A Special Thanks to A. H. of the Harrodsburg Historical Society, My Friend Diana Robinson

Uriah’s Jewels1 1

Cappy’s Greed

By Marti Talbott

Dedication:

To all my loving grandchildren in order of their birth: LaRay, Ausha, Brianna, Levi, Theo and Aaron. May God bless you with wisdom and prosperity all the days of your lives.

Acknowledgements:

A special thanks to A. H. of The Harrodsburg Historical Society, my friend Diana Robinson who helped with the editing, and my grandparents, Lloyd and Mattie McClurg, who took the time to write down all the old family stories.

Prologue

1781

In the five-foot-high “between” deck of an American built slave ship, an enormous black man sat on the floor with his legs apart. Wedged between them was another man, then a woman and another woman—until the stickiness of hot human flesh filled the dark hold. Awash in vile stench, his lips white with thirst, his belly cramped with hunger, and his prayer for death unanswered, London-born Gideon Ross turned his hate upward—to the seamen in the sails, the slavers on deck and the hand that relentlessly lashed the whip. Then, without warning, the world above him mysteriously fell silent.

PART I

CHAPTER I

Virginia, 1783

He was born British, raised a Colonist and went to war as a Virginian. But by the fifth year of the American Revolution, the cry for freedom by a handful had turned to blood and death for a multitude, and deep in the heart of South Carolina, his malaria-plagued mind yielded only confused images of Redcoats, their sabers thrusting, their muskets firing, and their drums pounding in his aching head. At last, John Carson relented and turned toward home. For seven months he walked, his shoes worn through, his clothing shabby and the fever returning wave after wave. Yet he pushed on, through the heat of summer, the chill of fall and the cold of winter; and by the time the fog in his mind lifted and the drums stopped, he was home.

Home was Mahala, a vine-covered two-story mansion on a vast section of prime Virginia land. Each side looked exactly alike with four huge columns, a connected verandah, an ornate iron railing, two double doors, and twelve windows. Mahala held all the people John loved, his parents, an aunt, an uncle and six cousins—all girls and all twins. However, home offered a different suffering. The woman he dreamed of was gone and soon after his return, his mother died. So the tall man with raven hair and dark eyes set his sights on a new promise—the land west of the Appalachian Mountains. For more than a year John and his father, Uriah, wandered the wilderness. Then on his twenty-second birthday, John’s heart once more turned him home.

Home was Mahala but Mahala had changed. Strangers worked in the horse corrals, sat on the steps of the school and stood in front of a new bunkhouse. Their clothes were the clothing of slaves and their skin the dark skin of Africans.

“Thomas Rodes found the jewels,” Caleb Carson muttered to himself, his features softened with age and his dark brown eyes dancing with excitement as he watched John and Uriah ride down the lane toward the house. He stood alone on Mahala's back verandah with a gentle breeze blowing against his billowing white sleeves and the wide bottoms of his long blue pants. Patiently he watched his brother and nephew dismount, waited until the African took the horses to the barn and then repeated his words, “Thomas Rodes found the jewels.”

“Impossible,” Uriah scoffed. He straightened his green jacket, brushed off the back of his white breeches and climbed the steps. The eldest of the two brothers, Uriah had the same dark hair graying at the temples and the same dark eyes.

“That is what I thought too,” Caleb said.

John set his small dog down, removed his hat and then followed his father up the steps, “What jewels? And what kind of greeting is this?”

Caleb drew John into his arms and hugged him. “I’ve not taken my eyes off the road since spring. I thought you’d never—”

“He could not have found the jewels,” Uriah interrupted, frown lines deep in his forehead. “We moved them off the property twenty years ago.”

“Indeed we did,” Caleb said. “But how has he learned of their existence even? Better still, how has he found us in America?”

“What jewels?” John asked again, running his fingers through his wavy, shoulder length hair.

“Haven’t you told the boy?” Caleb asked.

Uriah grimaced, “I’ve not had the opportunity.”

“Not in more than a year? Brother we agreed, Mahala is mine and the jewels are yours to give to John.”

“I remember,” Uriah said.

Feeling the warmth of the fall afternoon, John removed his fringed leather jacket and laid it over the railing, “Who is Thomas Rodes?”

“He is the son of Sir William Rodes, our brother,” Caleb answered.

John's eyes widened, “I have another Uncle?”

“He is not our brother,” Uriah said, turning to glare at Caleb.

“So you’ve said,” Caleb shot back. “Yet he spends our inheritance, lives in our house in England and now his son has found our jewels.”

Uriah closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, “Caleb, we moved the jewels, made certain we were not followed and told no one, not even our wives. The man lies.”

“Indeed he does, but there is more. He sent a sword and claims it was our father’s sword.”

