The Johnson Place: A Rappahannock County Story

By J. Stewart Willis

In the Johnson Place, visit the story of tract of land, the site of a tragic hunting accident, the sexual enslavement of a seventeen year old girl, the murder of a farmer's wife, the trial and hanging of the guilty party, an opportunistic purchase of the land, a family con

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors' Tranquility Press
• Release date: May 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958179987

J. Stewart Willis

About the author: J. Stewart Willis served twenty-five years in the United States Army and worked for twelve years with a division of a major tech company in Northern Virginia. While working in the tech industry, he worked on three proposals including the management of one for over a hundred million dollars. DEADLY HIGHWAY is based very loosely on those experiences.

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PART I

THE LIFE AND TRIAL OF JAMES H. JOHNSON

CHAPTER

ONE

It was a Sunday in early January 1848.

When there was a knock at his door, James H. Johnson was sitting in his room in the Italianate brick stable he managed on the Monterosa Estate in Warrenton, Virginia. He shouted, Yes, who is it?

The door burst open. You don't sound friendly, James.

Hell, Robie, I wasn't expecting anyone. Thought you were one of the other guys who work here. There are a bunch of us. What are you doing in town?

Robert Scott took a ladder-back chair by James's small gate-leg table. Things are quiet in Marshall. I thought I'd come to see what the city folk are doing.

You did? Well, you came to the wrong place. I'm no city folk.

Well, you're the only person I know in this little excuse for a city.

More of a town, I'd say.

And I agree, Scott responded. So, why are you sitting lazily in your room? Is your boss not around?

Estate boss or the owner of the property?

I guess the latter.

Master William ‘Extra Billy’ Smith?

Yes, I guess. I never heard why he's called 'Extra Billy.'

The story goes that when Andrew Jackson was President, he hired Smith to run a stagecoach line between the capital and Milledgeville, then the Georgia state capital, to carry the mail. Smith expanded the route with all kinds of branches. He had a monopoly and charged high prices, extra prices … thus the nickname. It doesn’t seem to have hurt him.

I guess not. He’s been the governor for a while now.

Hell, he’s friends with Presidents. Polk even visited here. Smith’s been governor for three years, but he lost being reelected. He’ll be back here soon, which leaves us all a little uncertain.

Do you think you might lose your job?

Just worried the living around here will change --worried that he’ll pay more attention to what we do.

Well, can’t you go home if you need to?

Are you joking? I have two brothers and seven sisters, and we’re all competing for the farm. A couple of my sisters are still living there. It was bad enough when we were all living there. The place hardly held us.

Well, I’m sorry to hear about your woes. Maybe old ‘Extra Billy’ will go back to running the mail, and he will need you.

Let’s hope.

Yes, let’s. Meanwhile, do you have something to drink? It’s been a long day … a couple of hours in the saddle, half freezing to death.

Hey, it’s above freezing.

Doesn’t feel like it when riding along at six or seven miles an hour.

Well. Maybe you shouldn’t have been out.

I wouldn’t have been if it had been colder. Just thought the weather might not be too bad. I needed to get out.

Scott looked around the room. About that drink.

Oh, yes. Ale’s down in the tack room keeping cool. I’ll get us a couple of mugs.

Maybe just in time to save my life.

While James was gone, Robert looked around the room. He sighed as he thought of its being so small, so bare. It didn’t reflect much of an accomplishment for a man of thirty-one years … a bed piled with shabby blankets and quilts, a couple of wooden chairs, a battered desk, and a hamper for unknowns … clean clothes, dirty clothes? Who knew what? Clothing hung on pegs … coats, an extra shirt, and pants … that’s all. There were no reserve boots.

The wide boards of the floor were old, worn, and of questionable cleanliness.

There were no pictures. The table held some stationery, ink, and a quill. Robert thought, at least he’s in contact with the outside world … perhaps.

And the man is still without a wife. That seems sad.

He’s an attractive man with a beautiful beard and magnificent mustache. What’s wrong with him. He’s twenty-nine years old and living his life in a lonely room with other laborers in a stable? It’s a grand stable, brick and solid, but it’s not his. He doesn’t even know if his job is guaranteed. He lives at the whim of a charismatic man.

