The Devil's Cold Dish (9 page)

Heartbroken, Lydia burst into tears.

Rees covered the ground between them in two long strides. He gathered her in his arms. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he said, kissing the top of her head. He knew how much she loved those bees. Whoever had set the fire had struck her in the heart.

Simon stared at her in alarm. He still clutched an old bucket, the water leaking through the splints in a steady stream. “You did good,” David told him. “You put most of the fire out by yourself.” He looked at Lydia then back at Simon. “The damage would have been much worse without you, Squeaker.”

“Some of the eggs got broken,” Simon said. “I tried to be careful when I took them from the bucket. But one or two broke.” His face creasing in anxiety, he looked up at Rees.

“That's not important,” Rees told him. He wanted to pick up the child and hug him but knew that would offend Simon, who felt too grown up for such demonstrations. “David is right; the damage to the hives would have been much worse without you. Lydia may be able to salvage some of the skeps.” He sounded dubious, even to himself.

“I don't think all of the bees are dead,” Lydia said, her voice hoarse from the recent spate of tears. “Maybe some of the colonies escaped into the woods.” Rees looked into the darkness, to the copse of trees behind the hives. Although he could hear the faint flutter of leaves, he could see nothing but a wall of blackness.

“We can't see anything now,” Rees said. “It's too dark. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

Nodding, Lydia stepped away from his embrace. “So many bees dead,” she mourned. “All the honey and wax destroyed.”

“Maybe this was an accident,” David said hopefully.

“It's a clear night,” Rees said. “Not a cloud in the sky. No, this fire was deliberately set.”

“Who would do such a thing?” David asked, horrified. “Who in Dugard would be so cruel? And so destructive?”

Rees thought the question should be: who hated him and his family so much? He recalled Ward's murder and the reaction of his widow to Lydia's basket. “Caroline,” he murmured. “She confessed to spreading rumors.”

“Oh, I doubt she had anything to do with this,” Lydia said wearily. Surprised by the relief that swept over him, Rees turned to look at Lydia.

“No?” he said.

“I've seen such defacement previously. At Zion.” She looked up at Rees. “You know. The Shaker communities are frequently persecuted.”

Rees knew. He'd seen the prejudice and persecution firsthand, not only in Zion but in Dover Springs as well. But here? In Dugard? Among people who'd known him all his life? And against his wife who, when she married him, left the Shakers for good?

“I can't really imagine Caroline crawling around in the dark, can you?” Lydia added.

“No,” he agreed. He couldn't imagine her climbing Big Knob and shooting Zadoc Ward either, for that matter. And he remembered now that although she'd admitted to spreading the rumors about Lydia, Caroline had denied all knowledge of Zadoc Ward. “But if not her, who?” Had the same person who murdered Ward burned the beehives? He could not believe someone else in Dugard bore him the same malice. And he'd had firsthand experience with his sister, who was vindictive and petty. When they were children together, she'd hurled his prized collection of lead soldiers into the cow pond. He no longer recalled the quarrel that had precipitated the drowning of his entire army, but he very clearly remembered her mocking laughter. Although he'd managed to find most of the soldiers, he knew she'd intended to destroy them all. And she was barely punished. Since their parents believed Caroline delicate, they did not whip her. She was confined to her room for a week, but she swore thereafter that the punishment had been worth it. So, yes, he could see Caroline thinking of burning the beehives, even if she had to ask someone else to set the spark. He considered driving to her farm the next morning and questioning her. But, as he recalled their last discussion, he thought better of it. He didn't want to accuse her without some kind of proof, and he had another way of finding out where she'd been tonight. She'd told Rees that she applied to Father Stephen for charity every Friday night. Rees would ask the minister if Caroline had been there tonight.

Simon collected the unbroken eggs from the grass where he'd dropped them and he and David followed Rees and Lydia up the hill to the house. When they reached the top, they saw Jerusha, standing in the doorway and peering out. “What happened?” she called out. “Where did everybody go?”

