The Devil's Cold Dish (32 page)

He had not handled the argument well and Phoebe, not for the first time, had received a blow meant for him. If he had kept his temper, perhaps he could have elicited more information. After all, he
was
willing to help his sister. He knew he was responsible for Sam's injury, although Sam bore some of the blame too. But with Caro, nothing was ever enough. As a boy, his refusal to share his lead soldiers with her had earned him a blow to the head. He still bore a scar where she had hit him under his hairline. Although the blood streaming from his forehead meant that he did not receive a whipping from his father that time, his parents insisted he allow Caroline to play. He'd walked away. And once she saw his display of disinterest, Caroline had hurled the soldiers into the pond. Sometime later he'd gone into the water and recovered all he could find.

He shook off the memory. Now what should he do? The farm was not a lead soldier. Besides, he no longer owned it. It belonged to David, assuming George Potter had done what Rees asked of him. That did not mean Caroline would not still want it, of course.

And had she allowed envy and her rivalry with her brother to consume her to such an extent that she'd murdered Zadoc Ward, Thomas McIntyre, and finally her own husband, Sam Prentiss, all to incriminate Rees? It seemed so.

By the time Rees reached the lane into the cabin, the setting sun had dropped toward the western horizon and light bathed the line of trees with gold. Rees rode into the forest. For the first several yards, sunlight lay in stripes across the vegetation but as he rode into the woods and the trees thickened, the shadows deepened until the ground underneath the forest canopy was almost dark. A shaft of sunlight illuminated the overgrown clearing in which the cabin sat. Rees stopped short. An unfamiliar horse was tied up outside. Farley had found him.

 

Chapter Thirty

Rees had taken a few steps back into the underbrush when the fact that there was only one horse penetrated. Farley was too much of a coward to confront Rees without help, so almost certainly the visitor was not Farley. Who then could it be? After a moment's indecision, Rees tied his horse to a branch and hurried as quickly as he could through the clearing to the shack. The front door was firmly closed so he could not see in. He stepped over the deteriorating stairs onto the porch, treading as lightly as he could. But the rough board creaked in protest and he froze. No shouts came from within and after a moment he threw the door open.

David and Abigail Bristol sprang apart.

For a few seconds that seemed to stretch on for eternity the three people stared at one another. Then Rees said, “What the…? What are you doing here?” Then he felt a fool for asking such an obvious question.

“I thought you were hiding,” David said in his turn. And then he rushed forward and embraced his father. “Dear Lord, I have been so worried.”

Rees hugged him back. “It has been an adventure,” he said, his glance taking in the old quilt upon the floor and the open basket with the remains of a picnic hastily stuffed inside. “How long have you been meeting here?” he asked, too shocked to sound anything but calm.

David and Abby exchanged a glance. “For a while,” David said at last.

“Since you and Lydia were in Salem,” Abigail said. Although her cheeks were pink with embarrassment, her gray eyes met Rees's straight on. “My parents refused to allow me to work at the farm without Miss Lydia present.”

“I see,” Rees said. And he did. Since the young people couldn't see one another openly, they'd found a way to meet on the sly. He recalled all the times where David, supposedly in a faraway field or in the pasture with the cattle, could not be found. “And you two have been meeting here even after Lydia and I returned.”

David and Abigail nodded.

“It was private,” David said. “We figured no one would come here, not with everyone afraid of Winthrop's ghost.” He forced a lopsided grin. “Of course, you aren't afraid.”

“No.” Rees didn't know whether to be angry that they had been meeting behind his back or relieved that Farley had not found him.

“You look…” Abby stopped and tried again. “Are you hungry?” She gestured to the basket. “We have bread and cheese and a jug of cider.”

Rees crossed the floor and lowered himself to the quilt. With the food from Marsh still in the saddlebags and now this bounty, he would be set for a few days. “Starving,” he admitted. “I don't dare light the fire.”