I just don’t understand him living such a solitary life. I know he’s short-tempered, sometimes sarcastic, and stubborn as hell, but he can be charming if he wants to and can be good company over a drink or a game of cards.

If he’s so good-looking, why is he living this way? His father is a respected farmer in Rappahannock. He grew up with a large family of siblings. He had to get along with people. How did he come to this life?

Lard knows I’ll never live like this. I know I’m twenty-four already, but I live in a house with my dad. I’m the only son. I’ll inherit the farm when old Abraham dies. I may never have a wife. A woman would have to live with my face, my feeble excuse for a chin. Maybe I’ll be lonely, but I’ll do well. It must be hell having to share your heritage with nine siblings. Thank God I’m an only child in this world of patrilineal inheritance.

Robert was shaken from his musings by a sudden banging on the door. From the hallway, James shouted, Let me in. My hands are full of steins.

Robert rushed and opened the door. James entered and set a stein on the desk, sloshing it slightly. He wiped the sloshed ale with the side of his hand. He grinned. It helps the veneer.

Robert smiled at the joke knowing there was no veneer. Sometimes you have to live with your imagination and your dreams.

Robert pondered what James’s dreams were. He wondered where they would lead.

Finally, he made his declaration. James, you’re living a hell of a lousy life. Are you going to stay a bachelor forever? Don’t you have any dreams? Don’t you want a woman?

Hell, there are women in town. I can find one when I need to. If I have needs, I go to Louise Vanderworts --Miss Lou’s. It’s only three blocks away, and I can find my way back no matter how much I’ve had to drink.

A whore house is not what I mean, and you know it.

Hell, Robert, you’re one to talk. I don’t see you hitched up to a woman.

Damn, James, I’m pocked and ugly. You’re not. You ought to be able to find a woman easily.

And do what with them. I’m a dirty bastard running a stable with no future. I’m good for a few nights, but I don’t have anything to offer a woman … no future … no property …nothing at all.

What do you mean? I thought your daddy had a nice farm.

Lot of good that does me. Daddy’s going strong, and I’ve got a hoard of brothers and sisters. A man shouldn’t have so many children. He needs one son, and that’s all so that his name and land continue on.

You still need to think about it.

Oh, you have a woman to offer me?

I’ll tell you where to look.

Oh.

Dulin woman, up around Leesburg. She’s around thirty. Hear her mother’s shopping her around.

Sounds like she’s been shopping for a long time. Thirty’s a spinster. What’s wrong with the woman?

I can’t answer that. I haven’t seen her, but I hear tell that she and her mother live in a big house on a farm and have money.

Is she going to inherit the farm?

Not likely. She’s like you … has a bunch of brothers and sisters.

So, she’s ugly and’s not going to inherit anything.

Homely’s a kinder word.

But she has money, you say?

Yes, there’s money in the family.

"I’ll keep her in mind. Maybe my fortune will change.

CHAPTER

TWO

James’s father was William Cumberland Marshall Johnson, a bull of a man who owned a farm in the Harris Hollow west of the Town of Washington, Virginia. He had been born in 1794, the son of David I. Johnson and Jane Joice Skaggs Johnson. He married Sarah Elizabeth Jennings. They had ten children: Harriet; Penelope Nellie; James H.; Sarah Ann; John Washington; Emily Frances; Lucy Catherine; Joel W.; Elizabeth Virginia; and Mary Jane (who died early). In 1833 Marshall was thirty-nine years old. His father, David I. Johnston, was sixty-three. David was getting too old to farm, so he made a deal with his son; he would transfer the farm to Marshall if the latter would become indentured to him and take care of him and his wife.

Over the following years, Marshall became a respected small farmer.

Early in an afternoon in January 1849, Marshall’s hired hand, Madison Fletcher, knocked on the door. Mary, Marshall’s black servant girl, opened the door and noted the man’s worried face. Is something wrong, Master Fletcher?

Yes, Mare. Is Mr. Marshall here?

Marshall shouted across the room, Come in, Madison, and close the door. It’s cold as hell out there. I can feel the wind from here. It’s going to give Sarah a chill.

