Death of a Dyer (27 page)

“Ah, Will,” Potter said, taking the cigar from his mouth, “interested in a wee dram?”

“Thank you, no,” Rees said, glancing around at the men surrounding him. Magistrates, lawyers, affluent landholders, even Dr. Wrothman: all the Dugard elite. Rees knew most of them, or at least he had when they were boys, and he hadn’t thought much of some of them then. “I’ll be taking David home. Will you be able to cadge a ride from one of these important gentlemen?”

Potter nodded. “Of course. Are you sure you won’t stay a few moments?”

“No. Thank you.”

“I heard you were back in town, Will.” Magistrate Hansen advanced toward Rees, led by his protruding yellow silk waistcoated belly.

“Hello, Piggy,” Rees said, just as if the past twenty years did not exist.

“As polite and charming as ever,” Hansen replied, baring his teeth in a smile as artificial as he was.

Rees bowed. “Gentlemen,” he said, and withdrew.

David’s seat was empty except for a stack of dirty plates and cups. Muttering impatiently, Rees moved quickly toward the door into the parlor. As he reached it, James Carleton arrived. He swept into the emerald room with panache, as though he’d been here many times before, and shot unerringly toward Richard. The boy turned to him with a smile. Carleton whispered something to him; good news, Rees suspected. Richard beamed, joy drowning any sorrow he felt. Now, what could occasion such a response? Rees kept his eyes upon Richard even as James moved away to greet other guests. The lad tried to school his expression into neutrality, grief seemed beyond him right now, but a smile kept tugging at his lips. Curious.

Rees made his farewells to Molly, who scarcely seemed to recognize him, and retreated to the front porch. He did not see David anywhere. He walked around the house toward the kitchen—he refused to make polite conversation with anyone inside—and looked over the yard. The help: farmhands, grooms, Juniper the laundress either sat at the temporary tables or on the ground at the yard’s edges. Caldwell ate at one table, a clear mark of a constable’s low status. Rees waved, knowing he, too, would not have been invited into the house were it not for his privileged status as Nate’s good friend. And even that might not have been enough if he hadn’t owned a large farm of his own.

David suddenly appeared at the kitchen door, large basket in hand. Spotting his father, he wove through the mob in the yard and began climbing up the hill. “Leftovers,” he explained. “I went to ask Lydia when she might be ready. She gave me this.”

Lydia, huh?
David was as comfortable with her now as with Abby. “And when will she be ready?” Rees asked.

“I’ll fetch her when I finish the milking. Mr. Potter?”

“He’ll find his own way.”

Although they were ready to leave, Amos had to be collected from the paddock and hitched to the buggy, so it was twenty minutes and more before they started home. The basket of food sitting behind the seat released the enticing aromas of roast chicken and fresh bread. Rees, who hadn’t eaten anything after the service, could think of nothing else. After a few miles he reached behind him and folded the linen napkin back. Working entirely by touch, he wrenched a chicken leg from carcass and turned around with a self-satisfied grin. David cast him a questioning look. “A working man’s got to eat,” Rees said, and bit down with pleasure.

By the time they pulled up to the house, the sun was beginning to sink. Rees guessed it was coming on to five o’clock or so. Augustus popped out of the barn and followed David, and the aromatic basket, into the house. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Supper,” Rees said. “Are you hungry?”

Augustus hesitated.

“Did you start the milking?” David asked.

Augustus nodded. “Almost done.”

“Why don’t you get a plate, then,” David suggested, looking pleased. “I ate earlier. Maybe my father will join you.” He eyed his father and added teasingly, “He’s already begun, in fact.”

“Respect your elders, boy,” Rees responded. He began removing food from the basket: the remains of the chicken, and not much of that, an entire loaf of bread, sliced ham upon a plate and at the very bottom, most of an apple pie. Augustus stared at the food and then rushed to put a plate and fork on the table. David fetched a plate as well and helped himself to a piece of pie. Rees felt he must join them and try a little bit of the ham. Then all was silent except for the sound of chewing.

Rees knew Lydia would have scolded them for their poor manners.

When they pushed their plates away, nothing of the chicken remained but bones. Augustus, chasing the last of the piecrust around his plate with his fork, sighed, “Whatever you can say about my mother, she’s a great cook.”

