Death of a Dyer (18 page)

He went down for supper, expecting to mend the relationships with Lydia and David by apologizing. Instead, he ate alone. Lydia put cheese and bread upon the table but did not stay to eat. And his son, with a dark look at his father, made a sandwich and went back out to evening chores. Or maybe he just wanted to avoid his father’s presence. Feeling like a pariah, and knowing some of it was his fault, Rees went back upstairs. He feared he was too upset to sleep before Augustus’s jailbreak tonight.

Chapter Fourteen

When Rees went downstairs just before midnight, both David and Lydia were waiting in the kitchen. “What are you doing here?” he asked in surprise.

“You don’t think I’d allow you rescue Augustus on your own,” David said. “I’ve harnessed Amos to the buggy. Your wagon and Bessie are too recognizable. Augie can lie down between the seats, out of sight, until we’re clear.”

Rees began shaking his head. “I don’t want to involve either or you in this.”

“I’ll be involved no matter what,” David said. “Besides,” he added after a beat, “I thought Caldwell was in this with you.”

“He is,” Rees agreed.

He hesitated thinking. Augustus would probably feel more comfortable if David were there. “Very well.” He caught David’s annoyed expression and was prepared to bellow. But he stopped, recalling several of his son’s earlier statements, and really looked at his boy. At fourteen and already almost his father’s height, David was just a few years shy of manhood. And marriage. And babies of his own. Dear Lord, Rees would be a grandfather! “But you don’t need to ask permission,” he said, astonishment coloring his words. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions.…”

David, mouth open, ready to argue, paused, his smile stretching across his face.

“And I’ll have hot food waiting,” Lydia said. “No doubt the young man will be hungry.”

Although it was past eleven at night, and as dark as the inside of a kettle, Rees no longer felt tired. Instead excitement burned through him, buzzing him into alertness. By the light of a candle, he and David went out to the buggy. David had already lit the lanterns hanging on either side of the horse and by that pale golden light they climbed up to the seat and started out for town. Amos stepped out right smartly, and Rees watched his son handle the reins with firm control.

“I couldn’t handle the ribbons better myself,” he said.

David ducked his head in pleased surprise.

They stopped a few blocks away from the jail and wrapped Amos’s hooves in rags to muffle the sound of hoofbeats. David blew out the lanterns. Except for the three-quarter moon and a scattering of stars, all was dark. Rees’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim gray world.

Caldwell was waiting for them. As soon as they pulled into the alley, he opened the back door and beckoned them inside with one small burning candle. Rees felt his way through the small musty chamber and into the darkness of the main room. He heard Augustus move but didn’t dare proceed into the blackness. Caldwell brushed by him, the candle illuminating a small circle around him, and started for the cells, jingling his keys. “If you run,” he warned Augustus, “or turn out to be your father’s murderer, I swear I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”

“I’m not. And I won’t run,” Augustus said. “Anyway, there’s nowhere for me to go.”

The constable unlocked the door. Augustus darted out as though he thought they might change their minds. When he saw David, he relaxed. Smiling, David clapped the other lad’s shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

Rees, hearing some heavy breathing, looked over into the next cell. He could just dimly see a shock of white hair. “Who’s that?”

“Just some drifter,” Caldwell said. “He got liquored up at the Bull. Come on.” They hurried to the back and he threw open the door. David had cleverly angled the buggy so the escapee could climb in on the sheltered side, invisible from the street. As Augustus scrambled over the step and disappeared between the seats, Caldwell said to Rees, “No lights leaving the jail. And you’re responsible if he runs.”

“You make sure those slave takers leave town.”

“It’ll be easier now that I’m not guarding the jail.”

Rees grunted and climbed into the buggy. He suspected Caldwell, instead of hunting the slave catchers, would be propping up the bar at the tavern.

David scrambled into the driver’s seat and they started off. Even without the lanterns, Rees felt that everyone must be aware of them and know what they were doing; every muffled hoofbeat sounded to him like a pistol shot.

“I won’t run,” Augustus said from his position on the buggy floor. “I promise. Where would I go? The catchers almost caught me here—and in Dugard. I at least have friends and family.

