Authors: Eleanor Kuhns
He experienced a sudden awful premonition. “Don’t go back to Zion. Please.”
“Why not? This arrangement suits you. But me? I want to be your equal partner, a wife, not a housekeeper.”
“Then let’s get married,” he blurted.
She shook her head at him. “And then what?” She sighed. “I don’t want a proposal made from fear. Nor do I want a husband who behaves like my master. I was never very good at obedience, even when I belonged to the Shakers.”
“I want to marry you. I love you. I’m … just not sure I’m ready. Not yet.” Rees paced a lap in front of the fireplace, trying to release some of his emotion.
“I understand,” she said. “You still love Dolly. I daresay you’ll never love anyone as much as you love her.”
Rees couldn’t look at her. “That’s not it,” he said hoarsely.
“Of course it is.”
“No. You don’t understand. I didn’t love her. I grew fond of her, that’s true. But I didn’t love her. And I was the one who killed her.”
The silence seemed to extend into eternity. Finally Lydia swallowed and said in a whisper, “What do you mean?”
“I was home, wounded. Nate was already married and with a little boy, Richard. We argued, something trivial, no doubt. I barely remember. Anyway, I wanted to show him I could find a girl of my own and I knew Dolly was interested so…” He couldn’t look at Lydia. “I was a boy and I behaved like a boy. When I came home again a few months later, David was on the way and Dolly and I wed.” He peeked at Lydia. Emotions—surprise, disappointment, relief—all spun rapidly across her face.
“What about Nate?”
“I never spoke to him again.” He forced a laugh. “Nate always thought he knew best. When we were apprentices together, I wanted to court and marry Mr. Stewart’s daughter. Nate talked me out of it.” He paused. Lydia waited in silence for him to continue. “Dolly deserved a better man,” Rees said at last. “I never stayed home. Well, I couldn’t if I were to earn our bread. But I wouldn’t have anyway. I’m a wanderer.…”
“David tells me his mother was happy,” Lydia said. “Most of the time.”
Rees shook his head. When he looked at her, his eyes were liquid with unshed tears. “You don’t understand. It’s my fault she died, she and our unborn babe. I brought back the sickness that took her.” He heard Lydia inhale and waited for the storm to break: a storm of disgust and hatred.
“So now you’re God?”
“Huh? What?”
“Are you now taking on God’s work as your own? He has the power of life and death. Not you.”
“But I brought the sickness home.”
“Neither you nor David succumbed.” Lydia suddenly leaned forward and put her hand upon his. Physical contact with her was so rare, and now so unexpected, that Rees felt a shock of heat burn through him. “It wasn’t your time. God chooses when to invite us into His House; not you.” Withdrawing her hand, Lydia said with a smile, “Not everything is your responsibility, Will Rees. And you tried to do the right thing, even if you were not the kind of husband you wished to be. From what I’ve heard about your Dolly, she knew that.”
Rees felt the knot he’d carried inside him for so many years loosen.
“That’s why you didn’t come home for years at a time?” Lydia murmured. “The farm reminds you of Dolly.”
Rees nodded. “She loved the farm, loved the work. I can hardly set foot in the barn without remembering her there.” He smiled through a haze of tears. “She spent a lot of time in the barn, fussing with her cows.” He sucked in a breath, hating the quaver in his voice. “She’d always say the same thing: ‘Hello, Willie, visiting the cowherd.’ And I’d always say yes.”
Lydia remained briefly silent; then she leaned forward and clasped his hand. “You have nothing over which to reproach yourself. Although your marriage may have begun, well, not so propitiately as you would have liked, you grew to love Dolly and she loved you, too. She was taken home young, but she enjoyed a good life while she lived here. None of us can hope for more. You know that.”
Rees nodded. Turning his hand over, he clenched her hand tightly in his. “And you—what do you know?” he asked, his chest aching with his captured breath.
“I know I don’t expect you to stay home all the time. You aren’t a farmer and probably will never want to be. But I would expect you to come home to me. I would expect to be your only woman. And I would expect to be your partner, equal in every way. Equal as the women are in the Shakers. Not someone you treat with the condescending protectiveness of a child.”
“I’m certain if I backslide, you’ll remind me,” Rees said with a sudden grin.
She smiled in return, but her words were serious. “I don’t want to feel Dolly’s ghost standing between us.”
