On the Rocks: A Willa Cather and Edith Lewis Mystery (27 page)

“W
HAT DID YOU
do then, James,” Willa continued to pursue her line of questions, “what did you do when the man began to run?”

James inhaled deeply, took a long swallow of lemonade from his glass and wiped his mouth with his hand. His hands were steady. His eyes returned to the beach below Seven Days Work and then to Eel Brook.

“I slipped into the woods and headed for Whale Cove.”

“For Whale Cove? Why not North Head?”

“I thought I could match his speed.”

“That was a long run,” Edith’s mind darted to their own fumbling rush once they saw the man run. Willa hadn’t been wearing shoes, only the loose-fitting moccasins she liked to wear during her morning’s work. And Edith had been hampered by the swaddling of bandages on her left hand. But once Willa changed into proper shoes, they had moved quickly.

“You were very fast,” Willa observed.

“I know short cuts,” James’ smile tightened, “and Johnson slowed down.”

Edith recalled Johnson’s tennis whites flitting through the trees that rose above the shoreline on the trail to Hole in the Wall.

“I saw the two of you crossing the Cove,” young James tipped up his glass and swallowed the last of his lemonade. His knuckles were white.

Willa nodded.

“You were following him, too.”

“We were, yes.”

“Why?”

D
AGGETT
pushed back from his desk, thinking he could smoke the pipe he had filled … or he could take a chance that Miss Cather was finished with her work for the day and drive over to Whale Cove … or he could meet Elizabeth and Jennifer coming out of church.

Daggett decided he could smoke his pipe any time, and Miss Cather and Miss Lewis would be there when he needed them. Those were two things of which he could be certain. Exactly when he would need Miss Cather and Miss Lewis, he had no way of knowing. Nor did he know what they might have to tell him. But whatever it was could not be terribly urgent. It had already kept through the night, it would keep a while longer.

Instead, he would fetch Elizabeth and Jennifer from church. Some things rightly deserved precedence. Then, while Elizabeth fixed Sunday dinner, he would drive over to speak to the ladies at Whale Cove. If he were careful about the ashes, he could smoke his pipe on the way.

“C
OME
, James, you’ve wasted enough time,” Willa declared. “Out with it.”

Young James set his empty lemonade glass down on the Adirondack’s arm and looked directly at Willa.

“You did not follow Matthew Johnson simply because he happened to be on the beach,” Willa cocked an eyebrow and lowered her voice, “did you?”

James froze like a rabbit who’s heard the twig snap. The pupils in his dark eyes flinched.

“And you did not just happen to be at Eel Brook looking for an alternative way to bring rocks here for our wall.”

When Willa reached the word
rocks
, James began to breathe. He glanced at the cottage, then swung his body toward the coast, twisting sideways in the Adirondack until he faced altogether Seven Days Work and Ashburton Head. Eel Brook lay between.

Willa folded her arms.

“Actually, I
was
there looking for rocks and Johnson
did
just happen to be on the beach. But … well,” James sighed, “you are right. I followed him because he was Matthew Johnson.”

“You thought he killed John Thomas Bush?”

Edith harbored the suspicion herself. Why else would Matthew Johnson run the minute he saw Daggett?

“No, that’s not what you thought, is it, James,” Willa pushed harder, never taking her eyes from James’ pale face.

“No.”

T
HE
Chevrolet coughed twice before the engine caught. Daggett settled back against the seat and admonished himself for not checking the spark plugs earlier in the day. Perhaps it wasn’t the plugs. Perhaps it was the fuel mix, water in the line, the filter, the carburetor, the distributor, the starter. Daggett mentally moved through each part in its turn. Once he got Elizabeth and Jennifer home, he decided, he would have to take a look under the hood.

“N
O
, unfortunately, no,” Willa nodded agreement.

James tensed, wary.

“What’s more,” Willa continued with an intake of breath, “the day you first delivered rocks you were wearing a red shirt. Am I correct, James? Under your jacket?”