“We've lit a fire on occasion,” David said, sitting down as well. “No one noticed.”

“I must go,” Abigail said, putting on her bonnet. “I've been away longer than I intended already and my parents will be looking for me. Keep the basket,” she added, turning her gaze upon Rees. “I'll fetch it later.”

David jumped to his feet and walked her outside. Rees heard the low murmur of their voices and guessed they were making plans for the next meeting. He sighed. To him, David at sixteen was still a child. And so was Abby, younger than David by two years, for that matter. But they were clearly ready for marriage. And it had better be soon, lest Rees's first grandchild was born a scant few months after the wedding. The sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance. David returned, his face pink. “Who knows about this?” Rees said. “Anyone?” David shook his head. “Not even Charlie?”

“No. We were afraid Charlie would tell his mother and she would tell the Bristols,” David said simply. Rees took a big swallow of cider. He didn't know what to say. Warning David about the possible consequences of these secret and private meetings with Abigail seemed like closing the stable door after the horse had bolted. “I would have asked her parents for permission to marry,” David said stiffly, clearly reading condemnation in his father's silence, “but I have nothing to offer her yet.”

“What do you mean?” Rees asked.

David shrugged. “No farm.”

Rees smiled briefly. “You do have a farm. Since I didn't want to risk losing the farm to Piggy Hanson or my sister, I signed the farm over to you. George Potter has the papers.”

“So, that's why I received the letter…” David turned his gaze upon his father. “I never answered it.”

“I suggest you ride into town first thing tomorrow,” Rees said. “As early as possible.”

“And what are you doing here?” David asked. “I thought you were well on your way to Zion and Lydia.”

“No.” Rees shook his head. “I told you—I want to find out who is behind this crusade against me. Although I believe I know now,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Who?” David asked.

Rees hesitated. “I want to find some proof first,” he said finally. “I want to be sure. I don't want to accuse anyone based on just opinion.” He added in a grim tone, “That's been done to me and I know how it feels.”

David nodded and for a moment they sat in silence. “Well,” he said at last, “I'd best be getting back.” He jumped to his feet. “There's still most of the milking to do. And Charlie is likely wondering where I am.”

Rees pushed himself upright more slowly. “I hope—I'm sorry if I left you with all the farmwork. And someone trespassing onto the farm and damaging the property, besides.”

“That at least hasn't happened,” David said. “There's been nothing since you left.”

Rees stared at his son in silence. Then he nodded. Of course the vandalism had ceased; the anger had been directed at him. Caroline might not like David very much, but she did not bear him the same hatred she directed at her brother.

“I have to get back,” David said again. He paused, his expression awkward. “Look,” he said, “don't worry that I'll just take the farm. When everything is sorted, we can switch the ownership back to you.”

“We can talk about it, afterward,” Rees said. He was beginning to believe he didn't want to live in Dugard anymore, not after all that had happened. He clapped his son on the back. “After all, you're the farmer.”

David shook his head, too uncomfortable to meet his father's eyes. “Be safe,” David said. “I'll come when I can and bring food.” With one final glance at his father, he hastened through the door. Rees followed him to the porch and watched his son lope through the clearing and disappear into the shadows under the trees.

As the sun began to set, Rees lit the kindling in the fireplace and fried slices of the ham given to him by Marsh. More of the bread and butter from the Bristols' basket and the last of the cider made an excellent dinner. By the light of a candle stub, Rees used a little water from the pail to wash the spider, which he then hung on the hook by the fireplace. Tomorrow he must fetch fresh water from the stream; he would do it when he brought the mare back to the cabin in the morning. He pushed the basket into the corner by the chimney and looked around him, trying to see the cottage as a stranger might see it. The old quilt was still on the floor, but Rees would bring that into the other room to sleep on. He did not want to lie down upon the bed with its fusty layer of old bedding. He imagined he could see the imprint of Mr. Winthrop still there.