“Indeed she is,” Rees agreed, looking at his son. He hated to disturb the good feeling, but he knew he must speak to David about Abby. “David, I—” The sound of buggy wheels intruded into his tentative speech.

“It must be Miss Lydia,” Augustus said.

“It can’t be,” David said, pointing at himself. “I should be leaving now.”

“She would never accept a ride home,” Rees agreed. “Augustus, out the back door. Now. Just in case.” And as the boy fled to the back, Rees and David hurried down the hall toward the front. Before they reached the door, Caroline flung it open and plunged inside.

“Caroline,” Rees said in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t your sister visit you?” She moved forward, intending to brush past him on her course to the kitchen.

Rees thrust out his arm to bar her way. “Let’s sit in the parlor,” he suggested, mindful of Augustus sprinting out the back door. He stepped forward, forcing her to retreat, and opened the parlor door. “You’re my guest.” He knew she had something planned; that was how she operated, and his stomach tightened in nervous anticipation.

The parlor air smelled stale, but at least it was tidy and clean. Caroline glanced around, almost with a proprietary air, and seated herself in the upholstered chair once favored by their mother. Her nervous hands began pleating her skirt and Rees wondered if she was remembering their last meeting in this room. It had ended badly, with tears, anger, and her family evicted from the farm.

“I saw you at market,” she said. Rees nodded. “I suppose you were helping David. He’s gotten so tall.” She paused, but Rees still said nothing.

Did she know of Sam’s attack upon David?

She lifted her gaze. “You should know that Sam took both boys out of school; Charlie as well as David.”

Rees looked back at her, trying to keep his face blank.

“I want to come home, Will. Just me and the children, not Sam. Just for a little while.” She clutched her hands so tightly together, the knuckles went white.

“What? Here? Now?” Caught off guard, Rees stumbled over his words. “But there’s no room.…” Not with Augustus and Lydia living here.

“Why not? It’s just you and David. I’m your sister, Will.”

Rees almost reminded her of their previous meeting in this room. She hadn’t been so quick to claim a relationship then. What was the matter with her? Caroline didn’t plead, she commanded or wept and made a great play with her handkerchief. But, as he examined her expression, he saw she looked tired and frightened. “What’s the matter, Caro? What happened?”

Tears filled her eyes. “We can stay in Grandmother’s cottage. Just for a little while, Will. Please.”

Rees regarded her silently, recalling Susannah’s statement. “Is Sam hurting you, Caro?”

Anger, sorrow, and fear all passed through her expression. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she said abruptly. “Just for a little while,” she whispered. “Please Will.”

Rees remained silent as he thought about the space. Augustus would have to stay hidden, of course, at least for a little while. And he must discuss this with Lydia. And probably David as well; he had earned the right to express an opinion about this.

The tears in her eyes began spilling down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you won’t help your own sister,” she wailed.

“I didn’t say that,” Rees said. “I just want to discuss it with David.…” Should he mention Lydia?

“Will. Will, look at this,” Lydia called as she and David plunged through the front door. Caroline turned to Rees, her mouth open with astonishment.

“In here,” he said as they walked past the door. “You’re home early.”

“I had a ride into Dugard.…” Her words trailed off as she saw Caroline. David appeared behind Lydia, another heavy basket, twin to the one Rees had brought home, in his arms.

Caroline stared at them, and then her furious gaze fixed upon her brother. “Now I understand,” she said. “Of course there’s no room. Your fancy woman lives here with you. Poor Dolly. She would be horrified.” She rose to her feet and shook out her skirts. When she stalked toward the door, she brushed past Lydia as though she were invisible and spared only the slightest nod for David.

Rees knew with a sinking in his gut that his connection to Lydia was no longer even a half secret. But although he would have wished it were not Caroline who became the messenger, he was not upset to see the secret go public. The news had been slowly leaking out for some time now, and somewhere along the way he’d made his peace with it.

“Oh, dear,” Lydia said. “I won’t dare show my face in town.”

“Did she apologize for Sam’s attack upon me?” David asked sourly.

Rees shook his head. “No. She wants to bring the children here.… I think she’s leaving Sam.”

“I don’t blame her,” David said. “I saw Charlie. They’re all living near the Bull—”

“Not on the farm?” Rees said in surprise.

