Rebellious Heart (16 page)

Mary stepped inside. Her features were serious and inquisitive, although as pretty as always, especially framed by the lacy ruffles of her cap.

Susanna wanted to turn around and make certain Dotty had hidden herself, but she forced herself to face her sister and smile.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Mary said.

“Oh?” A scraping noise in the loft made Susanna flinch.

“Yes, with all the planning for my wedding and with all my happiness, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t causing you undue turmoil.” Mary grasped the knot of the woolen shawl she’d draped around her shoulders.

Something clanged overhead, a hollow ring like a pitchfork hitting a pail.

Mary glanced upward to the dark beams and the shadows beyond.

Susanna held her breath.

“Don’t worry about me.” Susanna prayed Mary would assume the noises in the loft came from the barn cat. “I’m faring as well as can be.”

“Are you happy?” Mary asked as she stepped gingerly across the hay-strewn floor.

Tom hadn’t moved, except for the deepening of the creases in his forehead.

Susanna wanted to motion to him to return to his work,
afraid that if Mary looked at him, she would suspect something was wrong.

But Mary passed him without even the slightest acknowledgment, as if he were no more important than one of the barn animals.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Mary.” The sour stench of Dotty’s vomit rose up around her. She knew she needed to get Mary out of the barn before she suspected anything.

Mary stopped in front of her. “Are you sure, Susanna? You seem rather melancholy this week.”

It would be only a matter of seconds before Mary caught a whiff of the vomit and began to question her. How could she answer without having Mary believing
she
was ill and then running back to Mother with the news?

“I’m perfectly happy for you and your Mr. Cranch.”

Mary’s nose began to wrinkle.

“Come now.” Susanna linked arms with Mary and led her toward the barn door. “If I have reason to be melancholy, it’s only because I’m pining at the thought that I may never find love quite as ardent as that which you share with your beloved.”

“Oh, my dearest,” Mary said as she ambled along next to her, “I was afraid you might be feeling that way.”

Susanna swallowed her guilt. She wasn’t exactly lying again. From time to time she did wonder if she’d ever find a worthy match, a man who would accept her for who she truly was—for her questions and interests, some of which seemed to push the bounds of propriety.

“Be of good cheer.” Mary squeezed her arm when they reached the door. “You’ll find a good match . . . eventually. I’m sure after my wedding, Mother will begin working in earnest to find you a suitable husband.”

“I have no doubt she will.” Mother had always insisted that Mary be the first to wed. Susanna had wanted to tell Mother not to fear, that there would never be any chance Susanna the moon would outshine her fair sister.

Now that Mary’s future had been secured, Susanna’s turn was next. Mother would indeed appoint her attention to finding Susanna’s husband. She would make it her full-time occupation as any good mother would.

Susanna opened the barn door and ushered Mary outside. As soon as the barn door clicked shut behind them, Susanna released a breath, grateful her sister was so easily distracted, that Dotty’s presence had gone undetected for the time being.

But how long could she hope to hide the girl before someone discovered her?

Mary smiled at her, and in the grayness of the afternoon Mary’s joy was like a beam of sunshine.

“Perhaps you’ll find contentment with Elbridge?” Mary said hesitantly. “He’s been rather kind and attentive to you of late.”

“At least he’s not mercilessly teasing me anymore.” Susanna didn’t harbor any affection for her cousin, but she knew she couldn’t disregard the possibility of a match with him.

“And what of Mr. Ross?” Mary asked as they strolled arm in arm across the barnyard.

Susanna’s heart gave a strange skitter forward at the mention of Mr. Ross’s name, but she rapidly brushed aside the thought of a match with him. “Mother would never allow me to consider him. Not in a thousand years.”

Mary nodded.

“And besides,” Susanna continued, “hasn’t he set his sights on Hannah? Who could ever compete with our dear cousin
for a man’s affection?” Susanna was surprised at the bitter tone that seeped out.

For a reason she couldn’t explain, she’d been relieved that Elbridge had foiled Ben’s proposal plans. But he was a determined man, and she had the feeling he wouldn’t give up his aspirations toward Hannah quite so easily.

