The Devil's Cold Dish (4 page)

Caldwell nodded in agreement “And now I have to tell his wife. Although I bet she'll be relieved.”

“He's married?” Rees just stopped himself from asking who would be desperate enough to marry Ward.

“Yes. And she'll want to bury him. We have to get it down from this mountain.”

Ward was too heavy to carry. After some discussion, Rees suggested building a litter. He hadn't liked Ward, but he had been a living, breathing person just a few hours ago. And he would arrive at the bottom in one piece and with as much dignity as Rees could manage.

Branches of all sizes were strewn throughout the forest. By the time they'd found the right sizes and sorted out the decayed and broken sticks, the sun was high in the sky. Rees's stomach growled and he wished he'd brought something to eat and drink. If they were here much longer, he might be reduced to licking the water from the stone, like an animal. Now in a hurry, he ripped his linen shirt into strips (he tried not to imagine what Lydia would say) and lashed the branches together. Rolling Ward's body onto the litter took both Caldwell and Rees, and they quickly discovered Ward was too heavy to lift. They both needed to drag the stretcher. Then the first drop in elevation bounced the body off. Once it was back on the litter Caldwell removed his worn suspenders and tied the body in place.

Jerk, stop, jerk, stop. In a series of forward lunges, resting only when the litter needed to be heaved over rocks or untangled from the underbrush, they hauled the litter down. Rees didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see his wagon in his life.

After several minutes spent catching their breath, Rees and Caldwell considered the problem of wrestling the body into the wagon bed. Ward was too heavy for them to lift and beginning to stiffen besides. Finally Caldwell jumped up into the bed as Rees maneuvered the litter's front poles onto the edge. Then, with Rees pushing and Caldwell pulling, they managed to lever the stretcher up and in. For several minutes there was no sound but the two men panting and gasping.

“I could never have done that by myself,” Caldwell said at last. Rees nodded in acknowledgment, still too breathless to talk, and climbed into the seat. It felt wonderful to sit, although he knew he would be sore tomorrow. Already his back and legs ached. He hoped Mrs. Ward would have help taking her husband's body from the wagon. Most of the branches that formed the litter had broken during the struggle to move Ward into the wagon. And Rees didn't think he had enough energy left to fight through another wrestling match with the corpse.

 

Chapter Three

Half an hour later they approached the mill. Ward and his family lived in one of the shacks across the road, close enough to hear the steady roar of the river.

These buildings were little more than crumbling hovels and the Ward home was more dilapidated than most. A wagon with a broken wheel occupied the front yard. Although the vehicle rested upon a tree stump as though the wheel was being repaired, the weathered wood and the tendrils of green creeping up the struts indicated a long stay in this position. Rees pulled up beside it. Then he jumped down and followed Caldwell to the splintered door. Bedraggled chickens fluttered away from him, clucking in distress.

The constable waited a long time before someone answered his knock. Finally a small child opened the door just wide enough to peer through. “I want to see your mother,” Caldwell said. The door closed with a quiet snap. Rees and the constable exchanged a glance. Something was wrong—no child should be that silent. After another few minutes of waiting the wooden barrier swung open.

Rees could not tell the age of the woman who stood there, her face was so swollen. Bruising closed one eye and purple finger marks circled her throat. “Mrs. Ward?” Caldwell said in horror. She nodded. Her mouth was puffy too and Rees thought it must hurt to speak. He wished he'd hit Ward harder this morning. “I have…” Caldwell hesitated as though unsure what word to use. “News. News of your husband. He's dead.”

“Dead?” Her eyes rested on Rees and his tattered shirt without curiosity. When he met her eyes her hand came up to shield her face from his gaze. Welts formed a bracelet around her wrist. Rees glanced quickly away and then, realizing that might seem even more insulting, looked back at her.

“We brought him home.” Caldwell gestured to the wagon.

She limped out of the house, leaning upon a makeshift crutch and moving as though every step was agony. The glance she directed into the wagon was cursory. “Someone shot him?” Caldwell nodded. “Well, thank you?” She did not sound certain and Rees wondered if she wished her husband had simply disappeared.

