Cradle to Grave (27 page)

“My mother thought so. Cooper was so handsome.” She sighed. “Four months before Cooper was married, everyone in town was invited to Mr. and Mrs. Baker's wedding. Mr. Baker did not stint on the whiskey. By the time Cooper wed Miss Shaw, Maggie was … gaining weight. Some of the women in town thought she was expecting, was maybe five or six months gone. She married Whitney a week later and left town.”

Rees sat back. And Jerusha and Cooper's boy were about the same age, within months of one another if Rees had to guess. Cooper had told him his son was almost nine. If Jerusha was a month or two older, well, that would explain everything. “I wonder, did the constable and Maggie renew their friendship when she returned to town?” Again, nothing but quiet on the other side of the wooden table. Rees let the silence lengthen. Mr. Randall's daughter fidgeted, lifting her hand to her mouth and tearing savagely at a piece of loose skin. A drop of bright red blood ballooned at the side of the nail and dropped upon the table.

“Maybe,” she blurted at last. “Cooper's wife lived with her parents for a few years after her son's birth. Although she lived in town afterwards, she returned to her parents after Maggie came home.”

Not just Jerusha then, but Nancy also might be Cooper's, Rees thought. Lydia's guess was correct.

“And then Genevieve moved back into Cooper's house, behind the shop. After Cooper had to call Maggie before the selectmen a few times they weren't so friendly anymore.”

“Maggie expected Cooper to shield her,” Rees guessed. “And did he?”

“Probably. She got to stay in that shack with her children, didn't she?” She sighed. “If they were together, well, I don't blame Maggie. Life is hard without a husband.”

“So who fathered Judah?” Rees asked.

“I don't know.” She shook her head.

“Besides Cooper, did Maggie have any friends?”

“Men friends, you mean.” She grimaced. “I don't think so. I know she had no woman friends, unless you count her aunt Olive and Mary Pettit. The midwife who delivered Maggie's children, you know.”

“Mr. Rees?” Mr. Randall stepped into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?” His words were mild but the expression he directed at Rees was arctic. “Speaking to my daughter?”

“Just asking a few questions about Maggie,” Rees said in his most disarming tone. “I thought, as another young woman, your daughter might have some information.” He stopped, catching the girl's wide-eyed expression of fear. “Sad to say, she could not help me,” he added quickly. The girl ducked her head, not quite masking her relief.

“Next time,” Mr. Randall said, his jovial tone not disguising his anger, “you must speak to her in my presence.” Rees nodded, startled by Mr. Randall's hostility. But of course the old man would want to protect his daughter.

Deep in thought, Rees left the inn and began walking down the street. He walked past his wagon and found himself at the general store. Of course, since it was Sunday, the store was closed. Rees rattled the door a few times in frustration and was just turning away when the shopkeeper threw up the window and leaned out.

“Ah, Mr. Rees,” he said. “What do you want? Did you run out of cornmeal?” He chuckled at his own joke; he had seen Rees several times already as he purchased food for the hungry children.

“No,” Rees said. “I wanted to ask you … did you know Maggie Whitney at all?” he asked.

“Of course. She was behind me in school. A very pretty girl.”

“Did she come in here much?”

“Sometimes. Mostly for cornmeal. She always seemed to be struggling for money.” He sounded genuine and when Rees looked up the man's expression was a mixture of sadness and regret. “It's a shame; a young woman shouldn't pass away, especially like that.”

Rees nodded. “Did she ever purchase whiskey?”

“No.” The friendliness in his voice and expression faded. “She didn't have the money. Why do you want to know?”

Rees thought of the line of whiskey jugs but said, “No reason. I heard a rumor.”

“No,” said the shopkeeper and slammed down the window.

“Thank you,” Rees said to empty air. The mystery of the whiskey jugs was probably not important, but it was a loose end and Rees hated loose ends.

