The Devil's Cold Dish (20 page)

“So Farley and all of that crowd are permitted to menace the ones I care about,” said Rees through stiff lips. “Caldwell lost his job, just for protecting my family. You know, Suze, that now Farley, a man who believes Lydia is a witch, is constable. He won't let go until he's sent her to the gallows.” Rees's voice broke. How could he protect Lydia and guarantee her safety? He couldn't, not in Dugard anyway. It was more important than ever that she flee to Zion before Farley brought another mob to Rees's farm.

 

Chapter Eighteen

He drove home like a fury, driving Hannibal so hard the gelding arrived panting and lathered up. With a promise to return, Rees looped the reins around the porch rail and ran inside. But Lydia was not in the kitchen. Only Jerusha was there, standing at the sink and swirling her hands through gray dishwater. Some of the breakfast dishes had been washed and dried but most were still stacked on the table, awaiting her attention. She looked up in surprise. “Where's Lydia?” Rees asked.

“In the dairy,” she said. “What's the matter?”

Without replying, Rees spun around and retraced his steps to the front. He unharnessed Hannibal and walked him down the slope to the brick dairy. The horse needed cooling; foam flecked his smooth nose and spotted his mane and shoulders. David would be furious.

The door to the dairy was closed. Rees knocked upon it. He began walking the gelding around in a wide circle while he waited for Lydia to appear. Although it was probably only a few seconds, to Rees it felt like several minutes before she opened the door. “Will? What's the matter? I'm right in the middle of my cheese making. And what are you doing with that horse?”

Rees paused in front of her, pulling Hannibal to a stop. Because the dairy was nestled in a hollow and the brick floor dug a few steps down into the ground, the air inside was chiller than out. A breath of cool air touched Rees's face. He could see the panniers of milk spread out upon the shelves behind his wife.

“Caldwell is no longer the constable,” Rees said without preamble. “Zedediah Farley has been given that post.”

Lydia looked at him without comprehension. “That's too bad. But is it so important you had to interrupt me?”

“Farley is a superstitious fool. He believes you're a witch. He's the one who led the mob out here, to the farm. He would have taken you to town and imprisoned you. You and the children must leave here. Today.”

Although Lydia's cheeks paled she shook her head. “I don't want to quarrel over this now, especially with the door to the dairy open and flies coming in.” She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “We'll discuss this when I'm done.” She shut the door firmly, leaving Rees and Hannibal standing on the other side.

“Foolish woman,” Rees muttered. “Why can't she listen to me?” Hannibal whickered, almost as though he understood. Rees clucked and pulled on the bridle to urge the horse into motion. They walked up the slope but, before releasing the horse into the pasture, Rees found a rag and wiped him down. Rees could see David working in a distant cornfield, the straw hat bobbing up and down as he hoed. Rees knew he should help, but he wanted to speak to Lydia as soon as he could. So, instead of going out to the fields, he went back to the house.

But he was too restless to sit and wait. He pushed the kettle over the fire to heat more water for the dishes; Jerusha had washed only one additional plate since Rees had last been in the kitchen and the water in the dishpan looked slimy. Then he picked up the broom and applied it enthusiastically to the wooden floor. Sweeping had to be done constantly since dirt was tracked in from the yard every time someone came into the house. While the larger bits of mud and vegetation skidded away from the broom, the finer dust rose into the air, circling his head in a cloud.

He swept it out the back door. “My goodness, Will,” Lydia said as she toiled up the slope to the house, “what are you doing?” Wisps of dark red hair, curly in the heat, fringed her white cap and her cheeks were flushed. Her long skirts and petticoats clung to her legs with perspiration.

“Waiting for you,” Rees said, halting the broom. He leaned it against the wall. “Thought I'd do some work.”

“Mmm,” Lydia said, taking the broom and carrying it with her as she climbed the back stairs. “I usually dampen the floor a little to keep down the dust.” Rees grunted without interest and followed his wife into the kitchen. Jerusha had taken all of the dishes from the pan and put them on the table. Lydia turned a stern look at the girl.

“I was going to empty the pan,” Jerusha said defensively, “and put in fresh water.” She glanced at the kettle and the steam pouring from the spout. “Let them soak in hot water.” She stopped, eyeing Lydia in trepidation as she ran a finger over one of the dried plates.