Fletcher hurried in and closed the door while Mary scurried to the kitchen area. Fletcher, holding his hat in two hands across his chest, waited for Marshall to speak.

Well, Madison, what’s this about? Speak up, man.

Bear’s been into the pigs, sir; stole food, scratched the sow, and killed a piglet.

Damn, Madison. Do you think we can track him?

I can still see his paw prints in what’s left of the snow where he came across the field, so we know where he went back into the woods,

You think that devil’s been gone long?

No, sir, I heard the sow, left the barn, and hurried to the pen.

Did you see him?

No, sir, they move fast, but it had to be a bear --probably heard Chester and me in the barn and ran. The bear can’t be gone more than ten minutes.

All right, get your Kentucky. Meet me behind the stable and close the damn door when you go out.

Do you want Chester to go too?

No. Have him look after the sow.

When Fletcher had gone, Marshall went to Sarah, picked up her hand, and looked her in the eye. I have to go, Sarah. I shouldn’t be gone long. We need to kill this bear, or he’ll be back over and over again. He’s found food. He won’t forget about it. Will you be all right?

Sarah coughed into her handkerchief. Of course. Mary’s here. She’ll keep the fire going. Do what you have to do.

Marshall released Sarah’s hand and pulled her covers up over her chest. If you and Mary need anything, call Chester. Stay warm. I’ll hurry.

Stay safe. Wear your heavy coat. You may be out a while.

Marshall pulled on a second sweater, threw a scarf around his neck, pulled his coat from its hook, and huffed it on.

Sarah looked at him over her spectacles. Goodness, you look like a bear yourself.

Marshall grinned as he clamped a hat on his head and picked up his Remington. Maybe he won’t see me coming.

He closed the door behind him, checked to ensure it was latched, turned, and hunkered down in his coat as the cold hit him. He quickly slipped on his gloves, with the rifle leaning against the door frame. Then, with the gun in hand, he headed for the barn, behind which Madison Fletcher waited, pressed against the barn siding to help break the wind.

Marshall directed, Show me the prints. Let’s get going. It’s already past mid-afternoon, and he’s got a start on us.

They headed across the field toward Jenkins Mountain. In the woods, they found the path the bear had used. As they climbed up the lower slope of the mountain, they found the bear's prints became muddled, stepped over by other animals, probably deer. After a while, they came to a fork in the path. The snow was stirred in both directions. Marshall glared at the two tracks and then at Madison. It will be dark soon. You take the right path for half an hour. I’ll take the left. If we don’t find anything, head home.

Marshall tramped forward along the left path for fifteen minutes when he stopped. He thought he had heard something. He moved cautiously into a thicket next to the path, hid as best he could, raised his rifle to be ready, and waited. After five minutes, he had heard nothing. Soon he saw Fletcher coming down the trail. He lowered his rifle and rose to walk out of the thicket. A shot roared on the side of the mountain and echoed through the mountain ravines. Marshall gripped his chest, fell to his knees, and collapsed into the briars next to the path.

Thirty feet up the path, Madison Fletcher stood in horror. He, too, had heard a sound and waited. He hadn’t realized the two paths had converged. He had seen the movement of a black bulk next to the path, obfuscated by the dimming of the day’s light, and had quickly fired. After a momentary shock, he ran forward and knelt beside the fallen body of his employer. Oh God, oh, God. Don’t let him die.

He pulled off one of Marshall’s gloves and felt for a pulse. There was none. He put his ear near Marshall’s mouth. He felt no breath. He sat back on his haunches. Lord, what have I done? I’ll need to get Chester. I need to get the master home.

CHAPTER

THREE

On March 15, 1848, James H. Johnson picked up a copy of the Washington, D. C. newspaper, The National Intelligencer, which he had found left on the mounting block in front of the stables. It was two days old, but James didn’t often see a paper. He sat on the block and fingered through the newspaper. Suddenly, he was startled to see the obituary of his father.

Obituary

Born, between 1790 and 1796, Marshall (one source refers to him as Cumberland Marshall) Johnson was probably the son of David and Sarah Johnson. He was married to Sarah E. Jennings.

