The Devil's Cold Dish (25 page)

Rees bowed his head in acknowledgment but said, “If I run now I'll never be able to return. I must stay here and find out who's behind all of this.”

“I'd look at the magistrate if I were you,” Caldwell said. “Or Farley. He is determined to see you and your wife hang.”

“It's possible.” Rees tried to grin. “Maybe they're in it together.”

“The magistrate called in your friends Jack Anderson and George Potter and threatened them with jail if they helped you,” Caldwell said. “I don't think you'll find any more aid from that quarter.”

“I know he dislikes me,” Rees said. “But to manufacture such a scheme? I don't think he even owns a gun, and if he does, well, he has no idea how to fire it.” He met Caldwell's eyes. “Of all the men in the village, Hanson is one of the few who never fought in the war. I'd sooner believe Farley is at the bottom of all this. Him and his sons.”

“In league with one another?” Caldwell suggested, sounding doubtful. He would have continued but David interrupted.

“None of this is important now. My father…” He stopped abruptly and turned to look at Rees. “You could be shot.”

“You're right, lad,” Caldwell said, his gaze swiveling toward Rees. “You need to get to safety.”

“I'm not leaving here,” Rees said. He was scared but he would never admit it to these two. “I meant what I said; I have to uncover the man behind this. And I can't do that if I'm at Zion. Or somewhere else far from Dugard.” David and Caldwell exchanged glances and for a moment no one spoke.

“You can't stay on the farm,” Caldwell said at last.

David nodded. “Farley'll come back and come back and come back,” he said. “But there's nowhere else safe.”

Rees said nothing for several seconds. Even if Potter or the Andersons were willing to take him in, Rees would be putting them and their families in danger. “I can't ask anyone to risk so much for me,” he said at last.

Another silence. Rees glanced at the fireplace, wondering if he could put up another pot of coffee. But the fire had guttered out long ago by the look of the ashes.

“I might know of a place,” Caldwell said finally. “My mother's.” He raised his eyes to Rees and added, “She lives south of here, by the river, north of the tannery. It's a fair distance, but you'd have a roof over your head.”

“I don't want to harm her either,” Rees said.

“Likeliest no one will guess,” Caldwell said. “Why would they? You've never met her.” He paused and continued. “You'd have a long walk into Dugard, if you wanted to go to town, but it can be done.”

Rees made his decision in an instant. “Well then, thank you very much. I won't stay long, maybe just a few days. Long enough to catch my breath and give some thought to—to…” His words ground to a stop. It was too hard to admit that someone hated him so much they would frame him for murder.

“We can't take the roads,” Caldwell said. “Not the main ones anyway. There'll be two of us on my own nag so the traveling won't be fast.”

“Maybe you should hide out until dark,” David suggested.

Rees shook his head. “We can't risk it. Not here, anyway.” He paused, thinking. “Why don't we go by way of the river?”

Caldwell rose to his feet. “Grab some food, clothes, whatever you think you'll need. I'll meet you in the barn.” He disappeared out the back door.

Rees ran upstairs to collect another shirt and pair of breeches. When he came downstairs once again, David handed him a canvas sack. “Just a little food,” he said, his face contorted with the effort of holding his emotions in check. Rees peered inside, seeing a hunk of cheese, a heel of a loaf of bread, and a handful of early apples. As he stuffed his clothing inside, David went to the front door and opened it. Stepping out onto the porch, he peered down the drive. “Come now,” he said. He motioned his father forward.

Rees took one final glance around the familiar kitchen before hurrying down the hall and out to the front porch. “Godspeed,” David said in a hoarse voice. Rees stared at his son. There were so many things he wanted to say, most of them beginning with “I'm sorry.” He didn't know how to begin and he stared at David in silence. Finally David approached, arms lifted as though he wanted to embrace his father but wasn't sure how it would be received. Rees pulled his son into his arms for a hug. They were unaccustomed to displays of affection and the clasp was a clumsy one with too many sharp elbows and stiff arms. But David's hold tightened around his father and when they parted, both were teary eyed.