When her eyes flicked again toward Rees, Caldwell said, “This is Will Rees. He helped me bring your husband down from—well, down.”

“Rees?” For the first time a flicker of interest glowed in her eyes. “The one married to the witch?”

“What?” Rees's voice rose. He knew Farley and some of his associates believed Lydia's past as a Shaker tarnished her with the shadow of witchcraft, their suspicions even stronger after Rees and Lydia's return from Salem, but he hadn't expected to hear the story here.

“Did you shoot him?” Mrs. Ward faced Rees and leaned forward, eager to know the answer.

“No,” Rees said, steeling himself for the accusation that was sure to come.

“Well, thank you,” she said. “If you did, I mean.” Rees felt his mouth drop open in surprise. But then, as he looked at her wounds again, he understood. She might find her husband's death a relief.

“Do you know anyone who would want to kill him?” Rees asked. She offered another half-smile, the swelling on the right side giving her lips a lopsided twist.

“Everyone?”

“Mr. Farley and that Virginian found him,” Caldwell said. He looked away from the woman, his gaze traveling over the battered cabin and the broken wagon. “I suppose Mr. McIntyre rented this place to you while your husband worked at the mill?” She nodded. “What will you do now?”

“Go home. While my husband was alive, my parents wouldn't take me back. He was my husband, they said. But now? Well, they'll have to, won't they? Me and my children.” She nodded and raised a hand to her neck, a spasm of pain creasing her face.

As she spoke, Rees thought of Caroline. Mrs. Ward's bruises reminded him of his sister's—and the reason he'd taken her and his nieces and nephew in to begin with. Sam had hated him for it and badgered Rees, threatening him over and over until Rees struck him. And Rees, despite the censure and accusation he heard on a daily basis, still didn't know what he could have done differently. And what should he do now? He couldn't find a good answer.

“All right, Rees, let's get Ward out of the wagon.” Caldwell's voice broke into Rees's thoughts. They looked at one another, understanding there would be no help with the body here, and moved to Rees's wagon.

The litter held together long enough to move Ward out of the wagon and into the cottage. Since it contained just two rooms and a loft, and only a few sticks of furniture, they placed the corpse upon the kitchen table. Several small children, very dirty and very silent, watched from the corner of the room. No one wept. Caldwell retrieved his suspenders and Mrs. Ward threw a ragged blanket over all.

“What's going on here?” Tom McIntyre stood just outside on the front step. “What happened?” His loud voice echoed through the cabin.

“Mr. Ward was shot to death,” Caldwell said, moving forward to bar the other man from entering.

McIntyre's gaze went directly to Rees. “You shot him?”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Rees said, his voice rising in irritation.

“We all know your temper,” McIntyre said. “You were fighting with him outside the mill just this morning. It would be just like you to hide him up there in the mountains.”

“I think you should be ashamed,” Rees said, pushing the constable aside and stepping through the door. “Putting your cousin and his family in this shack.” He gestured at the hovel behind him. “There's children here.”

“You're a fine one to lecture me on family,” McIntyre retorted. “We all know how badly you treat your sister.”

Rees swore under his breath, wondering what Caroline was saying about him. Something terrible, no doubt, and even longtime friends like McIntyre believed.

“He was my cousin and I did right by him,” Mac continued. “Without me, he wouldn't have had even this. Or a job. His wife and kids was his responsibility and it wasn't my fault he was a lazy drunkard. But I'm a Christian,” Mac added with a nod. “They can stay a week or two before they leave. That gives them time to bury Ward and gather their possessions.”

Rees's gaze went to the broken wagon in the front yard. “And how are they to do that?”

McIntyre shrugged.

“We'll get the blacksmith out here,” Caldwell said. “He'll fix it.” He stared at Rees hard, willing him to agree. Rees knew Augustus would do it, and probably for cost; Rees had saved his life the previous year. But Rees didn't like it. Anger filled him with heat and he wanted to lash out at someone. He didn't even know what—or who—he was angry at, but he felt as though he were bursting. “Go outside and walk around,” Caldwell said in a low voice. Rees almost argued, but one look at the constable's expression encouraged him to stomp into the yard. McIntyre's sons had come over to see the excitement. They eyed Rees without speaking.

