The Devil's Cold Dish (12 page)

“First off,” Caldwell said to Rees, “I don't know all the names of the boys who attacked your wife.” Rees grunted in disappointment. “But I suspected Farley had something to do with it so I rode out to his farm and tasked him directly with it.”

“Did he admit it?” Rees asked. He sat down across the table from Caldwell.

“I don't think I've ever met Mr. Farley,” Lydia said, returning with a full cup of ale. Caldwell nodded his thanks as she put bread and cheese on a plate and lay it before him.

“He didn't deny it.” Caldwell sliced the cheese onto the bread with his knife and took a big bite. “Thanks,” he said through his full mouth. “Said he and some of the lads at the Bull were talking. And maybe some of his sons and their friends got excited.” He rolled his eyes.

“So, he denied any responsibility,” Rees said.

“Not exactly. He admitted he was at the market.” Caldwell swallowed the mass of food in his mouth and took several enormous swallows of ale. “Of course we knew that. I think he got everyone fired up, but didn't expect them to go after Mrs. Rees.” He bowed awkwardly from his seat to Lydia. “Have you ever been to his farm?” Rees shook his head. “Those witch balls hang everywhere and all the doors have a horseshoe above. Farley's scared. And he suspects Mrs. Rees of practicing the black arts, as he calls them. But he's uncertain enough that he did not lead the attack. If he'd been certain I think Lydia would have been hanged from the nearest tree.” Rees gulped and turned to look at his wife. She was blindly wiping a pot over and over, although it had long since been dried. There was no color in her face and her skin looked as waxy as the candles around her.

“Even if I believed in such things,” she said, looking at the constable, “I am no witch.”

“Of course not,” Caldwell said. “But Farley and his wife do believe in such things. And we can see there are others who are either credulous enough to listen to his fears or who pretend to. Someone set him off.” Rees made an involuntary sound—he knew Caroline was the guilty one—and Caldwell turned his gaze to the other man. “For what purpose we don't know. And now, well, Farley told me you killed Zadoc Ward to use his body in some blasphemous rite. He may be a fool but he is a dangerous fool.”

Rees exchanged a glance with Lydia. “I can hardly believe I'm hearing this. We are but a few years from the turn into a new century. We're not our superstitious grandparents.” But he was not surprised.

“It's from envy,” Lydia said, almost as though she were hoping this was so.

“Partly,” Caldwell agreed. He paused and then added reluctantly, “There's a lot of sympathy for Sam.”

“Of course,” Rees said, bitterness welling up in his chest. “The man who gambled away his own farm and almost destroyed mine, as well as beating my sister and the children—poor Sam.”

“No one should interfere between husband and wife,” Caldwell said, his tone making it clear he was quoting someone. “Besides, your frequent absences from Dugard are hurting you. To some, you're almost a stranger. Sam is always here, a familiar sight. And your sister doesn't help your cause.” A sudden jaw-stretching yawn interrupted him. His eyes closed and he forced them open again.

“You aren't going to make it home,” Rees said. “You should spend the night here.”

“All the beds are full,” Lydia said, eyeing Caldwell's lank, greasy hair and dirty hands. Rees knew she was considering her clean sheets.

“I can sleep in the barn,” Caldwell suggested. “I don't mind telling you I'm knackered.”

“We'll make up a pallet here,” Rees said, gesturing to the part of the kitchen used for a random assortment of activities. When his parents had built on another bedroom upstairs, this underneath space had been created as well. Rees did not know what his mother had planned for it, but since it held its own fireplace, he and Lydia used it primarily in the winter for their suddenly expanded family. “David rises early for chores and comes in here for breakfast, but he probably won't even notice you.”

Caldwell nodded, yawning again. Lydia eyed him once more before disappearing upstairs to fetch a blanket and pillow. Rees noticed that she returned with the oldest she owned; the blanket's edge was ragged and there were several holes chewed through it by mice. But Caldwell didn't seem to notice. He took them with thanks and spread them out in front of the unlit fireplace.

