Tory and I
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Tory DaughterChapter 32 free porn video
A week later Anne awoke to the smell of smoke. She slid from her high bed, hurried to a window and saw an orange glow. She trotted down the hall to the back bedroom and could clearly see that her sheds were on fire. She hurried down the stairs, grabbed her long shawl, got her feet into her start-up boots and ran outside and right to her horses. She led them, one by one, to the well and tied their halters there and then saw that Philippa and Miranda were on the back porch along with the big barn cat. With their help, she cleaned out the smokehouse and set Moses to salvaging some of the tools and the harnesses. The goats were already out of their stalls and wandering about, chewing on weeds while chickens and ducks flapped about, some of them up in the trees. The cat just sat, folded inward, and watched, eyes almost closed.
Then Anne and her people stood together silently as the outbuildings burned to the ground except for the brick and fieldstone smokehouse which only lost its roof. Some of the fowl survived, but her old outhouse, crooked corncrib, and open-fronted sheds were gone, nothing but blackened sticks and ashes and her buggy had been lost with them, one scorched wheel leaning forlornly in the scattered debris. The big, gray cat sat beside Anne but the five kittens it had recently produced were no more. She had started carrying them out in her mouth when a collapsing doorframe scared her, and she had to abandon the effort.
In the morning Anne rode to the Riley farm and hired two of the full-grown boys to come and dig a new latrine and build a necessary, and then clear the rubble and raise a small, lean-to barn for the horses and tools and a new chicken coop plus a roof for the smokehouse. She gave them all the paper money she had at home and promised to get more by nightfall.
Then she rode to the lawyer's office where Philip, as usual, was studying; three books open on his table, his lap filled with foolscap. Mr. Maguire was absent since court was in session.
"I thought you'd be over there, in the courthouse," she said as she sat across from him and tossed back her unruly hair. She tried to swallow her anger.
"Took a deposition this morning, something about salt and a steam." He smiled at her and then noted her worried look and a smudge on her cheek. "What's wrong?"
"We had a fire. House is safe; wind saved it I guess, but the outbuildings are gone, all of them, along with some of chickens and ducks, a lot of my tools, even my outhouse and the wagon. I rescued the horses and the goats."
"Lord, that's awful. Nobody hurt?" He stood quickly and reached for her.
"Moses scorched his hands. It's a big loss. I've got the Rileys started rebuilding." She smiled and took her offered hand. "Good excuse for a new necessary. I will have to buy a buggy. We saved the hams and bacon, some of the tools, the old plow."
"Let's go see the sheriff and then Mr. Maguire, if he's free. He's got several clients for this session. I guess you need some money." He sat again.
She nodded. "And some advice."
The sheriff was a middle-aged man with a bald head and a ginger mustache, a product of his tobacco use for the most part. He listened to Anne's description of the fire, of what she had seen before it fully engulfed her row of wooden buildings. He promised to come out and look and to set people to asking questions. "Sometimes the idiots that do this kind of thing brag about it, especially when they get to drinking. Who do you think did it?"
She told him of the three men who had come asking for money for the loyal regiment and of Mr. Sinclair's loud threats. He took some notes and promised to keep her informed.
They went to the old, log courthouse, found the court in adjournment and were told that Mr. Maguire and one of his clients were eating at the nearby tavern. Anne was well aware that proper ladies did not frequent the place, but came right in and sat beside her lawyer, ignoring the stares, raking back her lustrous hair and pulling her shawl tightly to her body, conscious of the whispers.
Maguire dismissed his client, finished his beer, wiped his mouth and asked why Anne had come. She quickly told him of the fire and her losses.
"Did you see anyone, hear a horse or anything?" he asked, his high forehead furrowed with concern. "You didn't shoot at anybody, did you?"
"It was dark, no moon, and I saw no one, not a soul. The fire was well along from the far end of the row and at two other spots by the time the smell woke me."
"Let's go see the judge. This is disgraceful, my dear." He snorted and stood, obviously distressed.
The magistrate welcomed the three of them while he was ladling up soup and hacking at heavy dumplings the size of toadstools in his shallow bowl. "I know those men. All of them are good and trustworthy people, natives you understand; families have been here since the Indians were about, long as your family and the Tilghmans nohow."
He slurped up more soup and devoured a half a dumpling while Anne and her lawyers waited, shifting from foot to foot, trying to look patient.