He circled to the wagon and squatted down to examine the broken wheel. Several spokes were missing and the iron rim was pitted with rust. Like everything else here, the wagon indicated lack of interest and care. But the rest of the axle seemed intact. Augustus could put on a new wheel and the wagon would survive another year or two.

McIntyre crossed the yard and joined the crowd. Rees could hear the low mutter of his voice as he explained what had happened. Rees knew they were talking about him when the group turned as one to stare at him. He rose slowly to his feet. Most of the men quickly looked away but some, Mac among them, held Rees's gaze for several seconds.

He can't really believe I had anything to do with Ward's death,
Rees thought. Aloud he said, “I'll be by tomorrow to pick up my corn.” McIntyre did not react to his challenge but simply nodded. Then he and the other men standing with him walked across the field toward the mill.

“McIntyre agreed to pay for the burial, at least, being family and all,” Caldwell said from behind Rees. He nodded, still watching the crowd cross the road. “Don't worry about—about the gossip. It'll die down.”

“I've been telling myself that for weeks,” Rees said, looking behind him to meet Caldwell's eyes. The constable nodded.

“I know you're angry, to be held responsible for Sam, especially when you were only trying to protect your sister. And now this thing with Ward. But don't lose your head. You already have the reputation as a brawler. The angrier you become, the more your neighbors believe you capable of anything.”

Rees grunted and walked toward his wagon. He wasn't a brawler anymore, hadn't been for twenty years, but the people in Dugard wouldn't let his younger self go. He climbed into his wagon. If it were not for Lydia and the children he would abandon Dugard and take to the road. He could always find someone who needed yarn woven into cloth. But he knew if Lydia and the children were to be happy here he needed to make peace with his neighbors. He sighed. He would try to talk to McIntyre tomorrow.

*   *   *

Rees did not pull into his drive until after four. Although the sun had begun to drop toward the horizon, the air was even hotter now than it had been. David was already in the pasture behind the barn. He'd sorted out the milk cows and begun milking them. Rees could see the boy's straw hat rising above the shaggy brown bovine's back every now and then. He released Hannibal into the paddock and put the wagon in the barn.

Before going to help he looked around for Lydia. She was not in the house or in the dairy. He walked around the farm looking for her, finally spotting her working among the bee skeps. She was clad in her bee costume, a drape of white linen. Moving slowly and gently, she lifted the woven caps to inspect the honeycombs inside. Her movements looked, Rees thought, like a slow ritual dance around an altar. And although bees swarmed all about, lighting upon her head and arms, she never seemed to get stung.

Rees watched her from a distance for a few minutes. The bee skeps, woven from straw, were so pale they looked white. In some cases, the caps were glued to the bases with honeycomb and she couldn't look inside. Rees wondered what she would do with those. She was so tenderhearted she couldn't bear to kill the bees and used a mix of smoke and empty skeps to try to move the colonies from one home to another. She seemed to have some success but Rees knew she lost bees, sometimes most of a colony. She mourned the losses for days.

But the honey and the wax had to be collected for sale. With the eggs from the chickens and the cheese and butter Lydia made, the honey provided her a handsome income. Rees knew some of the local men wondered why he allowed his wife to keep that cash. But he thought since she'd earned it, it should be hers. Right now he envied his wife. She loved her bees and cared for them willingly while he disliked even the least of the farm chores that needed to be done.

Reluctantly he pulled himself away from the captivating sight and went to help David.

David was seated on his stool milking. Several pails brimming with milk were already lined up by the barn wall. Frowning with anger and frustration, he turned to stare at his father.

“Someone shot Zadoc Ward,” Rees said, picking up a stool. There were only a few cows remaining. He chose the nearest and sat down, head resting on her flank. David would have known her name and spoken to her as he pulled her teats but to Rees all the cows looked the same. His hands were so sore from dragging the litter down the mountain he could barely close his fingers. The milk hissed into the pail very slowly. “He was found on top of Little Knob.”