori from County Kildare named me Fionnula, meanin’ big shoulders, sayin’ I would need ‘em in this life filled with hate and hazard. "Diabhal. Been sittin’ in this rocker too long and me old bones have stiffened up," she complained aloud to no one.

Like a phantom with a need to haunt, the rocker continued its forward and backward pitch when Finnie vacated it along with the ghosts of her past. When she entered the kitchen, she spied Rose dusted from head to toe with flour, her hands working with speed to beat a mixture. What are you fixin’ there, Rose?

Them petty fours Madame favors, Rose answered. In her mid-forties, Rose was a timid woman who kept her head down and her whereabouts confined to the house unless she was accompanied by a known companion to the markets. Her loyalties to Lucille and Finnie, for nursing her through abuse at the age of twelve by Jack Robbins, was undying, as was the combination of French and Irish accents and colloquialisms.

You mean them little biddy cakes with flowers on ‘em nobody likes? Finnie wrinkled her impish nose.

"Ouí, Mistress Finnie. I keep tellin’ Madame Lucille the monsieurs don’t fancy them, but she don’t wanna hear it. I’m fixin’ apple tarts and blueberry cobbler, too. Maintenant, there won’t be a morsel left when the monsieurs taste me cobbler. And I got me a fat goose stewin’."

I’ll be back to help ye finish up the goose and the turnips later, Rose. Just gonna go up and prepare me bath. As Finnie left the kitchen and walked into the hallway, Lilith scampered down the stairs, the long ringlets of her molasses-colored hair swinging side to side.

"Auntie Finnie, I have been searching for you. Aunt Lucille says I am to assist you with your toilette."

"Your Aunt Lucille doesn’t want me wearin’ the same frock I done wore last month and she wants me to rub that sticky rouge on me cheeks. Humph. Tell your Auntie Lucille I’m able to manage me toilette fine by me ownself and I’m capable of pinchin’ me cheeks. But I’ll not be wearin’ the cage beneath me dress or none of them dead parakeets in me hair. Now, Lilith, what was it you were told about runnin’ down these here stairs like a goat herder?"

Lilith giggled, displaying dimples in her rosy cheeks. That a young lady must not run, but should gracefully descend the stairs with one dainty foot in front of the other. I do believe you are changing the subject, Auntie Finnie.

"Aye, well, me mind has been dwellin’ on so many matters this mornin’ that it’s got a hard time decidin’ where it should light. Speakin’ of toilettes, did I tell you about the time I had me first water bath?"

Lilith blinked her eyes, knowing she was about to hear another tale from one of the women she called auntie, but considered a mother. No, you have not conveyed such a tale. She took Finnie’s arm and assisted her to ascend the stairs.

Well, child, I had just gotten off the boat in Norfolk in seventeen hundred aught two. Twas on the boat I met the handsome Will Channel who was workin’ below with them Arabians. After Lord Trammel found out I was a fourteen-year-old lass and not a skinny lad with me voice changin’, he bonded me for five years. I demanded to work in the barn with Will, but Trammel said I was to become a maid to his wife. I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meetin’ Madame Lucille, but I was told she was a high strung, finicky lady from France with fancy notions. Now, I’d been livin’ in the same clothes for months, boy’s clothes they was, and I’d never had a bath with me body dunked all at once. They say it took four women and two tubs of water to clean me up. They also say I scratched, bit, fought, hissed, and swore like a sailor, in both English and the Irish. In the end, I didn’t recognize me ownself when I was standin’ in a frock with stripes and lace. Now, have I told ye about the butter churn what was possessed and dumped its contents on the cook, or about the wicked hen what roosted in Aunt Lucille’s hair?

No, Aunt Finnie, but I should love to hear both stories, Lilith responded sweetly, even though she had heard the tales numerous times.

* * *

Liam had not intended to attend one of Madame Lucille’s soirees. Glenneth’s growing discomposure at having to go about Philadelphia society events unchaperoned had embarrassed him, and he had acquiesced when she argued there was an individual with whom she wished him to become acquainted. Other than hiring and shielding the escaped slaves Lucille and his mother harbored in their rebellious plots to undermine the slave laws of the south, he was generally nonpolitical. As a business owner, however, taxes and civic regulations affecting his companies were of great concern.

Liam owned the Channel Carriage and Livery which supplied carriages for hire to the public, as well as provided rental space for wealthy patrons who wished to store their carriages and horses. Stage coaches running between Philadelphia and Reading were a new line of business and one flourishing. Lady Glenneth Burns had provided seed money to Liam to begin his business when he first came to Philadelphia some four years before, and he had repaid the debt and continued providing her proceeds from the businesses. He also partnered with Bergen Wheelwright, a blacksmith and carriage maker, to establish Wheelwright Carriage Trade in which carriages of all types were built and repaired. Wheelwright, a sturdy Welshman, had proved to be industrious and loyal. And in Virginia, at the Virginia Saddlery, slaves Joshua Belle and his son Saul produced saddlery and tack at Lady Belle Equestrian Farm which were sent north for use by the Carriage and Livery. Exquisite and expensive saddles were often made to specification for those wealthy enough to pay for the finest saddles in Virginia. Little did they know the manufacturers were black slaves. Although Madame Lucille and her son Roget, a lawyer living in Boston, had tried numerous times to arrange freedom for their slaves, the Virginia laws would not permit it. The mindset of plantation owners who controlled the courts could not be persuaded; their dictum remained steadfast: once a slave always a slave. The Belles were unable to leave Lady Belle without papers and guardians, but in their daily lives they eluded the hardships encountered by their brothers and sisters at other farms. They lived in a fine house, were paid a salary under the table, and answered to no malevolent master.