 

Chapter Twenty-three

Caldwell and Rees did not cross the barnyard; it lay in full view of anyone coming up the drive. Instead they went down the slope into the hollow that contained the dairy and the pigsty. Rees, knowing he would not see these familiar landmarks again for some time, glanced from side to side. Every familiar object seemed to shine, glossy with his affection. He thought he had not appreciated his farm properly until then.

They went first into one of the cornfields. Rees hunched his shoulders and bent his head to make himself smaller, less visible. No one was working here, or in any of the neighboring plots. Still, Caldwell and Rees moved as swiftly and silently as they could. Sound carried easily over the open land and they did not wish to betray themselves to someone who might talk in the tavern. To further ensure they would not be noticed, they took a detour north, crossing onto the abandoned Winthrop farm. Although the miser's tumbledown cottage was not visible from this side of the property, Rees could see the orchard. One of the worst whippings he'd ever received from his father involved these apple trees. Like most of the boys, Rees had visited them regularly, climbing the trees to pick the apples. They were much prized, not so much for eating, but for missiles against one another. Besides, Winthrop was such a mean and unpleasant man that Rees and his friends trespassed just to annoy him. Now that Rees was himself a father and responsible for supporting a family, he had more sympathy for the man. It felt odd to Rees to realize that Winthrop, who'd seemed so old then, had actually been younger than Rees was now.

Overlaying the memories of his youth was the recollection of finding Winthrop's body a few years ago. No one had seen the man for some time, but since it was winter and few made it into town on a regular basis, no one thought about it. But with Christmas coming Mr. Borden, the shopkeeper, wondered aloud that he hadn't seen the old man. So one day Rees and David had crossed the fence and walked across the snowy ground toward the shack. Although deer and rabbit tracks streaked the snow, they hadn't managed to eat the remaining unpicked apples and the withered fruit as red as drops of blood still hung in the branches. Rees remembered thinking that that in itself was surprising. Winthrop supported himself primarily on the cider he pressed from those apples. He was very protective of them and would not willingly abandon even one piece of fruit, not if there was profit to be made from it.

When Rees and David entered the mean dwelling, they'd found Winthrop laying on the floor. He'd been dead for some time. Animals had been at him and his belly and side had been reduced to bones. The rib cage thrust its ivory points to the ceiling. But the cold had arrested the corruption and his body had frozen to the floor. Winthrop had died with no one by his side, leaving his little farm abandoned. Rees pitied the man but the miser had brought it on himself. He'd been a mean old cuss and once his wife had died the children scattered, leaving not just their father but the town. George Potter had been searching for the eldest son and heir this last year, without success. He hadn't, in fact, found any of the Winthrop children. Just the thought of dying in such solitude sent a shudder through Rees.

The sound of men's voices shocked him out of his reverie. He stopped moving and looked back at his companion. Caldwell put a finger across his lips. “Farley and his men returned to your farm,” he said, barely moving his lips. With a nod, Rees hurried forward, as silently as possible, trying to keep his big body sheltered behind trees and underbrush.

A steep hill made up largely of granite comprised the descent from Winthrop's property to the river. Rees slid most of the way down to the riverbank, stopping every now and then in oases made up of spindly trees and shrubs. He heard Caldwell and his horse thrashing about behind him, and he hoped Farley and his men weren't close enough to hear it as well. When Rees reached more or less level ground he turned around. Caldwell's old horse was resisting his master at the same time he descended in tiny mincing steps. His eyes rolled wildly and he kept tossing his head. Rees sat on a boulder under a tree to wait.

Rocks, many as large as the one upon which Rees perched, made up the riverbank. Trees and other vegetation clung to the small patches of soil around the stones, forming a leafy green screen. Although traveling through the narrow thicket wouldn't be easy, Rees was counting on the band of forest to provide shelter on the journey south.

A few minutes later Caldwell and his gelding arrived on the bank. Both looked visibly shaken. Caldwell brought the horse to the water's edge so he could drink. “We could have been killed,” he told Rees, turning with a glare.

“Ahh, it's not high enough,” Rees said. “Anyway, we're safe now.” He cast a glance at the steep rock face. “With any luck, Farley won't guess we came this way.” After a pause, he continued. “How long do you think it will take us to reach your mother's from here?”

