Timber Ridge
Virginia Frontier
January 1761
A ruckus broke out in the tap room of the small rustic tavern. Who started it and what it was over was forgotten or of no importance as a free for all broke out. It had simply been the spark to gunpowder. The barmaids and bartender slipped into the kitchen and bolted the door behind them locking the fighters out of the rest of the tavern.
Rueful grins were exchanged by the staff as yells, curses and crashes filled the air.
"Ach it's another payday and me tables being busted over their hard heads it is," Bess the Tavern owner's wife grumbled.
"I'll be going around front with the lads and collect the damages as our . . . guests leave . . . again," James Greenlee the tavern owner's lips twitched in ill-suppressed humor. "Well Bess ye won't be having to scrub the tables this night. It sounds as if they'll be good for not but kindling for the fires. Now where's that bonnie smile Lassie," James chucked Bess under the chin. "It's good to hear the lads having a bit of fun now that the Redcoats have moved on."
"Hmpf, aye it's right ye are." A soft chuckle and a rueful shaking of the head indicated the return of her normal good humor. A dimple creased her cheek as the smile was born. "The boyos needed a bit of a set-to after those Redcoats lording it over the village for these past weeks."
"Right ye are love." James lay down his basting spoon, removed the his apron and headed out the door into the stable yard waving for Dennis his bartender to follow.
The huge man stopped long enough to pick up a barrel stave and waved at the stable lads to follow him around to the front of the tavern.
"Collecting for yer broken tables again, Mister Greenlee?" Reggie Ott, his stable master asked.
"Aye Reggie, the missus is on a tear," James answered.
Stopping suddenly Greenlee spun around stalking over to the kitchen door he jerked it open and bellowed in. "Woman don't ye be letting me bread burn."
"It's best ye be hurrying then. Know ye well it's no cook I am," Bess answered saucily.
"Irish," James huffed and slammed the door.
The door was jerked open and Bess yelled at her husband's back. "Scot," she barked then sniffed disdainfully.
"Papist," James spun around with a deep growl.
"Presbyterian," Bess said cheekily.
James stalked back and lifted his wife off her feet for a hug before setting her down and turning her back into the kitchen with an affectionate pat on the rump.
"Don't be going and getting yer fool self damaged. I'll no' be patching yer hide." she ordered over her shoulder. "It's better things I have in mind for ye this night." she winked bawdily and sashayed back into the kitchen.
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Sheepish men dropped coins into the bucket as they filed by the tavern keeper. There were no protests at the traditional paying of the damages. Cocking an eyebrow James peered into his taproom, wincing he held out the bucket and rattled the coins wordlessly. Looking within the alehouse the men added a bit more coin to the bucket.
"It's thanking ye for yer patronage lads. Welcome to come visit ye are. I'll be having new benches as well as tables." James toed a pile of splintered wood that had once been a bench.
"Mister Greenlee ye might be wanting to call the Watch," Bert,one of the regulars warned. Jerking his head toward the tavern he scowled. "He's nigh on as big as ye and some years younger as well. Quiet as a mouse he was sitting in the corner. Ignoring the fight until his cup was spilt. It's a right devil he is. A temper like a starving bear. Why he tossed poor Micah Wilson through the shutters he did." Bert indicated the shutters hanging by one hinge. "Broke a bench over that troublesome Carter Winslow's head and laid out four more lads. He's just . . . "
Loud crashing filled the air as a keg was thrown through the window to shatter on the cobblestones of the forecourt spraying the watchers with ale. A broken bench soon joined it. Furious bellows in . . . what sounded like Latin? filled the air.
"An educated man no less," James grinned widely. "Not worth me time, it's passing out he'll be soon enough."
More bellows sounded forth and the crashing of crockery, followed by a woman's furious yelling in Gaelic, followed by more crashing of crockery.
"The poor fool broke some of Bess' crockery. Now he's in for it." James winced.
"He'll hurt her," Bert hissed.
"My Bess has a powerful arm and a deadly aim. It's him that best be yielding the field." James ducked and winced instinctively as more crockery crashed.
An enraged yell filled the air in a feminine tone. "Josiah Sanchez set that barrel down before it's a switch I'll be taking to ye."
"Sanchez?" the men outside exchanged glances, peeked through the door and broken shutters, while prepared to dodge for cover.
"She's knowing that great brute?" Bert hissed in disbelief.
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"Father Josiah, why is it ye be breaking me dishes?" Bess demanded sharply
"Mary Murphy?" Josiah blinked drunkenly at the image from his past. "Told ye before it's no priest I am, only a Seminarian. I never took vows." His head ducked and he turned his face away.
"It's Bess now, far too many Marys about here," Mary Elizabeth Murphy Greenlee walked over laying a gentle hand on Josiah's powerful bicep. She coaxed him into setting down the whiskey barrel. "Yer as much of a priest as I'm knowing of."
Bess placed a firm finger under Sanchez's chin and tilted Josiah's head up to where she could see the man's shamed face.
"Ach Lad, what is it that has hurt yer great heart so?" Bess coaxed. "Don't ye be turning from me, Josiah Sanchez. Too much grief have we shared to be shamed one before the other now."
Sanchez seemed spellbound as he was urged onto the only unbroken bench in the taproom. Bess' fingers carded the thick curls tenderly. The broad shoulders shook with suppressed sobs before Josiah toppled to the floor in a drunken stupor.
"Well ye fools don't just be standing there, help me put the great lump to bed."
"Aye Bess," James chuckled and led his servants into the tap room now that the danger was over.
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Josiah groaned and rolled to the side of the bed. The shrill squawking and whistling of the song birds pierced his aching skull. Magically a basin appeared in time for Sanchez's dire need.