James wrapped his arms about his body.

Edith felt her own eyes grow large.

“And unless I miss my guess,” Willa pressed harder, “you recently lost or misplaced that shirt. Perhaps you mislaid it in the woods or let it slip overboard when you were out fishing. After all, it had already lost a button on its sleeve. Am I right, James?”

James gripped his bottom lip in his teeth and made a single, sharp nod with his head. Then he sighed, a long, slow sigh. His hands released his ribs and cradled themselves on the arms of Adirondack.

“Young James?” It was all Edith could think to say.

D
AGGETT
rolled to a stop and cut the engine. Sunday peace. A light breeze, a warm sun, the waft of honeysuckle, the buzz of bees. Daggett loosened his collar.

Four cars lounged before the church, almost as many automobiles as North Head contained. With the Chevrolet silenced, he could hear the joyous notes of the recessional. Any moment now, Father Morgan would throw open the heavy wooden doors and place himself so that his parishioners, filing past on the church porch, would stop for a word or two.

Rising above North Head on the edge of town, the Anglican Church was impressive and protective. Its steeple, masonry, and brick set it apart from the rest of the island, where most of the buildings sported wooden clapboards or weathered shingles and nestled close to the earth.

The Anglican fathers had dared the elements with their church, placing it just beyond the town on a hill facing east. There it led the eye both upward and outward, looking east over Flagg Cove to the Bay of Fundy. Daggett squinted in that direction. Nova Scotia was somewhere over there, reaching down with its gentle arm to shelter Grand Manan from the fierce Atlantic, but so far east even the most powerful telescope failed to catch sight of its shores.

The rock of the church. The rock of the island. Bedrock, Daggett smiled to himself, settling more firmly in his seat. Strongholds, retreats. But storms came, he reminded himself, despite Nova Scotia. Too many storms. And no place on earth provided safe haven forever.

“Y
OU
know then.”

“I believe I do.”

Young James fixed his eyes on Willa, his body newly taut, his breathing once again shallow. Willa’s eyes were luminous and, for the moment, deeply blue.

“I’ve been frightened so long,” James let the remaining air escape from his lungs. His body, decompressed, followed the contours of the Adirondack, lying against it inert like the Hindenburg without air.

“Oh,” Edith reached over to cover his hand with her own. She patted the hand gently.

“Miserably frightened, yes, I’m sure you have been,” Willa regarded the young man, her eyes thoughtful. “And for a long time, I’d wager. First of the man … of his finding you … and then of being found out about his death … which, I’ll also wager, you did … and did not … cause.”

It was fully one minute before James took a breath.

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been in hiding ever since you came back from the mainland?”

“Pretty much. Yes.”

“You came home first to hide from the man, and when he died, you began to hide from everyone else …”

“Yes.”

“And you put on a false face, a mask …”

“Yes.”

“And you were frightened.”

“Terrified, yes.”

W
HENEVER
E
NDERBY CLEARED
his throat, he lifted his hand as though he meant to assist the movement of his Adam’s apple. He often cleared his throat in church. The gesture never failed to catch Janey Dawson’s attention.

“Good day to you, Mr. Enderby,” Janey rocked for a moment on the toes of her patent leather shoes and straightened the skirt of her best Sunday dress before stepping out into the aisle.

Janey Dawson was growing up. James Enderby approved, nodding a greeting to her parents, who had not yet risen from the pew. The counter in Enderby’s bank had always been just beyond Janey’s reach, but it would not be much longer, Enderby guessed, watching Janey drop the coins her father had just given her into the pocket on her dress. She was careful to inspect the pocket first to detect holes. Enderby appreciated her prudence.

“Good sermon today, didn’t you think, Mr. Enderby?” Eric Dawson reached across his wife to shake Enderby’s hand. Eric’s sister and Mary Daniels stood just behind. Mary finished straightening the prayer books in the racks at the back of her pew before entering the aisle.

