On the Rocks: A Willa Cather and Edith Lewis Mystery (28 page)

“Wish you knew?”

“James rarely misses his breakfast, you know,” Mary glanced up at Enderby, “but he never ate a bite this morning. And church, he never misses that,” she looked around quickly, “but this morning he did.”

“He must have had something very important to do then,” Enderby patted her hand and they hurried to catch up with the Dawsons.

“T
HEN
it was an accident,” Edith reached the edge of her chair.

“Self-defense, surely,” Willa pronounced.

“Not murder,” Edith sank back, relieved. They did agree, then, all of them. She stared at James. He seemed composed, Willa serene.

“Thank God, you understand,” James said the word softly. He too had dropped back into the lap of his Adirondack. It held him firm.

Edith heard and saw again the frightening details of that day. They played in slow motion with a jerky stop-start, each frame freezing for momentary review. The sound of the waterfalls, the flash of red, the naughty spruce leaning back to touch the earth, the muffled shout, the gulls near the weir, the red shirt, its arm flung out. Then the body lunging, the body leaping, the body diving, the body reaching forward … toward a gun the red shirt flung out and Edith did not see. Now in her mind’s eye Edith followed the trajectory of the gun’s flight down to the sea, where, just as the waves were receding from the rocks, John Thomas Bush—his body tilted oddly throughout his decline—had also arrived.

Naughty Spruce

“G
REETINGS
and good day to you, my friend,” Enderby reached past Mary Daniels to shake Daggett’s hand. Enderby was always his heartiest on Sunday. “You should have been at the service. You’d have enjoyed the sermon.”

Daggett grinned in reply, nodding to the Dawsons and Father Morgan. Daggett arrived at the front steps just as Enderby and Mary Daniels came through the church door with Jenny Dawson. Eric and Lizzie Dawson were already there.

“I hear you gave an excellent sermon today, Father,” Daggett caught sight of his wife and daughter standing near the altar talking with the Tinsleys.

“Tolerance,” Eric Dawson picked up the cue, “Tolerance as opposed to Casting the First Stone. Appropriate topics for today, I’d say,” Eric’s grin broadened, his eyes following the receding figures of Little John Winslow and his family.

“Tolerance for everyone,” Father Morgan admonished, catching the direction of Eric’s glance.

“That’s true,” Eric relinquished his gaze.

“Surely not for murder,” Enderby demurred. “Not tolerance for murderers.”

“But one must be proven guilty,” Mary Daniels reminded him, “before anyone reaches to lift the first stone. With murder, too, isn’t that right, Father?”

“Exactly right, Mary.”

“And true guilt, I suppose, involves evil … evil intent,” Eric concluded. “That’ll let Little John off.”

“That’s the sticking point, all right,” Enderby conceded. “And how does one determine what is evil? Intentional evil. Isn’t that how you phrased it?” Father Morgan’s sermons were rarely so provocative.

“Mmmm, and how does one determine appropriate punishment or intentional justice.” Father Morgan stopped short of returning to his sermon by nodding toward Daggett, “I suppose you could say that’s why we Canadians have laws and the mounted police.”

“Let’s say that’s why we have a just God,” Daggett returned the compliment. “I just wish I could say that Canadian justice was certain and swift. But if I am the one who represents justice in this land,” he shook his head ruefully, “then, at least in the case I’m pursuing right now, it’s neither.”

“The Lord takes care of our timing,” Father Morgan asserted. “Man is meant to be uncertain and cautious, questioning and accepting. What humans need, you see, is empathy and patience.”

“Patience and perseverance, you mean,” Enderby broke the priest’s solemnity with unexpected heartiness. “That’s the Mounties for you. Dogged perseverance. And that’s one of your better-known traits, too, Mark Daggett. No one on this island is much worried about swiftness or certain justice. Not with you around.”

“W
HAT
I still don’t understand,” Edith finally confessed, “is why. Why did John Thomas Bush have a gun? Why did he want to kill you?”

James blanched.

“It’s time you told the rest, James,” Willa put a hand on his arm. “I guessed the first part right, but there is more, I know. An explanation, a reason.”

With several long sighs, James began to put his story together.

“Bush thought I would tell what I knew … knew about him … what he did … what I saw him do.” The words fell out of James’ mouth like a crazy quilt, random pieces stitched with pauses. “I didn’t tell … I was just that scared … and he knew I left there … I ran as fast as I could … from New Bedford … I came here and I didn’t talk … didn’t talk there, didn’t talk here … he didn’t know where I was … didn’t even know my name or where I went … everyone on the docks called me Jimmy, just Jimmy … a Yank thing to do … but he knew what I saw … he’d seen me … and when he caught sight of me here, here on Grand Manan, he came right after me … wouldn’t believe I’d stay quiet … said the only way he’d believe me … was dead.”

Edith wanted to say,
Saw him do what?
and
How did he happen to come here?
But she didn’t. She didn’t say anything. She waited. And so did Willa.

“It was only chance he saw me,” James began again slowly, between huge breaths, “just chance. Sharkey offered to drive me all the way home. Doesn’t usually. And in one more day, I’d have been out to sea with Sam Jackson. Bush wouldn’t have seen me then. Almost didn’t anyway. He had barely arrived when Sharkey and I passed through town. Coming out of the bakery, he was. Had a little bag of scones or some such and stopped to talk to Miss Briggs. It was a big shock to see him standing there. I made myself as small as I could, hunched behind Sharkey. But he had me right off. I knew he had me. Soon as Sharkey dropped me off, I slipped away and went to wait on the dock. I figured he’d come there to look and he did. I told him I wouldn’t tell. Swore it on my mother’s soul. But he wouldn’t believe me.”

