On the Head of a Pin (25 page)

Lewis leapt off his horse and ran first to the little girl, but she had fallen into a quite thick clump of grass, and in the way of youngsters, seemed unhurt, although she was caterwauling at the top of her lungs. Betsy had fallen near the same clump, but had landed heavily, and now she moaned as her already sore hip protested against this further insult. The dog, when Lewis checked, was quite dead.

Martha's cries brought the farmer running. He cursed at the loss of his dog, but softened when he saw the child, and he became quite apologetic when he realized that the woman was injured, and that she was, moreover, a preacher's wife.

“Dang dog never did have no sense,” he said. “Good for watching the place, but not much else.”

He offered Betsy a bed to rest on, but Lewis didn't like the looks of the farmer, or the state of his dilapidated house. When he mentioned that their destination was Demorestville, and that they had friends with whom they could stay, the man looked relieved and offered to hitch up his wagon and take them to the village.

Lewis retrieved the wayward horse and tied both mounts to the back of the wagon, then attempted to make Betsy as comfortable as he could for the short drive. Every time the wagon hit a bump in the road, which was often, she involuntarily let out a little groan. To make matters worse, the drizzle turned into a downpour and, even though Lewis tried to shelter her with his cloak, she was soaked.

He hesitated for only a moment when the farmer asked him which house he should go to. He knew that the Varneys would gladly take them in, but that Mrs. Varney's incessant gossiping would grate on the nerves in a very short period of time. He directed the farmer to take the wagon to the double house behind the smithy.

Minta looked surprised when she answered the knock at the door, but after hearing of their troubles, she quickly offered to take them in. Lewis had to admire her quiet authority as she helped him get Betsy down out of the wagon.

“Can you do something for me?” she asked Martha, who was trying to help but was mostly just getting in the way. “Could you go into the house and look after my little boy? You have to be very, very careful that he doesn't get too near the stove. I'm trusting you, all right?” With that, Martha ran into the house, bursting with the importance of her task.

Lewis offered the farmer some money in return for his pains, but was relieved when the man declined.

“Oh, no. It was my beast that knocked you over,” he said. “And what with you being a preacher an' all, I expect you could find some other use for it.”

Lewis thanked him and went inside to discover that Minta had made Betsy comfortable on the day bed and was busy making tea. Martha was playing a clapping game with a little boy who looked very much like his mother.

He glanced around the kitchen with approval — it was tidy and well-organized, and had been brightened with some woven curtains on the windows and a strip of drugget on the floor. There was no ghost of Rachel here —the Jessups had left the taint of death behind when they assumed the business and a new house with it.

“I hope you don't mind us imposing on you, Minta,” he said. “We could have gone to Varney, but I thought Betsy would find it easier here until she gets a chance to catch her breath.”

Minta turned and smiled at him. “I don't mind a bit. In fact, I'm delighted to see you, and you're welcome to stay for as long as you need to. It's the least I can do — you were such a comfort to us when Rachel died.”

“I appreciate that. You're sure Seth won't mind?”

She looked surprised. “Not at all. Why should he?”

“I had the impression that he didn't think too much of you attending our meetings. And I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but Rachel once implied that he was pretty canny with his money.”

She threw back her head and laughed — a lovely tinkling laugh that filled the room. “Oh, but he was, he was! And trust Rachel to have said so. Seth's turned over a new leaf, though, and now he goes to meeting himself.”

“I hear that he's doing quite well.”

“Yes. Seth's frugality has paid off. We had enough saved to convince Mr. Chrysler that we were serious about buying the smithy and Seth works so hard that there's no problem with making the payments. We would be happier if we could rent the other side of the house — that would help — but it has no yard and it's so close to the house next door that it's always dark, so nobody wants it.”

“Well, congratulations. And by the way, congratula
–
tions on such a fine boy as well.”

“He's a gem. He's so good, and never gives me any trouble.”

“Thank the Lord for that, Minta. You've truly been blessed.”

