The Devil's Cold Dish (14 page)

Lydia struggled loose, remaining within the circle of his arms but far enough away to look into his face. “What did Susannah say?”

“Nothing much.”

“Had to be something,” she said, scrutinizing his expression. “You look terrible.”

“Thomas McIntyre was murdered. His sons found him in the mill.”

“Murdered!” David exclaimed. Throwing a quick look at Lydia, he asked his father, “How?”

“He was beaten.” The image of the body tied upside down to the post flashed into Rees's mind, so sharp and immediate he could smell the blood. “It was terrible.”

“Lydia is right; you don't look very good,” David said, reaching out to grasp his father's shoulder. “I didn't realize you and Mr. McIntyre were such good friends.”

“We weren't,” Rees said, allowing David to draw him across the floor and press him into a seat at the table.

“Then what happened?” Lydia asked. “It's unlike you to be so distraught.”

Rees did not reply, his attention captured by the candles in the middle of the table. They were identical to the candles in the mill. He began to tremble.

“What's wrong?” Lydia asked. “And don't tell me this is because of Mr. McIntyre's death. I've watched you investigate other murders and you scarcely turn a hair at the sight of a body. So what's different this time?” Rees hesitated, worrying over the best words for explaining without terrifying her. “What's wrong?” Lydia continued insistently. “Something happened; I know it.”

Simon saved Rees. “Is dinner ready?” the boy asked from the back door.

Lydia directed an anxious glance at Rees and then turned away. “In just a few minutes. Jerusha can begin setting the table.” Rees was relieved that the moment had passed. But as Lydia crossed the floor to the fireplace, she stepped behind her husband and said in a low voice, “We'll discuss this later.” It sounded like a threat.

After dinner, Rees followed David out to the barn. “Why didn't you tell me people were talking against Lydia?”

Scarlet raced up David's neck and into his cheeks. “I didn't think it was important,” he said. “It was just Aunt Caroline…”

“I wish that were true,” Rees said.

“What exactly happened at the mill?” David asked. Rees shook his head. He didn't know how to describe the scene. “You know I'll hear soon anyway,” David said. “And it will be much embroidered.”

Rees collapsed heavily upon a haycock. “That's true. Well, you know those young men who attacked her? They called her a witch. And Mac's body…” Rees stopped, fighting the wave of emotion that took hold of him. When he could speak again his voice trembled. “Mac was hung upside down, his arms outstretched. An upside-down crucifixion. A row of Lydia's candles sat upon the mill bed. And Mac's murderer tried to accuse Lydia by writing L-Y in Mac's blood on the floor.”

As he spoke, David's face paled. “What? What?” He seemed incapable of saying anything else.

Rees pushed his hands over his face. “First I was made to look guilty of Ward's murder,” he said. “And now the evidence left at Mac's murder implicates Lydia. Someone is trying to destroy me.”

“This is wicked,” David whispered. After a short hesitation, he added, “Could Aunt Caroline…?” He was reluctant to absolve his aunt of anything.

“Not Mac,” Rees said. “He was lifted onto the post. I could do it; Mac was a small man. But no woman would have the strength. But the rest? I don't know.” For a moment he wondered if Farley could be at the bottom of this scheme. He was fit enough to climb Little Knob and owned a gun and he already believed Lydia was a witch. Maybe he hoped to manufacture proof of his beliefs? But Rees had a hard time believing Farley would kill a man in cold blood. And did he have the strength to lift Mac?

“What are you going to tell Lydia?' David asked, interrupting Rees's thoughts.

“I don't know. I don't want to tell her anything,” Rees admitted in a burst of honesty.

“I think you should,” David said. “She won't appreciate any attempt at secrecy. She would always rather know the truth, no matter how terrible.”

Rees looked at his son. Of course David was correct. He met his father's gaze, equal to equal, and Rees felt a twist of regret. He had missed so much of David's childhood and now it was too late. Although David had not yet reached his majority in years, he was already a man. “When did you become so wise?” Rees asked. He wanted to sound teasing but failed.