“Grand sermon,” Enderby agreed. “It is always a good thing to be reminded of tolerance and universal love,” he raised his hand again and coughed.

“Especially now,” Eric glanced toward the back of the church, where Little John Winslow was pumping the priest’s hand.

“No doubt congratulating Father Morgan on this morning’s wisdom,” Enderby followed Eric’s gaze. “I do wonder at times whether a man like Little John has any idea what casting a stone means. He might very well think it has something to do with Miss Briggs making one of her pots.”

“I doubt it,” Eric chuckled, taking his wife’s arm, “Little John doesn’t know a thing about art … or the Bible.”

“Mmmm,” Enderby agreed, “and I doubt that today’s sermon did much to enlighten him. I heard several snores emanating from the direction of Little John’s pew,” Enderby stepped back to make room for Mary Daniels.

“You must join us for Sunday noon, James Enderby,” Mary Daniels took hold of his arm. “The Dawsons are coming, and you must too.”

“That’s very kind of you, fair lady,” Enderby tucked Mary Daniels’ hand into the crook of his arm.

“Good, then it’s settled,” Mary Daniels led the way toward the door.

“T
HIS
simply can’t be,” Edith could remain silent no longer. Until this moment, she thought she knew exactly what was in Willa’s mind. They finished each other’s sentences, for heaven’s sake. But this … well, this just wasn’t right. Willa had to be mistaken.

“This young man would never do such a thing,” when Edith finally got the words out, she patted James’ hand with a firm sense of reassurance. She realized with a start that she actually felt self-righteous about the matter.

“Correct,” Willa agreed with Edith but kept her eyes on James. “This young man,” she declared, “would not and could not do such a thing.”

“There, you see.”

James dropped his head.

“But this young man did do such a thing,” Willa cleared her throat, “didn’t he, James?” Willa’s voice softened when she reached his name.

James folded and refolded his hands. They were deeply tanned.

“Didn’t he, James?” Willa repeated the phrase.

“That was an evil man, Miss Cather,” the words shot out of James. He inhaled sharply, then held his breath. His hands fell open and lay motionless on his knees.

“You didn’t mean to do it,” Edith had to feel her way. The novelist’s gift for grasping character and plot had always been Willa’s, she realized, not hers. She glanced at Willa for confirmation, “James couldn’t mean it.”

“Exactly,” Willa sighed.

“He was going to kill me, Miss Lewis,” James spoke the words quietly, but his hands gripped his knees. Then he freed them and began to rub his arms, elbow to shoulder, shoulder to elbow, as though the air held a chill. “He had a gun, Miss Lewis. I don’t know where it came from. His pocket, I guess. He made me take him to Seven Days Work. He wanted me to jump. He must have hated me. He said he wanted the highest cliff. The most remote,” James hesitated. His hands grasped again at his ribs.

“But you got the gun away,” Edith began now to carry the scene forward on her own.

“Yes,” James leaned into his words. “He stumbled, I grabbed hold of his arm. We fought. He fell. By the time he got up,” James half rose in his chair, “his gun was in my hand.”

“And, and you threw the gun over the cliff,” Willa took up the narrative with a vehemence that surprised even Edith.

“He ran at me. I shouted,” James nodded vigorously, “then there I was on the edge still holding the gun. He reached for it … and I threw it as far as I could,” James flung out his arm and opened his hand.

“So,” Willa nodded and completed the scene, “he went over the edge diving after his gun.”

“W
HERE
is young James keeping himself today?” James Enderby patted Mary Daniels’ hand, resting comfortably in the crook of his elbow. He was only being conversational but looked around expectantly. The young man was always putting away folding chairs or doing another of the chores he took upon himself. James was a good fellow. Enderby had always thought well of him. Most people did.

“I wish I knew.”

The sharpness of Mary’s reply surprised Enderby, but Mary wasn’t really paying attention, he realized. She was nodding to Elizabeth Daggett in the next pew and adding a smile for Jennifer. But when she did turn back to Enderby, she seemed absent still.