Cradle to Grave (33 page)

Rees looked at Lydia. “Vermette,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Maybe,” Lydia said. “We can't be sure of that.” She turned back to Mouse.

“Then what happened?”

“I told you. Maggie started talking about a man. Or men.” Mouse looked confused. “About love. And she ignored her children. I didn't want to listen.” She hesitated a moment. “Will you bring the children next time?”

Lydia and Rees exchanged a glance. He realized with a shock how dependent he'd become upon her opinion. “Maybe,” Lydia said.

“If the Elders allow,” Rees added.

While Lydia asked after Mouse's health, and how she fared, Rees paced about the room. He was determined to find out what Maggie and Mary Pettit had talked about that day.

*   *   *

As soon as Rees deposited Lydia at the cabin, he headed first for Mr. Gray's. He had no idea where Mary Pettit lived, and anyway, today he wanted to quickly search the log meetinghouse once more. Spring was finally coming. The sun shone from a blue sky and the snow melted with a steady dripping sound. The buggy wheels cut through the slush, throwing spatter in every direction.

The woman who opened Mr. Gray's door was younger than Maartje Griffin by a few years, and the hair revealed by her cap was flaxen. “Ah, Mr. Rees, I presume,” she said, eyeing him with frank interest. “I am Maartje's cousin.” She smiled at him flirtatiously.

“How nice to meet you,” Rees said. “Is Mr. Gray here?”

She stood away from the door, allowing him to brush past her. “Come inside.” She guided him into the kitchen. “Uncle Elias,” she bawled. He looked up.

“Mr. Rees,” Mr. Gray said with a scowl. “You're like a biting flea. What do you want this time?”

“The key to the meetinghouse,” Rees shouted. Mr. Gray looked at his niece, a glance of mingled anger and long-suffering resignation, and she hastily began searching through the litter of crumbs and dirty dishes on the worktable.

“Here it is,” the girl said, holding up the massive iron object.

“I'll return it shortly,” Rees said, taking it from the young woman.

The back door lock at the meetinghouse proved stiff, but he finally managed to open the door and enter the building. The still air and silence confirmed that he was alone. He walked around quickly, since he expected to find nothing on the ground floor. He circled the pulpit and peered into the small lobby by the back door. Then he braved the narrow twisting staircase to the small loft above, traversing it with especial care. The injury to his right leg had healed somewhat, reminding him of its presence with only an occasional pain, and he didn't want to reinjure it. Once at the top, he peered into each corner and examined every inch of the floor. The attic was even cleaner than it had been during his previous search. He found nothing that indicated any use, not even burn marks from smoking boys. And the floor had been thoroughly scrubbed with vinegar. “Damn,” he muttered in frustration.

He descended the stairs once again, pausing by the small side window. Mr. Gray's house and kitchen window were clearly visible. In fact, Rees could see the dim outline of Mr. Gray himself. Now that was interesting. Maybe Lydia was right, and either Mr. Gray or Maartje Griffin had seen Reverend Vermette with Maggie. Rees would ask.

He locked the door behind him and started back to Mr. Gray's house, breaking into a rapid limp as he crossed the muddy ground. He gave a token knock upon the door before entering. Maartje's cousin looked up as Rees entered the kitchen. She had filled the dishpan with steaming water and dirty dishes, but instead of washing them she was indolently swirling her hands through the water. She promptly abandoned her task. “Done already?” she asked, approaching Rees. “Find anything?” Mr. Gray, who'd certainly been watching the church from his window, held out his hand for the key. Rees considered asking if Mr. Gray had seen Reverend Vermette with Maggie, but the presence of Maartje's cousin persuaded him to keep silent.

“I'll call on you again, Mr. Gray,” Rees shouted and retreated.

*   *   *

When Rees arrived, Cooper was in his shop, laughing but keeping his apprentices hopping. Rees had grown so accustomed to seeing the constable in the tavern that he was startled to see him working. “Well, Mr. Rees,” Cooper said, tossing him a glance. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Just looking for Mary Pettit's address.” Rees inspected Cooper. “You seem merry.”

