"Reputation is what men and women think of us; character is what God and angels know of us"~ Thomas Paine
17.
13 years later...
Jason watched his mother's ginger tom-cat strut past the chicken coop on a crisp October afternoon. A big rooster started after the cat, threatening and warning him away from the coop. But the Tom knew who ruled the barnyard and it wasn't the old rooster.
Jason was tired from his long journey east and ready for a bath and some of his mother's cooking. But first, he waited for the "inspection."
He glanced at his younger brother, Isaac and smiled. At thirteen his mother had been leery about allowing the younger boy to ride with Jason and Tim for his first buying trip into Wheeling and now, he waited anxiously with Jason and Tim for the verdict on their purchases.
At twenty-one, Jason had recently started his own business of sorts with his dad and older cousin. That morning they returned home with a fine Arabian mare that Tavington himself had specifically requested. But that horse wasn't the one that had the boys on pins and needles. It was the matched pair of a new breed of horse named for their first sire of their kind; the Justin Morgan horse.
It wasn't that these two beautiful creatures had been impulse buys. Oh no, Jason had done his research. He also lurked around the auction yards for days searching for a breedable pair he could say were better than the matching bay stallion and mare.
When he showed them to Tim, they pooled their money together and outbid everyone else that was interested.
Jason listed all their attributes to his dad, selling him the idea of these horses.
"Aren't those the prettiest pair of legs you've ever seen, Dad?"
"Yes, they are," Tavington answered. Then with a backwards glance to the house, he added. "Just don't tell your mother I said that."
The boys chuckled.
"They're known for stamina and speed, Uncle Will," Tim added.
"They are wicked fast, Dad. Why I bet that little Morgan mare would just about outrun the Arabian," Isaac chimed in.
Tavington's flicked his eyes at Isaac; a warning signal for the boy to stop speaking ill of his beloved Arabians.
Tavington ran his weathered hands over the stallion's strong, well muscled withers, skimming down the horse's back to his rump.
He didn't smile but Jason could recognize the delight he saw in Tavington's eyes. When he finally spoke Jason knew his father-his mentor, his hero-approved.
"Soft mouth, solid,compact…..beautiful animals," Tavington remarked to no one in particular. "A bit smaller than most….only, what...fifteen hands? But I dare say they might make a wonderful cavalry horse."
They had him alright. As soon as he said "cavalry horse," Jason knew it was in the bag. Tim even gave him a nod that said he was of the same thought.
It was an odd sort of thing, he and Tim. When Jason thought back on how his older cousin bullied and picked on him as a child it was hard to believe Tim was the same person.
Over the years after his Uncle Bart disappeared, Jason and Tim became good friends. Jason was never sure if that was because Tim outgrew his meanness or if it was because he was no longer under his father's influence.
Regardless, Tim, who had once been such a mean boy, had grown into a good man.
Without Bart around, Tim also eventually came to trust Tavington and like Jason, listened and learned as much as he possibly could about the equine world from his uncle. He was big and burly now like Uncle Bart and still enjoyed tucking under at his Aunt Ether's table.
Tim never had the eye for selection that came naturally to Jason, but he was the brains of the operation and was very good with numbers and money. He was also very knowledgeable in animal husbandry and healing and became somewhat known around the area for his veterinary skills.
When he turned twenty-one, Tim was given the Mitchel's property in Concord.
It was to be a gift from Mr. Mitchel for Tim to do with as he wished and also what would be his inheritance.
By that age Tim had pretty much realized that his father was never coming back. He never asked why, he didn't have a need to know about his father like Jason eventually did. By the time Jason was eighteen a family meeting was held and then, both of the boys knew why.
So,needless to say, none of the family was surprised when Tim announced he wanted to make the trip back home to Massachusetts. If anything, it would confirm whether or not Bart had taken over the property when he disappeared. When Tim asked Jason to make the journey with him, they both realized that this was a chance to get square with each of their pasts.
They visited the family cemetery nearby where Tim's mother, Johanna had been buried next to Grandma Mitchel. The graves were nearly covered by weeds and wild roses and the boys spent the better part of an hour clearing them the best they could.
The house as Tim remembered it was gone. It had been torn down or possibly burnt down years ago. Nothing remained other than the gray stone foundation and fireplace ruins. The springhouse was gone.
Tim told a story of how once their mothers were home alone before Johanna Mitchel died when a black bear broke into the springhouse. The beast was devouring whatever he could get his paws on and the women shot his head clean off. Bart and Mr. Mitchel had come home to find enough bear meat to last the winter, a busted up spinghouse and a very chuffed wife and daughter.
The old stone wall that ran along the apple tree-lined drive was still there, although toppled in some places. The craggy-looking apple trees only bearing hard, sour little fruits. The barn however, remained perfectly intact.
The boys burned it to the ground that very day. Each had their own reasons for wanting it gone.
Tim then spent a few days in Concord instructing a solicitor to sell his property.
The Mitchel's left New England and never looked back.