“He lost it gambling a long time ago,” David said, surprised in his turn. “I thought you knew.”

“I thought they were renting it,” Rees said. How could he have been so stupid? “What can we do?”

“We have Augie,” David said, gesturing toward the back of the house. “We can’t take her in. This is her problem,” he added with the heartlessness of youth. He carried the heavy basket into the kitchen. In the sudden silence, Rees clearly heard the thud of the basket landing upon the table and the slam of the back door.

“Of course, you must do something,” Lydia said. But Rees’s interest in his sister had evaporated for the moment.

“Lydia…,” he began. She turned to look at him. But after all, Rees didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry” encompassed too much and at the same time wasn’t enough. The silence stretched on and on. Rees realized Lydia, too, was holding her tongue, as afraid as he was of saying too much. The sound of David and Augustus slamming into the kitchen broke the moment. With a sigh, Rees bowed Lydia into the hall outside.

“I learned something that may be of use to you,” she said, speaking quickly. “Rachel said—well, suggested, really—that Nate wasn’t Augustus’s father.”

“What? But he has to be. If he isn’t, who is?”

Lydia shrugged. “She wouldn’t say.”

“I’ll talk to her myself tomorrow,” Rees said.

“I’ll see you there, then,” Lydia said. She went into the kitchen. Rees followed her, shutting the parlor door behind him. He’d wasted his opportunity to speak to Lydia in private.

After supper that night, while Lydia cleaned the kitchen, Rees grabbed his chance to to talk to his son. He asked David to join him in the parlor. Looking startled and a little worried, the boy followed him into the dark room. Rees lit the candles on the mantel and, in the flickering light, turned to gaze at his son. David’s eyes slid away from his father’s as he tried to figure out what he had done lately. “You’re not in trouble,” Rees said quickly. “I just, ah…” As David looked at him in perplexity, Rees took a short walk in the shadows. “You like Lydia?” Rees took the coward’s way out and slid away from the questions he wanted to ask.

“Yes,” David said cautiously, seating himself. “She’s … nice. Are you marrying her?”

“What? No! I mean, well, not right away. Would you mind?”

“Of course not. It’s time,” he said, sounding surprisingly adult. “But you didn’t bring me in here to talk about Lydia, then, did you?”

Rees took another turn into the darkness. “You know,” he said, throwing himself into a chair, “Richard Bowditch is expecting a baby.”

“He is?” David sounded confused.

“He … Kate, the nursemaid…” Rees realized perspiration was streaming down his face and the small of his back. “I know you and Abby…” Even in the dim half light, Rees could see a fiery blush spread across his son’s face. By now, Rees felt as though he might be blushing, too.

“It’s not like that,” David said. “I would never … I’m not like Richard.”

“No, you’re not,” Rees agreed. “You would always do the right thing.” Such as marrying the mother of his child. Rees didn’t want to say David was too young to marry, although that is what he thought. Voicing it would inflame David, lighting him up like a candle. Instead Rees said, “Do you want to marry Abby? Now, I mean?” David’s mouth opened and rounded into an
O
. “Just be careful. I know, sometimes, there’s a slip between a lip and a cup.”

David leaped up and fled. Rees heard the front door slam and the thud of David’s boots as he ran for the barn. As for Rees, well, he couldn’t stand at all. His legs were trembling. Talking to David had been one of the hardest, and most embarrassing, things he had ever done.

Chapter Twenty-one

When he went downstairs the next morning, only Abigail was in the kitchen. David’s empty bowl still sat upon the table, clean of mush. Relieved, for he could only imagine how awkward the next meeting between them would be, Rees carried the bowl to the dishpan. As he helped himself to mush and coffee, Abby picked up her broom and went upstairs to begin on the bedrooms. Rees sat down. Despite his busy thoughts, the kitchen felt empty without Lydia and David. Rees scraped his bowl clean and left as soon as he could.

Augustus helped him harness Bessie to the wagon, and Rees climbed into the seat. Despite some residual stiffness in his left arm, and a twinge of pain at every bump, he was able to manage the reins. He drove slowly but steadily to the Bowditch farm and pulled up to the back door. Marsh answered the knock.

“Let’s go to the cottage,” Rees said. “We can talk there.”