The Devil's Cold Dish (15 page)

“Where's David?” Rees asked.

“In the north cow pasture with Simon. David wants to wean some of the calves.”

“A little early for that, isn't it?” Rees asked.

“I believe David is planning to slaughter them in the fall.”

Rees nodded in understanding. The heifers would become milk producers for Lydia's herd but most of the males would be turned into meat. Lydia brushed one hand wearily over her forehead. “He wants you to join him there.”

Rees suppressed a groan as he rose from the table. He didn't dare refuse even though David had hired help; Rees knew his son would resent anything he perceived as his father shirking his responsibility to the farm.

By the time the cattle were sorted and Rees finally escaped, the morning was half gone. He changed from his clogs to his shoes and harnessed Hannibal to the wagon. Although he did not anticipate his conversations with Caroline or Mr. Farley with any pleasure, he was glad to leave the farmwork behind. He considered driving into town first and stopping at the coffeehouse for something to eat, but it was already late, so instead he drove directly to Caroline's.

As Rees pulled into the yard, he saw Charlie and the two girls laboring in the vegetable garden. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. Rees entered the grubby shack. His sister sat at the table in exactly the same position as before. It was as though she had not moved at all since Rees's previous visit. But when he stepped into the kitchen, a spark animated her expression. “Have you come to accuse me of something else?” she demanded.

“Just wanted to talk to you,” Rees said, striving to keep his voice low and calm. “Tell you some news.” She eyed him.

“And what's that?” she asked without curiosity.

“Thomas McIntyre was murdered.” Rees watched her face closely but all he saw was surprise. “You didn't know?”

“Charlie hasn't gone to town in days. And Sam?” She gestured with weary resignation at the one window. Through it Rees could see Sam walking back and forth, his hands moving as he conversed with himself. “Even when he tells me something, I can't be sure it is the truth.” She paused. “Do you remember when we were children, Will?”

“What?” Rees said.

Caroline removed her gaze from Sam. “I used to write poetry. More than anything I wanted to move to Boston, write poetry, and join a literary salon.” Her expression softened. “It was my dream.” Rees nodded in agreement although, until she mentioned it, he had not remembered anything of the sort. Now he recalled laughing until helpless over one of her pieces. It was all about the lark rising in the morn. Lark? A black-headed sparrow maybe. “Father wouldn't allow me to visit Boston, even in his company. He said I was only a girl and would get married.”

“I've known other women who managed to free themselves from the expectations of their fathers,” Rees said. He thought of Peggy Boothe, a girl he'd met in Salem, who'd managed to successfully run her own business. “I didn't realize you had aspirations to become a bluestocking.”

“Maybe it's easier in a city. You probably don't remember—you were away with the Continental Army then—but Father introduced me to Mr. Borden, no doubt hoping I would marry that old man.”

Since Borden, the owner of the local store, was only a little older than Rees, he thought it more likely his parents hoped to settle Caroline down. “They never approved of Sam,” Rees said. “You chose to elope with him.”

“I had to.” Caroline's voice broke. “I was pregnant with Charlie. And now here I am, trapped on a hardscrabble farm. With a brother who won't help me,” she added. “And one who only visits to accuse me of terrible things.” Rees saw the suspicion that he had come for that purpose again flash into her eyes.

“That's not true,” he said.

“Are you here now to suggest I killed Mr. McIntyre?” she asked, her voice rising. “Why, I would never hurt Mac. He gave me cornmeal and rye flour last winter. That injun loaf was all that kept us fed.” Rees said nothing, assailed by guilt although he knew David had supplied Charlie with eggs and milk and even some pork. He waited for his sister to ask him for details about Mac's murder, but she did not. Instead, she stared listlessly out the window. Finally Rees said, “You know some boys attacked Lydia, stoning her as a witch, because of your nasty gossip.” He could not help the tone of accusation that sent his voice booming through the kitchen.

A faint pink stole into Caroline's cheeks. “I'm sorry. I was angry. I expected some of the ladies to take against her. Let your wife suffer so you can know what it feels like to have an unhappy spouse.” She shrugged. “I didn't think anyone would take it seriously.”

