Cradle to Grave (17 page)

“Yes,” Rees said, startled by the other man's hostility.

“My wife ready to go?”

“If your wife is Maartje, almost. She's just getting her uncle settled for the day.”

The man turned away and knocked his pipe upon the wagon, releasing a ball of burnt tobacco.

Rees climbed up into the seat. “You see the Shaker buggy the other night?” he asked.

“Shaker buggy?” repeated the farmer.

“You wife saw a Shaker buggy after leaving here the night Mrs. Whitney died.”

“That woman! I told her not to involve herself. But she never listens … always sticks her nose in where it isn't wanted. I saw nothing, no buggy or anything else. And my wife didn't either.” He turned away, putting an end to the conversation. Rees couldn't tell whether this gentleman had lied to him or whether Maartje had, although he was inclined to believe it was her husband who had told the truth. Rees just didn't understand why Maartje would manufacture such a tale.

“I'm ready to go, Caleb,” Maartje said as she came down the walk. He gestured toward the buggy, assisting her into the seat with rough attention. As he whipped his mare into movement, Caleb's words floated clearly through the cold still air.

“Why did you tell the constable you saw the Shaker buggy?” Her reply, if she had one, was lost in the clatter of hoofbeats and the squeak of buggy wheels skidding over the icy ground.

*   *   *

Later that day, although Lydia expressed a certain reluctance to leave the three young children in Jerusha's care, Rees and his wife set out for Dover Springs by themselves. He deposited her at the general store and drove on to Cooper's workshop. One of the lads opened the door to Rees and welcomed him inside.

The workshop smelled pleasantly of wood and the Franklin stove in the back wall emitted enough heat to allow the apprentices to work in vests and shirtsleeves. Through the windows on the back wall, Rees could see down the slope to the small house and a red painted barn. Behind the latter ran a rapid river, probably one of the several bodies of water from which the village took its name. The water was gray and chips of ice rimmed the boulders with collars of white, but the water itself was too deep and fast-moving to freeze completely.

Since Cooper was talking to another man, Rees positioned himself at the back of the shop, out of the way of the activity. A young apprentice was struggling to fit a group of staves, soaked in water and curved, into the iron band. After the wood strips clattered to the floor for the fourth time, one of the older boys took pity on his younger fellow and held the band. When the staves were in position and steady, he slid the iron ring over the wood and pushed it as far down as he could. He spun the future barrel over and reached for another iron ring.

Rees noticed the barrel of imperfect and broken staves, destined for the fire. Some of the wooden pieces were shattered but many were large enough to nail over the gaps in the cottage's walls and floor. He delved into the barrel and collected an armful of wooden pieces.

“Planning to try your hand at coopering?” the constable asked from behind him.

Rees laughed. “No,” he said. “Planning to stop up some of the holes in the cabin walls. How much for these staves?”

“Take what you want,” Cooper said, adding with an inviting gesture, “Come into my office.” As he led the way to the small room attached at the opposite side of the shop, he said over his shoulder, “I thought I might be seeing you.” Unbuttoning his coat, Rees followed him through the workshop. “Still working on a defense of that Shaker girl?”

“She didn't murder anyone,” Rees said. “We talked about this. Why did you go to Mount Unity to accuse her?”

Cooper sighed.

Rees stared at the constable, seeing in his slumped shoulders a suggestion of defeat, and answered his own question. “You're desperate.”

“There's a witness who saw Miss Moore driving a Shaker buggy near the graveyard the night Maggie was murdered,” Cooper said.

“So I've been told, and I would question Maartje's account if I were you. Mouse has already admitted her intention to rescue the Whitney children so her presence near the log church is purely circumstantial. Anyway, she claims the Elders caught up to her just as she reached the meetinghouse.” Again Cooper remained silent. “Maartje's own husband refuted her story.”

“He would. Caleb Griffin is a surly bastard.”

“Griffin?” Recalling his conversation with Mrs. Baker, Rees said, “Is Maartje the Griffin woman whose baby died while Maggie was wet-nursing her?”

“Yes.” Cooper smiled slightly at the expression upon Rees's face. “You didn't know?”

“No. I would have questioned her more thoroughly if I had. Did she blame Maggie?”

