The Devil's Cold Dish (34 page)

He considered the location of Sam's farm. There was no direct road from it to the mill; the only path was down to West Road and then north onto Mill Street. Duck Swamp occupied the land between, so-called because it flooded in the spring and hosted flocks of migrating fowl. Now, in the summer, the soil was damp but the vast pond had shrunk to scattered puddles. Maybe Sam could have crossed it on foot. Since he had been at the mill earlier, he would have known that the miller would be working late. But while Rees could visualize Sam tramping through the mud to reach the mill, imagining his dainty sister crossing the swamp was difficult. And there would have been no alternative to walking, not with the buggy, the horses, and the mules all sold.

Rees jumped to his feet and paced around the dusty yard. If Caroline was the architect of the plan, Rees would have to believe his sister capable of laying out a complicated plot, with Ward's death only the first scene. Could she have done it? Unconsciously he shook his head. He didn't think so. As children, when they sneaked into Winthrop's orchards in the late fall to steal the last of the apples, Caroline would stockpile an enormous hoard to use against her brother and then wait for him to approach. Rees's strategy was different. He would fill his pockets and then slip up behind her. The apple would hit with a satisfying smack and she would start to cry. Usually one of his parents would stop the game then, exclaiming over the round bruise forming on Caroline's arm and scolding their son. Rees did not think Caro had changed so much. But Sam, Sam had had that malevolent cunning. Maybe Rees had been right all along and Sam was merely pretending to be injured.

But that would mean Caroline had shot and killed her husband and partner, knowing her brother would be accused.

Shaking his head, Rees sat back down again upon the dusty step. All he had was supposition and guesswork. Concentrate on what was real, he told himself. That was the only way he would discover the truth.

So, the deaths of Zadoc Ward, Thomas McIntyre, and Sam Prentiss—no doubt at all they were murders. The accusations against Lydia, while untrue, had certainly occurred. Someone had burned her beehives and destroyed Rees's loom, both events arguing for someone familiar with Rees's farm.

Rees jumped to his feet. He couldn't stay here, trapped at this shack. Right now he wished he had left this mystery alone, given the farm to David, and moved on with Lydia, abandoning Dugard forever. But he was truly in the center of the whirlwind now.

He began walking south, toward the wall that separated the Winthrop farm from Rees's own. He had to risk visiting David to borrow paper and pencil. Rees hoped to sketch out a timeline and write down everything that had happened. Maybe then, after he saw the events of the last few weeks laid out on paper, he could order his thoughts and determine the killer. Or killers.

 

Chapter Thirty-two

Rees began walking through the orchard. Mr. Winthrop would be horrified by the lack of care for his trees, evident in the weeds trailing up the trunks and the damage left by deer. But Rees thought the apple harvest would be a good one this year; the branches were heavy with reddening globes. The orchard could be brought back, with time and attention.

From this elevation, Rees's farmhouse was clearly visible through the thicket of trees and underbrush. He saw a familiar buggy tied up in front and was almost certain that it and the two brown cobs pulling it belonged to the Bristols. Farley had lost no time in revealing David's secret to Abigail's parents. Rees was so curious about what was being said that he almost walked down despite the risk. But this was David's problem to resolve. Besides, Rees couldn't know how the Bristols felt about him. Mary Martha had assured him that they did not believe in the charge of witchcraft leveled at Lydia. Was that true? Rees couldn't know. But there was also the accusation of murder laid against Rees himself. Until he could prove his innocence, he must keep away from everyone.

He knew David would be trying to be a good host; Rees could smell burning wood and he saw the faint thread of smoke floating out of the chimney and sifting through the air in a gossamer thread. David had lit a small fire and was probably offering tea or coffee. Rees could not imagine what else David would have to offer, without Lydia to bake for him.

Suddenly, something Farley had said popped into Rees's mind. He stared transfixed at the faint smoky trail, barely noticeable against the blue sky. All the facts suddenly lined up in his mind. Everything made sense. He no longer needed paper, he knew exactly what had happened and could not deny it. “Oh no,” Rees said, the agony of betrayal sweeping over him. “Oh Lord, no.” He had to talk to Caroline, in the presence of witnesses so she could not repudiate the truth.