“She doesn’t. Not for me, anyway,” he said, thinking of David. “I choose you, Lydia.”
Now her smile was genuine. “We’ll talk more, Will,” she said as rose to her feet. “But David will be in soon. And the water will boil away if we leave it much longer.”
“I’m making the tea for you,” Rees said, pulling down the tin. “Sit down.” He wanted to continue this conversation, but besides David’s incipient arrival, he could see Lydia needed some time to ponder his revelation.
She obeyed. After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, she said, “Why, do you think, did Nate encourage the fiction that Augustus was his son?”
“I don’t know. Not from a desire to have a son, since he has one of his own.” He paused. “What is your opinion of Richard? You know him now, better than I do.”
“He’s spoiled,” she said. “Mrs. Bowditch reserves all her affection for him. He feels he is entitled to whatever he desires. I suspect Nate’s refusal to countenance his marriage to Elizabeth Carleton was the very first time he was ever denied anything.” Lydia’s forehead crinkled in thought. “But I don’t see Richard as capable of murder. He is essentially soft.”
Rees nodded. “I agree.”
“I think Mrs. Bowditch resented Nate’s affection for Augustus. Not so much for herself—she sees him as a threat to Richard.”
“So why did Rachel keep his parentage a secret? Molly treated her poorly for many years, and for no reason. Yet Rachel preferred to keep silent and suffer her mistress’s punishment.”
“She was afraid,” Lydia said.
Rees paused, the teapot held aloft. “Of what? Surely she was safe at the Bowditch farm?”
“Why indeed?” Lydia rushed forward to rescue the teapot and transfer it to the table.
“Why what?” asked David, entering silently in stocking feet.
“Nothing,” Rees responded promptly. Lydia made a half gesture warning him to silence, but it was too late. “It’s a private matter—”
“Private. You mean for adults.” David shook his head, his eyes narrowing with fury. “Private. Don’t I do a man’s work? Why do you persist in treating me like a child?” He stamped out, slamming the door behind him.
Rees looked at Lydia and sighed. “I’ve tried to remember he isn’t a little boy, really I have. But we can’t tell him this.…”
“I know. But he just wants to be included with us, the adults. Now he feels betrayed by both of us.” She sighed. “And this is so ugly.” Laying a hand on Rees’s wrist, she said, “Go after him. Explain as much as you feel you can.”
“But what shall I say?”
“You’ll know. It’s not the secret that’s important to him. He wants to feel we include him and trust him, that’s all.”
Rees turned his arm over and, taking her small callused hand into his, he gave it a squeeze. “I want … We’ll talk again later.” He rose to his feet and with a final glance at Lydia, he went after David.
Considering what he might say to smooth the troubled waters, Rees tracked his son to the barn. Of course. Like his mother, David found solace in the farm. When Rees peered cautiously through the door, he saw both David and Augustus at the back. David held a pitchfork as though he planned to throw the hay into a stack. But instead of working he was ranting.
“He never paid any attention to me,” he said. “He dropped me off at my aunt’s and took off, not bothering to return for months at a time. Even years. And now, when I’m running the farm like a man, doing a man’s work, he treats me like a five-year-old.” With a mighty heave, he tossed a particularly large forkful of hay on top of the pile.
“I think your father is a good man,” Augustus said, his voice soft. “He married your mother, didn’t he? I wish my father had wed my mother. And when he traveled, he worked and brought home money to support you. He didn’t just abandon you; he left you with relatives. His sister. He didn’t know she would mistreat you, did he?”
David turned to look at the other boy. “Well, she didn’t exactly mistreat me,” he admitted. “Charley, my cousin, and I were treated the same. Sort of. And it wasn’t her so much as my uncle.”
“I wish I had an aunt and uncle,” Augustus said, even more softly. “And cousins. Not just a half brother who inherits everything and only treats me like family when it suits him. Besides, your father is dealing in other people’s secrets. My mother’s for one.
I
don’t even know everything about her. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell you, but he shouldn’t.”
David said nothing. Slowly he picked up the pitchfork and began to toss hay. Rees quietly withdrew. He owed Augustus a big thank-you.
Chapter Twenty-three
Rees arose with David the following morning, before 4
A.M
., since he planned to leave immediately for New Winstead. Lydia had coffee perking on the hob. As she poured out a cup, she and Rees shared an intimate smile. Rees ate his breakfast, last night’s biscuits soaked in honey, and went outside. Bessie was already hitched to the wagon: David’s apology. Rees, who thought he owed David an apology as well, looked around for his son, but he was already somewhere else and busy with chores.