Rees took a lantern outside to unsaddle Caldwell's poor overworked horse. Once the gelding was fed and watered, Rees released him into the pasture with the other horses. Then he went up the back steps and into the house. Lydia had extinguished all the candles save one. She'd taken off her cap and begun unpinning her hair. It glittered red and gold in the pool of light. The steady buzz of Caldwell's snoring, interspersed every now and again with a grunt or a gasp, sounded loud in the silent house. As Rees dropped his boots by the door, Lydia pushed herself up from the table. Smiling, she pointed into the other room at the man snoring in fits and starts on the floor. Rees grinned and nodded. “It must be tiring keeping the peace,” he said, linking his arm with hers. They tiptoed upstairs to bed. Joseph, in the little bed beside theirs, turned over with a sigh. Lydia covered him with a light sheet, smiling down at his flushed face. When the baby arrived, Joseph would be moved to the other side to join his siblings and the newcomer would take his place in this crib.

Rees put his arms around Lydia and held her tightly. The depth of his feelings scared him. He would do anything to protect her and his family, anything including killing any man who threatened them. He prayed he would not be forced to cross that line.

 

Chapter Ten

Lydia spent a restless night, waking up with a cry more than once. Each time Rees held her until she fell back asleep. But he found rest difficult to attain; he was too angry—and too scared—to close his eyes. He promised himself he would find those boys and if Farley was behind the attack, well, Rees would think of some fitting punishment.

Finally, sometime in early morning, Rees gave up his battle for sleep and went downstairs. It was still dark outside. Caldwell was sprawled out across the quilt sleeping—no surprise there. Rees stirred up the fire and put on coffee. Then he went to the back door, expecting to find David outside and help him with chores. But David was already coming up the back steps. “Milking is done,” he said.

“Oh. I planned to help.”

“Who's that?” David jerked his head in the general direction of the other room.

“Constable Caldwell,” Rees said. “He came by very late last night. And no, he doesn't know the names of the men who attacked Lydia.” He paused, wondering if he should tell his son about the accusations of witchcraft. Deciding against it, he said instead, “Have you heard anything?”

David shook his head. “But then I don't frequent the Bull. And most of the men I know are too busy working on their farms to waste time on such foolishness.”

Rees wondered if David was telling the entire truth. The boy did not meet his father's eyes and Rees detected a certain furtiveness in the quick reply. “Are you sure?” Rees asked. “Would you tell me if you knew?”

“Of course I'd tell you if I heard somebody talking about you,” David said emphatically.

“What's going on?” Caldwell asked from behind Rees.

He turned. “Did we wake you?”

“I have to be getting back to town anyway. After a cup of coffee?”

Rees realized he'd smelled the coffee for some time, far longer than it should have been left to perk. He hurried to the fireplace and swung the pot away from the flames. “It's probably as strong as boot leather,” he warned over his shoulder. Caldwell shrugged and followed Rees to the table. David took out what was left of last night's injun bread and put it on the table with a jug of fresh milk and a cone of sugar.

“Perhaps I'll ride in with you,” Rees said, putting three mugs next to the coffeepot. “I want to talk to the Andersons. See if they know anything.”

“Ask your friends only about Lydia,” Caldwell warned. “Don't forget—you are not to involve yourself in Ward's murder, as per the magistrate.”

“I remember,” Rees said. He did not intend to comply, since he now knew that Ward's murder was tied to the attacks on Lydia.

“You remember it is Sunday,” David said, helping himself to a huge piece of bread and coating it with butter. “The coffeehouse doesn't open until noon.”

Of course it was Sunday. That was why Lydia had gone to market yesterday. In all the excitement, Rees had forgotten. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “I'll reach town before services begin,” he said. A fury to resolve this situation had taken hold of him. He needed to find the person responsible and stop them. Now. Lydia might be seriously hurt next time. At the same time, he feared leaving Lydia at the farm without his protection. “I'll return as soon as I can.”

David nodded and met his father's gaze. “Don't worry,” he said. “I'll watch over her while you're in town.” Rees inclined his head in gratitude. David understood both Rees's fear and his desire to protect his wife. The lad was more grown up than Rees cared to admit; somehow David's childhood had disappeared.

Caldwell ate the last bite of his bread and stood up. “I should see to my horse,” he said, a guilty expression flickering across his face.

“I took care of him last night,” Rees said. “He's in the pasture with our herd.”

“I'll saddle him,” David said, also rising to his feet. Turning to his father, he asked, “Do you want the wagon? I'll hitch Hannibal.”

