Cradle to Grave (12 page)

Rees carefully lowered himself into the deep hole. Dug for a coffin with a man inside, the grave was more than large enough for the short slender woman. The dirt on the sides of the pit was white with frost. Rees bent and straightened Maggie's legs and adjusted her skirts over them. Although her limbs were stiff they were not rigid. She'd lain here for some time, long enough for the rigor that came with death to pass off. Her flesh had begun to freeze.

He squeezed in to kneel by her head. She should have been wearing either a cap or bonnet, but her dirty blond hair lay unbound across the dirt. And where was her cloak? Rees turned her head slightly, so he could better see her face. As Cooper had said, someone had administered a severe beating; bruises purpled the left side of her cheek and her split lip dribbled blood down to her collar. The darkness circling her throat proved to be bruises left by fingers. But her eyes exhibited none of the red spots Rees had noted in other strangled victims, and her expression was peaceful. When he slid his hand under her head he felt something. A cold frozen clot. He jerked his hand free. Some of the icy particles came with his fingers. Already melting, they left red smears on his skin.

Rees flashed back to his brother-in-law, lying on the mounting stone with blood pouring from his head. Sam had come after Rees, as he had done many times before; Rees had tried to talk sense into Sam but had lost his temper and hit him. The beast had infused the blow with all of Rees's strength, and Sam had fallen. For a brief moment Rees smelled the metallic odor of blood and a shudder began in the pit of his belly, spreading outward until he was trembling uncontrollably. He wished he hadn't hit Sam so hard. Cooper looked at him.

“Are you all right, Mr. Rees?” he asked in concern.

“I'm fine,” Rees said, forcing the words through his chattering teeth. “I'm fine.” Taking in a deep breath, he pushed away the memory and focused on the young woman lying upon the frosty ground.

“She's been struck on the back of her head.” Rees bent over once again and wormed his hand under her. He struggled for a moment to lift her torso; there was scant room and despite her slenderness she felt almost too heavy to lift. But once he maneuvered her into a sitting position, her torso flopped over to her knees. Her hands were scratched and bloody, the nails broken. Maggie hadn't gone tamely to her death.

And the wound on the back of her head was a mass of frozen blood spangled with ice crystals. The dark stain had run down the back of her dress and when Rees looked at the dirt where she'd lain, he saw a pool of blood. A sizable pool, so deep some of it was still sticky. A large stone, dark with blood, protruded from the hollow where her head had fallen and Rees realized that if he dropped the body again, the stone and the wound at the back of her skull would line up exactly.

“Are you ready to send her up?” Cooper asked.

“Mr. Gray will not like sharing his final resting place,” said the old sexton, his leathery countenance suddenly appearing over the side.

“The ground is frozen,” Rees said, slowly rising from his squat. “When did you dig this grave?”

“October,” the old man replied promptly. “Mr. Gray was failing then. We all thought he would soon meet his Maker. Mr. Randall ordered the grave. But Mr. Gray rallied. I left the grave for him, figuring we might need it this winter.”

“And what, Mr. Rees,” Cooper asked with a mocking smile, “do you deduce from all of this?” Rees looked at the constable, recognizing Cooper's uncertainty in his jeering.

“She knew her killer. But I'm sure you knew that before I told you.”

“Of course. Your friend, the young Shaker girl.”

“Maggie wouldn't fear Mouse, that's true. But the killer had to be someone who knew this grave was here. And he had to be strong enough to drop her into it.” Rees thought about Mouse. “She's a small woman, too,” he said. “Do you really believe she could carry Maggie through the graveyard?”

Cooper scowled. “Maybe she had a cart,” he persisted.

Rees resolved to look for wheel tracks, if he could spot anything in the trodden mess around the grave. “And, whoever beat her had to be fairly strong. Look at the bruises. This was no spat. What about one of those boys that were attacking Mount Unity?”

Cooper shook his head. “If it had been your friend Sister Hannah who died, maybe. But not Maggie. Why would they terrorize Mount Unity and then turn on Maggie?”