The journey south to New Winstead took almost three hours. Rees had never visited this town, a somewhat larger community than Dugard and lying closer to the line of their parent state of Massachusetts. He drove in slowly and pulled into the yard of the first livery stable he saw. Since he could not guess how long his search for, and hopefully meeting with, Mr. Lattimore would take, he thought the tuppence for stabling Bessie well spent.
When the groom, a gangly fellow with unkempt fair hair and a gap between his front teeth, appeared to take the reins, Rees stayed him with a question. “Do you know a Mr. Cornelius Lattimore?”
“Mr. Lattimore? Sure. But you got a bit of a walk.”
“I need to stretch my legs.” True enough. At thirty-six, he felt his knees stiffening after more than an hour of sitting. “Where is his office?”
“Walk straight until you reach Oak Street. You’re going to want to go right. Across from the village green turn left. You’ll see Mr. Garrett the tailor on the corner. Walk another block and turn right. Brick house.”
Rees nodded his thanks and began walking. He walked through the center of town and out again, heading into a neighborhood of tree-lined streets. Rees, who had a long stride, took twenty minutes to reach the brick house described by the groom.
The large house was set a distance back from the road. Rees crossed the walk and went up the stairs to the porch. A matronly woman opened the door to his knock. “Yes?”
“Is Mr. Lattimore available?”
“Is he expecting you?” Rees heard the implied reproof.
“No. I’ve come from a distance, from Dugard,” he said.
“He’s eating his breakfast.” She kept her hand upon the door.
“I’ll wait until he finishes his meal.” Rees could be stubborn, too.
She hesitated, thinking, and finally stood back. “Come in. I’ll inform Mr. Lattimore of your arrival. Please sit down.” She directed his attention to a chair by the front door. “Whom shall I say is calling?”
“William Rees. It is in regard to Nathaniel Bowditch.” He didn’t know if Nate’s name would trigger a response but knew his own would not, and when her eyes flickered with Nate’s name Rees knew he was right.
She hurried away. Rees sat down gingerly, unsure if the chair was sturdy enough to support his weight, and looked around. Pocket doors closed off the two rooms to his left, and a narrow staircase on the right rose to the second floor. The servant had hurried toward the back of the hall and disappeared through the door facing Rees. She reappeared through it very suddenly.
“Come with me, Mr. Rees,” she said, sliding back the rear doors and gesturing him into a book-lined room. Another door in the back wall led to a small office lined with more books. “Mr. Lattimore will join you here shortly.” She pointed him to the chair across from the desk and withdrew. Rees sat down. This small narrow office looked as though it had been carved from the larger room outside. She returned with sliced cake and tea, just as a spare older gentleman in a blue jacket and buff breeches appeared.
He paused by the door, waiting for his housekeeper to withdraw and inspecting Rees in silence. Rees turned to regard this gentleman as well. His clothing was old-fashioned but of excellent quality. A few gray strands of hair striped his bald pate and he bore the bony desiccated appearance of an abstemious Puritan. His brown eyes scrutinized Rees with interest, but he did not speak until he sat down behind his desk.
“How did you find my name, Mr. Rees?” he asked.
“I found it in Nate Bowditch’s desk,” Rees said.
“I see. From your appearance here, I deduce he has passed on.”
“Murdered.” Rees found himself adopting Mr. Lattimore’s laconic style of speech. “How did you know he died?”
Mr. Lattimore permitted himself a small smile. “Mr. Bowditch knew he was ill and suspected that he might not have much time remaining to him. In fact, your name is not unfamiliar to me. He mentioned you once or twice.”
Rees shivered. For the first time he wondered if Nate, knowing his life was in danger, had planned to involve his boyhood friend in the investigation. After all these years, Nate had turned to the one person he knew he could still trust. Rees turned his head to hide the moisture in his eyes but didn’t fool Mr. Lattimore, who pushed a handkerchief into Rees’s hand.
“Are you an attorney?” Rees asked. He had always found attorneys helpful.
“I am. Silas Potter sent Mr. Bowditch to me to draw up his will and hold for safe keeping some other items.” Again a slight smile. “He hoped you would be the one to collect them.”