“Mr. Farley and his wife believe in witches,” Rees said. Caroline rolled her eyes. Anger burned through Rees and he began shouting. “Do you know what you've done? Not only was Lydia attacked at market, but Mac was tortured and killed. It looked as though he was a sacrifice for some witch rite.” Rees just stopped himself from blurting out the letters written in McIntyre's blood.

Caroline's mouth opened and she stared at him. “I had nothing at all to do with that,” she cried. “Why do you blame me? How can you hate me so? I'm your baby sister. But you were always so hard on me.” She began sobbing, her weeping interspersed with shrill piercing shrieks. Charlie and Sam ran into the kitchen.

“What are you doing to my mother?” Charlie demanded, his eyes wide and fierce in his flushed face.

Sam went to Caroline but did not know what to do. He paced anxiously behind her.

“I think you'd better leave,” Charlie said. As Rees turned, the boy shouted after him, “And don't come back.”

Frustrated, angry, and guilty, Rees went out to his wagon. He'd handled that badly, he should have spoken more gently and kept control of his temper. But he was afraid for his wife and family, and Caroline's gossip had given birth to a monster.

As he turned upon the road, he found Charlie waiting for him by the fence post. He had cut across a field and forced his way through a thicket of wild roses, making it to the road before Rees. Small cuts marked Charlie's face and hands with bloody scratches. “I wanted to apologize,” Charlie said. “I know this isn't your fault. Since my father…” He lurched to a stop and looked away.

“I know,” Rees said. He doubted Charlie would believe the truth, that Rees felt angry and upset enough for both of them.

“Anyway, my mother, well, she's different since then. She cries all the time. Anything sets her off.” Rees ducked his head in acknowledgment, surprised at how relieved Charlie's apology made him.

“Thank you,” he said. He paused. He knew it had taken courage for Charlie to approach him but didn't quite know how to express it. Charlie licked at a bloody scratch on his wrist. The sweet fragrance of the roses mingled with the scents of damp earth and fresh hay. Rees inhaled the summery perfume and as his nephew began walking down the road called out, “Where are you going now? I can take you.” He wanted to do something for the boy.

A ghost of a grin touched Charlie's lips. “I'm going to your farm. I've been helping David and he's promised me a heifer.”

“Well, climb up,” Rees invited. “I'm heading in that direction anyway.”

*   *   *

Rees was very glad when the journey ended. He did not want to discuss Charlie's parents with him, although Sam and Caroline were the link between uncle and nephew. Rees did not want to talk about Mac's body either. He knew Charlie would hear about it as soon as he went to town, but Rees did not want to be the one who gossiped about the gruesome details. So they discussed the heifer Charlie hoped to obtain. “I have a bit of pasture already picked out,” Charlie said enthusiastically. “David promised me one of his bulls. He'll cover my heifer this fall. With any luck, she'll bear another female. I'll have milk for my sisters and at the same time I'll increase my herd.”

“Sheep are better,” Rees said, more from a desire to speak than from conviction. “They provide wool as well as milk and meat.”

“Someday,” Charlie said. “Someday.”

Only when he dismounted from the wagon did Rees see anger contort the boy's features. Rees heaved a sigh, suspecting Charlie had remembered the scene they'd left behind them. Then David, with Simon running at his heels, came bounding across the barnyard. Charlie turned to greet his cousin, losing all interest in his uncle, and the two boys disappeared toward the pasture. Their laughter floated back to Rees's ears through the warm air.

“I hate Charlie,” Simon said, scuffing his bare feet disconsolately through the dust. “He's mean.” Then he burst into tears and fled into the house. Rees turned his wagon and drove back to the road. He pitied Simon but knew this was something he could not fix.

*   *   *

Rees had never visited the Farley farm. Zedediah Farley was older than Rees, old enough to have left school by the time Rees had begun attending at the age of six. And Farley with his old-fashioned views was not the sort of man Rees would seek out under typical circumstances. But he knew roughly where the farm lay, and although he usually would have resented the hour-long journey to the other side of Dugard, today he was pleased to have the time. His heart was still pounding from the confrontation with his sister and a layer of nervous sweat coated him from head to toe. His suspicions of her and the malice behind all that had happened to his family recently overwhelmed him with guilt, but he knew her too well to quickly dismiss her as innocent. So he needed a spell of time to settle himself, calm down, and prepare for the upcoming conversation with Farley.