Rees nodded. “Thank you.”

Caldwell followed the boy from the house. Rees pushed the coffeepot to one side of the hearth and put on a kettle of water. He could hear Lydia above him and the chatter of children's voices. They would all be down soon and Lydia would want her tea.

The sun had just peeked over the western horizon when Rees and Caldwell started down the drive. There were a few people on the roads heading into town for Sunday services, but most of the farmers were still doing chores. The traffic would increase greatly within the next hour. When the constable turned west, toward the jail, Rees continued north, toward the coffeehouse.

The front windows were dark. Rees pulled around to the back. A faint mist from Dugard Pond hazed the air but the sun would soon burn it off; the first stray rays already felt warm on Rees's skin. He pounded on the back door. After a minute or so Rachel, the cook, opened the door. She smiled warmly. Rees thought back to the previous summer. Fearful for her son, who had been accused of murder and on the run, she had never smiled then. But now she was happy. “Why, Mr. Rees,” she said. “What are you doing here? And so early too.”

“I hoped to speak to Mr. Jack and Miss Susannah,” Rees said.

“Well, he's already over at the church,” Rachel said. “And Miss Susannah is dressing.”

“Who is it, Rachel?” Susannah came up behind the cook and peered over her shoulder. Although gowned in her Sunday best, blue cotton with a ruffle at the hem, her curly blond hair lay down her back still confined in last night's plait.

“Will Rees. I should have guessed it would be you.”

“I want to talk to you about something,” he said.

“Of course you do,” she said with a mocking smile. “Even though it is not even seven a.m. on a Sunday morning. Come inside.”

The back door led into the kitchen but Susannah did not pause here. She led Rees through to the public rooms at the front. Rees noted that all the pots shone and the tables were scrubbed white; Rachel was doing well here. Susannah gestured Rees to a seat by the window and sat down across from him. “What is so important that it can't wait until this afternoon?” she asked him.

“Did you hear—someone threw rocks at Lydia yesterday.”

“Yes.” All light left her face and she frowned. “It was the talk of the town. Was she hurt?”

“One of the rocks hit her, left a bad cut.” He gestured to his forehead. “Her dress was torn. And she was badly frightened. I fear someone is targeting my family and the next attack might seriously injure someone. Have you heard anything? More than you've told me, I mean.”

Susannah hesitated. Finally she said, “There's something more than the usual envy but it is coming out of the Bull.” She managed a mirthless smile. “And men claim women gossip. Caroline's malicious accusation against Lydia fell on fertile ground there. I haven't heard much here.”

“We both know what my sister is capable of,” Rees said. “But spreading rumors—and that's just Caroline's style of indirect malice—is different from attacking an unarmed and innocent woman.” His voice rose, prompting Susannah to lean forward and pat his hand.

“Calm down, Will,” she said. “Don't do anything rash.”

“Me? Rash?” Rees tried for a light tone and failed. “Seriously, Suze, if you have heard anything, no matter how trivial, please tell me.”

“Well, Magistrate Hanson is still angry with you for spoiling his land investment schemes.”

The door to the kitchen opened suddenly, sending a breath of warm air through the common room. “Rees,” said Caldwell. “I hoped you'd still be here. One of the McIntyre boys was waiting for me at the jail. There's been a murder at the mill.” He stopped suddenly as though there was more to tell but he'd decided to hold his tongue. Horror contorted his face. Well, Rees was unsurprised by that. But fear shone from the constable's eyes and covered his face in a greasy sweat and it was that emotion that sent Rees into a wild run to his wagon outside.

 

Chapter Eleven

The village streets were deserted now since almost everyone was at church, and the two men quickly reached Dugard's outskirts. The constable did not head west, as Rees expected, but rode south. They passed near the road to Caroline's farm, and Rees wondered when Phoebe would receive his letter. Of course, she might not come. Caroline had not directed her malice just at Rees. Once, when they were children and Phoebe had a doll Caroline coveted but Phoebe wouldn't give up, Caroline had risen during the night and cut off all her sister's hair. Her explanation? Phoebe was selfish. And now, with Rees's farm, Caroline felt the same desire for something he owned and the same sense of entitlement. “I don't know if I would come,” Rees said aloud.