Never had Liam thought to be an entrepreneur in the city, but he had become successful beyond expectation. To ensure he was aware of political affairs which would affect him personally, he agreed to escort Glenneth to the dinner party. Not allowing his paramour to dictate his attire, he had requested Cleo brush the suit of clothes he had purchased as his one concession to polite society. A plain broadcloth waistcoat of brown with wooden buttons, woolen breeches not overly tight, cotton stockings and linen neckstock, long riding boots, and an overcoat of green wool would serve. No wig, no silks or lace, no brass or velvet ribbons. Liam worked in a stable where the odors of horseflesh, horse piss, and manure perfumed the air. He bore no shame nor did he ever apologize for the evidence of his profession.

Cleo, have you seen Raynes?

Yes, sir. He and Ned have gone with Mika to hunt down the sneaky fox who keeps getting into my hen house.

Um. So, the fox is to blame for the lack of eggs for breakfast. Perhaps you shall have a fox pelt to fashion into a muff. Well, notify me when they return. I wish to have a word with Master Raynes before I go into town. Oh, and would you help me tie a decent knot in this blasted stock? Liam knelt on the floor so that Cleo could reach his neck. At six-foot-two, his head nearly touched the ceiling.

Certainly, sir. Although Cleo was missing fingers on her left-hand due to torture enacted by a previous plantation master, she was adept at performing any task requested. Cleo was another of Lucille and Finnie’s rescued slaves, and she was now wife to Mika Belle, brother to Saul of Virginia. Mika and Cleo had taken it upon themselves to become substitute parents for the displaced Ned, guiding him in the ways of a world of which he had been entirely unfamiliar as a child picking cotton and tobacco leaves on the Dearbourne Estate of Virginia.

The sound of heavy footfalls in the mudroom and the directives of Cleo to the returning males to remove their filthy shoes and coats, alerted Liam the hunting party had returned. Their jubilation told him they had been successful in finding the egg thief.

I got him, Liam, bragged Raynes. Shot him from fifty yards while he sat on a log licking his paws.

Good show, Raynes. I paid several pounds to smuggle the newest Charleville musket in from France. How did it shoot?

It was Ned who answered. There was a bit of pulling to the right at first, Liam, but we adjusted the frizzen spring and practiced shooting acorns off limbs before we headed into the woods.

Yes, Liam, you should see what a good shot Ned has become. He is able to aim more steadily and shoot more strategically at a greater distance than I, Raynes complimented his constant companion. I was lucky to have gotten a bead on the fox.

They are both good marksmen, Liam, Mika interjected. With time and practice, perhaps expert. Ah, Cleo my good wife, what have you prepared for our supper? We, the conquering heroes, have been up since dawn and are famished.

Still unused to being considered a married woman, an illegal status for slaves, Cleo ducked her head and batted her eyes at her husband of two years. A rabbit stew with root vegetables is simmering, my husband. But, Mika, you and these growing boys will deplete our lauder before winter is done if you allow your innards to take command. Why, just yesterday I moved over a button on your waistcoat.

Mika grabbed Cleo in a bear hug and replied, Tis your good cooking, woman, which forces my belly to crave more than it should eat. And I love your rabbit stew. When do we eat?

When the males had enjoyed second helpings of stew, baking powder biscuits with sorghum, and a goodly slice of apple pie, Liam called Raynes into his study for a word. Raynes, I am going into town this evening to have dinner with your aunts. Twill be late, so I shall remain in town and return early in the morning. I promised you we would begin to train the lot of horses your father sent up, and we shall start tomorrow. Twill be your first opportunity to saddle break and train them in the carriage harness. Do you have your studies finished? he asked of the gangly fifteen-year-old.

Yes, sir. My home studies of Latin, French, ancient history, geography, and mathematics are complete. The marks I achieved in these subjects have been exceptional thus far. I am having some difficulty with the philosophical studies of Aristotle, however, and the analysis and memorization of Shakespearean plays appear a waste of time. I am unable to determine which of Shakespeare’s works are tragedies and which are comedies.

Um. I must admit, I have never heard of this Aristotle and know nothing about Shakespeare, although I believe I have heard of him. What seems to perplex you about these subjects?

Raynes flopped into a chair and picked stickers out of his stockings. My instructor of philosophy comments that I have a practical mind, and such subjects which encompass rote memory or logical conclusion come easily for me. Even when variables are present, meaning numerous known or unknown factors which effect or alter an outcome, I am able to prioritize and debate. On the other hand, subjective matters, ones which require complex and theoretical interrogation, seem to elude my grasp. Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates lived more than a thousand years ago. I fail to find relevance in the conjectures of these ancient men who sat around in robes and contemplated the meaning of life. Even Father claimed that I had no head for the concept of the Deity, and when he tired of my questions, he simply told me to have faith and not bother about the proofs.