“Her death may have been an accident.” Rees held up the stone. “She fell on this and smacked her head.”

“That shouldn't be in there. I tried to take out all the rocks so Mr. Gray's coffin would lay true,” said the gravedigger. “It's not my fault.”

“Maybe it worked its way up,” said Cooper, throwing the old man a glance. “No one is blaming you.”

“She was still alive when she was thrown in here,” Rees said. “Maybe unconscious, but alive and bleeding. Look at the blood. She bled for a long time, but I don't think she bled to death; there isn't enough blood for that. She froze to death. It was the cold that killed her.”

Cooper blanched. “She froze to death?”

Rees nodded. “I think she went into this hole yesterday, probably yesterday afternoon while it was still fairly warm. She was alive then and bleeding. She might still have been saved. But whoever threw her in here just left her. He let the cold finish this murder for him. When the temperature dropped at nightfall she had no chance, not unconscious and without a cloak.” He paused. Horror kept the other two men silent. Cooper's jaw worked and he looked away from the grave, not trusting himself to look at the remains of the young woman. “And she wasn't beaten here,” Rees added. “Where are her cloak and bonnet? When we find them, we may know more.”

The sexton glanced at Cooper. “Lift her up, Mr. Rees,” he said, “I'll take her to the cabinet maker to be fitted for a proper coffin.”

Rees put his right arm under the body's knees and, using his powerful legs, lifted her straight up. When he stood upright, his height allowed him to see over the grave but he still had to raise his arms and the burden in them above his head. Together, Cooper and the sexton took the body and carried it to the wagon. Rees looked around the hole once more before scrambling up to the bank.

As the wagon pulled out of the graveyard, Rees blocked Cooper from running after it. “I want to look around a bit more, for those cartwheel tracks,” he said with a sour grin, “and then we need to stop at the Whitney farm. Now it's time to focus on the living.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maggie's children were thrown off the farm by Silas Tucker.” As he spoke he watched Cooper's face change.

“I wondered where he was going when I saw him hare off from the churchyard. He's wanted that farm since his brother passed, but it does not belong to him. Olive was very clear on that.”

Rees grunted and started walking the lane back to the road, dropping to his knees every now and then to inspect the ground. But too many horses and men and vehicles had passed this way, and he could see nothing that might point to the killer.

“What were you doing?” Cooper asked, his eyebrows rising.

“Sometimes a murderer will leave traces of himself. Footprints or something. But there's been too much activity here.” Rees stood and looked around the snowy yard. When he caught Cooper's surprised stare, he added, “I learned a few things from an Indian guide during the war.”

“So I see,” Cooper said.

Rees looked all around him. But the log meetinghouse had been built outside the village and except for a roof dimly seen through the trees at the back of the church there was nothing here.

“That's Mr. Gray's house,” Cooper said, following the direction of Rees's gaze. “But you can't suspect him of any involvement,” he added. “He's past sixty, infirm, and as deaf as a post.”

“Maybe so,” Rees said. “Still, I think a visit to that gentleman will be in order. He might have seen something.” He mounted his borrowed horse. “But the Whitney children are of more immediate concern.”

With a nod, Cooper swung up into his saddle. He took the lead, riding west a distance before turning southeast. They approached the Whitney farm from a direction unfamiliar to Rees, riding past the Baker dairy farm on the way. This affluent property sprawled over several acres. Despite the snow, a herd of black spotted cows clustered around a haystack in the center of a pasture near the road. Behind the house and barn, the land sloped up into a steep hill and Rees, visualizing the lay of the land, realized that the Whitney farm was positioned directly over that hill.

“Those children had to walk a long way,” Rees said, furious all over again.

“Yes,” Cooper agreed. “It would be several miles by way of the road. But they probably took the shortcut over the hill. That would have cut off a mile or two.”

“Judah and Nancy were barefoot and Jerusha was carrying the baby,” Rees said angrily.

“I know,” Cooper said. “Calm down. I'm only saying it would have been worse for them on the road.” Rees refused to apologize, still enraged.

