The Devil's Cold Dish (18 page)

“Yes. But you must know whoever is behind all of this won't stop. He'll keep going after you and the ones you love until he destroys you.” Rees tried to swallow but couldn't get past the obstruction in his throat. Caldwell paused briefly and then added, “I think you'd better figure out, and quickly too, who hates you that much.”

 

Chapter Sixteen

Rees went to bed but did not sleep. He spent the first few hours tossing and turning, finally arising with the moon. David had taken the first shift patrolling the farm, but Rees thought that since he couldn't sleep anyway, he would relieve his son. One of them might as well get some rest. David surrendered the rifle without protest and stumbled off to bed. Rees began his circuit. He was so angry and terrified he thought he might never be able to close his eyes again. The image of those men who had come to take Lydia was burned into his mind. And despite the assurances that had come from McIntyre's sons, Rees believed some of that mob would have hanged her with barely a moment's hesitation.

Before his marriage, Rees would have visited each of these men and fought out the problem. He would have risked his life to uncover the identity of his enemy. But when he'd fallen in love with Lydia, something inside of him had come to life and he couldn't do that now, not if his actions put Lydia and his unborn baby in jeopardy. He was, in fact, almost paralyzed with the fear something would harm them.

He needed to know his family was safe before investigating further. He just didn't know how to accomplish that.

Toward morning a light rain sprang up, hissing through the leaves like a swarm of bees and pattering on the ground. Rees was soon wet to the skin. But instead of seeking shelter under the trees, he lifted his face to the sky and let the rain cool his feverish cheeks. The eastern horizon blushed pink with sunrise. As Rees stood under the brief shower, his mind cleared and he knew what he had to do.

He heard the clatter of milking pails as David carried them out to pasture. Simon, David's little shadow, had followed his idol outside and the boy's high voice pierced the still morning air. “Right, David? Right?” Rees went inside, knowing nothing would happen now, not with his son out and about. Besides, everyone would be too busy milking his own cows to have time for making mischief.

Rees put his gun away. His powder horn had kept his powder mostly dry. Although barely sunrise, the air was already warm and humid and Rees knew today would be hot.

He went into the kitchen and started coffee. Every time he considered discussing his decision with Lydia his stomach clenched. But it had to be done. He stirred up the fire and pushed the pot over the flames. He needed the coffee today; fatigue rimmed his eyelids with sand and made him sluggish. But the sound of his wife's foot upon the stairs sent a quiver through him and he suddenly felt alert.

When she entered the kitchen and found him staring at her, she paused at the door. “What?” she asked.

“I think you should take the children and go somewhere safe until I find the person behind these attacks,” Rees said. As soon as he spoke, he wished he had not expressed himself so baldly. Lydia stared at him, her eyes widening as she took in what he'd said.

“No,” she said. “I won't. We will face this together.”

“I won't be able to concentrate if I'm also trying to protect you,” Rees said.

“Protect me?” Lydia's voice rose. “I'm no delicate flower. Besides, it's not a good time to travel, not with the baby coming.”

“That's partly why I need you to go,” Rees said, lowering his voice as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Jerusha's voice floated into the kitchen as she remonstrated with her younger siblings. “I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby. Or the children either.” He stopped and looked over her head as Jerusha, dragging Joseph behind her, came into the kitchen.

“We'll talk about this later,” Lydia said in a rapid undertone. She crossed the kitchen and disappeared into the pantry, reappearing with bread and cheese. Rees looked at the yellow brick. Oily and sweating in the heat, it did not look appealing.

Nancy and Judah ran into the kitchen. Jerusha released Joseph and he promptly made a beeline for the back steps. Lydia automatically moved a chair into the opening and he began to wail. On the surface this was a day like any other. The children seemed unaware of the tension between Lydia and Rees. And then Jerusha looked around and said, “Where's Abby?”

Both Rees and Lydia realized at the same moment that the girl had not made an appearance this morning. “Why, I suppose she's late,” Lydia said easily. But she sighed and shot a glance at Rees. He nodded. It was likely that Abby's parents had elected to keep her home instead of sending her to a house where she would be in physical danger.