“Aye, that I have.” Her face darkened for a moment. “I only wish Rachel could be here to share it. I miss her that much, I'll tell you.”

With great reluctance, Lewis left the cheerful Jessup kitchen and made his way down the Broadway to the general store, where he met with a pleasant, if voluble, reception.

“Mr. Lewis!” the storekeeper exclaimed. “I didn't expect to see you. Have they posted you back here?”

“No, I'm afraid they haven't,” Lewis replied. “Sad to say, but I'm not far — just over on the Brighton Circuit — though I seldom get down this way. How are you? And your good wife?”

Varney insisted that Lewis follow him through to the back of the store and take tea in the sitting room. That was fine as far as Lewis was concerned, for it suited his purposes.

“Elsie! Elsie! You'll never guess who just wandered into our store!”

Mrs. Varney bustled out of the kitchen. “Oh, my goodness, my goodness. Sit down, Mr. Lewis, sit down. You'll take some refreshment?”

When Mrs. Varney had piled the table high with tea and johnnycake just out of the oven, she settled down in a chair and beamed at him.

“What brings you here, Mr. Lewis?”

He had had little chance to decide how he was going to broach the subject, but given that Mrs. Varney was apt to cheerfully fill him in on more than he wanted to know anyway, he took a breath and jumped in.

“I'm here to make inquiries regarding Morgan

Spicer,” he said. “He has applied to be licensed as an itinerant minister, and of course, part of that process includes an investigation into his character and activities. I thought that perhaps you could enlighten me a little as to his background.”

It wasn't really the truth, not taken in its entirety, although each part of what he said was fact, and Lewis realized that he was getting far too adept at these little prevarications. One could argue that finding the truth of a great sin was worth the commission of a small one, except that he was only too well aware that it was but the first step on a path that led only downward. He would have to watch himself from now on, but for the moment it served his purpose.

“Oh, Morgan Spicer,” Mrs. Varney said, and settled back in her chair to give full vent to her knowledge. “Well, I can't really think of any particular black mark against the boy in terms of his character. It's not like he's a criminal or a drunkard or, heaven help us, a womanizer. It's just that, really, nobody has ever liked him much. It's not a case of character, it's more a case of … personality, I suppose.”

Lewis nodded. “He does seem to be a difficult person to warm up to, but I don't believe that should be held against him.”

“I do know that he seemed very smitten with the Jessup girl who died, but then all the young men were. Why, they were just like flies around a saucer of honey, and honestly, you do have to wonder about what sort of girl she was, to attract so much attention, don't you?”

“She was a very pretty girl,” Mr. Varney said mildly.

“Oh, you. You always did have an eye for a pretty girl. Why, some of them come into the store and you practically fall over yourself to wait on them.”

“Ah, yes, that may be true, but truth to tell, I married the best of the lot.”

Mrs. Varney simpered a little at that, and Lewis decided it was time to steer the conversation into more informative areas. “Tell me,” he said, “did Spicer grow up here?”

“Oh, yes, although he had a most unfortunate start in life. His mother died when he was born, his father disappeared to who knows where, and he was raised by an uncle who already had more children than he knew what to do with. Young Spicer didn't have much of a life there.”

“And did he go to school here, as well?”

Mrs. Varney furrowed her brow as she tried to recall the details of what she knew about Morgan Spicer. “Yes … Well, yes and no. He may have gone to the school for a couple of years, but I don't think he was any more than eight or nine when he was put to work sweeping out the livery stable. I seem to remember him being there when he was a very small boy. Of course, old Conrad Spicer put all of his own children to work as well, so I don't suppose you can say he was particularly unfair to Morgan.”

That would explain Spicer's inability to read very well.

“Did Spicer continue working at the livery stable?

“Oh, no. He had a number of jobs.”

“He worked at the distillery for a while,” Mr. Varney prompted.

“Yes, that's right, at the distillery, and at the mill … and where else?”