“I received a big order.” He pointed to the back window. Rees peered through the wavy glass. Several large wagons, laden with barrels of all sizes, were lined up in the yard. “And my wife is moving back to town. To the house with me.”

Rees turned a skeptical look upon the constable. “This may be your last chance,” he said.

The smile dropped away from Cooper's face. “I know,” he said. “Even her father…” He stopped short. Rees wondered if Cooper had been threatened. If so, he didn't seem distressed by it. Instead, he was cheerful and grinning like a fool. “Why do you want that old woman's direction? You can't believe anything she tells you.”

“I just want to talk to her for a minute,” Rees said, purposely vague. “See how she's doing.”

Cooper shook his head at him. “She lives out on the west road. If you reach the Griffin farm you've gone too far. Little shack she rents from Owen Randall.” He paused. “I'm telling you, Rees, you can't trust anything she says. I wouldn't believe her if she told me the sky was blue.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Rees said. With a quick thank-you, and an instruction to Cooper to work hard, Rees went out and climbed back into his buggy. He picked up a few supplies at the store for Mrs. Pettit, eyeing his dwindling coins in dismay, and began his journey west.

As soon as he saw the shack described by Cooper, Rees realized he'd passed it several times. He just hadn't paid any attention. The structure, the wood weathered a deep grayish brown, seemed ready to collapse. One of the panes in the window by the door was broken and the inside shutter drawn across. A thread of smoke drifted from the chimney.

Rees jumped the stairs to the porch and pounded on the door. No one came. He was just ready to turn away when the door opened and Mary Pettit peered out. “Mr. Rees,” she said in astonishment. Rees offered her the basket. She looked inside. “No whiskey?”

“No.” Rees inspected the woman before him. The whites of her eyes were yellow and the body under the rags looked swollen. “I need to speak to you for a minute.”

Mary looked at him uncertainly, and then she inspected the empty road outside. “You'd better come inside,” she said, opening the door a fraction.

Rees pushed past her into the shadowy interior. A scanty fire burned on the hearth, and the smell of woodsmoke combined with the stink of old sweat and stale whiskey. Water dripped from the leaky roof into a pail. A pallet consisting mainly of rags had been drawn up to the hearth. “Do you have any food?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “You just brought it.” With a sigh, she added, “Ask your questions.”

“Just before Maggie was murdered,” Rees said, “you visited her. Why?” Mary clutched her hands tightly together and pressed them into her chest. Her hesitation told Rees she did not want to answer. “Why, Mary?”

“We were friends. I delivered all her babies.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Nothing much.” Her gaze slid to a point over his left shoulder.

“Maggie was overheard crying and laughing. Clearly, you told her something important.” Rees fixed a stern glare upon the woman. She looked aside, the draperies shrouding her quivering as she trembled beneath them. “Mary,” Rees said in a soft voice, “someone murdered Maggie. The woman you claim was a friend. She was begging for money to pay her taxes. You told her something.”

Mary did not speak for a long moment. “You must understand,” she said at last, “that…” Her eyes shifted from side to side. “Mr. Randall owns this house. The selectmen decide who receives help and who doesn't. Maggie's children have you and your wife to look after them. I have no one. My daughter is barely able to support herself and all my boys have moved away.” Rees looked at the woman shivering before him. “If I anger the selectmen, I'll have to leave Dover Springs, and my daughter and grandson live here.”

“I appreciate the situation,” he said. “I won't tell anyone anything you confide to me. But I need to know. Maggie was murdered. Do you want to allow her killer to go free?” The silence went on for so long he thought she would not respond.

“Maggie was pregnant again,” she said at last.

Rees gaped at her. Then he nodded; of course she was. “Do you know who the father was?” She began to shake her head, her eyes shifting to the side, and Rees knew she was preparing to lie. “Don't,” he said sternly. “Don't you dare lie to me.”

“She was seeing Reverend Vermette,” Mary said, in such a quiet voice Rees could barely hear her. “I assume he…” Her words ran down.

Pity washed over Rees and he fumbled in his purse for a few pennies. They would not last long. “Get soup,” he said. “Not whiskey.” She nodded, but Rees had the strong feeling she was not listening. She looked terrified, and Rees wondered if she'd told him everything.

