Cradle to Grave (14 page)

Frustrated, he tossed the grubby pillow and ragged quilt to the floor. There was a box under the pillow, a small beautifully carved wooden box. Rees eagerly snatched it up and opened it. Inside he found two bags: one of leather and the other velvet. Velvet? Where would Maggie Whitney obtain velvet? Underneath was a small scrap of paper. Rees inspected it first. Written in a strong hand were the words “Giroux” and “Boston.” Instantly Rees's thoughts flew to the incised G upon the teething stick. Surely someone in Dover Springs would know the significance of the name Giroux.

Then Rees opened the leather bag. Heavy, and with an enticing clink, the bag clearly held money. But the silver dollars he turned into his palm stunned him. “There must be eighty or ninety silver dollars here,” he whispered in astonishment.

So why was Maggie struggling to pay her taxes? And living on the thin edge of poverty? Rees thought he knew the answer to that. He'd already heard someone accuse her of theft simply on the basis of having one silver dollar in her possession. But from whom could she have stolen these dollars? Not from anyone in Dover Springs. Rees doubted anyone in this town could lay claim to such a sum, and anyway Maggie would already have been hung for it, were that the case.

The smaller velvet bag held a necklace with a cross at the end. Although of silver, it was poor quality and old. The chain was damaged in several places, one of the links broken clear through. It did not look like a love gift, more like something a parent would give a child, but Rees reserved judgment.

He pressed the box into his pocket. The money and the necklace belonged to these children and he would do everything in his power to prevent Silas, or anyone else, from stealing them.

He examined the bed more carefully and then looked around once again. He saw nothing, and although he planned to search again, he was sure he'd found everything.

Suddenly aware of the steady buzz of whispers in the other room, he went through the door. Everyone except Judah and Joseph turned toward him. Lydia was holding the baby. “What?” he asked warily.

“If we can't stay here alone and our only other choice is to move to Mount Unity,” Jerusha said, lifting her chin and facing Rees directly, “why don't you and Miss Lydia stay with us?”

“What? Absolutely not.” He frowned at Lydia. He'd managed to communicate Mr. Randall's suggestion to his wife the night before and now immediately assumed she'd told the children. “There's nowhere to sleep, for one thing.” He was not sleeping in that noisome bed in the fetid little bedroom. “Besides, we won't be here very long. A few days at the most.” He thought longingly of the warm clean bedchamber in the tavern and the plain but plentiful food in the common room.

“Then we'll remove to the Shakers,” said Jerusha, folding her arms across her chest. “But we won't stay.”

“I have to get to my job,” Simon said. “It is too long for me to walk from Mount Unity or from Dover Springs.”

“You won't have to work for Mr. Baker if you go to the Shakers,” Rees said. “You'll have food and clothing, and they'll school you both. They'll take good care of the babies.”

“I can take care of the babies,” Jerusha said. “I know how.”

“I know you do,” Rees said. He sighed and raised his eyes to Lydia's. “What do you think?”

She brushed her lips over the baby's dark silky hair. He found himself wondering what his and Lydia's children might look like. Would they be red-haired, the soft baby fuzz the color of peaches instead of dark like Joseph's? “We should talk to the Elders before we decide anything,” she said. But Rees knew he'd lost the argument. She'd already decided to care for these children. He clicked his tongue in exasperation.

“I need to hurry,” Simon said suddenly. “I'm late already.”

“I'll drive you,” Rees said. He wanted to speak with both Mr. and Mrs. Baker about Maggie anyway. Throwing a quick glance at Lydia he added, “I'll return soon. And then we'll drive to Mount Unity. I have a few questions for Mouse.” He followed Simon out to the buggy. It was barely colder outside than in, despite the fire burning on the hearth.

“Hurry, hurry,” Simon said, running to the buggy and throwing himself into the seat. “Mr. Baker started milking hours ago.” His face was white with worry.

“I'll explain that I kept you,” Rees said. “What do you do for Mr. Baker?”

“I help milk,” Simon said proudly. “And I put hay in the stalls. Next summer Mr. Baker said I could help take the herd to the meadow. And maybe,” his voice dropped to hushed amazement, “if I'm good, Mr. Baker might give me a heifer. I can start my own herd.”