“She certainly did at the time.”

“I need to talk to her again.” Recalling Mr. Gray's constant interruptions, he asked, “Where does she live?”

“She lives west of the log church, about five miles out. Take the first left turn after the Baker farm. But she isn't your murderer. All of the arguments against your Shaker friend apply to Maartje Griffin as well. She's not big or strong enough to wrestle Maggie into the ground. Besides, she's pregnant.”

Maartje had certainly seemed strong enough caring for her uncle. “I'd still like to speak to her. And the other nursling?”

“Let's see.” Cooper furrowed his brow. “Maggie took on that baby when Simon was but two or three months old. The family was from Albany … what was their name? Van something. But I never heard of any complaints from them, and the baby was recovered before she was a year old.”

“Then what about the men in Maggie's life?” Rees asked. “Jerusha may be Roger Whitney's child, and Simon from someone in Boston. But who fathered Nancy and Judah?”

Cooper shrugged, his eyes sliding away from Rees's. “I don't know. Maggie never said. And the men themselves never came forward.”

“Was there anyone who seemed especially close to her?” When Cooper didn't immediately reply, Rees added, “You've known her all your life. Surely you can make a few suggestions.”

Cooper shrugged. “I knew her when she was just a girl in school. I was a few years ahead of her and was already betrothed when she turned sixteen. And no, I can't guess. She was a beauty. All the lads liked her.”

“And since she came home from Boston?”

“I've visited only a few times. When Olive passed on, the town fathers gave me the unenviable task of investigating Maggie and ensuring she could care for herself and her children. She began hating me then. Of course, Mrs. Tucker had willed the farm to her.”

“You haven't found Maggie's will?” Rees interrupted.

Cooper shook his head. “I don't think she made one. She never approached Mr. Schuyler. I asked him and he was adamant on that point.”

“What about Olive's will?”

“Mr. Schuyler remembers drawing up that document and says he recorded it at the Albany courthouse about a month later. We were still part of Albany County then. He gave her a copy. But that's a dead end,” Cooper objected. “We know what Olive's will says.”

“I think I'd like to see it myself,” Rees said. “Every time I've read a will I've been surprised. Mr. Schuyler didn't keep a copy?”

“He's barely a lawyer, more of a knowledgeable copyist,” Cooper said with a grimace. “He doesn't work from an office but makes his living riding around helping people like Olive write wills.”

For a moment the two men remained silent. Then Cooper said, “Maybe you should consider coopering. Or carpentry at least.” He nodded at Rees's hands, stroking the smooth wood pieces without conscious volition.

“I thought of carpentry,” Rees admitted. “I like wood. But I preferred weaving.” He wanted to travel, and carpentry would have tied him to Dugard.

“What did your father do?”

“He was a printer.” In response to Cooper's interested expression, Rees added, “I didn't want to get my hands dirty.” An image of his father's hands, so stained with ink no amount of scrubbing could clean them, flashed into his head. As a boy, he'd hated his father. A volatile fellow, he was as likely to punch his son as hug him. Rees hadn't wanted to resemble his father in any way at all. With age, his feelings had moderated. He no longer loathed his father with the furious passion of a boy, but he still didn't want to be like him either. He'd vowed to be an entirely different father—and he had become one. But he wondered now if David might have preferred a man like his grandfather—unpredictable, perhaps, but always present.

“That must have disappointed him,” Cooper said.

Rees shook his head, unwilling to continue that discussion. “How far is Albany from here?” he asked.

“Half a day's travel.” Cooper paused. “Blau,” he said suddenly. “Van Blau: that's the name of the family that put their baby out to nurse with Maggie.”

Rees nodded his thanks. He foresaw a trip to Albany to obtain a copy of Olive's will, and he might as well visit the Van Blau home while there.

Cooper paused, his expression both angry and resigned. “I think you should know that Silas, now that Maggie is dead, is planning to appeal the town council's decision. His argument is that they agreed to allow Maggie to continue residing in the cottage, not her children.”

“So, he'll throw them out on the road.” Rees felt anger building in his chest.