“Someone set the beehives on fire,” Lydia said, sounding so dispirited Rees put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“But I put the fire out,” Simon said, self-importantly.

“He did.” Both Rees and David spoke in unison. Let the boy enjoy his good deed for a little while.

“I think everyone should bathe,” Lydia said, struggling to speak in her normal tone. Rees looked at her when they stepped into the candlelight. She smelled of smoke. Black ashes flecked her apron and when she'd wiped away tears she'd left a long sooty streak down her cheeks.

“Ahh, we just went swimming,” Simon said.

“Very well,” Lydia said. “I don't have the energy to insist. Make sure you wash your face and hands…” She slumped wearily into a chair at the table and covered her face with her hands. The boys exchanged anxious glances with Rees and tiptoed away.

Confused and at a loss about the proper response to Lydia's grief, Rees sat down beside her. He couldn't tell if she was weeping, but she projected sorrow from every part of her body. Finally, he stood up and put the kettle on. He gathered towels and a bar of her fine Castile soap, used only for special occasions, and put them by her elbow. Hot water went into the basin and as she washed he made a pot of strong tea. Lydia seemed to recover. At least she smiled at him as she emptied her cup. But that night, after they'd gone to bed, he awoke to find her sobbing. She tried to muffle her cries in the pillow but they were clearly audible. The bed trembled with the force of her sorrow. As he rolled over to comfort her, he swore that when he found the person responsible, he would beat him—or her—senseless.

*   *   *

Rees slept poorly the remainder of the night, although Lydia finally fell into an exhausted slumber. After lying awake and staring at the ceiling for some time, he rose and made his way through the darkness to the kitchen. He stoked up the fire and put on coffee. Even David wasn't awake yet, although it wouldn't be long. He usually finished the morning milking around dawn.

Rees stood by the back door and looked outside. The stars burned brightly against the night sky; the morning star had risen and just below it was a thin line of gray. The air was pleasantly cool and scented by growing things. Rees inhaled and caught the acrid undertone of burning. With a sigh, he returned to the fireplace and helped himself to coffee. He ate the remainder of last night's cornbread and was just putting the plate in the sink when he heard the soft scuff of David's stocking feet on the stairs. A few seconds later, David came into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw his father.

“Awake, already?” he asked.

Rees nodded and gestured to the coffeepot. “Coffee's ready.”

“I don't know how you can drink that swill,” David said.

“Lydia may choose to skip going to the market today,” Rees said.

“I must go,” David said. “I have livestock I've got to sell.”

“Of course I'll go,” Lydia said from the door. Rees turned. She was already dressed. The flesh around her eyes was flushed and swollen and Rees wished he knew how to comfort her. “I won't take the honey. We've lost the income from the hives.” She stopped and gulped. Rees moved toward her, intending to pull her into his arms. But she held up a hand to stop him. For a few seconds she fought for control. “We will need the income from the eggs even more now,” she said finally, her voice trembling.

“Would you like some coffee?” Rees asked. And, when she shook her head, he said, “I'll put the kettle on for tea.”

“I'm going down to the hives,” she replied. “I want to see how bad the damage is.” Rees made as if to join her. “Alone,” she said. “I want to look at them by myself. Please.”

Rees nodded but he was not happy. He watched her disappear through the back door. “She'll be all right,” David said. “Come on. You can help me milk.”

Rees did not want to do farmwork but when he looked at his son, he saw David regarding him with concern. “It'll make you feel better,” David said. Rees doubted that but he followed his son through the door and out to the barn.

*   *   *

By the time Rees and David brought the morning's milk to the kitchen, Lydia had returned. Her swollen face and red eyes betrayed a fresh bout of weeping. “How bad is it?” Rees asked in a hushed voice.