“Just because I choose to spend my days on the farm,” David said, his voice taking on an edge, “it does not mean I'm a stupid hick.”

“I didn't mean that,” Rees said. But the few moments of connection were lost.

“Are we going to the pasture, David?” Simon paused in the barn door.

“Right away, Squeaker.” David glanced at his father and followed the younger boy out.

Rees sighed and looked around him. The barn was empty; all of the livestock had been put out to pasture. The doors to the upper floor were thrown open so the haycocks could be stored and sunlight illuminated the interior. Wondering if he and David would ever overcome the past, Rees walked back to the house.

He and Lydia did not have a chance to talk until that evening, as they were preparing for bed. Lydia was brushing her hair before plaiting it for the night by the light of a candle—a stub identical to those lined up in the mill. Rees could hardly take his eyes from it. “Now,” she said, “tell me what you so obviously prefer to keep secret.”

“It's just the details of Mac's murder,” Rees said, attempting once again to shield her. She looked at him and waited. “Mac was hung upside down,” Rees said at last. “Stripped naked. As though for some rite involving the black arts.” He stopped again, hoping she would not ask any more questions.

Lydia put down the brush and folded her hands in her lap. “I suppose there was something there that implied I was the murderer,” she said.

Rees stared at her, perspiration popping out upon his upper lip. “How did you know? There were candles and … well, never mind about that. How did you guess?”

“You are so distraught I knew it had to involve one of us—someone you love. And this comes hard on the heels of the incident at market.” She shivered involuntarily and Rees hugged her to him. “People are afraid, Will.” Lydia freed herself sufficiently to look into his face. “Not Susannah, I don't think a pack of wolves would scare her. But Mrs. Potter rushes past me without even a hello.”

“I'm sorry,” Rees said. “This is my fault. It all goes back to what I did to Sam.”

“I thought so at first, but I'm not so sure anymore.” Lydia shook her head, the skin around her eyes puckering with worry. “The Shakers have always experienced distrust and sometimes persecution. Because of Sam, Caroline spoke against me. But people believed her because of
my
past.” She forced another smile. “It is I who should be sorry.”

“I'll talk to Caroline again,” Rees promised, his words muffled as he buried his face in her hair.

“I doubt she even knows what her malicious accusations have caused,” Lydia said. When she leaned her forehead into his shoulder, her belly bumped into Rees and he put a hand upon it.

“You must not leave the farm,” he said. “I don't want anything to happen to you or our child.” She nodded into his shoulder.

“Don't worry, I won't. I have plenty of work here, besides bringing the bees and the ruined hives back to life.” Her voice trailed off. Rees kissed the top of her head. He knew even the farm was not safe.

That night, after Lydia was asleep, he crept out of bed and went downstairs for his rifle. He took out his bag of black powder and the balls. Although he would need several seconds to load the rifle, he hoped the very sight of it would be sufficient to scare away any intruder.

Then he went outside into the dark. He waited by the back steps for a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. The farm where he'd been born and grown up seemed an alien landscape in the dark. The cries of loons drifted across the pond and a rooster crowed in warning. Rees looked at the sky. The crescent moon was up, shining as sharply horned and as bright as a scythe in the sky. Midnight was still several hours away. Rees set out for the front and the first part of his circuit.

He walked around the house and the outbuildings—barns, dairy, and chicken house. He did not want to leave the larger livestock to fend for themselves, but his farm was too large for one man to protect, and right now he had to be sure his family was safe.

After the first round, he had a route mapped out and his mind was free to wander. He began thinking of rifles, as opposed to muskets. Few men in town owned the more efficient—and more expensive—rifles, instead still possessing the old muskets passed down from their fathers. But Farley owned a rifle and, although older than Rees, had probably served in the Continental Army during the war. Farley would have killed his share of men. Tomorrow, after speaking with Caroline, Rees would drive to the other man's farm. It would be a trial; Caroline lived southwest of Dugard while Farley's farm lay to the northeast. But it had to be done.

