The Devil's Cold Dish (11 page)

“You know,” Lydia said in a quavering voice, “I do not entirely believe in visions. But Mother Ann was a great woman.”

“I understand,” Rees said. “Don't worry about that now.”

They did not speak again until they were clear of the town limits. Rees hadn't realized how tense he was and how tightly he was holding his shoulders until they left the town behind. “We're all right now,” he said, feeling his solid muscles begin to soften. Relief left him so weak he wasn't sure he could hang on to the reins. Lydia nodded, her head moving jerkily. Her trembling had not ceased; quivers continued to ripple through her body. “I don't want you to go to Dugard again,” Rees said.

“But—but market,” she stammered.

“I mean it. Dugard isn't safe.” He glanced at her and after a few seconds she assented with a nod. Rees turned his attention back to the road. Most of Lydia's eggs had been broken. Any that weren't had probably been stolen, along with the cheeses. The loss of both, on top of the destruction of the beehives, would seriously damage their finances. It had been a week of ill fortune and as he reviewed all that had happened, he wondered whose hand was at the back of it.

He considered his exchange with Father Stephen and recalled other sudden silences when he appeared, cold responses to his conversation and, in some cases, a sniggering attitude that had filled him with anger. He realized that since his return from Salem a few weeks ago he had been sensing something, an uncomfortable aura of dislike and suspicion, wherever he went. It may have begun with Sam's injury but now had expanded to a general aversion to Rees. It was almost as though his visit to Salem had given someone an opportunity to focus their anger and malice upon him and his family. He now knew that the notion someone was purposely targeting his family, something he'd considered nothing more than a wild fancy, was true. But who could it be? He tried to think, growing more anxious as he did so. He needed more information. With a shudder, he put aside the fear so that, although still a cold shadow upon him, it did not hobble him, and he turned a stern look upon Lydia.

“All right, Lydia,” he said. “I want the truth.” She met his gaze and shivered. “Tell me everything that happened before you joined me in Salem. Everything, including the cat that had kittens.”

“Nothing happened,” she began.

Rees cut her off, shaking his head. “Something's been going on. I know it. I'm just seeing the most recent attacks now.”

She did not speak for a moment but Rees could see her thoughts represented in the small movements of her lips and eyes.

Finally she sighed. “Nothing happened when you were gone. But before you left…”

“You were keeping things from me?” His voice rose with hurt.

“David thought it best.”

“David?”

“Don't be angry,” Lydia said, putting her hand over his. “It didn't seem important at first.” She hesitated and when Rees didn't speak she added in a rush, “I think we should wait for David.”

Rees could not speak through the pain of the betrayal. He wanted to grab Lydia and shake her. Instead, he turned and dropped the reins gently on Hannibal's back, afraid if he didn't exercise the most powerful control he would lose his temper entirely. The horse jerked forward into a gentle trot.

 

Chapter Nine

When David arrived home a short time later, Rees met him in the drive.

“Charlie will bring the livestock home,” David said to his father. And then, catching sight of Rees's expression, he asked, “What's wrong?”

“Come inside,” Rees said. “I want to talk to you.”

“I have to unhitch,” David began, gesturing toward the horse and wagon.

But Rees cut him off. “Now. Lydia will not answer any questions without you.” David swallowed, his Adam's apple moving convulsively. Rees turned and stamped into the house. After a momentary pause, David followed.

His eyes widened when he entered the kitchen and saw the wound upon Lydia's forehead. Although she had changed her torn dress the cut upon her brow and the dried blood streaking her cheek revealed the recent attack. “Mr. Potter said there had been a riot but I didn't realize…” David dropped into a kitchen chair and folded his hands so tightly together his knuckles turned white.

“What's been happening here?” Rees demanded. “Something led up to the burning of the beehives. And now this.” His eyes moistened as he looked at Lydia. “And because I didn't know about it I couldn't protect my family.”

David glanced at Lydia and she nodded at him. He shifted in his seat, eyes downcast. “I'm sorry. At first the little incidents seemed accidental and we ignored them.” He looked up and met his father's eyes. “I guess we first realized something was wrong when Daisy disappeared. One of our best milkers.”