*   *   *

Moving with sudden purpose, Rees walked back to the place where Sam's body had been discovered. By the time he reached the edge of the forest he regretted his impulsive decision. The cuts and scrapes on his feet were beginning to sting. But he plowed on, determined to finally reach the end of what had been a very emotionally charged investigation.

The grass and vegetation had started growing up, hiding the broken stems and the dark stain left by Sam's blood. Now this hollow seemed almost identical to the meadow around it. In another week no one would ever know anything had happened here.

Rees walked in a circle around the area. It had been carefully chosen—the final piece in a plan to destroy him. Struggling to understand the depth of anger and hatred behind the scheme, Rees reconstructed the steps of the plan. It had all been so easy.

Shaking his head with reluctant belief, he began limping back to Winthrop's shack. Rees stuck to the shelter of the brush at forest's edge. Farley's arrival the previous night had scared him. Although he doubted the new constable and his deputies had returned, it was possible. And Rees was too close to the resolution to take any risks. But when he inspected the shack from the screen of trees, the cabin looked exactly the same. By now his feet were throbbing. He should have taken the old mare. The long walk had rubbed open some of the scabs on his feet. Groaning, he crossed the dilapidated porch to his temporary refuge. Everything was just as he'd left it. He drank down the cold coffee with the last of the milk and ate the remainder of the cheese. He tried not to think of Caroline.

As dusk set in, a lantern came bobbing up through the trees. Rees withdrew to the far side of the cabin, watching from around the corner, but as he suspected, the light belonged to David. Rees moved out in front and waited, slapping at the mosquitoes swarming around him.

David carried another basket, a smaller one this time, and he walked as though he was very tired. He nodded at his father but didn't speak as he stepped over the rotting porch and went into the cabin.

The lantern made a homey golden glow upon the table. “I brought some candles for you,” David said, gesturing to the basket. Rees moved the napkin and peered inside. Most of them were stubs, leftovers of Lydia's fine beeswax tapers. He missed her suddenly with a physical pain. What was she doing now? How was she feeling? Had the baby come? It would be early but that happened sometimes. His eyes began to burn and he hastily thrust away his emotional thoughts.

He knew he would blame Caroline all his days for putting Lydia in danger and forcing him to send her away. David sat in the chair, which creaked at the sudden weight, and put his head in his hands. “The Bristols came to see me,” he said.

“I know. I saw the buggy.” Rees paused, and sat down across the table. He looked into the basket. Fresh bread, white bread too, not the injun loaf Lydia usually made. A quarter of a chicken pie and another quarter of cherry. Rees looked up at David in astonishment. “Where did you get this food?”

“I went into town this morning, right after I finished milking. When I finished with Mr. Potter, I stopped at the Contented Rooster. Mrs. Anderson asked after you. She, at least, believes you're innocent,” David said.

“You didn't tell her where I'm staying?” Rees sounded panicky. He didn't want to put Susannah into danger.

“No.” David shook his head. “She didn't ask. But she gave me the food and said if I saw you I was to wish you well.”

Rees thought now that he'd underestimated her; she would not have turned her back on him as George Potter had.

“I signed those papers,” David said. He took off his hat and laid it on the table. As Rees tore off a hunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth, the boy continued. “Mr. Potter told me the farm officially belongs to me. And a good thing, I daresay. Mr. and Mrs. Bristol were angry.” His tone of voice told Rees that David was minimizing their reaction.

“Was Abby there?”

“Yes. She too insisted that nothing had happened.” David stumbled over his words. Rees couldn't see his son's face clearly in the gathering gloom but guessed David was blushing. “But they didn't believe her either. I told them I owned the farm and that I could and would marry her. I showed them a copy of the paper Mr. Potter gave me. The only concession I managed to wring from them was the date of the wedding. They wanted us to marry right away, by September at the latest. I asked them to wait until early November. All the harvest will be in by then. And I hope this difficulty of yours will be over.”