He picked up the candle and his satchel and carried them into the other room. He used a little more of the water to wash his face and hands. What would Lydia think of him now, he wondered. He was unshaven, and his clothing was torn and dirty. If it were not for the gift of the moccasins, he would be barefoot. He no longer resembled a weaver and farmer; he looked more like one of the homeless men who wandered the roads looking for work.

With a gasp, Rees removed his footwear. The wounds on his feet were beginning to scab over and heal. He dropped his dirty breeches upon the moccasins and lay down on the quilt. At least he was still free, with a full belly and a roof over his head. And, with any luck, he would soon put an end to this adventure. He just had to find proof that Caroline had been behind this all along. And he would hate to do it, he thought, his eyes moistening. His baby sister: a murderer. Even though he knew she was guilty, he still hoped he was wrong.

*   *   *

He awoke suddenly, disoriented, and sat up. It was late and the sliver of the moon was just visible above the trees. Rees couldn't at first understand what had awakened him. Then he heard a clacking coming from outside. He sat up, breathing hard. The clatter of two sticks being knocked together was growing louder as it approached and now he could hear the faint sound of footsteps in the grass. He jumped up, thrust his feet into the moccasins, and dragged on his breeches. He tossed the quilt onto the bed and turned to the door. Then he heard a footfall on the porch. He would not be able to escape the cottage that way. He turned to the window.

Winthrop had put glass in only two of the house's windows, the two at the front. His wife, when she was alive, had used greased paper, but that was now shredded by the elements. Rees put his feet through the opening and pushed the rest of his body after, dropping onto the ground with his sore feet. He uttered a grunt of pain.

“What's that?” Farley said in a quavery voice. The faint gleam of lantern light sprang into life. Rees went to his knees and ducked his head. For a moment he considered playing ghost and trying to frighten the men away. But if that didn't succeed, the men would know with certainty that he was here. It would be better not to give away his presence.

“I don't hear anything,” said a second voice, after a moment of silence. “You're imagining things.” But his voice trembled.

“Besides, if Rees was here,” said a third in a sour voice, “that rattling of the sticks would've warned him away.”

“For all we know,” Farley said in an aggrieved tone, “that witchy wife of his flew in on her broom. Everyone knows knocking two sticks together warns away the witches.”

“Warns away everything,” muttered the third man.

“Doesn't look like anyone's been here since Winthrop died.” The second voice spoke again.

“I tell you, Rees is long gone.” The third voice belonged to a skeptic.

“But he saw smoke.” Farley paused and then added in a lower tone, “If it were up to me, I'd burn the place down.”

“Someone's been here. Look, a basket with food still inside.”

Rees, crouching underneath the window, longed to rise up and peer through the window. Maybe he would be able to see across the room, through the door, and into the main room beyond. But he didn't dare.

“A basket of food?”

“One of you check the loft,” Farley said. “You look around outside.”

Rees began to ease carefully away from the window, his moccasin-clad feet making no sound. He planned to move back into the long grass and hide out of sight of the lantern light but a shout from the front of the shack arrested him.

“Constable Farley. I found fresh horse dung. From today, I think.” As Rees moved back toward the wall, footsteps clattered through the house to the front porch.

“He's been here then,” Farley said.

“Hey, what are you folks doing here?” David's voice came from a distance. When Rees peered cautiously around the house, he saw a lantern bobbing up the slope from the farm.

“Why are you out so late, boy?” Farley asked. Rees, who saw the glint of yellow light on the metal rifle barrel, knew what David had been doing out so late: patrolling the farm.

“I saw lights up here,” David said.

“You know your father is hiding out here?” Farley moved forward. Although more than a head shorter than David, the man managed to appear menacing. “You been feeding him? Protecting him, a murderer.”

“We found fresh horse dung,” put in Farley's companion.

“No, I…” David stopped and started again. “My father didn't take a horse with him. Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe you gave him one,” Farley said.

David shrugged. “Come down and check. I didn't.”