“Impossible.” Uriah paused to think for a moment. “Does it have an Ivory handle and a nick halfway up the blade?”

“It does.”

“Good heavens, I’ve not seen that since I was ten. Not since—” Abruptly Uriah turned, walked the length of the verandah and disappeared around the corner of the house.

“Now you’ve done it,” John whispered. “He hasn’t said a word about the executions in months.”

“Well, he won’t be able to avoid the matter now, Thomas Rodes sees to that.” Caleb opened the back door and leaned in, “Clifton, bring tea to the front.”

“Yez, Massah,” a man replied.

“Uncle, why are there slaves at Mahala?”

“Not now John,” Caleb said, pulling the door closed, “ First, tell me how my brother is? I worried he would lose his wits when your mother passed away.”

“He talks to her,” John answered, turning to stroll beside his uncle down the verandah. “But I assure you he has not lost his wits.”

“Talks to her?”

“Uh huh, when he thinks no one hears.”

“I see. And you? Does the swamp fever plague you still?”

“It caused our delay, I am afraid.”

“In that case, I forgive you.”

“Forgive me for what?” John asked.

“For leaving me quite alone with seven women.”

“Oh that. Are all the Carson women well?”

“Quite well and off spending all I have in Richmond. And just now I am reminded, your Aunt Elizabeth has taken to finding all manner of remedy for your swamp fever, most of which I recommend you avoid.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” John chuckled.

“How goes the Kentucky Territory? We hear such conflicting reports.”

“It is even more glorious than I imagined. The land is exceedingly fertile. It has every kind of tree, game aplenty and fish enough to feed half the world. The settlements are small, but daily hundreds of men come to claim their Bounty land. They—”

“Shhhh.” Caleb whispered. Cautiously, he peeked around the corner and watched Uriah talk to himself. “He’s lost his mind.”

When he heard them coming, Uriah stopped muttering. Instead, he pretended to take in the scenery across the nearby James River, eyeing the rolling hills dotted with colonial houses, the thick wooded areas and the tobacco fields. “I’d forgotten how pleasant the sound of the river is.”

“So had I,” John agreed, joining his father. He savored the aroma of the rose garden for a moment and then let his eyes drift down the stone path to the river. “Uncle, you’ve built a new dock.”

“The old one succumbed to the spring rains, I sadly say,” Caleb answered. “I was quite fond of it, you know.”

“Of three planks of wood and four posts?” Uriah asked.

“My avenue of escape, you see. Had Elizabeth given me yet a fourth set of twins, and girls besides, I’d have jumped off.”

“Not without me,” John laughed.

“Or me,” Uriah added.

They were silent for a moment until John could stand it no longer, “What jewels?”

Uriah's demeanor instantly changed and he again glared at Caleb, “We should have changed our names when we landed in America.”

“Indeed?” Caleb asked, casually making himself comfortable in one of the white wicker chairs. “And how would we have explained that to our wives? As I recall, we had already done quite enough. We neglected to tell them about the jewels, tricked them into sailing to America and then murdered Aunt Charlotte.”

“You what?” John asked, quickly taking a seat opposite his Uncle. His dog scampered across the veranda and climbed into his lap.

“It was not as bad as all that,” Uriah said. “Our wives believed we were impoverished and we dared not tell them about the jewels, so we invented a wealthy Aunt to explain our passage to America. Naturally, when we landed we had no choice but to claim Aunt Charlotte had passed away.”

“Aye, and we need not have bothered,” said Caleb. “Our wives were on to us all along. Mary found the jewels among our things aboard the ship.”

“Then you brought the jewels with you to America?”

“A few,” Uriah answered. “The bulk yet lies buried in England.”

“Papa, begin at the beginning and do tell all of it this time.”

Uriah removed his three-cornered hat and took a seat. “I suppose the time has come at that.” He took a deep, thoughtful breath and slowly let it out, “As you know, Carson is not our real name. My given name was Jonathan Samuel Rodes and at the age of ten, life was glorious. I had a five-year-old brother who was not so bothersome, a mother whose love was boundless, a father whose words were wise, and an estate the likes of which America has yet to see. My best friend and constant companion was your mother, Colleen Stuart. Colleen’s mother died in childbirth when—”

“You’re Aunt Elizabeth, you see. We brothers married sisters,” Caleb interrupted.

Uriah glowered until Caleb lowered his eyes, “As I was saying, with no mother to tend them, my mother insisted Colleen and the baby come live with us. Five years later, England was at war. Bonnie Prince Charlie sailed from France to Scotland, amassed an army of Jacobites, and marched south to take the throne from King George II. At first, the Jacobites were winning. They had taken the northern half of England and were camped not far from the house. Late one night, two men came with the jewels. Father tried to refuse, but the men would not listen. When they were gone, he took me to the carriage house where we loosened the cobblestones, buried the jewels, replaced the stones and then piled bridles and saddles on top of them.”