Chapter Twenty-three

By now the sun was high in the sky and Rees thought morning services might be done. Instead of going straight home, he drove to the log church. He knew he might not see Vermette if he had already left again on circuit, but as Rees had been told the meetinghouse was always open, he was determined to see the second floor. As promised, the front doors were unlocked and Rees went directly inside. The air was as cold inside as out and the nave was dark; no candles were burning. Rees walked down the center aisle between the benches, his feet echoing upon the bare boards. He intended to pause at the pulpit and look all around. He did not remember seeing stairs on his first visit.

As he approached the altar, Reverend Vermette appeared at a side door, a whiskey jug in one hand. “Oh, Mr. Rees,” he said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I spoke with one of the Baker boys,” Rees said. “He claims he and his friends have not come in here to smoke for several months.”

“Of course he would say that,” Vermette said, with a sniff. “Surely you don't believe him.”

“And when they came inside, he said they congregated on the second floor. I thought I might take a look,” Rees said. “I want to see if I can find out who might have been in here.”

“Ah,” said Vermette. “You suspect something illicit occurred there. Come with me. I'll gladly show you.” He put the jug down and then held the door behind him open for Rees to pass through. In the light from the open door Rees saw a narrow twisting stairwell rising into the darkness. When Vermette allowed the door to swing shut behind him, the darkness was so complete the stairs were invisible. Rees felt forward with his foot, finally locating the first step. Slowly he climbed, placing his right hand on the wall to anchor him. He went around several bends, climbing until he saw pale daylight leaking down the last of the stairs and finally stepped up into a large, low-ceilinged room. A few chairs were the only furnishings. A narrow opening in one wall allowed a view of the pews and, if Rees craned his neck and looked straight down, he could see the pulpit below.

Vermette panted up behind him. “I did find ashes and an empty whiskey bottle or two up here,” he said.

“What is this room for?” Rees asked.

“It was to be my quarters, when I began presiding over this flock,” Vermette said. “But you see how low the ceiling is? The roof was not built to the proper height or the ceiling of the meetinghouse below was constructed higher than planned; I don't know which. In any event, a mistake was made. Now the church fathers are discussing the future use of this room. Storage, perhaps? I rent a room at the Ram's Head when I visit Dover Springs. Of course, after my marriage, I'll live with my wife in her house.” His words trailed away as he watched Rees inspect every corner.

Rees saw only cobwebs and mouse droppings, and although this would be perfect for those rowdy boys, there was no sign anybody had been up here for a very long time. He would have to look elsewhere for a meeting place.

“I'm all turned around,” he said. “The window, which way does it face?”

“Toward the road,” Vermette said.

In that case, Mr. Gray could not possibly have seen any light from the second floor. “Thank you,” Rees said to Vermette. “Perhaps you should lock the doors. Someday one of those young scamps will set the entire building on fire.”

“I know. I'm waiting on a locksmith now; in fact I thought you were that gentleman when I heard you enter. I'll arrange to chain and lock the front doors shut and offer the key to Mr. Gray. So that,” he added, “someone with a legitimate need to enter the building can do so.”

“A wise plan,” Rees agreed, beginning to descend the narrow staircase. Vermette fell into step behind him.

“I'm late in leaving for another few days away ministering to those poor souls in need of spiritual guidance.”

“And where will you be?”

“Ohio this time, I believe. I went to the Pennsylvania frontier the last time.” His reply was cut short by a grunt. He fell heavily against Rees's back. Rees felt himself losing his balance but threw out his arm to brace himself against the wall, and just stopped himself from tumbling down to injury or death in the darkness. “Oh dear, I am sorry,” Vermette said. “My foot slipped and I lost my balance. This is why I come up here so infrequently.”

Rees moved forward a little more rapidly, putting some space between himself and the pastor. Vermette was an enthusiastic whiskey drinker and stank powerfully of alcohol now, but of more importance, he could be the father of one of Maggie's children and a possible killer. He certainly knew the woman, and the possibility that Vermette's loss of footing was not accidental occurred to Rees. He considered that for a moment, stepping off the final stair with a surprised thud and reeling into the wall. He fumbled around for a moment until he found the knob and pushed the door open. Welcome light, which seemed so bright after the darkness in the stairwell, greeted him.