When they rode up the drive they found a wagon pulled up to the front and the door to the cabin wide open. As Cooper and Rees dismounted, Silas Tucker came out of the cottage carrying the spinning wheel. Two of the chairs were already in the wagon. Cooper dismounted.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” he shouted, running up the slope to the shack.

“Taking what's mine,” Silas said. He pursed his thin-lipped mouth. Rees wondered if the man ever smiled. “I'm the nearest male relative; this is my property now. It should have been mine years ago, but everyone was soft on that harlot and her bastard children.”

In two strides Cooper reached him. “You put those children out in the snow. They might have died.” Rees, joining him on the step, nodded.

“Ah, I would've let them back in eventually. They could live here until the town fathers make a decision.” He grinned. “And we know what that will be; the farm will finally be mine. Finally. From true Christian charity I allowed Olive to stay here after my brother's death. And then I permitted Maggie to live here. But Maggie is dead now, so the farm is mine.”

“Huh,” snorted Cooper. “Christian charity? You tried to force her off, too, and when that failed, you offered to buy the place for a pittance.”

“This is my land. And she's behind on her taxes anyway. Or was behind. Now that she's dead I have a right to claim the farm.”

“Not until you know it's yours,” Cooper said. “Olive did not want you to have this property. I know that. Her will left it to Maggie Whitney, free and clear.” He nodded at Rees, who snatched the chairs from the wagon and put them beside the spinning wheel in the snow.

“This property should have come to me upon the death of my brother.” Silas's voice rose. “But Phinney left it to his widow. A woman! And then Olive left it to a bastard niece? It's against everything right and normal. But Maggie is dead now so everything should come to me.”

“You will return everything to the house,” Cooper said through his teeth. “And you will not set foot upon this property again until we have had time to sort this out.” Silas frowned and pinched his lips even more tightly together. “Do you hear me?”

Silas spit into the snow and did not move. “Everyone knows this land should belong to me,” he repeated. “And it will.”

“If I find you on this property again,” Cooper said, “I swear I'll put you in jail.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Silas said, stepping forward to crowd Cooper, daring him to react. Rees stared at the bantam rooster of a man, dumbfounded by his insolence. Cooper folded his arms and stared at the other man over them. Silas dropped his gaze first. “You'll be sorry,” he said, stamping to his wagon. “I'll go to the town fathers. You'll lose your job.”

“Good. I need to spend more time at coopering.”

With a ferocious scowl, Silas jumped into the seat of his wagon and cracked the whip over his horse's flanks.

“Is that likely?” Rees asked as they watched the man ride away. “That you'll lose your position as constable?” He appreciated Cooper's help; Rees knew how easily the children could lose their home, and right now the constable was the best friend they had.

Cooper shrugged. “Maybe. He does have friends in town, although not everyone likes him. But as I told you, I make most of my living from my business, not from this … this constabling.”

“They'd lose a good constable,” Rees said.

Cooper nodded his thanks.

“So, if Olive has a will, where is it? Do you think Maggie had the document? And would she have a will, too?”

Cooper sighed. “Maybe, but I would bet not. Olive Tucker was a force in her own right. She was as practical as a man. Maggie is—was—a much softer woman. Silas was obviously counting on that.” He paused and rubbed his forefinger down his nose. “I'll find out who helped Olive with her will. Maybe he'll know something about Maggie as well.”

“Why did Maggie inherit this farm?” Rees asked as he picked up the spinning wheel and a chair to return to the cabin. “Olive had children of her own.”

“They all moved away.” Clutching the remaining chair, Cooper followed Rees into the cottage. “When Olive needed care in the last few years, she promised Maggie the farm if she came home from Boston to help.”

“So Maggie came home with Jerusha. What about Jerusha's father?”

“He had died by then. Maggie returned with no husband in tow, and she was big with bastard child: Simon. No one knows who his father is.”

“Or Nancy's or Judah's,” Rees said. “Any guesses?” He turned just in time to see an indefinable expression cross the constable's face.

“No. Maggie never said.” He sighed. “We might never know. Closemouthed, that was Maggie, like her aunt Olive before her.”