The chair blocking the back door scraped across the floor as David and Simon entered the kitchen. David's eyes were circled with shadows. He exchanged a sympathetic look with his father.

“What are you going to do today?” Lydia asked Rees. “Will you speak to your sister again?”

“Maybe,” Rees said. He wondered if there was any point. She'd already admitted to starting the rumor against Lydia and claimed no knowledge of the murders or anything else. He wanted to believe her. “I suppose I could ask her about Sam,” he said. He was beginning to wonder if Sam was quite as touched as he appeared—but Caroline would probably lie. “I'll see. I was planning to visit Piggy Hanson and also his good friend Molly Bowditch.”

“Maybe you should refrain from calling the magistrate Piggy,” Lydia said in a dry voice. “There is no point in offending him needlessly.” Reed grunted. The fat little boy Rees remembered from his childhood had grown into a plump man who was very conscious of his importance in the community. Rees drank his coffee and helped himself to another cup. “He's arrogant,” he said. “I don't want to encourage him.”

Throwing him a glance, Lydia brought out the spider and put it on the hearth. She began slicing bacon and adding the pieces to the pan. “I know,” she said. “But sometimes I think you take delight in offending the important men in town.”

“What delight?” Rees replied. “I think Piggy knows something.”

The pork began to sizzle, spattering grease across the stone. Rees knew she was cooking the meat for him. He crossed the floor and dropped a kiss upon her cap. “Don't worry,” he whispered. Then he followed David outside to finish the milking and bring the pails to the cold cellar. Dug deep into the hillside, the cellar maintained cold temperatures all year round. During last winter, though, which began with an early frost in September and continued cold and snowy until April, the temperature in the cellar had dropped below freezing and remained there. A significant portion of the stored food, the wax shrouded cheeses, the barrels of brined meats and the collected produce froze. Rees hoped this coming winter's temperatures would not be so harsh.

After eggs and bacon and bread to wipe up the fat, Rees harnessed Hannibal to the wagon and set off for the Bowditch farm. Magistrate Hanson, Rees thought, probably followed town hours and would not be available until eight or after. But the Bowditch property was a farm and would have been in operation since before daybreak.

He hadn't been out this way since last summer, before his marriage to Lydia. And before his fight with Sam and the injury that resulted. The journey felt so familiar his last visit could have been yesterday. He noted that several of the fields left fallow by Nate were now under cultivation and wondered if he would see other changes.

He turned down the back lane. It was wider than he remembered and a crowd of boys and men thronged the barnyard ahead. With his heart beginning to pound in his chest, Rees pulled Hannibal into the shade and jumped out of the wagon. For a moment he paused on the grassy verge and examined the cluster of men on the other side of the lane. Although he saw several dark faces, he did not spot Marsh, and after a moment he walked up the path to the back door. The steps up to the porch were even untidier than before and the back door stood open. Rees knocked on the frame. Several minutes passed and Rees pounded impatiently on the wood again. Finally a scrawny child, his skin even darker than Marsh's, came to the door and eyed Rees cautiously.

“Is Mr. Marsh here?” Rees asked.

“I'll fetch him. Marse,” said the child in a thick Southern accent, ducking his head. He darted away. Rees followed the child into the hall. Despite the early hour, Rees was already uncomfortable and sweating. He wondered what the fall would bring: more heat or a sudden cold spell?

A few minutes later, Marsh came running up the stairs from the kitchen and crossed the hall, smiling broadly. He had been Nate's foreman and now served Nate's daughter, Grace, in that capacity. Once Grace had inherited the farm, Molly Bowditch had moved into what had once been the weaver's cottage. “Mr. Rees,” he said, holding out his hand. But he quickly retracted it. Rees, who understood Marsh's hesitation—a black man who shook hands as though he were the equal of a white man would have to be crazy—quickly extended his own. Marsh's eyes lighted up with pleasure.

“How are you?” Rees asked. “And how is Grace?”

“She's doing well. But working hard, of course.”

