Cradle to Grave (18 page)

After several moments, in which he attracted several curious stares from passersby, Rees picked up the reins and slapped them down upon Ares's back. The gelding leaped forward and the buggy wheels slid across the icy surface before jolting back into line. Rees guided the horse in a circle and headed for the general store to collect Lydia.

*   *   *

“All right, what's wrong?” Lydia asked as they headed back to the farm. “You've said barely a word since we left Dover Springs.”

Rees stopped worrying his lower lip with his teeth. His lip was already sore. “Maggie left no will, that anyone knows about anyway. And now that she's dead Silas is applying to the selectmen once again to take the farm.”

“The children will have to go to the Shakers then. Elder Herman would be forced to take them in.” Lydia said.

“Not yet. Cooper thinks we have a month's grace. Tomorrow is Sunday, and Maggie's memorial. I want to search the cabin and the outbuildings. Thoroughly. I doubt Maggie left anything. She didn't seem bright enough to realize she might need a will. But Olive had a copy of her will, and depending upon the wording, it may give Maggie's children some standing. If we can't find anything, I'll drive to Albany next week and search out Olive's document.”

“Why does Silas even want the farm?” Lydia asked. “I doubt it includes more than eight or ten acres, and it hasn't been taken care of in years.”

“He says that land should have been his all along. I think he wants it just to have it.” Rees shook his head in amazement. “The other thing…” He turned to look at his wife. “I discovered that several years ago Maggie was wet-nursing a baby who died. I want to speak to the mother, Maartje Griffin, as soon as I can. Monday, maybe. Will you join me? I hope she will be more forthcoming in the presence of another woman.”

Lydia favored him with a radiant smile. “Of course. I'll gladly accompany you. It will be like Zion.” Rees smiled back. Assigned to assist him while he investigated a death at the Zion Shaker community in Maine, Lydia had proven invaluable. And it was there that they had grown to know and then to love one another. Inarticulate in the presence of his feelings for her, Rees could only pull the buggy to the side of the road and draw her into his arms.

*   *   *

While Lydia prepared the noon dinner, Rees began his search for Olive's will. First he riffled through the pages of the large family Bible. Olive must have been a regular reader of the Bible; she'd inscribed comments in her firm script next to many of the stories. All the blank pages, fore and aft, had been used: the front for records of births and deaths, notes at the back. Rees examined them, but it looked like a record of expenses. “Sal volatile—2 cents, pennyroyal—1 cent, 1 ounce of tinct of op”—what ever that was—“25 cents.” On the other side he recognized her abbreviations for chickens, a mule, and a hog, with prices attached. Income. Slamming the book shut, Rees returned it to the shelf.

Then he turned his attention to the bedroom. Since he'd searched this small, barely furnished room only the day before, he was fairly sure he would find nothing. And, although he took up the mattress and pried up loose floorboards, he was correct.

He returned to the main room. The enticing aroma of bacon had drawn the four children (Simon was still at the Baker farm), to the fireside, where they watched Lydia with hungry attention. She continually pushed them back, away from the fire, finally instructing Jerusha to take them to the other side of the cabin. Rees marveled at her patience. He did not remember Dolly struggling so with David, but then David had been the only child. Lydia was caring for five.

“We never eat bacon, never,” Jerusha said, reluctantly obeying Lydia's command. “Mama said it was too dear.”

“Well, you'll have it today,” Lydia said, leaving the hearth so that she might make a little cage around the children with the chairs. Jerusha grabbed Judah and Nancy and held them so they wouldn't escape. Joseph hauled himself upright and grinned at Rees, displaying his gums and teeth. Rees grinned back, wondering again what a child of his and Lydia's would look like. Not dark like Joseph. Maybe they would someday have a little girl, but Rees would not want to see her afflicted with the coppery hair and freckles he shared with David. Maybe she would have Lydia's dark red hair and blue eyes.

“Ha-ha-ha,” cried Joseph. “Da-da-da-da-da-da.” He looked at Rees expectantly.