"The whiskey tastes better going in than coming back, Josiah Sanchez," A loud Irish brogue barked into his aching ear.
"Dear God woman let me die," Josiah moaned.
"Not hardly, it's the penance ye'll be paying for drinking like a protestant," The woman laughed knowingly, not a trace of sympathy to be heard in her tone. "Ye smell like a billy goat three days dead," the woman grumbled. "Up on yer feet yah great oaf. It's a bath ye be needing."
"Go away ye great shrew," Josiah muttered pushing the insistent hands away.
"Shrew, SHREW! ye say. When it's all morning I've been cleaning up the mess ye made of the tavern, I have. Only for ye to be fouling me bed with yer stench." A sharp thunk and the earthen ware pitcher shattered over the hung over man's head.
"Why did ye do that woman? Are ye tetched?" Josiah bellowed lumbering to his feet.
"Tetched am I? I should have left ye rootin' about on the floor like a pig," the woman growled angrily. "Now get ye on wit' ye, the bath is waiting."
"Mary Murphy?" Josiah's eyes open to slits in disbelief at the familiar voice lifted into a tirade.
"I go by Bess now. Into the tub with ye," Bess coaxed.
As if he were no more than a small child Bess stripped the hung-over Sanchez and had him in the copper tub before the man's brain kicked into gear. Gathering enough wits to protest Bess' far too personal attention, a soapy wash rag scrubbed his face thoroughly, prompting Sanchez to snap his mouth tightly closed in an effort to keep out the suds. Strong hands scrubbed his filthy hair and behind his ears most diligently. Bess scrubbed him like dirty laundry taking not the slightest notice of his protests and fiery blushes.
"I can be scrubbing the rest me ownself," Josiah grabbed the wandering hands as they headed below the water level. Bright color stained Sanchez's cheeks.
"It's a fine brau mon ye are Josiah Sanchez. Not to be ashamed of that I were seeing." Bess winked bawdily. "Close yer eyes." A bucket of warm water sloshed over the thoroughly embarrassed man's head, rinsing the soap from his hair and beard. "Get to the scrubbing or I will," Bess warned.
Josiah took a great shuddering breath and began to scrub his toes trying to ignore the woman standing over him.
"When it's ready ye can be telling me what grief has ye seeking comfort in a bottle," Bess ordered calmly.
Sanchez's throat worked and a soft pained sound was heard.
"Oh Lad," Bess wrapped her arms around the broad shoulders comfortingly.
Burying his face against Bess's ample bosom Josiah wept like a child. Crooning a soft lullaby Bess ran her fingers through the wet curls massaging Josiah's scalp, patiently letting her friend grieve.
Clearing his throat the embarrassed Sanchez pulled away. "How is it ye came to be here in the wilderness, Mary Murphy?"
"Someone up there has a devilish sense of humor he does," Mary looked toward heaven and scowled. "I was bought off the block that day by a fool of a man. Purely daft he was I was certain. Freed me not a ten day later. What was I to do. I knew no trade and he needed looking after he did. For a year he gave me no peace, after me to make an honest man of him he swore. A light skirt like me and himself is saying loving me he did. Then he caught me in a moment of weakness and the deed was done. A woman in labor will agree to most anything," Mary laughed.
"This man of yers is he good to you?" Josiah asked.
"Aye, he's a good man even if he's a Scot and a protestant besides," Mary admitted worriedly.
"An honest woman of ye?" Josiah teased.
"Aye a pillar of the community," Mary sniffed.
"Then woman, why is it yer giving me a BATH!" Josiah thundered.
"Why to make ye blush," Mary laughed and sauntered to the door. "Yer a fine looking man Father Josiah but yer no patch on me James," she answered before slipping out of the room.
"I'm not a Priest!" Josiah bellowed.
"A fine thing that or it's hell's fires we'd both be burning in. What with ye entertaining me whilst yer in the bath that way." Mary stuck her head back in and ducked as a soapy wash cloth was flung across the room.
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"We could use a carpenter of yer skill in the village." James Greenlee ran admiring fingers over the satiny smooth surface of the table top Josiah had just finished sanding. "It was only roughed out tables I was expecting."
"This is for Bess, not the tap room," Josiah explained.
"She'll be loving it," James enthused. "Bess will be asking if ye're staying."
"Too many memories," Josiah said bitterly as he worked on another table. "It's traveling on I'll be once I've replaced yer benches and tables."
"And where is it ye'll be going, Lad?" James asked quietly.
"Out there I'm thinking, lose myself in the wild lands for a while." Josiah nodded to the forest. "It's a powerful anger I'm carrying, best I stay away from people. Perhaps I'll find God out there."
"God is everywhere, Josiah Sanchez," James reminded thoughtfully.
"Aye that he is," Josiah answered. "Consider it a pilgrimage, James."
"A man needs to learn how to live in this new land. The old ways do not work well here. Tis why the English use the Mennonites as a wall twixt them and the wilderness. Then the wild Irish and Scots as a buffer betwixt civilized Mennonite and the savages."
"Finally it's good for something they think us then," Josiah chuckled.
"How ye even got this far I know not. No long gun or even a bow. Do ye have more than an eating knife to yer name? Losing yer hair in a day ye'll be," James snorted. "Much the Puritans of New England have to answer for posting a bounty on the Indians. They learned well and return the favor now."
"I wouldn't know how to use a gun or bow," Josiah reminded.
"Lay down yer tools and follow me. Bess'll be taking me own hair if I were to let you go off unprepared," James ordered.
"But the tables," Josiah protested.
"Ye'll not be learning this skill overnight, come."
Author's note:
At one time it was common for a guest to be aided in their bath. During this time period the custom was coming to an end but it wasn't unheard of in the Americas being more of a European custom especially among the Celts.