Liam scratched his head. He understood half of what Raynes had just articulated, and had no ready answers. Raynes, if you ask me how to repair a harness or about the foaling process, I would be prepared with an answer. Allow me to put a question to you. When you were abducted, were afraid you might not be rescued? What were your thoughts?

I was afraid I might not be rescued, he answered bluntly. I thought my abductors would either kill me or sell me to the captain of a pirate ship as an impressed sailor.

Ahem, I see. But did you worry beyond the potential of your death or captivity? Were you concerned about how your father, or I, would feel to lose you? Did you consider what you have done with your life thus far or felt sorrow for the future life you were possibly losing? Did you dwell on the why of it—about what led these men to perform that act of criminality? Have you put all the, uh, those variables you mentioned, together to determine why it was you who were kidnapped?

Raynes was temporarily silent, digesting the questions put to him. "Ah, you have identified both the rhetorical and the concrete in your queries, and you have made it unique to my situation. Um. Yes, I suppose those concerns were on my mind on some level when I was sitting in a cold, dark cave with my hands and feet bound and my stomach gnawing with hunger. I knew I was being kept by evil men, yet I did not ponder why they were evil when others, like you, are good. Even if I had, what good would it have done me?

I was quite young when Mother died, but I do remember her somewhat, of feeling safe and loved. But no, I never wondered what purpose a so-called benevolent God had in mind to take her from her son at such a tender age. Father and you were always beside me to comfort me after her death. Very well, I cede to your point, Liam. Philosophy has application to life, and the lack of concrete answers is why I find the abstract questions nonsensical.

Liam tousled Raynes’ untidy hair. Quentin Manchester, the man who planned your abduction for the purpose of ransom, was a wicked man. He was raised in a household of privilege and wealth. Did the circumstance of his pampered upbringing make him a criminal, or was he born with a black-mark upon his soul? Ahem, you are correct, Raynes. Sometimes, the origins do not matter. And yet, I find myself at times pondering why certain events have happened as they have. Is it a waste of time to wonder? Does the examination make for better judgement in the future? Well, this is certainly a serious conversation to be had. I shall endeavor to speak with Benjamin Franklin this evening about this philosophy business. I understand he is an expert on the subject. Now, where were we?

Raynes’ answer was a jest. We were talking about horses, Liam, as always.

Chapter Two

Arriving with road dust and perspiration on his attire would result in a tongue lashing by his mother and a visual scrutiny by Glenneth, and such criticisms would serve to negate his jolly disposition. After plopping the tricorn on his head, Liam saddled Raven, and the two friends headed for Philadelphia at a leisurely gait rather than his usual hell bent. It was a clear, but crisp February afternoon, free of moisture. As was his habit since a boy, he talked to his horse about subjects of import or no importance at all as they rode along. He grinned to himself as he recalled the conversation he and Raynes shared after the noon meal. Raven, the boy has a brilliant head on his shoulders. If philosophy and Shakespeare are the only matters in which he is unable to excel, I shall not fret. He has taught Lilith, and now Ned, more than just to read and write; they are both well-educated and on the path to becoming productive citizens. Raynes is a gentleman, not given to flights of fancy as so many young people are want to do. Ahem. Well, he sometimes is a scallywag, endeavoring to pester and prank Ned and Lilith or his masters at The Academy. But he does not mind getting his hands dirty. It makes my heart glad when he toils beside me, working the horses, learning respect for physical labor. I believe he understands that professions requiring clean hands are not the only important jobs. Men and women who build and repair, grow and harvest, raise stock and feed the masses, are the back bone of this new country. I shall be proud to see him off to Boston Latin School and then to Harvard soon where he will learn to become a financier or a man of letters. Aye, Raven, my son will be prepared to help forge these colonies to greater glory, of that I am convinced.

While contemplating Raynes’ future, Liam reminisced about the station of his own life when he was Raynes’ age. Although he was already working as a stable hand at Lady Belle with the horses he loved on the farm he considered should have belonged to his father, Liam was forced into servitude for five years when Will Channel was murdered. It was close to the end of his indenture that he and Villa Brooks, a scullery maid serving the Manchesters of Norfolk for whom Liam often delivered horses, secretly wed in a common-law marriage. Unbeknownst to him, Quentin Manchester raped his wife, and the consequences led to her death. Liam was informed that Villa and the child she carried had died.

At age twenty, Liam was granted freedom from the indenture contract and later awarded fifty acres by the House of Burgesses, a promise enacted by the King of England when Liam’s father was first indentured. At last, Liam was considered a yeoman, an owner of land and an individual with the skill of horse husbandry. Capital was required for the construction of a house and the purchase of horses, and to this end, aided by his reputation, he secured work for Shenandoah Farms in northern Virginia as its stablemaster. An intended short stay of a year or two turned into permanent employment when Liam discovered Hamilton Bridger’s three-year-old