With that, the two oldest Mitchel grandsons were bonded like brothers, just as their grandfather had wished them to be. When old man Mitchel passed one winter day, the entire family took it hard, but found solace for their grief in each other and the bonds they shared. Jason would forever be thankful for his grandfather's love, wisdom and friendship.
He thought to himself at that moment his grandfather would probably be ribbing Tavington a bit about Isaac's comments. They had sounded so much like something Grandpa Mitchel would say.
Isaac Tavington, Jason's younger and only brother was the spitting image of his father. A little awkward at the age of thirteen but with a quick sense of humor, Isaac not only looked like his father, he walked, talked and sounded like the man. It gave Jason the heebie-jeebies sometimes when the boys joked about it and Isaac would start cutting up and imitate his father's accent.
Isaac was a crack shot with a rifle too but he couldn't ride nearly as well as Jason's oldest sister, Ena.
Ena was everything Jason's mother dreamed of in a sweet baby girl. She dressed her in ribbons and bows and pigtails and tried to teach her all the things mothers teach little girls-until Ena turned seven and fell in love with horses. Although it wasn't as if Momma had lost her first baby to horse fever but Ena was hit by it with a passion that only rivaled his own. All the Tavington children loved to ride. Now at the age of eleven, little Ena could just about outride them all.
She had her own little saddle and Jason couldn't wait to see her face when she saw the new horses.
At least his poor mother still had three other daughters to herself, all of them just girlie enough to keep her happy and still treat their Daddy like a king. Regardless though, of how they treated their father, or how their mother doted on her daughters, the Tavington girls were Jason's girls. Jason had been there when all his siblings were born and he adored each and every one of them. That's the way it had to be in Ohio Country. You're brothers and sisters were helpers and playmates. They had to be, there was no one else around.
Jason half expected the girls-as his mother and sisters were refered to these days- to show up at any moment loaded down with baskets of whatever berries they had managed to pick that day.
Polly would probably be wearing her share of the berries on her fingers and lips. Jason swore most times the nine year old ate more than she picked. She was a cute little girl though, possessing a certain family pride about her like he did when he was her age. Just like all his sisters, she had Esther's honey colored hair but with the Mitchel brown eyes. "Just like Jason and Grandpa," Polly would say.
Lisa Tavington was seven and she knew everything. One only had to ask her. Jason had no idea where the child held all the knowledge she stored in her head but she had a thirst for it. Jason often remarked he thought Lisa would grow up to be a teacher someday. If he had to choose a favorite sister, it would be Lisa. She was not only very intelligent, she was a fun kid to spend time with and easy to entertain.
Jason's youngest sister Katherine was only four and aptly nicknamed "Katy-don't." That was all one really needed to say about Katy. She was a sweet child, very loving, always smiling, but she was always into something and usually making a mess of whatever it was she was into. If someone told Jason one of his sisters fell in the creek her Sunday best, it would be Katy.
Growing up in Ohio had been good for all of the Tavington children. They were all strong and healthy, home-schooled but educated nonetheless. Their greatest lesson in learning how to love and be loved.
Tavington had proved not only to be a wonderful father but also a good provider. He eventually built the family a bigger home so they would have room to grow. None of his children ever did without and it could never be said that Tavington was uninvolved.
His mother seemed happy with Dad and Jason had to give him credit for that. He could still remember many times as a child when his mother smiled even though he knew she was sad and lonely. Tavington always treated his mother with respect and he was grateful for that. It seemed to him that was the way a marriage should be. On the Frontier husbands and wives had to learn to work together. Not only because the marriage benefited from it, but because their lives often depended on it.
Jason had been young when his father entered his life and married his mother. He had stepped up and taken on his responsibilities like man. Jason worshipped him then as a child, but now, as a man himself he admired Tavington.
Occasionally over the years his dad would make a comment about his days as a British officer that led Jason to believe he was a man with a dark past. That never bothered Jason because from the first day he met the man, Tavington had been good to him. That was all that mattered to Jason and unlike most step-sons, Jason could honestly say that Tavington had never treated him any less than his natural children. Jason was Tavington's oldest son, period.
Whether Jason took his name or inherited from him, it made no difference. When Jason inherited the Mitchel farm after the old man died, he and Tim took up residence as bachelors and with the money Tim earned from the sale of the Concord farm the two had started their horse breeding business. Jason had his own land and money, he didn't need to inherit anything from Tavington.
Jason's only other ambitions were set on someday finding a nice girl to marry and starting a family of his own…he certainly had been raised by good example.
With that thought, Jason's finished woolgathering and left the others to discuss more about events at the auction. He needed to get the horses into the stable, get them rubbed down, fed and watered for the night. He was starving and wondered what his mother made for dinnner.
Perhaps tomorrow, after the Morgans had a good rest, he would hitch them to the wagon and see what they could do.
October in Ohio Country was perfect weather for a pick-nick and a hayride.
His sisters loved hayrides.
~The End