Rees reminded himself not to ignore the women in Dugard. Although Lydia had most likely never fired a gun in her life, the same could not be said of Molly Bowditch. Rees knew she was at least a competent shooter. Had she taken Nate's rifle with her when she'd removed to the weaver's cottage? And would she even speak to Rees if he approached her with his questions?

The sudden eerie hooting of an owl made him jump. He realized he'd walked the last half of his circle without any awareness at all of his surroundings. He looked around him. The smell of pigs located him at the extreme eastern end of his circuit. Something rustled through the underbrush but all else was still. Reminding himself that he must keep aware of everything around him, he started walking again. Fatigue weighted his feet and filled his head with fog. He'd stood watch and patrolled many times as a soldier, but he didn't recall the heavy weariness that dragged at him now. Of course, he was no longer sixteen.

As he approached the farmhouse once again, David's voice came out of the darkness. “Father.”

Rees gasped and almost dropped his rifle. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, his voice sounding unnaturally loud.

“I could ask the same of you.” David sounded amused. “Expecting an attack?”

“Maybe.” Put that way, Rees's fears seemed slightly absurd. “Why are you awake? Daylight isn't for several hours yet.”

“More like two.” David paused and Rees heard him shift his position. “I'd have to be up and doing chores in a little while anyway. Why don't you allow me to take over standing watch for the rest of the night?”

“Will you?” Rees asked. “Or do you think I'm a foolish old man?”

“I think you're right to do this. Somebody came on the farm, not just once, but several times. And then the latest attack on Lydia … Well, we don't know how much farther he—they are prepared to go.”

A great sense of relief swept over Rees. “I'm afraid next time she, or one of the children, will be seriously hurt,” he said.

“Yes,” David agreed. Neither one voiced their underlying fear, that next time Lydia might be killed. “Get a few hours' sleep,” David said. “I'll get an earlier start than usual, that's all.” Rees hesitated. Somehow he felt as though he were shifting his responsibility to his son. Shouldn't he be protecting his boy? David added, “You won't be any good to us exhausted.” So Rees handed his rifle and the powder and shot to David and went inside the house. David had lit a candle on the table. Rees picked it up and made his way upstairs, stumbling with weariness.

 

Chapter Thirteen

When he awoke the next morning he was alone and the room was full of light. He thought it was probably past seven, several hours after dawn. Yawning, he crawled out of bed. Although he'd taken off his shoes the previous night, he'd fallen into bed fully dressed. Today was wash day so he changed into his second set of breeches and shirt and went downstairs.

The large coppers were already boiling over the fire and Abigail, flushed and sweaty, was stirring the soapy water. Rees dropped his dirty clothing by the mound of children's clothing and looked for Lydia. “She's outside with Jerusha,” Abigail said. Rees went to the top step and looked around. Lydia was helping six-year-old Nancy drape a linen square, a diaper, over a low bush. Jerusha, already experienced at nine, was hanging the clothing in her basket with speed. Rees exhaled heavily in exasperation; now he knew why the sleeves of some of his shirts were ridged with wrinkles. Lydia saw him and nodded. She spoke to the little girls, her voice so low Rees couldn't hear her, and crossed the yard to meet him.

“The pot of coffee is on the hearth,” she said. “I hope it's still warm.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder at the two girls. “And I hope these garments are dried by the time we are finished with the next lot. You would not believe how much laundry there is with all these children.”

“Come inside and sit down,” Rees said, eyeing her flushed face with some concern. “The girls can handle this chore for now.” He extended his arm to help his wife ascend the stairs. Although their baby was not due until September, Lydia was already hugely pregnant and growing clumsy.

“Eat your breakfast,” she said as she took the few steps across the floor. “We'll need this table cleared and scrubbed for folding the clothes.” She sat down. Rees looked at the food on the table: the remains of a pie from the previous evening, a few stale doughnuts baked the previous week, and a handful of biscuits. No doubt the early risers had already eaten the more appealing of the leftovers. He poured himself coffee, which was barely warm, and began dunking the hardened doughnuts into it.