“Only one colony intact,” she said. “I hope some of the queens escaped and are setting up new homes in the forest.” She gulped and her eyes began filling again. Rees pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. After a pause, she stepped back and swiped impatiently at her eyes with her apron. “I think I might be able to rebuild. But it's the wrong time of year. In another few months they will go to sleep for the winter and it's likely I'll lose some.” She stopped abruptly and turned away. Rees reached out for her but did not touch her. He felt so helpless and did not know how to comfort her.

“We'll look for them together,” he promised. “Maybe you can lure them back.” He didn't want them in the strip of woods behind the pasture anyway. Although black bears sometimes came out of the woods to raid the hives, the bears would be even more of a danger hidden within the screen of trees.

“Besides the eggs, I'll bring cheese and butter to market today,” Lydia said.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Rees asked again. And when she nodded he said, “I'll accompany you.”

“I don't think that's necessary.” She forced a smile. “David always joins me. And I know you hate going to market.”

“I do,” Rees agreed. “But I'll go today. I plan to speak to Father Stephen. I don't want to think Caroline…” He stopped.

Lydia touched his wrist. “I know. But I'm confident she is innocent of setting fire to the beehives. I see a big difference between spreading rumors, which she might have done on a whim, and the planning necessary for driving ten miles and more to this farm, slipping onto the property without being seen, and then setting fire to the hives.”

Rees smiled at his wife.

“You're right,” he said. But he had to be certain, and Father Stephen would confirm—or contradict—Caroline's story.

The thud of feet hitting the floor above them drew Lydia's eyes up. “The children are awake and Abigail will soon be here.” She filled a pot with water and put it over the fire. Rees nodded. He was glad of the Quaker girl and her help, especially now that Lydia was expecting a baby. He did worry sometimes about Abigail's relationship with David—they were both so young—but of course his son would be in town as well.

“I'll harness Hannibal to the wagon,” Rees said. “We should begin packing what you want to bring to market. If you're really sure you want to go?” He looked at Lydia. She nodded.

“I do. I must.” She managed a lopsided grin. “It is what I do every Saturday.”

“Very well,” Rees said, understanding it would be a comfort for her to return to the familiar. He went out to the barn for the wagon.

 

Chapter Eight

Rees drove Lydia to market after breakfast. Although he tried to begin a conversation with his wife, she answered in monosyllables and after several attempts he gave up. They traveled the rest of the way in silence. David followed behind them with a wagon full of excess lambs and calves, mostly males. He was trying to increase the size of the flock and herd and for that he needed females. Rees wondered how much luck his son would have selling the livestock; most of the farmers currently had a surfeit of males.

Once Rees had set up Lydia's small table and she had arranged her cheese, eggs, and butter, he walked across the village square to the stone church. He'd been married twice in this Anglican church, and Father Stephen had buried both his parents. Rees had attended more funerals in this building than he cared to remember.

He hadn't been sure he would find Father Stephen. The pastor could have been at home but no, he was standing at the altar marking places in the Bible. He did not smile as Rees walked down the center aisle. “I wanted to ask you a question,” Rees said. Father Stephen waited. “My sister, Mrs. Prentiss, said she and her family come every Friday night.”

“They do. As you know, some of the local merchants donate food on a regular basis to be distributed to the poor and needy. That store is supposed to be used for those who are alone in the world, like some of our widows, not for someone like your sister who has a well-to-do brother living within a few miles of her.”

Shocked by the minister's hostility, Rees did not speak for a moment. “We do help her,” he said finally. Irritation made him add, “We regularly give them food and cloth, and I just spent the last day helping her son hay.”

“You have sufficient for your needs,” Father Stephen said in a stern voice. “Caroline has a justified claim upon you. Especially since you were the one who injured her husband.” He paused and Rees pressed his lips together. He doubted he could fully express the nuances of his relationship with his sister. “Is it your wife who refuses your sister room in your house?” Father Stephen continued. “I know Lydia belonged to a strange faith before her marriage. A blasphemous heretical creed, I am told.”

“The Shakers are good people,” Rees said through his teeth.

“Are they even Christians? Who knows if they believe in good works?” Father Stephen continued.