“Maybe he assumes they'll go to the Shakers,” Cooper said. “I hope he possesses enough charity for that. We have a month before the selectmen meet again. After that…” He shrugged. “I suspect they'll side with Silas this time. And, by the way…” He handed Maggie's little leather bag of coins back to Rees. “I went to pay her taxes, but someone had already paid them in their entirety.”

“Who?”

“No idea. But they were paid, so for the next month those children have a home.” He forced a grin. “You can use this now for food. It must be costing you a fortune to feed five hungry children.”

Rees nodded and said absently, “Lydia is buying more food now.” He paused and added, “Did Silas want that tiny farm enough to kill his niece?”

“I hope not,” Cooper said.

“I think I'll have a few words with him,” Rees said.

“He's in the Ram's Head,” Cooper said, rising to his feet. “Let's go.”

Chapter Fifteen

Silas stopped eating and pushed his plate away when he saw Rees crossing the floor toward him. “What do you want?” he asked, wiping his greasy mouth on his napkin.

“I want you to leave the Whitney farm alone,” Rees said.

“That farm should have been mine years ago,” Silas snapped. “My fool brother—”

“Spare me,” Rees said, seeing that the other man was mounting his favorite hobbyhorse again. “I've heard this tale before.”

“They're no family of mine,” Silas grumbled. “That whore Maggie was Olive's niece, so her bastard children are none of mine. But I was kind. I allowed them to stay while their mother lived.”

More like as long as Maggie had a legal right to the farm, Rees thought. “What about the children? Will you take them, as their closest relative?” Rees asked.

Silas frowned but then looked thoughtful. “The two oldest, maybe. They're big enough to earn their keep.” Rees's heart began pounding with anger. “But the foundling brat can go back to the town and the two youngest will have to make their own way.” Rees's temper snapped at Silas's casual dismissal of the younger children, and he grabbed the old man by the collar. His words ended in a surprised gurgle as Rees hauled him to his feet by his shirt. “You miserable, selfish…” Chairs clattered to the floor as several of the other diners leaped up. As two of the men detached Rees's hands from Silas's throat, Cooper inserted himself between the combatants. His head barely cleared the taller man's chin but his fierce gaze, confident with his authority as constable, drove Rees back a few steps.

“Calm down, Mr. Rees.” Cooper put his hand on Rees's arm.

Silas wrapped his hands protectively around his throat. “Anyone'd think they were your brats,” he snapped, his voice rough. He hawked and spit upon the floor. “I'm not a cruel man. You got a month. I won't take the farm until April first, after the selectmen's meeting. Everything should be settled by then.”

Cursing himself for a fool—he should have better control of the beast—Rees shook off the constable's hand and swept his gaze around the room. “Is this how you treat children in this town?” he asked, biting off each word with scorn. “Putting five-year-olds out to fend for themselves?”

“Silas does not speak for either the selectmen or the town, Mr. Rees,” Mr. Randall said, shoving himself painfully to his feet. “We will not abandon those children, I promise you that.”

“Dammed outsiders, telling us what to do,” Silas said, leaning forward and glaring belligerently at Rees. Rees made as if to lunge forward and the man jumped back, sprawling into the men behind him.

“Come on, Will,” Cooper said, grasping Rees's arm again and urging him toward the door. “I thought you wanted to talk to him, not brawl with him.”

“A selfish bastard like that should be shot.”

“I know you want to protect those children. I do, too. But right now the law is on Silas's side. And you do yourself, and them, no favors threatening him.”

Rees wrenched his arm from Cooper's grasp and stamped down the street toward his buggy.

“You're fortunate Silas Tucker is not a popular man hereabouts,” Cooper called after him. “Else we might have had a riot. And even a big man like you couldn't beat off all the men inside.”

Now that Rees's anger was cooling, he knew he'd behaved foolishly. He climbed into the buggy but did not drive away immediately. Instead, he sat for a few moments waiting for the pounding of his heart and the buzzing in his head to subside. Usually he maintained better control of his temper, but something about Silas Tucker rubbed him into fury. Given the chance, that selfish old man would cast the youngest children onto the town's mercy and work Simon and Jerusha to death. Of course, if the children lost their home, they would go to live with the Shakers; Rees would see to it. But Silas didn't know that.