Marshall was a prosperous farmer just north of Washington, Rappahannock Co., Virginia, whose property was in the foothills of the Blue Ridge.

Mr. Marshall Johnson, a highly respected citizen of Rappahannock Co., Virginia, was accidentally shot three weeks since. Being dressed in a thick coat, he was mistaken for a bear and fired upon by Mr. Madison Fletcher.

James reread it. There was no doubt. There couldn’t be another Cumberland Marshall. Why has no one told me? Why didn’t someone send a rider, or at least a letter? Why hadn’t Harriett or Lucy? So, what if I haven’t had any contact with them in years … they still could have found me. I’m the first son, after all. The farm should belong to me.

He hurried to his room and gathered his things. He didn’t know if he’d be back, but he didn’t own much. He told his laborers he had a family emergency and would be gone a couple of days. He checked out with the estate manager, Milton Scroggins, saddled his horse, Banner, a fifteen-year-old gelding he’s bought when he had left home, put his things in the saddlebag, and rode off to Rappahannock. He decided not to go to the farm. He didn’t know if his mother was still there. He chose to go to Lucy’s house. She had married James W. Swindler and probably lived the other side of Sperryville. It was a few miles further than the farm, but James was sure someone would be there.

Worrisomely, he wasn’t certain where his sister lived, but he guessed it was Henry Swindler’s place. If he was wrong, James would waste a lot of time.

Henry had been a contemporary of James’s Grandfather, David. David had laughed when Henry had married Ellen Gaunt when he was in his forties, and Ellen was barely twenty. James was born the next year. That meant he was twenty-three, the same age as Lucy.

James considered the time. It was a long day’s ride. He would arrive late. He would have to wake them up, but he thought they deserved it. They hadn’t contacted him about Marshall’s death and deserved to pay the price.

He rode all afternoon. He stopped at Hackley’s in Amissville to eat and to water and feed his gelding. As he left, he cursed the early darkness and the cold. It was almost midnight when he reached his destination. No candles burned inside the house. He hadn’t expected any. As he approached the door of Henry Swindler’s house, he hesitated a moment, worried that the house might have been sold. He knocked on the door timidly, preparing himself to face a stranger. No one responded.

He knocked louder and waited. He saw a candlelight flicker past the window to his right. The door opened, and a young man said, Who are you, and what do you want? Don’t you know it’s late?

I want a warm room and someplace to stable my horse for the night.

There are a stable and a place to stay in Sperryville a couple of miles down the road.

Are you James Swindler?

Yes.

Then you’re my brother-in-law.

Are you James?

Yes.

A woman appeared behind James. Who is it, Jimmy?

James turned to her. Says he’s your brother.

Do you mean James?

James Johnson leaned past James Swindler. Is that you, Lucy?

What do you want, James?

What do I want? … I want to know why no one told me of Dad’s death. I want to know what’s happening to the farm.

James, I was eleven years old when you left us. We hardly ever heard from you. We didn’t know where you were.

Hell, I was twenty-some-odd miles away. You could have inquired.

You’re saying it was our responsibility to keep track of you? That’s crazy.

Crazy or not, are you going to let me in?

I don’t know. What do you want?

I want my property.

It’s not your property.

What the hell do you mean? I’m the oldest son.

Those are the rules of the gentry.

Well, it’s my rule too.

The court doesn’t say that.

What’s the court got to say about it? What does the will say?

There is no will. Jimmy took it to the judge to decide.

James Johnson looked at Swindler. This young whelp? Why did you do that? You had no right.

Swindler didn’t lose eye contact. Your mother has to be taken care of. Your sisters Mary and Virginia and your brother Joel have to be taken care of.

Yeah, I could do that.

Lucy interjected, You can. You’ve got one-tenth of the farm. All the children got one-tenth, and Mother got one-tenth. It’s all our responsibility to take care of her and our sisters.

Yes. How’s that going to work?

Some of us are more responsible than others. You’re welcome to come back to Rappahannock and help. The farm needs working.

And the devil with your sarcasm, little sister. Who do I talk to about this?

The court made Uncle Martin the Administrator.

Thomas Martin, Aunt Mary’s husband?