“Da-da yourself,” Rees said. He went to the shelves and began running his hands over them, top to bottom. All the food in the house, including the supplies he and Lydia had just purchased, barely filled the bottom level. Olive must have stored her pickles and other preserved foods on the upper levels. But that started him thinking about a basement. “Jerusha,” he said, turning to the little girl. “Is there a cellar here?”

She nodded. “There's a door in the back. But nothing's down there.”

“I'll just take a look,” he said, putting on his coat. He went out and walked around the small cottage. On the opposite side from the door he found a snow-covered wooden plank. Underneath it, steps, cut into the dirt and shored up by logs, dropped into the darkness. He descended into a small hole, a basement under the bedroom. Barrels supported on rocks to keep them above the soil filled the small space. But when he looked inside he found them all empty. Olive may have preserved food for the winter, but since her illness and death it had all been eaten. And there were no shelves, no boxes, no paper of any kind.

Sighing with disappointment, Rees climbed the makeshift stairs and re-covered the hole. He paused at the lean-to, startling Ares from his rhythmic chewing, but realized at a glance that nothing could be hidden inside that small space.

When he returned inside, he saw that Lydia had arranged the children around the table and was distributing bacon and stirred eggs onto the wooden plates. Joseph picked up his plate and began banging it loudly upon the table. Judah's pudgy hand crept toward his plate. “No, Judah,” Lydia said, removing the dish from Joseph. She spread crumbled bacon and egg in front of him. “Eat like a big boy,” she told Judah, handing him a spoon. He immediately abandoned it in favor of his hands, but at least he did not pick up his plate and begin slamming it upon the table. Both Nancy and Jerusha were using their spoons to shovel food into their mouths as fast as possible.

With everything quiet and the children occupied for the moment, Lydia scraped the back of her hand across her forehead and looked at her husband. “Anything?”

“No. And I wouldn't put it past Maggie…” He stopped abruptly, as Jerusha's eyes swung in his direction. “You haven't seen any papers around, have you?” She shook her head.

“Just the Bible.”

“I may have to travel to Albany,” Rees said to Lydia. “I want to make sure these children will be safe after we leave. And that they hold onto everything that should belong to them.”

“It's outrageous that man thinks he should own this property just because he's male,” Lydia said.

“He's got the law behind him,” Rees said. “Women don't inherit, except in unusual circumstances.” He smiled at his wife. “The world doesn't operate as the Shaker communities do, with equality of men and women.”

“Well, it ought to,” she said, turning to the fireplace. She scraped out eggs onto a plate, added a thick wedge of bacon, and brought it to Rees. He ate in silence, thinking hard, as his wife shushed the children into quiet and then shooed them away from the table when they were done. With a towel dipped into the warm dishwater, she washed faces and hands. Then the two youngest went into the bedroom for naps. Lydia set Nancy to churning butter. She enjoyed slamming the dasher up and down, but Rees suspected she would soon tire. As Jerusha began washing the dishes, Lydia finally sat down to eat her own dinner.

Rees looked at the heel of bread on Lydia's plate and then at her face. Fatigue darkened the delicate skin under her eyes. “Maybe you'd better lie down with the children,” he said. “I'll help Jerusha.”

“No,” said Lydia with a smile. “Jerusha and I can manage. While the younger children are asleep, I'll begin teaching Jerusha and Nancy their letters.” She glanced over at Nancy. The thud-thud of the dasher was becoming erratic. “I doubt the butter will be done in time for a nap.”

Rees worried his lip with his teeth. “I think Silas murdered Maggie. Murdered her to obtain this poor little farm and these few paltry sticks of furniture.”

Lydia nodded. “He seems the most likely.”

Now Rees just had to prove it.

Chapter Sixteen

Rees awoke before dawn, the tip of his nose a spot of cold on his face. The cabin was even colder than before, and the air felt damp with approaching snow. He put on his coat to stir up the fire and brought in several armfuls of wood. Then he put the kettle over the flames and set out a basin and his shaving knife.

“What are you doing?” Lydia asked from the nest of quilts on the floor. She made no effort to arise; they'd been awake long into the night discussing Silas and the children.

