On the road between Williamsburg and Richmond
Sophia had remained hopeful throughout her ordeal, but she had yet to be quite as hopeful as she was on the coach ride back from Williamsburg to Richmond. The pendulum of her emotions had swung from one extreme to the other and back again: from thinking that Isaac’s fate was sealed, to seeing the potential for proving he acted in self defense, only to then see that option robbed from them by a prejudiced clerk, and finally to have the document in her hand that must result in his freedom. Judge Tucker had actually convinced the clerk to make them out four copies of the will—a concession that the clerk seemed rather reluctant to grant—and Sophia had insisted on keeping one of the copies with her, folded neatly in the drawstring bag that the Kentucky Abolition Society had given her, a well-used gift that felt almost ancient now.
She looked across the carriage at the young woman who had helped her so much. Georgiana, however, seemed to be uncharacteristically silent during this part of the journey. She watched the passing countryside, but said nothing.
“Is something the matter, Miss Burwell? You don’t seem to be yourself today.”
“I suppose I’m not quite myself, Sophia. And please call me Georgiana; you’re not old, but I still feel young enough that I feel silly insisting on that kind of formality.”
“Very well. May I ask you why you don’t feel quite yourself?”
“Perhaps you already know this—well, I suppose it is not exactly hard to miss—but Mr. Page and I have, well, it is to say that we are . . .”
“You love one another, of course. Anyone can see that, Georgiana.”
“Yes. I don’t know why I hesitated just now. What has had me drifting off in contemplation just now is why we are not yet married, or engaged at the very least. My father has always been a hard man to please, but Camden’s situation cannot be improved very much beyond its present state. If my father will not grant his approval of our marriage now, then he never will in any event.”
“And your mother?”
“I love her dearly, but Mother will do whatever Father says. It would be enough for her that I love Camden and that he can provide for a family. None of the political considerations that fill my father’s thoughts would ever influence her.”
“Ah. Then your dilemma is Mr. Page.”
Georgiana sighed. “Yes. As much as I hate to admit it, it seems that he is.”
Sophia reached across to place a hand on Georgiana’s hand. She was not old enough to be the young woman’s mother, and yet the kind affection she felt toward her now could only be described as motherly.
“I’m sorry,” Georgiana continued. “You must think me a terribly silly girl to be fretting over such things at a time like this.”
“Not at all, my dear. You’ve helped me and Isaac so much more than I ever could have imagined. God has put you and me together in answer to my prayers, but—as He usually does—He’s given me more than I asked for.”
Georgiana’s face wrinkled slightly in a look of confusion. Sophia continued, “I mean that the Lord has brought me here not just so that you can help me, but so that I can help you. His providence is amazing, isn’t it?”
Georgiana nodded. “It most certainly is, Sophia.” She stopped and regained her composure before continuing. “It is and I thank you for reminding me of it. Over the past few days I’ve taken a rest from worrying about my own future, but having put your husband that much closer to his regained freedom, I suppose some of my old fears came back to the front of my mind.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. It happens to all of us. But what does the Lord tell us to do? Cast all your care upon him; for he careth for you.” Sophia sat back in her seat before continuing.
“Now I may not know Mr. Page all that well, but I know he’s a very smart man. Don’t forget that he must be under more stress right now than he has ever been. If you can see that the time is right, trust that he’ll see it too. And if he needs a little nudge, well, I have some ideas about that also.”
“Sophia, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile that wickedly!” Georgiana exclaimed. “Whatever can you be thinking?”
“I’m thinking, Georgiana, that Mr. Page is no different under his skin than my Isaac. He took a little nudging in his time. As sure as God made all men, he made all of us women. We have our ways, now don’t we?”
Georgiana and Sophia both began to chuckle and then to laugh unreservedly. Without warning, Georgiana leaned across the coach and wrapped her arms around Sophia. The older woman raised her arms and returned the embrace. “We’ll get through this,” she whispered in Georgiana’s ear. “With the Lord’s help, this too shall pass.”
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Lexington, Kentucky
They arrived outside Lexington just after nightfall. Nat had insisted—and Black Fox had not protested—that they wait until full cover of darkness to venture into the capital. No place was too far removed from Benjamin Doane and his associates as far as Nat was concerned; he dared not test their luck any further than they already had in slipping out of Red Cap’s village mere days before. A couple of hours later, when Black Fox was satisfied that they had not been followed, they sneaked into town.