“Mr. Baker is generous,” Rees said. He wondered if Mrs. Baker felt as kindly toward these children. Or was she one of the many who despised both the children and their mother? Rees would find out.

Chapter Twelve

Rees pushed Ares into a trot. Still, it took them the better part of twenty minutes to reach the drive into the Baker farm. Even before he pulled the horse to a stop, Simon jumped out of the buggy and ran toward the barns. Rees followed at a walk. When he peered into the shadowy space he saw several boys, of varying ages, working with Simon, but no Mr. Baker.

Rees turned his steps toward the house, following the icy, well-trodden path to the back door into the kitchen. He could see a plump woman and a young girl whose resemblance marked them as mother and daughter through the window. He knocked. Wiping her hands upon her apron, Mrs. Baker came to the door. She looked at Rees with a cautious expression.

“I'm Will Rees.” He realized with a start that he usually presented his loom as his reason for visiting. What could he say today to disguise his curiosity? “I brought Simon over.”

Mrs. Baker's suspicious expression changed into reserved friendliness. “Ah, the gentleman the children spoke of.” She glanced behind him. “Your wife isn't with you?” Mrs. Baker eyed him quizzically and he rushed into speech.

“She's at the farm with the children. We'll be staying with them until other arrangements can be made.”

“Well, come in then and have a bite of cake.” She held the door wide open. “This is my eldest daughter.” Rees nodded at the girl, who looked to be a few years older than Jerusha. She promptly reddened under his regard.

Rees sat down and allowed Mrs. Baker to serve him an excellent cake redolent of cinnamon, and a cup of cider. “This tastes like the Shaker cider,” he said.

Mrs. Baker nodded. “I bought several hogsheads last fall. Now, Mr. Rees, what is it you're wanting to know?” She sat down across the table and clasped her hands together.

“What makes you … why do you think…?” Rees heard himself stammering and closed his mouth.

“Please, Mr. Rees,” she said with a scornful frown. “We are not completely isolated out here.”

“Of course not. You heard then about the…” He glanced at Mrs. Baker's daughter. “About Maggie.”

Mrs. Baker nodded. “Pru, go finish the beds upstairs.” Both adults waited until the girl disappeared out of earshot. “I heard Maggie was dead.”

“I'm working with the constable,” Rees said, exaggerating slightly. “I wondered, since you were Maggie's neighbor, what you could tell me about her.”

Mrs. Baker sighed. “I've known her all my life.”

“You must be about her age,” Rees said with polite flattery.

Mrs. Baker snorted. “I'm her elder by almost ten years, as I'm sure you can guess. I knew her aunt well; Olive and I were friendly. But Maggie—a flighty girl. Rather too pretty for her own good, I always thought.”

Rees could imagine Mrs. Baker as a girl watching the younger and prettier Maggie dance away with all the young men.

“She grew up here?”

“Yes. Born here.”

“Did you know Olive's sisters?”

“You mean Maggie's mother? Saw her once or twice when Olive first married Phinney. They were born and grew up in one of the neighboring towns around here. But once Rose married, she and her husband moved west. Maggie resembles her: blond and blue-eyed. Olive was darker. But,” she added, “when Olive took sick, it was Maggie that came home to care for her. As was right and proper seeing as how Olive took Maggie in when she was born. And times were not easy for Olive then, I can tell you. Phinney had been sick for months. I don't know how Olive managed. No money and the farm going untended, and, of course, she needed medicine for Phinney.”

“Mr. Cooper told me Maggie married Roger Whitney and moved to Boston.” Rees brought the conversation back to the topic. When a grimace passed over Mrs. Baker's face, Rees paused. Mrs. Baker did not speak. “Yes, Mrs. Baker?”

“I won't speak gossip,” she said. “But Mr. Whitney was an older man. A sailor. From what Maggie told me, he shipped out as soon as they arrived in Boston. His ship was lost at sea and there she was, a widow. Jerusha was born only a few months after the wedding. She could be Whitney's, I'm not saying she's not, but I wondered.”

“Hmmm. And she was pregnant with Simon when she came home?” Rees said.

“Indeed. Well, he couldn't be Whitney's boy, that's for sure. And, to tell the truth, I wasn't surprised. Maggie was … well, I won't speak ill of the dead.”

“Is Simon a good worker?” Rees knew the answer to that; the boy was conscientious to a fault.