That’s right.

All right. I’ll see him in the morning.

Do what you will. The court decided.

James backed from the door. Did you say there’s an Inn in Sperryville? I need someplace to give me a warm and friendly welcome.

Lucy laughed. They’ll expect you to be friendly in return.

CHAPTER

FOUR

James’s discussions with Thomas Martin proved futile. As far as his uncle was concerned, James was a foreigner. For too long, the man had been gone from Rappahannock and from his family.

James returned to Warrenton angry and frustrated. He was short-tempered with his fellow workers and sometimes mean.

His mother, Sally, died in September. Again, it was a while before he learned of her death. He groused to himself so much for taking care of our mother.

He periodically rode to Rappahannock to check on the farm. After his mother’s death, he found his siblings still living on the farm. The fields were not being planted. There were no pigs. A horse and a milk cow were in the barn, and the carriage was still in the shed. The vegetable garden by the house was still cared for. At least my little sisters and brother are able to take care of that.

Time passed into the year 1849.

James became more restless, more frustrated.

Late in the year, having failed in his effort to be reelected Governor of Virginia, Billy Smith returned to Monterosa. For a while, the life of the estate’s workers became more demanding as Smith stalked about the land giving directions as to its maintenance. In the previous couple of years, Smith had completed the construction of a large brick house. He had turned the preexisting two-story house into an office. There was much to be done to put things in order, and all workers were needed, even those from the stable.

Then one day, he was gone.

Rumors as to his whereabouts spread among the workers and the citizens of Warrenton. Eventually, the word was out. Extra Billy had gone to California to seek gold … to make his fortune.

Heck, James thought, the man’s already got a fortune. Just look at this place. He doesn’t need more. I’m the one who needs to go to California, but I can’t afford to. I need a way out of this place. For all I know, Smith will sell Monterosa, and I’ll be without a job. I need a plan.

Each night he lay on his straw mattress and thought. Finally, he had a plan.

CHAPTER

FIVE

James arrived in Marshall late in the morning. He knocked on the door of a small, white-washed farmhouse. An old man answered the door.

James smiled. Are you Mr. Abraham?

The man nodded. Abraham Scott.

I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Scott. I’m James Johnson. Is Robert in?

You the one he drinks with … the one from Warrenton?

We visit some … yes, sir.

Well, I hope you’re passing through.

On my way to Leesburg, yes.

He’s putting the cow out.

By the sheds?

Yes. Don’t keep him. He’s got work to do.

James turned and started walking to the outer buildings. Just going to tell him hello.

As he walked, James could feel the man looking sullenly at him.

James found Robert closing the gate to a field. Robert looked up and saw James coming. He grinned. Look who’s out in the country.

Hey, Robie, on my way to Leesburg. Thought I’d say hello.

My guess is you’re looking for a meal, too.

It would be nice, but your dad doesn’t seem friendly.

No, he probably won’t be good company. Blames you for a lot of things. I’ll sneak in, get some food, and bring it out. Where are you headed? I know it’s not to pay me a visit.

Going to visit that Dulin woman you talked about.

Oh, did you find out where she lives?

Goresville.

Lord, you’re not going to make it tonight.

No, I’ll stop in Leesburg.

So, why are you going?

You said I needed a wife. Thought I’d check her out. She’s thirty-two, which is a little worrisome.

So, she’s about your age?

A few months older, but close enough.

So, you’re now looking for a wife?

Maybe.

I thought you didn’t have anything to offer a wife.

That may have changed.

That explains why your mustache is waxed so pretty.

I’m not depending on that. I’m depending on her needing to be married.

As I remember, I told you her family had money.

And that she was ugly.

Homely, Robert smirked, I said homely, but from what you’re saying, maybe that doesn’t matter. It’s the money you’re going for.

Why not? It’s not like I have a job that will attract a woman.

"So, you’re going to marry this woman and take her money. What are you going to do with it?

I’ll buy my farm in Rappahannock from my miserable siblings.

What if it’s not enough money?

Then, I won’t marry her.

CHAPTER

SIX

As James approached Nancy Elgin Dulin’s two-story frame house outside Goresville, he spied a man