Reverting to old habits, Nat sought out the tavern that he had visited on his journey west. He calculated that he could likely proposition the barkeeper for some information without raising too much immediate suspicion. It reeked of desperation, but that was more or less all they had at this point, with Doane’s henchmen close on their heels.
“Say friend,” Nat began, placing a Spanish dollar on the counter and sliding it toward the man who was absentmindedly wiping up some spilt beer. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who could help me meet up with the Governor, do you?”
“Governor Wilkinson? Why would you want to do a thing like that?”
Nat began to doubt his decision, but said, “Don’t you suppose that’s my concern?” He replaced his finger on the dollar and started to slide it back toward himself.
“Of course, sir,” the barkeep said, more discreetly than before. He eyed Black Fox warily. “But of course, times aren’t exactly the best. And certain kinds of help can get a man in a bit of a spot, if you understand me.”
Nat reached in his pocket and drew another dollar, placing it on top of the first and sliding the pair back across the bar. “I understand you. And you understand, I take it, that there is more where this came from if you are especially helpful.” He lifted his finger from the coins and the man snatched them up in a flash, testing the honesty of each one with a few of his remaining teeth.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“No one can help you meet up with Governor Wilkinson: he’s gone on some kind of trade mission. More of these in his future, I believe,” he said, holding up the dollars that Nat now feared had been wasted. “But if you want to meet with the man who ought to have been Governor, I know someone who can help you with that.”
“Who’s that?” Nat asked, a little over-eager. The barkeeper waited and Nat dutifully slid another coin across to him. “Isaac Shelby would have been the Governor if that old crook Wilkinson hadn’t bribed and cajoled his way to the top. Thank God Wilkinson lives by the adage that you should keep as close a watch on your enemies as you do on your friends, because he appointed Shelby to his council. Someone like Shelby with at least half a brain just might be able to keep Wilkinson from selling us off to the Spanish or some other such foolish scheme.”
Nat signaled with his hand that the man should cease opining and give him the information he had paid for. Tearing a corner off a newspaper that someone had left at the bar, he scribbled a name and an address and said, “Go there and ask for him.”
He held on to the scrap of paper. Nat caught the signal and fished around for another coin. He hadn’t expected to pay quite so handsomely for so little information, but it was no use lamenting it now. He tossed the coin on the bar and snatched the paper from the man’s hand. “Let’s go,” he said to Black Fox, not even bothering to thank the barman for the information. He had been paid quite well, after all.
It took them longer than Nat expected to find the address. It certainly had not helped that the streets, such as they were, had very little in the way of signs or numbers or directions. So it was very late when they came to a stately-looking, but modestly-sized house. Although it had been completely dark for some time, there were still several lights on in the house. Nat rapped lightly, but firmly, on a rear door that was near one of the windows that still happened to be lit.
A man opened the door slightly and asked, in slightly irritated tones, “Who’s there? What are you doing here at this hour?”
“We’re very sorry to bother you sir, but we originally came to the town with urgent news for the Governor. My name is Nathaniel Aldridge of Philadelphia. We were told you might be able to help us find Mr. Isaac Shelby.”
Through the crack in the doorway, Nat could see that the man was very skeptical. “Who’s that?” he asked, indicating Black Fox with a jerk of the head.
“Black Fox has been my guide into the Northwest Territory, sir. He must accompany me to speak with Mr. Shelby, but I dare not say more than that except to Mr. Shelby himself.”
The man shut the door again, unlatched a chain and admitted Nat and Black Fox to what turned out to be a small kitchen. A fire crackled in the fireplace and a kettle of some sort was sitting near it on the hearth—presumably keeping tea warm for the master of the house.
“You can sit there,” the man said, pointing to a table that had seen better days. Nat found that he and Black Fox were both sitting only on the edge of their seats. Given their frantic flight over the past few days, he hoped they would be forgiven for any remaining anxiety.
“I am Isaac Shelby.” The man sat down at the other corner of the table. “Don’t think any imposter would go around claiming to be me. No one wants the job. What is this urgent news?”
Despite Mr. Shelby’s air of impatience, Nat took the time to clear his throat before beginning. “It concerns the Indians, sir. The hostile ones among their race, that is.” Nat had half-expected Mr. Shelby to look at Black Fox at that point, but he did not. Rather he tapped the table as if to hurry Nat along with his story.
“It also concerns those muskets that recently went missing from the militia at Louisville. Having visited numerous Shawnee and Miami villages over recent days, I believe that I have proof beyond a reasonable doubt that the muskets are being sold to Indians in the Northwest Territory.”