“Why?” John asked, his brow wrinkled. “Why did the men leave the jewels with your father?”

“Because mother was the daughter of a Jacobite. She once said the clan was so closely held, they could tell from miles around when one stopped breathing. Sadly, most of them stopped breathing within the month. At any rate, the next day both our fathers were falsely accused of thievery and executed on the green by the cobbler shop. I thought the booty they were accused of steeling was the Jewels and stood ready to deny any knowledge, but no one ever inquired about them.” Uriah lowered his head and stared at the floor.

John watched him for a long moment. “Papa?”

“It is so vivid still, as though it were only yesterday,” Uriah answered. “Thievery was just an excuse, you see. They were actually killed for speaking out against the king. Nevertheless, we were suddenly the sons and daughters of thieves.”

“And three months later, our mother died,” Caleb put in.

“Aye, and I resented her for it,” Uriah snapped.

Caleb’s jaw dropped, “You did? You’ve not spoken of this before.”

“I was only ten and we had no one left,” said Uriah.

“Except an elder brother,” Caleb said.

“He is not our bloody brother! I’d not laid eyes on the man until the day our mother was buried.”

Caleb defiantly folded his arms over his chest, “He claimed our inheritance and sent us away. He could not have done so without proof,”

“What proof did he need? All the Jacobites were dead and there was no one left to refute him.”

“But about the jewels,” John asked, quickly glancing from his uncle to his father. “Didn’t you say you moved them?”

“Aye,” Uriah answered, calming down a little, “but not until much later. After our mother passed away, Caleb and I were sent to an Aunt in Ireland who gave us the Carson name. The girls were sent away as well. It took twelve years to find Colleen and Rachel, who by then had come to call themselves Mary and Elizabeth Jackson. When I found them, I took Mary to wife, you were born, and Caleb married Elizabeth. Then Caleb and I recovered the jewels from the carriage house, kept part, hid the rest a considerable distance from the house, and sailed to America.”

“Why didn’t you bring all the jewels to America?” John asked.

Caleb grinned, “Because our wives would never have overlooked a trunk full.”

“More like half a trunk,” Uriah corrected. “Besides, had we found America unsatisfactory, the jewels awaited our return.”

John looked puzzled, “Why not simply tell your wives?”

“My boy,” Caleb said, crossing his legs then interlacing his fingers behind his head, “Once you marry you will quickly learn you do not simply tell a wife anything. Their questions tend to be endless and they hound a man until he tells them every unimportant bloody detail.”

“I see,” said John.

Just then, the front door opened and a silver-haired African man appeared. He wore a red jacket with black breeches and leggings, and carried a tray of tea and honey bread to the table.

“Clifton, this is—” Caleb began.

“I know’s. Miss Roselee, she done say if’n I see two look’n jest like you, they be Carsons,” Clifton said, starting to pour the tea.

“Thank you Clifton, we can manage,” Caleb said.

“Yez, Massah,” Clifton answered, setting the teapot down. Leisurely, he walked to the door. “They sho’nuff be Carsons,” he muttered, just before disappearing inside.

Caleb watched his brother for a moment, “You need not stare,” he said, reaching for the teapot.

“Brother, what have you done? You are well aware we do not hold with slavery.”

“I’ve got a better question,” John said. “How did Thomas Rodes learn about the jewels?”

CHAPTER II

“Surely you do not intend to ignore slavery at Mahala, your mother would have our heads,” Uriah said, accepting a cup of tea from his brother.

“Of course not,” John answered. “But the jewels are far more alluring. Papa, if you didn’t tell anyone about the jewels, how did Thomas Rodes find out?”

Uriah thought about it for a moment, “Of one thing I am certain … he could not have heard it from his father.”

“Why not?” John and Caleb asked at the same time.

“When I was grown, I called on Sir William to demand the money for Caleb’s schooling. I found the man fast in his bed unable to utter a sensible word. He suffered some sort of head injury, I suspect.”

“I see. Did you also see Sir William’s son?” John asked taking the cup of tea Caleb handed him.

“Possibly. I recall a sad little boy with brown eyes who gawked at me. But I did not ask his name. The house was so dark and smelly, I could not wait to leave.”

John lifted Sparky the dog, crossed his legs and then sat her back in his lap. “But how could—”

“My boy, do not tire yourself,” Caleb interrupted, pouring himself a cup of tea. “It is clear Thomas Rodes hopes to provoke us so we will return to England and lead him to the jewels.” Caleb set the teapot down and stood up, “He also entices us with this.” He dug in his pocket and handed his brother a small, black stone.

Uriah curiously turned the rock over until finally his face brightened with recognition, “I don’t believe it!”