Rees rubbed his hand over the ginger stubble on his chin. “Haven't shaved since we stayed in town at the inn. And it's the memorial service today … for Maggie.” His voice roughened and he turned his eyes away from Lydia in embarrassment. Now that he'd seen how isolated Maggie had been, and not only isolated but actively disliked, his feelings had changed to pity. Yes, and some shame that he'd been so quick to judge. More than most, he understood how it felt to be the outsider.

“I know,” said Lydia, her voice warm with sympathy. “She must have been so desperate.”

Rees smiled at her, pleased to see they were of like minds. By now the kettle was gently steaming. He poured some hot water into a basin on the table and washed his face, using a fragment of soap on the bristles fringing his chin and cheeks. Then he took his leather strap to the window over the sink and began stropping the blade of his Perrit Strength razor. From behind him, Judah began speaking his own untranslatable language. Rees heard Lydia say something as she arose from the bed but he couldn't make out the words against the loud snap-snap of the stropping. Every now and then he tested his razor edge against a moistened thumb.

When he turned around Judah had not only come into the main room but also climbed into the nearest chair. He had dipped his right hand into the water and now stared at the drops rolling off his fingers in fascination. Rees dropped his razor and strap into the sink and took three giant steps to the table to lift Judah away. His piercing squeal spun Lydia from the fireplace and brought Jerusha to the bedroom door.

“What's the matter?” Lydia gasped.

But Judah had already stopped squealing, distracted by the soap whitening the lower half of Rees's face. The child touched the soap and brought his hand toward his mouth. “No,” Rees said.

“Oh dear,” Lydia said, whisking Judah out of Rees's arms. His shriek of frustration turned to gurgles of delight when she plunged his hands into the shaving basin and washed away the soap. “Better shave soon,” she said. “The water is cooling.”

Rees looked at his shaving water spraying across the table as Judah slapped it. “I'll start over,” he said in amusement. “At least his hands are clean now.”

Working mostly by touch, since the mirror shard was so small he could see only a corner of his face at a time, he began scraping away his whiskers. He'd begun to grow fond of these irritating children. Was this how Mouse felt? Thinking of Mouse brought his thoughts to Mount Unity. He wondered if they had made it through Saturday night without incident. He must ask Elder Herman.

“Better hurry, Will,” Lydia reminded him. “We're running late already.” He brought the razor to his chin and rubbed a long furrow in the white suds. Haste made him careless. Although the wooden guard kept him from slicing off an ear, he did nick his chin, and Lydia had to rush over with a piece of rag.

Lydia dumped the basin of shaving water, now pink with Rees's blood, outside in the snow. She added fresh warm water and began washing the faces and hands of the children. Rees slapped bread and cheese on the table. They were late, he was sure of it, although the gray sky outside made it hard to tell the time. As Lydia finished washing one child, Rees pushed him into a chair to eat breakfast. When all but Joseph sat at the table, Lydia thrust the child into Rees's arms and darted into Maggie's small bedroom to change. Rees held the baby awkwardly, away from his body. Joseph stood on Rees's thighs and leaned forward to put his hands on either side of Rees's face. For a moment Rees was transported to the past. David had been six months or so, and Rees held him just as he held Joseph now. David had leaned forward, his mouth open, and before Rees could react the boy had latched onto his nose. Rees had let out a yell and Dolly had snatched the baby away. Rees had left the next day on a weaving journey. When he'd returned, David had been almost a year old and walking. Rees sighed in involuntary regret and pulled Joseph to him. “It's all right,” he said. “No one will ever hurt you.” Lydia came out, the door banging behind her, dressed in her best, a simple indigo wool gown. Rees thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he made a vow to himself that if he and Lydia ever had children, this time he would do better.

Lydia looked surprised but glad, too, to see him cuddling Joseph, but she said only, “Better change to a clean shirt. Simon is just coming down the hill from Mr. Baker's.” Rees handed Joseph to her and quickly darted into the bedroom for his clean shirt and jacket. Then he put on his coat and went outside to hitch Ares to the buggy.

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later they pulled into the churchyard. Rees looked around. The number of horses and buggies tied up outside and parked on the road confirmed they were late. The double doors fronting the road were closed but not locked. Rees and Lydia hustled the children through the vestibule, marked off by a wooden half wall. Several people, seated upon the logs that served as the rear benches, turned to stare.