Rees nodded and turned around, struck pensive. Where he saw confinement, Augustus saw protection. He would not ever enjoy the freedom Rees experienced: that of jumping into the wagon and driving away for parts unknown.

David halted on the outskirts of Dugard and lit the lanterns. The sudden flare of light sprang forward onto the road in golden circles.

“Thank you,” Rees said, turning toward his son.

Only David’s profile, outlined in the golden lantern light, was truly visible. Smiling at his father, he said, “Augie, do you know how to milk?”

“I have milked,” Augustus said, pulling himself up into a rear buggy seat. “A few times, as a boy. But not recently…”

“You’ll become an expert,” David promised with a grin.

“What about Abigail?” Rees asked suddenly. “How can we keep her from knowing about him?” He jerked his head at Augie.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” David said. “I’ll tell her. We won’t be able to keep it a secret anyway. Not from her. But she won’t say anything, that I promise.”

His confident statement made Rees wonder if his earlier reflections about David’s marriage had been prescient.

They sped through the darkness at a rapid trot, arriving home in the early hours of the morning. Candlelight shone through the windows, and as Amos clip-clopped up the drive, Lydia came out upon the porch with a lantern. Augustus climbed down but froze, staring shyly at the ground.

“Come on, lad,” Rees said, gesturing at the steps in invitation.

“Go on,” David said, grasping Amos’s bridle and hauling him toward the barn. Augustus followed Rees into the house.

Lydia had set up a big wash pan before the fire. She gestured to the gently steaming water in the tub. “Bath first? Or supper?”

“Bath I think. The constable did feed me.…”

“Of course he wouldn’t think a bath was important,” Rees said with a wry grin.

“I’ll leave the supper on the table,” Lydia said. “And here are some clean clothes—borrowed from David, so they’ll be too large.” She picked up one of the candles. “I’ll bid you good night.” She smiled at Augustus and disappeared through the back door.

Rees could see the bright spark of her candle flame dancing down the slope to the cottage. Tomorrow he would speak to her; no more time should pass before he made everything right with her. “I’m going to bed as well,” he said, suddenly achingly tired. “David, you should retire, too.”

“I will,” he said. “The cows will want milking in only a few hours.” Turning to their visitor, he said, “Come with me and I’ll show you where to sleep.”

Augustus, who had the expression of someone stunned into compliance, rose to his feet and followed David up the stairs. Rees plodded after them. He washed his face and hands to the low mutter of their conversation and lowered himself into bed with a groan of relief. He went to sleep so quickly and so soundly, he didn’t hear Augustus thud back downstairs to the kitchen.

*   *   *

He overslept the following morning and clumped peevishly downstairs. Abigail paused in her ironing. She moved the spider to the fire and dropped in some bacon to fry. “David told me about Augie,” she said, pouring him a mug of coffee. “Don’t worry. I’ll say nothing. Not even to my parents.”

Frowning, Rees sat down and stirred milk and sugar into the brew. “Where is our guest?” he asked.

“Still sleeping. David decided to allow Augie one morning before rousing him for chores.”

Huh, so David had wasted no time telling Abby about their guest. And Rees knew David was gone, driving Lydia to the Bowditch farm. Wishing they had listened to his objections, he put down his spoon with unnecessary force.

Abby glanced at his expression, and as soon as she put his fried bacon and bread in front of him, retreated to the far end of the kitchen.

He left for the farm as well, immediately after breakfast. This time he took the fork that led to the lay-by off the road and parked Bessie and the wagon at the end, under the shadow of the trees. He found the path and walked through the tree break to the meadow beyond. His heart speeded up when he reached the fields, but he saw no one. Nothing moved. Taking in a deep breath, he sprinted toward the cottage door. He whipped through it and shut it quietly but firmly behind him.

When he entered the room on the right, he stepped into quiet. He looked around. Although empty, the cottage did not appear abandoned. Marsh had removed the pot hanging over the fireplace and swept the hearth clean. And crumbs of food scattered the table as though he had snacked here but been called away before cleanup.

Rees walked into the weaving room. It betrayed evidence of a hasty search. The books in the bookcase were no longer arranged evenly, spine out, in alphabetical order, and everything had been removed from the small desk. Marsh, for certain. If anything, such as the will, had been hidden in this room, he would surely have found it.