“Did they agree?” Rees's voice sounded rusty. His son would be only sixteen in November, young to wed. And Abigail was barely fourteen, a mere child in Rees's eyes.

“Finally. They were reluctant. They believe by then Abby will show…”

Rees nodded, too embarrassed to speak. “So we, Abby and I, will be married at their farm by a Quaker minister. We don't know what time as yet. There are always chores to be done and the wedding must be fit in around them.” The excitement in his voice flattened out. For a moment both men were silent. Rees felt events were moving much too quickly. Finally David spoke again. “Anyway,” he continued, “I thought Abby could move into the cottage with me. It is big enough for two. And you have all the children, and Lydia will have had her baby by then.”

And what happens when you and Abby begin having babies,
Rees wondered.
Where will Lydia and I live then?
But instead of asking that question, he tried to force some excitement into his voice. “I'll be a grandfather someday.” He shivered involuntarily.

David looked at his father and said in a much quieter voice, “I know this isn't what you wanted.”

Rees managed to smile although his lips felt stiff and unnatural on his face. “I knew this day would come. Everything is changing.” He couldn't help thinking that he and Lydia might not even live in Dugard much longer—he did not think he would ever be able to forget what had happened here or forgive those who had been involved. “Does Charlie know? About you and Abby I mean.”

David nodded. “He heard it in town. People are talking.” He stopped. Rees didn't know what to say. “He teased me about it,” David added in a flat voice. Rees understood that Charlie had not been kind. “I'm supposed to help him tomorrow, but I really don't want to. He treats me like a joke.”

“Could you tell him that you suspect me of staying here at night? That I usually arrive just before dusk.”

“I can't do that,” David said in horror. “He'll tell Aunt Caroline. You know he will. She'll probably come over.”

“I know,” Rees said. “I'm counting on that, in fact.”

“She might try to shoot you again,” David said. “And she'll probably alert Constable Farley.”

Rees hadn't thought of that. Caroline might also inform Piggy Hanson; in fact, Rees would be surprised if she didn't. He rubbed his forefinger down his nose, thinking. “Well, that may not be a bad thing. More witnesses.” He forced a grin. “But I suspect she will not. Especially not if she's planning to shoot me.”

“I won't do it,” David said. “I won't. Not if it means you're likely to be shot and killed.”

“It's the only way to clear not only my name but Lydia's,” Rees said, leaning forward and clasping his son's hand. “Please.”

“No.” David wrenched free of his father's grasp. “I want to know you're still alive, even if you're on the run.”

Rees was silent a moment. David's fear was justified. And Rees didn't really want to die. “Very well. Take my rifle and hide in the underbrush; I'll show you where. Anyone lifts a gun to me, shoot him. Can you do that?”

David hesitated. Rees had not realized how late it had grown. The sun was almost below the horizon and shadows wreathed the inside of the cabin in darkness. David's face was now just a white blur. Very white, and Rees knew his son was scared.

“I can do it,” David said at last, his voice shaking.

“Good. Let's go outside and I'll show you where to hide.”

 

Chapter Thirty-three

The next morning Rees left at daybreak for his sister's farm. He needed to see Caroline at the Winthrop shack this evening and was determined to ensure she arrived. It was early enough that few would be on the roads and he thought he would escape notice. He'd spent an anxious night reviewing his plans and trying to decide how much to leave to chance. Very little—Rees was not the kind of man who assumed everything would proceed as planned. Although Farley and Magistrate Hanson might still believe Lydia was a witch and Rees was guilty of three murders, he wanted to make sure he told his sister that he knew the truth. He might have to run for his life afterward, but in the end, it was all about the truth.

Rees again elected to slip up to his sister's farm from the back. When he could see the back of the barn he tied the mare to a branch and continued on alone. Pausing in the thick undergrowth, he examined the yard before him. A few chickens scratched in the dust but he saw no other movement.