“I saw the new fields,” Rees said with a nod. “It looks like she's taken on new hands?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sure she values your guidance,” Rees said. Marsh lowered his eyes, pleased but embarrassed too. He waited for Rees to explain the purpose of his visit.

“Is Molly Bowditch living here?” Rees asked. He thought so, but after the events of the previous summer Grace was estranged from her mother. Marsh's eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes. The weaver's house has been made over for her. But I doubt she'll speak to you.” He stopped. Both men remained silent. Last summer Rees had been investigating Nate's murder. Along the way he'd uncovered several secrets. Molly's dark past had been particularly serious.

“I know,” Rees said. “But I have to try. Someone is threatening Lydia, Marsh.” His voice quivered in spite of himself. “She's been accused of witchcraft. And murder. The miller, Mr. McIntyre, was murdered surrounded by her candles. A mob came to my house.” His voice shook and he stopped abruptly.

Marsh looked at Rees with sympathy. “I'm sorry to hear that. I know how that feels.” He shook his head. “But I didn't hear anything.” He joined Rees on the porch. Munch, Nate's big black dog, galloped over from the barnyard. He woofed at Rees in happy recognition and jumped up, putting his paws upon Rees's chest.

“Good boy,” Rees said, patting the dog's head. Munch's doggy breath puffed into Rees's face. “Good boy. Get down now.” Rees pushed the dog down.

Marsh began walking down the lane to the hollow that contained the weaver's cottage. “You'll see plenty of changes,” he said. “I won't go down there. Not anymore. And Munch won't either. Molly doesn't like him and he returns the favor.”

“Sounds like Munch has good judgment,” Rees said, and was instantly sorry he'd spoken so tactlessly.

“Munch was always Nate's dog,” Marsh said. “If you need anything,” he turned to look at Rees, “just ask.”

Rees smiled. “I will,” he said, although he could not imagine what help Marsh could ever offer him.

He started down the steep slope to the small cottage situated in the hollow below. As soon as he crested the hill, he understood what Marsh had meant. Although the cottage looked the same, the grounds had been profoundly altered. The small fields where Nate had grown flax and various dye plants were filled with flowers and the two-wheeled track was now a drive. It went from the front of the cottage to what had been a path through the trees but was now a road to the street outside. Rees could have circled the farm and come to the cottage from that direction. A small barn had been built at the back of the cottage and Rees could hear the whinnying of at least a few horses.

As he descended the slope, Mary Martha, one of the kitchen maids—and Abigail's sister—came out of the cottage with a basket. “Mary Martha,” Rees called.

The young girl froze. “Don't look so frightened.” Rees broke into a trot, sliding down the hill in a dusty cloud. “It's me, Will Rees.”

She nodded and came forward, moistening her lips with her tongue. “I know.” As she stepped out of the shade into the sun, the red hair curling around the edges of her white cap took on the glitter of a new copper penny. “I don't really know why Abby didn't go to your house this morning. I know my parents don't believe in witchcraft, of course they don't, and anyway they know Miss Lydia so why would they believe it, but some people in town do and so my father doesn't want to put Abby in any danger…”

“I understand,” Rees said, interrupting her. Mary Martha could talk for several minutes without taking a breath. “We guessed what had happened and I'll tell my wife that I spoke to you. Is Mrs. Bowditch inside?”

“I think so. I didn't see her this morning. She told me last night she wouldn't want to be disturbed so I just made coffee and tea and put fresh rolls and butter on the table.”

“Thank you,” Rees said, interrupting once again. He circled around the girl. But he paused before he stepped up to the door. Could he really enter this cottage? This was where Nate had been murdered. For Rees, just standing outside reminded him of the bloodstain left on the floor by the body.

“There's no one inside watching the door,” Mary Martha said with an impatient edge to her voice. She might remember Nate's death but did not feel the complicated emotions that Rees associated with the murder. The girl brushed past Rees and jumped up to the massive granite slab to hammer on the door. “There you are. She's probably upstairs so you might have to wait.” Then, with the happy assurance she had done her part to help, she started up the hill to the main house.