“We thought at first your sister's family had taken Daisy,” Lydia said, wringing a complaint from Abigail, who was trying to sponge the cut.

“But Caroline did not have an opportunity to take the cow,” David said. “One day Daisy was just gone. None of the fences were damaged and the rest of the herd was still in the pasture.” He met his father's eyes. “I searched and searched but it was Charlie who found her. Two laborers were driving her down the road. Charlie told me they claimed someone had sold her to them. Said we had more than enough and we wouldn't miss her. Mr. Caldwell told them that they could leave the area quietly or he would arrest them for cattle stealing. So we got her back.”

“Then the door to the dairy was left open,” Lydia said, wincing as Abigail dried the cut with a rough towel. Although the edges were beginning to close, the flesh around the wound looked red and angry. “Some animals got inside.” Lydia sighed. “Not only was all of the milk ruined but the dairy had to be scrubbed, top to bottom. I thought maybe Abigail or Jerusha had forgotten to close the door but they swore they hadn't. And once the pigs escaped I was certain they'd told me the truth.”

“The pigs escaped,” Rees repeated. Lydia nodded and stretched out a hand to touch him. But she thought better of it and pulled her hand back.

Rees thought about his pigs. Most families kept a pig or two. On the frontier they were allowed to go feral and take care of themselves in the woods. But here in Maine, with the farmers scratching a living from the stony soil, many of the pigs were enclosed. At David's urging, Rees had purchased two sows and one had delivered a litter of piglets this past spring. Now they numbered thirteen in all. Or had numbered thirteen. “How many were lost?” he asked.

“One sow and two piglets. We recovered most of them,” David said quickly. “The point is only Simon and I feed them. And the Squeaker doesn't even go inside the fence.” He paused. Rees nodded, waiting. David had extended the enclosure into the trees so the pigs might scratch for acorns and such as well as eat scraps. “But someone unlatched the gate and let them out.”

“At dusk,” Lydia put in. “Oh my, we had a fine time chasing them.”

“Could be they ran off. Or got picked up by hawks,” David said. “But someone opened that gate. Had to be.” Rees nodded slowly, the fear he and his family were being purposely targeted flooding into his mind. Not only was it obvious someone had opened the gate, but that someone had taken to visiting Rees's farm to hurt them.

“Whoever is unleashing their spite upon us,” he said now, “is growing bolder and more malicious. He—or she—started with little things. But he has evolved to setting fire to the beehives. To accusing me of murder. And the attack upon Lydia cannot be a coincidence.” Involuntarily his gaze turned to his wife and his throat closed up so he could not speak for a few seconds.

“Why didn't anyone tell me?”

“At first we thought it was just ill-fortune,” David said, frowning in thought. “And then you left for Salem. In fact, that's the puzzling piece of all of this. Nothing happened when you were gone. The pigs were released the same day you left. I think no one knew you weren't here.”

Rees considered this, growing more and more worried. He eyed the bandage about Lydia's head. Although
he
was the object of this spite, the malevolent person behind the attacks would not hesitate to assault the ones he loved.

Lydia brushed her hands over her cap, once again confining her hair, and rose to her feet. “Were you successful at market?” she asked David, putting an end to the discussion. He shook his head.

“Not very. Some of the farmers looked at the livestock as though it were tainted.” David paused. No one said aloud that they were back to the previous topic, although Rees thought Lydia and David noticed it, just as he did. “I left them behind when Mr. Potter came for me,” David continued. “Charlie said he would bring them home. He promised to keep an eye on them and anyway I suspect they would not be stolen. One of Farley's crowd told me he wouldn't eat one of my animals if he were starving.”

“That seems excessive,” Rees said. He wanted to protest that the fellow was simply exaggerating but after all that had happened, Rees suspected the man was simply stating the truth. No one interrupted the strained silence for several seconds. Simon's playful shout outside pierced the stillness like a knife. Rees turned and looked at Lydia. He wanted to scream and throw things. Who was behind these attacks?

“Aunt Caroline,” David said as if he could hear his father's thoughts. “I think she has something to do with this.”