Rees suspected Nate would have hidden something personal upstairs anyway. He took the stairs two at a time. Shifting motes of dust hung in the sun and furred the floor. Rees could still see his tracks from his last visit, faint now with a layer of dust, and a set of fresh tracks laying over them. Most of the old clothes hanging by the chimney had been torn down and the chamber pot had been emptied and cleaned. As expected, the cedar blanket chest at the foot of the bed held only bedding; Rees went through it just to make sure. Nothing. Puffing in frustration, he looked around. Where else? The dye room? He turned and started down the stairs, but he paused a few steps down and glanced around the room one last time. This time he saw another chest under the bed. After running back up the steps and circling the bed, he dropped to his knees. The wood screeched when he dragged the trunk across the floor. He thought at first that the top was locked and it may have been, but as he wrestled with it, the old wood, rotted by damp and alternating cycles of hot and cold, dry and wet, splintered apart in his hands.

He knew instantly he had found Nate’s treasures. Two collections of letters, one tied with a faded blue ribbon, a handful of chits—IOUs, with Piggy Hansen’s scrawl upon the top one and a yellowed poster underneath those. But Rees forgot all about the papers, unconsciously shoving them into his pockets when he saw the collection of artifacts underneath.

Wild roses, withered and brown but still recognizable, were carefully wrapped in linen and nestled up against an oddly shaped rock shot with veins of quartz. Next to that was a necklace, the beads on the cord crudely whittled. Rees remembered carving them for Nate’s birthday. The other two items were mementos from an abortive journey he and Nate had embarked upon as boys.

Rees had started it, running away from his father, who insisted he work in both the fields and the printer’s shop. He stopped at the Bowditch farm and shouted down Nate, who, beaten by his father on a regular basis, was only too glad to join him. Other than a block of cheese Rees had wrapped in a rag, they carried no supplies but they headed west confidently. Not far outside of town, they stopped at a pond, a pond Rees suspected, that probably lay upon Nate’s current property, and went swimming. Rees had found the rock in the pond and pocketed it. Afterwards, during their explorations, Nate fell into a hedge of wild roses and had to be disentangled from the thorns, bravely suffering the cuts of a thousand thorns. Rees had cut himself in the rescue and they’d mingled blood, promising to be blood brothers forever. Then they’d started out again. Not more than a mile later, Constable Franklin caught them both. He brought them home, knowing they would both be whipped within an inch of their lives.

Rees suddenly became aware of frenzied barking outside. Munch! Dropping the items into the trunk, he started for the window. Marsh was running down the slope. “Oh damn!” Rees muttered. He hurried back to the bed and shoved the trunk under it. Then he fled down the stairs, slipping and almost falling. But when Marsh opened the door and came in, he found Rees in the weaving room, looking around at the looms in assumed perplexity.

“What are you doing here?” Marsh demanded with none of the subservience he was expected to show a white man.

“Nothing,” Rees said. “Just looking around.”

Marsh took in a deep breath, his furious eyes sliding away from Rees. “I’ll be happy to accompany you the next time you want to visit the cottage. This was Nate’s … He was a very private person.… Does the mistress know you’re here?” Rees listened to Marsh trying to divert attention from his anger and recover his mask, but Rees knew the man now.

“Of course,” he lied with a smile. Marsh was looking for something hidden in the cottage. If he found it, whatever it was, Rees knew he would never see it. Casting about for a neutral topic, he said, “I examined Nate’s ledgers and saw entries for materials I did not recognize. Dyes and such. Mrs. Bowditch suggested I speak with you. As the expert.”

Marsh looked at him in surprise. “Did she now? How much about dyeing do you know?”

“Very little,” Rees said truthfully. “I’ve seen indigo preparation, of course. And I have some passing knowledge of madder.”

“The roots, the berries, and the leaves of many plants produce color. Onionskins simmered in an iron pot will dye cloth brown, as do coffee and tea. Sometimes yellow flowers will yield yellow. I’ve tried using rose petals to produce pink. But most of the dyes made from these common sources rapidly fade in sunlight or after washing.”