"Slave owners, yes sir, lots a'tobacca, acres of it, all three of them fellers. Loyal of course. Paying for it in taxes. Unhappy about that, about a lot of things. Think they all have kin in the Tory legion." He looked up and smiled. "Heard 'bout you, Miss Conroy, that I have. And you are as advertised, yessir." He smiled at her. "Doubt there's two."
He tipped his bowl and finished with a piece of bread, mopping up the juices.
"Think this goes beyond warnings. I'll have them brought in by the sheriff, issue a few summonses I suppose, and we will discuss a peace bond." The judge produced a huge handkerchief and wiped his mouth and hands. "I will not make you any more popular, you understand young lady, make you no friends?"
Anne said she did understand and thanked him. She got some more paper money from Mr. Maguire's safe, and Philip borrowed a friend's horse and rode with her back to Pirate's Luck. The Riley boys were already hard at work digging a trench and a deep sump that would become the basic drainage area for the new outhouse after they dumped stones, gravel and hay into it. They had drawn up a list of materials, including nails, hinges and some other wrought iron work, and were happy to pocket the paper money Anne offered.
Followed by the gray cat, Philip wandered around in the ashes, kicking debris from time to time, and near the far end of the row, found a small metal can with a narrow spout, the kind used to fill oil lamps. He washed it off with well water and put it on the back porch. "Somebody might recognize it," he suggested. He went back and raked through the ashes and found the can's lid. Both he and Anne smelled the can and concluded that it had held whale oil or something of the sort.
"Whale oil's not common around here," Philip told her. "Most folks use tallow or some other animal fat; a lot still use homemade candles, a few favor olive oil when they can get it because it burns so clean. Somebody in town might recognize this. I'll start with McMillan; he sells the stuff. It isn't cheap."
The sheriff arrived early that afternoon and walked through the ashes, making some notes as the cat watched, eyes half closed. He praised Anne's good sense in rescuing her meats and suggested that the Rileys might be able to store the hams and bacon for her since they did a good bit of hog butchering and had a large facility, three times the size of hers. He looked at the estimate for lumber, nails and other materials and wrote that down as well.
Philip ate supper with Anne and then went back to town and the court sessions. Anne tied back her hair and went to visit the man who had purchased most of her land, wearing the fashionable gray dress her aunt had given her with a lacy veil tucked into the bodice, well aware of how much of her freckled chest it displayed.
While he was busy, she sat for an hour with an elderly slave and learned about making a seedbed and planting, transplanting and cultivating tobacco plants, which seemed to be an almost-year-round process with very few days of rest. The land owner, who had several farms, refused to discuss selling her back some of the Pirate's Luck land, saying he had coveted it for years, but he did give her a small package of tiny Orinoco tobacco seeds and wished her well, having spent ten minutes or so openly admiring her young body.
On Saturday when she rode in to market, for the first time since her father's funeral, she had no eggs to trade, in fact some of her chickens were still flapping around in the fruit trees. Mr. Maguire described the scene when the three men appeared before the judge, took a tongue lashing silently and then each posted peace bonds of one hundred pounds and were ordered to stay away from Anne Conroy and her property. "They did not look happy, my dear," said Mr. Maguire. "Not at all happy. They left stomping and cussing."
Through the factor at the town pier Anne made arrangements for the sawn lumber and split shingles to be delivered to her home. She showed Mr. McMillan the can Philip had found, and he said he never sold one like it, but he had seen a few. Then she visited the blacksmith and bought a small keg of cut nails and left him the list of the Rileys' needs in the way of hinges, latches and other iron work. He asked how her shooting was coming as he tied the keg on behind her saddle, and she said she had made some ammunition but had seldom practiced. He urged her to keep her pistol and one of the long guns loaded but not primed. "Been talk, lot a'talk," he told her. "Nasty talk, missy. And I think, jus' maybe, it's getting worse. Hate to see anything happen to you." He resisted the temptation to pat her butt and smiled as he watched her ride away, growling deep in his throat, enjoying himself and scratching at his groin as he pictured her naked.
At Philip's suggestion, Anne borrowed an elderly slave from the back room of McMillan's establishment, gave him a shilling and sat with him, their feet dangling off the side of the wharf for more than an hour, both chewing beef jerky, and she listening to his description of growing and harvesting tobacco, a job he had done for nearly fifty years.
Latisha
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