Rees was tempted to stop at the Contented Rooster but steeled himself with his duty and rode on. Anyway, he saw the glances thrown his way by those he passed and the whispers that went from one to another behind concealing hands. Glad to leave that behind, he crossed the bridge over the eastern branch of the Dugard River and turned north. Not many lived in the hills on this side of town. The soil was even rockier here than it was farther south, and Rees could not imagine how the Farleys wrested any living from it.

He knew immediately when he reached the Farley property; two witch balls constructed of ash twigs hung from the fence posts bracketing a rutted drive. Haphazardly built stone walls paralleled the road on each side of the posts. Rees turned in. He could see gaps in the cornfield on his right made by outcroppings of rock; the Farleys had not succeeded in pulling all the boulders from the soil. On his left, potato hills crowned with green leaves circled the granite knuckles thrust through the dirt. Behind that field was one of buckwheat, flowering now with small white flowers.

The wagon bumped from side to side, jolting Rees until he thought even his teeth were shaken loose, as Hannibal picked his way toward the house. Now Rees began to see livestock: a handful of brown cattle in the pasture, a pair of oxen in a distant meadow, and a small flock of sheep. No horses. Rees was not surprised; horses were costly.

The land curved and the barn came into view, with the house visible behind. Both were weathered, the barn larger than the house and swaybacked. Rees pulled into the yard in front of the house. Sometime recently, a second story had been added to the old house. Weathered a silvery gray, it sat on top of the original structure like a too-small hat on a big head. And a witch ball hung in every window. Some were of glass, probably imported from England at great expense, but most were made of twigs.

“What are you doing here?” Farley ran out of his house and aimed his rifle at Rees. He held his arms up.

“Looking for you,” Rees said. Farley hesitated but he finally lowered his gun. Rees climbed down from the wagon seat. Farley paused a short distance away and stared at Rees in silence.

Mrs. Farley came to the door and paused. Rees could smell cooking; of course, it was almost noon. “What do you want?” she asked. Farley turned to glare at his wife.

“Go inside, Thankful,” he ordered her. She regarded Rees through narrowed eyes. “Now.” Farley's voice rose. She turned and retreated inside, her bare feet making no sound. Rees saw the fading marks of a bruise on her cheek. Farley spat into the dirt at his feet. “Witches, every one of them,” he muttered.

He's afraid of his wife, Rees realized with a jolt.

Farley tipped his head back and looked into his visitor's face. “My sons ain't here,” he said. “That's what you're looking fer, right?”

“They assaulted my wife,” Rees said. But he already knew his concern would fall on stony ground. Farley had probably put his sons up to the attack. Farley shrugged. “I want to talk to them,” Rees added firmly.

“They ain't here,” Farley repeated.

Rees stared over the shorter man's head, through the door into the kitchen. Mrs. Farley was frying ployes, golden buckwheat pancakes, and a stack stood on the plate next to her. Far too many for just two. “You know,” Rees said in a pleasant tone, “my father used to tell me that lying will send you to Hell just as fast as stealing will.”

Farley erupted into speech. “You and that witch wife of yours better watch out, weaver man,” he spat out. “I heard tell of Mac's death. Did you help her sacrifice a good man to Satan?”

Rees took an involuntary step back from Farley and the spit spraying from his mouth. But as he gazed into the blood-suffused face of the man, he leaned forward and said, “If you or your sons come after my wife, I will come after you. Understand? And I won't rest until I've put you either in jail or into the ground. I don't much care which.”

“Git off my property,” Farley shouted, raising the rifle again.

Although Rees doubted the weapon was loaded, he spun around and climbed into his wagon. From the elevation of his seat, he added, “You tell your boys what I said.”

“You better watch it,” Farley shouted after him. “And don't come here again.”