“Wouldn’t tell what, James,” Willa finally interjected, “say what you wouldn’t tell.”

“How could I know he’d find me,” James seemed unable to stop the flow of words he had started. “Here, of all places, here on Grand Manan,” the words marched forth, emphatic, even paced, as though his life depended on their orderly arrangement. “I’d seen him before on the docks at New Bedford, but I didn’t know his name and he didn’t know me. I never figured for a moment he’d find Grand Manan … find me on Grand Manan …”

The words stopped, almost of their own accord, and James let his gaze drift out across the water toward the weir. Two gulls lazed above. Farther out a whale rose and skimmed momentarily along the surface, then spouted.

“Tell us, James. Tell us what you saw. Tell us now.”

“I
T
was
odd, you know,” placing emphasis on the verb, Eric Dawson prepared to explain again. Daggett’s response was so sudden, so dramatic, Eric thought perhaps Daggett had misunderstood. No one else was reacting that way. But there was Daggett, already six strides from the church, running full out for the Chevrolet.

“What on earth,” Elizabeth Daggett called from the church door.

“Tell us again, Eric,” James Enderby swung around to demand, “I’m not sure I …”

“It’s just that yesterday I saw someone on Seven Days Work and someone else on the beach … pretty much at the same time … and in the very same spot where Mr. Bush went off the cliff. It took my breath away for a minute. There I was in the dory, in the very same place, rowing …”

“What on earth has gotten into my husband?” Elizabeth Daggett joined the small group, which had moved quickly to the grass just beyond the church steps. “Father, do you know?”

“That’s exactly what we are trying to understand,” the priest adopted his most reassuring tone.

“I hadn’t expected to see him here in the first place,” Elizabeth’s frown drew vertical lines, one slightly longer than the other, between her eyes.

“The fellow on the beach was in white,” Eric’s voice maintained an even pace, “the one above in red, something red … then they were gone … the one on the beach running toward the Cove … the one above just gone. My heart stopped. I suppose he ran into the woods toward the road, but I don’t know …”

“But why,” Enderby demanded. “Why did they run?”

“I have no idea. It was just,” Eric paused to review the scene, “they saw each other and then they were gone. And later, I guess I was already unloading nets for repair, I saw the same fellow in white dart out from between pilings to leap onto the deck of the S. S. Grand Manan. Odd thing to do, but there was no harm. I don’t think anyone else even noticed. They were just then lowering the gangplank, and a few minutes later he walked off across it.”

The Chevrolet sputtered and jolted away.

“S
ORRY
, Miss Cather,” James shook himself like a dog and turned to face Willa. “It’s hard to say it. A secret kept so long … so deep.”

“It’s all right, James, we understand,” Willa reached over and took hold of his hand.

“James,” Edith added, “you mustn’t be ashamed or afraid. Not of us. And don’t protect us. Very little shocks us and that man is gone. You have nothing to fear. We’re here to help.”

“I believe you are,” James’ voice was firm. “You’re sure …”

Both women nodded.

“All right, then,” James began. “I saw him hit a woman, John Thomas Bush. A blond woman. Her head snapped so,” James flung his head to the right, “I think right then her neck broke … and blood gushed from her mouth … her nose … her eyes. …” James caught himself, “Sorry, you don’t need to hear all that.”

“It’s all right, James,” Willa’s hand still covered his. “We don’t want you to censor a thing. As Edith said, we’re hardy souls, not much shocks us.”

“Tell us what you saw, James. It’s best to get it out … all of it … just get it out of you.”

James gathered himself and moved back to the scene. “She was wearing a dress, a white dress … torn in places … and smudged … she had bruises … her arms, her cheek,” James raised his hand to his face. “Even before I saw him hit her, she had bruises. She said
No
… once … loud …
No.
Then he hit her. Hit her so hard her head spun … and then her body followed. It jerked … lifeless … like a chicken runs when it’s already dead.”

“W
HAT DO YOU
mean, Johnson left the island?” Daggett’s voice cracked.

“Harvey’s right, Mr. Daggett,” Geneva Andrews hurried from the dining room, drying her hands in her apron and crushing the tiny flowers in its patterned print. “Mrs. Johnson asked me to pack them a picnic. They left with the Jamesons not more than twenty minutes ago.”

“Richard Dalhouse was going to take them off in his motor launch to look for puffins, they said.”

“Puffins. Motor launch.”

“That’s right, out on Machias, they said,” Geneva’s hands wrapped themselves in her apron.

“Richard’s got one of those new Evinrudes,” Harvey shifted his weight behind the counter. “Lots of horsepower.”

Daggett’s mind jumped to Sam Jackson. His was one of the few boats that could catch them. But Jackson would be down island on Sunday at the Baptist Church. Eric Dawson, maybe. He was close at hand. He could get a boat. Or young James. Daggett almost leapt in the air. Young James could get Sam Jackson’s boat.

Daggett spun on his heel and ran out of The Swallowtail before Geneva could straighten her apron.

T
HEY
had been silent, it seemed to Edith, a very long time, during which she saw again and again the arm swing, the head spin, the blood spurt, and then … in slow motion … the man, John Thomas Bush in his dainty shoes and three-piece pin-striped suit, reach down to fling the lifeless blond at his feet into the lap of a waiting trawler whose slime-covered nets cradled the young body so carelessly tossed. And what had he said while he pocketed his gun and straightened his tie and brushed at his sleeve with a white linen handkerchief, this man in the pin stripes, what had he said …
Now look what you made me do
… this John Thomas Bush, as he waved the boat off …
Now look what you made me do, you careless bitch
… this John Thomas Bush who turned on his heel … to see young James … hands slack, eyes wide … slip from the neighboring pier and into the quiet sea.