“Thank you, Reverend Vermette,” he said, speaking over his shoulder. The minister limped down the remaining few steps and into the light.

“I'm glad to be of assistance,” he said, holding onto the doorframe with a grimace of pain. Rees made an involuntary movement toward him but Vermette waved him away. “I just twisted my ankle. I was not so quick to catch myself as you were. I'm certain I'll recover in a few moments.”

“Very well,” Rees said. He started for the front doors, passing a dark-haired gentleman coming up the central aisle.

“And here's the locksmith,” Vermette said. Then Rees was through the doors and descending the path outside. He would be glad to reach the cabin.

*   *   *

Rees did not find an opportunity to confide to Lydia all that he'd learned until later that night, after the children had been put to bed in the other room. They weren't all asleep: muted giggles burst through the door every now and then, but at least Rees could sit down across the table from Lydia and talk without constant interruption.

They shared the last of the coffee in the pot, black as tar and so bitter Rees's tongue curled. He folded his hands around his mug and began recounting the gist of his conversations with the Randall girl and Reverend Vermette. But he barely made it through the first few sentences before a thunderous knocking on the door interrupted him.

“Now what?” he muttered. He rose to his feet and went to the door. A blast of icy air accompanied Constable Cooper into the room.

“I understand you saw my wife,” Cooper said. “I came home and the house was empty.” Unshaven and disheveled, he looked half-mad with worry. “No one seems to know what happened to my wife and children. Mr. Randall thought you might.”

Rees eyed Cooper in concern. He motioned to the table. “Would you like something to drink?” Lydia asked, rising from the table. “We've no whiskey but I can put a fresh pot of coffee upon the fire. Or tea, if you'd prefer.”

“No, thank you,” he said, bowing to her. He turned immediately to Rees. “Did you see her? Do you know anything?”

“Let's talk, shall we?” Rees said, gesturing Cooper into one of the chairs. Lydia dumped the grounds in the barrel by the fireplace and began grinding fresh coffee. “Yes, I saw your wife. Your father-in-law was at your house.”

Red fury boiled up into Cooper's cheeks and his blue eyes bulged. “That bastard! He's done everything in his power to turn my wife against me. What did he want this time?”

“I don't know what
he
wanted,” Rees said. “I didn't speak with him. And your wife said little. But she'd been crying. And she was packing the buggy.”

“She left me?” Cooper shook his head. “We quarreled … she is exceedingly jealous.”

“I was told you liked the girls,” Rees said. And he added after a beat, “Where were you today?”

“That was my reputation as a boy,” Cooper said angrily. “I was at Mount Unity. I went there last night to make sure those rowdy boys took my warning seriously. I was prepared to arrest them if not, and throw them in jail.”

“So, what did happen?” Rees asked.

“My wife accused me of sleeping with another woman. And I have thought about it. But yesterday I went to the Shaker village.”

“I see.” Rees unwillingly entertained the possibility that Cooper had visited the other woman before riding to Mount Unity. But he had no proof. “Well, your wife suspects the worst. And her father seemed very angry.”

“Oh, he's always angry. Especially at me. He didn't want his daughter to marry me. I wasn't good enough, you know. But she was expecting.”

“Your son?”

“Yes.”

“And Maggie? What of her? You told me yourself you had planned to marry her.”

“It was a child's dream.”

“No, it wasn't.” Rees glared at the other man, furious on Maggie's behalf. “You'd already asked Maggie to marry you, hadn't you? But you didn't marry her after all.”

“Genevieve said she was carrying my child.” Cooper paused. When Rees said nothing, Cooper cried, “There was nothing I could do. Her father had already forced my hand. I was as good as married.”

“Maggie kept the necklace you gave her all these years.” Rees wanted Cooper to understand what he had done.

Cooper looked stunned. “She did? Are you sure? A silver chain?”

Rees nodded. “Maggie loved you,” he said in a low voice. “And she was also carrying your child. Jerusha.”

“I loved her, too.” Cooper's face contorted. “But Genevieve's father is important in this town.”