Caldwell shrugged. “It usually takes me an hour or two, but that's on horseback and riding at a good pace. I guess, maybe this afternoon?” He turned to look at Rees. “Especially if we see anyone and have to duck under cover. That will slow us down.”

Rees nodded and did not speak for a moment. “Thank you,” he said finally. “I couldn't have gotten this far without you.”

Caldwell shrugged. “I don't have a job here anymore. What can they do to me?”

Rees knew Hanson could hang Caldwell but did not say that aloud.

They kept to the trees as much as possible. Rees, on foot, scrambled easily over the deadfalls and around the rocks. It was Caldwell's horse that slowed them down; the ground was treacherous and the gelding was too large to squeeze through some of the openings Rees found. Caldwell began cursing in a steady monotone, his epithets punctuated by slaps as black flies and mosquitoes lit upon his neck and ears. Rees saw no one, not even river traffic, and would have enjoyed the walk if he hadn't been so jumpy. The canopy of leaves overhead kept them shaded and cool and every step sent the scent of pine into the air. He kept imagining he heard footsteps, although whenever he turned no one was there.

“They won't find you,” Caldwell said. Rees grunted. He wished he could be certain of that. If he were the constable, he would search the riverbank, just in case.

They were traveling south beside the eastern branch of the Dugard River, a wide but fairly shallow course that ran from Dugard Pond. Unlike the narrow and fast-moving western arm that connected to McIntyre's mill, the eastern waterway washed up against large slabs of granite, many of them fairly flat. During the early spring, the river regularly flooded and even now water filled the hollows in the stones. As a boy, Rees would come down here to swim and inspect the strange creatures in the pools. He remembered seeing the gundalows ply the river, trading coffee, tea, saltpeter, and sugar. The farm produce bartered in exchange went north to towns in Maine and south to Massachusetts. Now more of the goods came by way of the turnpikes, but keelboats still used the river to transport window glass, crockery, and pewter ware, poling their way north against the current.

Rees and Caldwell paused under the shadow of the trees and inspected the river. There were no boats now so they moved out onto the flat rocks. Able to ride for the first time in hours, they moved rapidly over the flat, hard surface. The sudden appearance of a boat, moving slowly north against the current, made a sudden dash into the forest imperative. And then, a short distance away, they had to circle through the trees to avoid a wagon pulled up to the riverbank. It seemed to be occupied by a large family—the parents were unfamiliar to Rees and probably on their way somewhere—but it seemed prudent to evade even their notice.

Caldwell's old horse quickly tired and the two men took turns walking alongside. Rees realized he'd gotten soft. He rode astride infrequently so his thighs began to hurt. He was not accustomed to walking such great distances either, and by midafternoon his pace was beginning to slow. His shoes had rubbed blisters on one heel and the sides of his feet. Instead of walking by the horse, Rees trailed behind, his gaze focused on the swaying black tail, and his thoughts entirely consumed with putting one foot in front of another.

“We're almost there,” Caldwell said abruptly, his voice rusty with disuse. He cleared his throat. “Just around that bend.” It was already late afternoon. Although the sky was still a bright blue, long shadows stretched from the line of trees across the bank and over the water. The last few hours had passed as though in a dream.

They rounded the last bend and Caldwell pointed ahead. “There,” he said. A thicket of white linen that resembled an encampment of tents completely blocked the path ahead. Caldwell dismounted. “No one will see us,” Caldwell said, turning to look at Rees. “But mind you don't touch the laundry. My mother will flay you with the rough side of her tongue if you put so much as a smudge on a sheet.”

Through the haze of fatigue and hunger, Rees managed a nod. With refuge so close, he stumbled into an awkward run toward the drying linens.

He soon understood why the sheets appeared to be tents. Mrs. Caldwell had not draped the laundry on the available bushes as Lydia did; there was no vegetation here to use in that manner. Instead she'd tied heavy ropes from tree to tree, with a pole added here and there where a tree did not grow, and hung the laundry over the lines.