“And what proof is that, precisely?”
“I have examined some of the muskets myself. In addition, there is a piece of evidence that I witnessed not very long ago at all. Rather, it was a person.”
Mr. Shelby sat forward slightly in his chair, uncrossing his arms from their previous standoffish posture.
“No American will forget the name of ‘Benjamin Doane’ in this life, but I am one of the relatively few who will never forget his face. When we followed the trail of the muskets all the way to the end, it was Benjamin Doane who was there waiting for us—I am as sure of it as I am my own mother’s face.”
Mr. Shelby slumped back in his chair, unable to speak for several moments. He stood up suddenly and exclaimed, “It all makes sense now!” He began pacing back and forth, clearly letting his thoughts spill out into speech as if there were no one else in the room. “We’ll have to act quickly. If Wilkinson makes it back to Lexington too soon he’ll manage to rally supporters; he always seems to do so, blast him!
“Mr. Shelby?” Nat asked softly in a moment of timidity that surprised even him.
“Yes?” Mr. Shelby spun around on his heel to face the table again. “Oh. I’d forgotten you were here. What is it?”
“What do you advise that we do now, sir? My knowledge of the situation is limited, but I know that if that cowardly traitor Doane has his hands in it, then it can’t be good.”
“Certainly correct. Certainly, Mr. Aldridge. Perhaps you haven’t heard, but James Wilkinson, our beloved Governor, has something of a reputation. That reputation, refined folk would say, is less than ideal. I call his reputation utterly defiled; the man is a brigand. He would have—” Mr. Shelby abruptly cut himself off. “There will be ample time to give the reputation and character of James Wilkinson the thorough denunciation he so richly deserves at some other date. For now, allow me to relate only the barest facts as I have come to know them.”
Mr. Shelby seated himself again, pulled his chair as close as possible to the table, and leaned so far that Nat was afraid they might bump foreheads with one another.
“Wilkinson’s reputation is well-known. Nevertheless, I have searched in vain for some reason that he might be removed from office or otherwise compelled to resign. When the issue of the muskets first arose—back during the lawsuit with Virginia—I suspected that all was not as it seemed. In fact, based on conversations I overheard near Wilkinson’s office—just down the street here—I came to the conviction that the discrepancy in the language of the copies of the partition ordinance was no mere scrivener’s error. Rather it was Wilkinson himself who directed the errant copy of the ordinance to be produced in the first place. His sheer arrogance is the only explanation I can concoct to explain why he thought he might get away with it.”
Nat rubbed his brow and said, “That’s astounding, Mr. Shelby.”
“True, but that’s not all. I had also been noticing that unexplained sums of money had been coming and going. Wilkinson has tried to insulate me from state finances, but he’s too simple to know how easily-defeated those plans were. The money came from a variety of sources—none of which seemed legitimate—but all were directed to some sort of venture in the Northeast, very probably Vermont. Naturally he was skimming off the top, a payment to which he would no doubt claim some sort of entitlement. Until tonight, I did not see the connection, but now it seems almost embarrassingly obvious. Wilkinson defrauded Virginia of the muskets so that he could sell them and use the proceeds for his own ends, although precisely what those are is less clear. Regardless, with what you men have told me and what I have already discovered myself, this will more than suffice to drive Wilkinson out of Kentucky for good. And it will be not a moment too soon.”
“And Benjamin Doane’s involvement? That part remains unclear to me, although I know well the sort of man he is.”
“If you will remember, Mr. Aldridge, Doane was an importer. He is adept at moving goods and finding buyers. In his arms peddling scheme, Wilkinson truly cannot have done much better than to align himself with someone like Doane. His goal, we must assume, remains more or less the same: to cause chaos for our confederation.”
“And what better way to do that than to arm the Indians in the Northwest who were already hostile toward American settlers?” Nat added.
“Precisely.”
“If that’s the case, Mr. Shelby, then Black Fox and I must leave for Richmond as soon as possible.”
“Whatever for? You can be of more use to me here.”
Nat was not sure that he liked the tone of Mr. Shelby’s request. It had sounded much more like a command, a fault that could probably be forgiven for a man who had spent so much time in the military.
“I appreciate your confidence, Mr. Shelby, but I must decline the offer. If the worst of all that we discovered is true, the effects will range much further than Lexington. The only men I fully trust to know what to do with this information are in Richmond.”