“But Caro and her family were at church when the beehives were destroyed. I checked with Father Stephen,” Rees said.

David did not look convinced. “So who could it be?” he asked.

Rees shook his head. “I don't know. But someone would have heard something.”

“What about that Molly Bowditch?” Lydia said.

“Hello,” Charlie said from the doorway. Rees experienced a pang at the thought Charlie might have overheard their comments about his mother. David waved him inside. Charlie was older than David, already seventeen. Although a tall boy, he was not as tall as David, and much stockier. “I brought the livestock,” he said. “And Miss Lydia's chair and table.”

“Oh, thank you,” Lydia said. “I was so afraid I'd lost it.”

He smiled shyly at her. “And the constable said he'd be by later.”

“I'll help you put the animals in the pasture,” David said, rising from the table.

“I was wondering,” Charlie said as the two boys went out the back door. “Maybe I could buy a couple of lambs from you. And maybe a heifer or two. Not for cash money but for labor. I'll give you several hours of labor every day for them.”

“You're already doing that,” David said, his voice fading as they crossed the yard. “I'm sure I can spare some.”

Rees thought Caroline might just steal them anyway—and then he mentally castigated himself for his uncharitable thoughts.

“I wonder if the constable caught the young men who were throwing rocks,” Lydia said, taking plates and cups from the cupboard.

“I hope so,” Rees said. He was eager to know their names. “I know Farley's boys were involved. Or at least one of them.”

“You won't do anything, will you?” Lydia asked, looking up at him in concern. “You won't hurt anyone?”

Rees smiled at her. “Of course I won't hurt anyone,” he said, meeting her anxious gaze with open-eyed innocence. He did not want to hurt them, just frighten them so much they never considered harming his wife or family again.

“The butter is churned,” Abigail said, running up the back steps and coming into the kitchen. “David will put today's milk into the cold cellar and I'll start the cheese on Monday.” The soft flush in her cheeks and secretive smile drew Rees's suspicious gaze.

“Where is David now?” he asked.

“Helping Charlie.” Abigail cocked her head. “I hear wagon wheels. That must be my brother.” She took off her apron and handed it to Lydia and put on her bonnet. Rees and Lydia exchanged a glance and then watched the girl disappear down the hall to the front door.

“He's never alone with her,” Lydia said, turning a reassuring smile upon her husband. “Not even long enough for a true conversation.”

Rees knew she meant to comfort him. He nodded and smiled but he was still worried. He knew the fire of desire and the shifts to which it would drive a man. He was not confident they had managed to keep Abigail and David from acting upon their feelings for one another.

Lydia went to the door and called in the children for supper.

*   *   *

Caldwell did not arrive until well after dusk, so late Rees had given up on him. As soon as Lydia finished cleaning the kitchen, they planned to go upstairs to bed. Even David had retired for the night; four a.m. came all too quickly. Rees was surprised to hear hoofbeats on the packed earth outside. Exchanging a worried glance with Lydia, he picked up a lighted lantern and went through the dark house to the front door. He opened it and went outside. Caldwell also carried a lantern. He handed it to Rees over the porch rail and dismounted.

“I'd given you up,” Rees said.

“I've been busy,” Caldwell said as he came up the stairs. “I started late and it took me much longer than I expected. But I promised I'd come and I'm here now.” He blew out his light and followed Rees into the dark hallway to the kitchen.

Although the fire had been banked, the embers supplied a dim reddish glow. Lydia had lit some of her thick white beeswax candles and they bathed the table in a warm golden light. She'd already poured a beaker of ale. Caldwell sniffed at the faintly yeasty aroma and crossed the room at a rapid trot. Dropping into the chair with a grunt of exhaustion, he took off his hat. Rees eased the hat from Caldwell's hand just before he dropped it on the table and hung it up on a hook. Like most men, the constable wore a straw hat in summer and had exchanged his wool coat for one of linen. But it was still black, much patched, and wrinkled and faded now. But it could be washed and so he smelled marginally fresher than usual. He drained his mug in one long draft. “Haven't eaten or drunk anything since noon,” he said by way of apology. Smiling, Lydia took the beaker and brought it to the jug to refill it.