“These need to be washed again,” she said. “This is greasy.”

“It's too hot to wash dishes,” Jerusha whined.

“Unless you plan to cease eating, there will always be dishes,” Lydia said as Rees picked up the pan and carried it down the back steps. “But go on outside. I have to talk to your father anyway.” Rees hurled the dirty water into the weeds from the bottom of the stairs. As he returned to the kitchen he passed Jerusha, grinning and on her way to freedom. Lydia, who had poured the hot water from the kettle into the dishpan, put the empty pot on the hearth and turned to face Rees.

“Lydia,” he began.

“I know you're worried,” she said, interrupting him. “And I appreciate your concern. Do you believe I might spend more than an hour or two in Wheeler's stable?”

Rees shook his head, angry with himself. In his attempt to protect Lydia, he had not fully explained the danger and now it didn't seem as serious to her as it was. “You might possibly spend a week or more,” he said. He did not want to mention the rope and the grin on the face of Farley's son as he slid it through his hands. “Caldwell would have done his best to protect you,” Rees continued. “But not Farley. He'll want to keep you there until you go to trial.”

“Trial?” She considered that a moment. “But then,” she said in a reasonable tone, “when I appear before the magistrate, all charges will be dismissed. Just as they were for Mother Ann Lee.”

“Perhaps,” Rees said, the memory of Hanson's animosity fresh in his mind. “But I'm not willing to take that risk. Especially not when you're expecting.” Involuntarily he gestured at her belly. “Besides.” He paused, considering how much he should confide in his wife. “Magistrate Hanson, well, he doesn't like me very much. In fact, I think he will not stick at anything to serve me an ill turn. I need you and the children to go somewhere safe.”

Lydia stared at him. “I know he doesn't like you. But this depth of animosity? What did you do to him?”

“Piggy has always been a bully.” Rees took a turn around the kitchen table. “When my friend Nate and I were boys we punished him for teasing the girls.” The memory of a small, slight six-year-old with flaxen plaits sobbing as Piggy pinched and slapped her appeared in Rees's mind, so fresh and sharp he might have seen it yesterday. “Abandoning him at the ice caves seemed fair and just at the time.”

“I think that's what you told yourselves when you were cruel to another boy,” Lydia said as she began sliding the dishes Jerusha had washed and dried into the steaming water.

“Perhaps,” Rees said, although he did not agree. He and Nate had had their own code. “The point is that Hanson has never forgotten. And then I convinced the town widows not to invest in his schemes. Now he has an opportunity to punish me for it. So you won't be able to expect impartial treatment from him.” He paused and watched his wife expertly scrub each dish. “Please, Lydia. I can't investigate this and resolve it if I'm trying to protect you and the children the entire time.”

Lydia turned, her eyes filling with the easy tears of pregnancy. “I want to stay here, with you.” She put her hand upon her belly. “Our child will soon be born.”

“I know.” Rees put his arms around her and blurted out the truth. “But I'm terrified something will happen to you both.”

They stood for a moment in the embrace and then Lydia pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Even if I was willing to leave, where would I go?”

“Perhaps to your family?” Rees suggested. “I've never met them. And they don't know about…” He gestured to her swelling belly.

“No,” she said in a flat tone that brooked no argument. “I would rather be hanged as a witch than throw myself on the mercy of my father.”

Rees stared at her, wondering as he had many times in the past just what had happened between Lydia and her family.

“So you see,” she said with a faint smile, “I have nowhere else to go. I have to stay here.”

“You can go to Zion,” said Rees. Zion was the Shaker community in which he'd met Lydia two years before. “You know some of the sisters from your time there. And you'll be safe.” When Lydia did not respond, Rees hurried on. “We met the Elders and Eldresses when we brought Annie.” After rescuing the young girl from an almost certain fate as a prostitute in Salem, they had brought her to Zion in June. “They'll take you and the children in, and I'm sure Annie will be happy to see you.”

“We promised Jerusha and the others we wouldn't abandon them to the Shakers,” Lydia said.

“I know. But this will only be temporary, until I discover the evil mind behind this. Besides, you will be there with them.”

“Do you really want me to leave?” Lydia asked, staring into Rees's eyes.