Mrs. Baker's expression softened. “Yes, he's a good boy.”

“When Mr. Whitney died, how did Maggie survive?”

“Wet-nursing. Same as she did here.”

Rees nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know the name of the family?”

Mrs. Baker shook her head. “In Boston? No. But Reverend Vermette might know. The circuit minister. Have you met him?”

“Yes. Briefly. Did he know Maggie well?”

Mrs. Baker looked startled. “No, certainly not. He arrived in town after Maggie. But he knew Olive Tucker. He paid many a pastoral call upon her in her last weeks. She might have said something about Maggie. Probably did. I know the fate of that girl weighed heavily upon Olive. And although she was closemouthed in her prime, her mind was beginning to wander at the end.”

“Thank you,” Rees said. “I'll ask him.”

“When he returns,” she said. “He's on circuit now. I'm guessing he'll come home for the funeral. Will you still be here?”

“Most likely,” Rees said. He hoped he wouldn't be kept here for much longer than that.

“You're fortunate this is winter; Abner Vermette is away most of the summer.”

“So, Jerusha may be Mr. Whitney's, and Simon's father is someone in Boston,” Rees said, circling back to the topic that interested him. “What about Nancy and Judah? Who might their fathers be?”

“I don't know,” Mrs. Baker said. “And don't ask me to guess. In my mind, it's Maggie who was at fault. All the men who helped her were good and generous men. Although I didn't know Mr. Whitney well, I'm certain he was a good man also.” She rose to her feet, purposely putting an end to the conversation. “I can't waste any more time chatting; I hear the boys coming in for a snack. I don't know anything more anyway. Maggie and I were not friendly.”

Rees stood up, too, unsurprised by her obvious dislike for Maggie but sorry for it. He had hoped another woman might be more generous to the girl. Moreover, Mrs. Baker had just lied to him; she did know something about the men Maggie knew, and she probably suspected who among them had fathered those children. Her assertion, that they were good and generous men, had come from personal knowledge, not from guesses. But he also knew she would confide nothing to him. Perhaps she'd be more comfortable with Lydia. “I'm sure my wife would enjoy meeting you,” he said. “I'll return later this afternoon to fetch Simon.”

Mrs. Baker nodded. As Rees stepped toward the door she called him, “Mr. Rees.” He turned. “Maggie wet-nursed for a few families, not just foundlings. One baby came from Albany.… I don't know the name of that family. The baby was here for about ten months, until her mother came to take her home. But the other family was local. Name of Griffin. Their little girl died under Maggie's care. A fever, I believe. You might want to speak with Mrs. Griffin.”

“Thank you,” Rees said. “Where does she live?”

“Outside of Dover Springs,” she said, frowning in thought. “Maybe I've said too much; I don't like to be gossiping about my neighbors.”

“I would have learned about the Griffin family eventually,” Rees said. He fixed her with a stern glare. “Murder is never right, never permissible, and everything is important in the search for a killer. You did the right thing telling me.” She did not look comforted but she had no time to argue. A crowd of boys, including Simon, and young men came through the door, jostling one another and talking. Mrs. Baker began putting out cups and plates.

Rees spent a few minutes searching for Mr. Baker. No one knew where he'd gone, and it seemed to Rees as though the man had disappeared off the farm. Finally deciding to question the farmer another time, Rees climbed into his buggy and drove home.

*   *   *

When Rees reached the cabin, an unfamiliar horse was tied up outside. Although a farm horse, not an expensive mare, it was clearly well cared for: plump with a glossy brown coat. Instead of a saddle, a blanket was thrown across the back. Puzzled and very curious, Rees unhitched Ares, put him into the lean-to, and hurried inside.

Mouse was sitting on the hearth with the children around her and Joseph in her lap. Lydia, smiling but with a furrow between her brows, was clearing the table of cups and plates and scrubbing away crumbs.

“What are you doing here?” Rees asked Mouse. Did the Elders know she'd run away? Did Cooper know she'd left Mount Unity?

“I had to see the children,” Mouse said, raising her head. Although her left hand covered her harelip, Rees knew she was beaming by her rounded cheeks and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “I had to make sure they were all right. I heard about their mother.” She stopped and stroked Joseph's head, shooting Jerusha an anxious glance. “But I see they are safe now, with you two, my dear friends, until they come to Mount Unity.”