“Don't worry,” Rees said. “I'll tell no one that we've spoken.” Mary rolled her eyes at him, looking like a frightened animal.

Rees went outside. He gathered some of the deadfalls and stacked the wood on her porch as another thank-you for the information. Then he climbed into the buggy and headed home, his mind churning. He was eager for supper.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Thursday morning, after a breakfast of eggs and johnnycake sweetened with molasses, Rees and Lydia set out for the Griffin farm. They left Jerusha in charge and busy washing dishes. As they went out the door, Rees heard the girl say in exactly the same tone as Lydia, “Nancy, there is a basket of wool that needs to be carded.”

Lydia caught his grin and said, “Jerusha needed a woman's hand.” She sighed, and Rees wondered if he would be able to tear Lydia away from these children when it was time to leave. For that matter, the thought of abandoning these children to the cruel mercy of Dover Springs sent a shiver through him as well. He would have to ensure their safety with the Shakers before leaving.

As soon as the buggy started down the drive, Rees knew this journey would take longer than usual. The slurry of mud clutched at the wheels and held them back. Rees allowed Ares to go at his own pace and turned to Lydia to share his experience with Mary Pettit. Lydia listened in silence, lines appearing and disappearing in her forehead as she reacted to his report.

“Hmm,” she said when he finished and looked at her expectantly.

“What? You don't think Mary was telling the truth?”

“No, not entirely anyway.” Lydia's brow furrowed. “I can believe she's scared. The Reverend Vermette is an important man. I also believe Maggie was pregnant. But I don't think Mary told you what they really discussed.”

“Why not?” Rees recalled the woman's trembling. “She seemed genuine to me.”

“Maggie would have known she was pregnant. Any woman would, especially after having had so many children already. She wouldn't have needed someone else to tell her.” Lydia turned to Rees. “I think Mary told Maggie something, but it wasn't that she was pregnant.”

Rees regarded his wife. “You may be right.” He recalled his sense that Mary had not told him everything. “I'll have to speak with her again.”

Shortly afterward, they passed the shack by the road and Rees pointed it out to her. Lydia gazed at it. “It looks abandoned,” she said. Rees threw a quick look at the house. Not even a thread of smoke came from the chimney, and the wood he'd collected yesterday had not been used.

“Yes, it does,” he agreed. “Maybe she is in town.” He hoped she'd taken the pennies and gone to the Ram's Head.

It took over an hour to reach the Griffin farm. By the time they pulled up to the house, mud crusted Ares's legs right up to his belly. Caleb Griffin's buggy still sat before the porch, and as Rees tethered the gelding to the rail, he wondered if Mr. Griffin was around. Lydia jumped down and they went up the front steps. Maartje's cousin opened the door to Rees's knock. She glanced at Lydia but concentrated the full power of her smile upon Rees.

“We've come to call upon Mrs. Griffin,” Rees said.

“She's busy,” she began. But Lydia pushed past her and went into the small room to the left of the hall. Maartje Griffin was spinning, one foot rocking the cradle every now and again to keep the baby inside from waking. Rees paused in the door as Lydia hurried forward.

“What is it?” she asked, looking at the baby.

“A baby boy,” Maartje replied, peering into the small red face. “We're calling him Jacob, after my uncle's father.”

“When was he born?” Lydia asked, bending over the cradle. “Oh, he is so beautiful.”

Maartje smiled, radiant with happiness. “Two days ago, after I left my uncle's. My husband set out for the midwife immediately, but I knew they wouldn't be home in time. Fortunately, my maid's mother lives nearby, and she delivered Jacob.”

Rees, whose patience had evaporated, said, “Jacob is a beautiful boy. Mrs. Griffin, I wondered…” Lydia shot him a quelling look.

“I know you didn't come to ask about the baby,” Maartje said. “More questions?”

“I wondered, since you spent a great deal of time with your uncle, if you ever noticed Reverend Vermette and Maggie Whitney going into the log meetinghouse?”

She stared at him for a moment, a faint pink crawling into her cheeks. “How did you…? But I don't want to…” Her eyes slipped away from Rees's and he saw her struggle. Coming to a decision, she said, “Yes, I saw them. Many times.”