“No. I don't. I'll miss you. But I couldn't live if anything happened to you.” He touched her belly gently and felt an answering kick. The hair rose on the back of his neck and he said forcefully, “We have no idea how long you might be imprisoned. Do you truly want to give birth in a stable?”

Hysteria edged her involuntary laugh. “A stable was good enough for our Lord Jesus.”

“I'm sure his mother would have chosen another place if she could,” Rees said. “Think about what happened to your bees.” A sudden shudder sent Lydia's body into a spasm and Rees put his arms around her. “I promise you, my darling, this is the only way to keep you and the children safe. I will come for you as soon as I can.”

“Come from where?” David paused at the door into the pantry. “Are you leaving again? Now?”

Lydia and Rees parted and he looked at his son. “I'll be delivering Lydia and the children to Zion. They can stay there until I've resolved this…” He paused, searching for a good word. “Situation. This situation. Then I'll come home. I want to be sure they're safe.”

David's gaze went to Lydia and he bobbed his head in agreement. “Good idea.”

“You think I'm in danger too?” Lydia's voice rose in surprise.

David nodded again. “Mr. Farley really believes you're a witch. Put together with all the other things that have happened, well, I think it's dangerous to stay.” Lydia glanced from Rees to David and back again and her hand went protectively to her belly. Rees saw the exact moment when she accepted the necessity of leaving. The eyebrows that had been moving up and down in thought settled and her mouth relaxed into sorrowful resignation.

“Very well, I'll pack some things for the children.” As she hurried down the hall, Rees heard a muffled sob.

“I want you to go too,” Rees said, turning to look at his son.

“No,” David said. “You're going to need me to help run the farm, to do the chores, and guard it. Especially now that some of the boys I hired on as extra hands have stopped coming. They tell me their parents forbid them.”

“All of them?” Rees asked in alarm.

David shook his head. “Not Charlie. Well, he's family. Not Freddie, but his family is so poor he doesn't have a choice. But several. And they don't want to talk to me. Good thing I still have some of the transients.”

Rees sighed, staring at the floor. Everyone was trying to disassociate himself from trouble and this was such a bad time to lose the help. David needed it. Although the haying was done and most of the wheat was in, the corn would be starting soon. “I daresay we'll soon learn who our true friends are,” Rees said.

“Yes,” David said with a lopsided smile.

“I just don't want to see you hurt,” Rees said, looking at his son. “I've failed you so many times.”

“Not this time,” David said. He hesitated and then added in a rush of words, “I wouldn't blame you if you did leave this time. Seeing a crowd outside our door—I'll have nightmares the rest of my life.” He shuddered. “Besides, all of the trouble seems to be directed at you and Lydia. Not me. I think I'll be fine. And I have too many ties holding me here.” When Rees did not speak, David added quietly, “I'm an adult now and this is my decision.” He looked straight at his father, not impudent or defiant in any way but as one equal to another. Rees slowly nodded, his emotions a jumble of regret and pride.

“Very well,” he said, his voice breaking. Where had his little boy gone?

“So, that's settled.” David ducked his head. “I'll harness Hannibal to the wagon. You are taking the wagon, right? The buggy is too small for everyone.” He hurried out the back door. Rees sighed and turned to the pantry to begin collecting whatever portable food he could find. They would have to spend at least one night on the road, maybe two, and eat as they traveled. Rees didn't want to spend more time away from the farm than he must; he was afraid to. What if something happened when only David was here? And David was badly hurt or even killed? Rees would never forgive himself.

 

Chapter Nineteen

The afternoon of the fifth day after departure, Rees finally pulled back into the drive to his farm. He was dirty, hungry, and tired, but at least he was finally home. The trip to Zion had been a grueling one, taking longer than Rees had expected, since Lydia tired easily and they'd had to stop frequently. The sun had beat down upon them mercilessly and the children had cried and fussed almost the entire journey. No one wanted to leave the farm and Simon, in particular, was inconsolable at being parted from David. More than once Rees was tempted to tell them why they were forced to go to Zion, but he didn't want to frighten the wits out of them. Lydia was scared enough for all of them, and angry too at being forced from her home. Rees knew it but they couldn't discuss it, not with five children listening to every word.