“Why so many places?” Lewis wanted to know.

“Oh, he just couldn't get along with anybody. Nobody liked him. And he always tried to seem important, no matter what he did. Puffed it up and put on airs, tried to make out that he had been given some sort of important job, when usually all he was allowed to do were the most menial tasks. I know the men at the tannery made dreadful fun of him. The Caddick boys called him Major Morgan. He was always the first man to be let go whenever there was any slack in business.”

“I think he was a good enough worker, though,” Mr. Varney ventured.

“I didn't say he wasn't, dear. I just said that nobody liked him.”

“So …” Lewis said. He tried to keep his voice even, to not give away the fact that his next questions were crucial ones. “Where was he working when I was here?”

“Oh, eventually he settled into working for old Mr. Kemp, the tombstone maker,” Mrs. Varney said. “It was a good job for him — chiselling away at the granite all day. He didn't have to work with anyone else, you see, other than Mr. Kemp, who is so deaf that he wouldn't be able to hear anything much of Morgan's nonsense. He was there for three, four years I believe, until just after you left. He just disappeared one day, and to tell the truth, I never gave him a second thought until you brought his name up just now. And now you're telling us that he's decided to be a preacher.” She would tuck this information away until the first moment that she could flourish it for anyone who would listen. “You know, he might be just fine at that. He certainly likes the sound of his own voice. He might better use it for something good.”

“And prior to this last disappearance he never left Demorestville? Never decided to try his luck somewhere else?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “In fact, he probably never even got as far as Picton. It's a long walk unless you have good reason and he didn't own a horse. I suppose if he'd really wanted to go sometime he could have caught a ride with someone else, but as I said, nobody liked him, so that's unlikely.”

And with those words Morgan Spicer was in the clear. The Varneys had placed him firmly in Demorestville at the time of Sarah's death, and it wouldn't be hard to confirm that fact, provided of course that he could make Mr. Kemp understand what he was asking him.

His strategy of milking information from the town gossip had worked so well that he decided to push his luck. “I hear the Caddick boys are both married now?”

“Oh, yes, and both working at the tannery. Those girls have settled them right down. There's no more of this painting nonsense, although I expect there will be a lot of people who miss those little pins. They were surely popular, all right.”

“They're not making them at all?”

“Oh, no. Their wives have them far too busy for that. Benjamin's taken over the running of the tannery and he's building a new house as well. Willet, I think, is just as busy. He told me they unloaded their entire stock to Isaac Simms. You remember Simms, the peddler? ”

Lewis nodded. “When did they stop making them?”

“As soon as they got serious about settling down. I'd say a number of months ago, maybe even a year or more, wouldn't you, dear?”

Mr. Varney nodded his agreement. Lewis thanked the Varneys for their hospitality and left the store, grateful that the one thing a gossip never questions is the motivation behind an inquiry.

As he walked along, he was once again conscious of his own guilt, and this time his sin was not anger and hate, but a casual acceptance of a harsh judgment: he had been willing to believe that Morgan Spicer might be a murderer simply because he was an unpleasant man. Nobody liked him — in fact Lewis didn't like him — but that was no reason to assume the worst of him. He supposed he might make the excuse that he hadn't known about Spicer's early life and the obstacles that had been put in his path so unfairly, but he rejected this as soon as he thought it. He was supposed to be a Christian, and charity was a cornerstone of his creed. He had been uncharitable, and it was wrong. He vowed to find some way to help Spicer realize his ambitions; if he could finally attain a respectable position in life, perhaps he would stop being so unpleasant and could achieve some of the importance he craved, and in so doing, realize how unimportant it was. There's more than one way to bring a person to humility of soul, he ruminated. He had certainly learned that.

He wandered toward the tannery, hopeful that he might find the Caddicks there. He was rewarded when Willett appeared in the doorway of the storehouse. As Lewis watched, he and two other men began loading hides into a wagon that had drawn up to the big double door.