Mary plucked a piece of straw from the sleeve of Susanna’s jacket. “Don’t worry. The right young man will come along soon enough.”

“Perhaps.” But she wasn’t holding out much hope, because she was becoming more convinced with each passing day that she couldn’t marry someone unless she counted him as both a friend and admirer.

Ben shoved against Parson Wibird’s door and stopped short when it didn’t open. The parson never locked his door. Something was wrong.

“Who’s there?” came the parson’s voice on the other side of the thick door.

“It is only I, Benjamin Ross.”

The lock rattled for an eternity, then finally the door opened, but just a crack. Parson Wibird’s face peeked out, his squinty eyes narrowing upon Ben.

“Where’s Joe Sewall?” Ben peered past the parson into the hallway cluttered with books, crates, and an assortment of papers. “And why are you locking your door?”

“I’ve had some threats.” Parson Wibird swung open the door and motioned Ben inside with a wave of his hand.

Ben slipped through and was surprised when the parson slammed the door closed behind him and relocked it.

Parson Wibird straightened and then massaged the back of his neck, weariness drawing tight lines across his usually
composed face. “Mr. Sewall is safe. But if some of the men had their way, they’d drag him out and hang him.”

Ben shook his head at the ongoing ignorance of the men. If only he was at liberty to share his suspicions about who was really behind the murders. Just the thought again of what he’d discovered sent a chill up his spine.

“Mr. Sewall is tucked safely away in my keeping room.” The parson cocked his head toward the lean-to along the back of the parsonage, which served as a kitchen and sitting area.

As a bachelor, the parson had hired one of the poor women of Braintree’s First Church parish to come several times a week and do his cooking and cleaning. But Ben had the feeling the woman was forever facing an uphill battle in keeping the parson’s home clean and organized.

Parson Wibird fidgeted with the lock again. “I told him he had to stay with me—at least until you can find evidence for the real murderer.”

“I’m getting closer.”

“Then you know who did it?”

Ben swallowed his frustration. It hadn’t taken him long to get the information he’d needed. A few well-placed questions with the right people had given him the name of the man some of the merchants hired to track their runaways.

It was the name of the person he most wanted to avoid. . . .

“Lieutenant Wolfe.” Ben’s muscles tightened just thinking about the lieutenant quartered in Weymouth in such close proximity to Susanna and Dotty. His heart had urged him to ride out to Weymouth and warn Susanna. He’d wanted to do it ever since he’d heard the name. And even tonight, as weary as he was, he wished he had an excuse to ride the four miles to visit her.

Parson Wibird crossed his lanky arms and rocked back and forth on his heels, obviously waiting for further explanation.

“Apparently the lieutenant has gained quite the reputation in Boston for being able to locate runaway slaves and indentured servants. He’s had a high success rate in returning the runaways, even if some of his methods are a bit cruel. But no one seems to mind so long as he does the job.”

“So you think those murdered girls were runaways?”

“I have no solid proof now that they’re dead and buried.”

“And even if we knew for certain the girls had been runaways, how can we connect the lieutenant to their murders?” The parson’s forehead furrowed.

The impossibility of the situation weighed upon Ben, slumping his shoulders. “I’m afraid we don’t have much evidence of anything. At this point I’m merely speculating.” The only proof he had that the other two girls were runaways was the similarity of their situation to Dotty’s, except that in Dotty’s case, so far she’d managed to outrun and outwit the lieutenant in his twisted game of cat and mouse.

Even if Ben could prove Lieutenant Wolfe had been tracking the murdered women, Parson Wibird was right. Ben still wouldn’t have evidence that the lieutenant actually killed them. Unless he involved Dotty. She could identify and testify against the lieutenant. The scars on her feet would link her to the murdered women. But would that be enough?

“I trust that you have reasons to suspect the lieutenant that I don’t know about,” said the parson, studying Ben’s face.

Ben nodded. As much as he wanted to disclose the information he had about Dotty, he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew Susanna would be safe from any repercussions in helping the runaway.

“Nevertheless,” Parson Wibird continued, “it would be
a very serious matter to press charges of murder against an officer of the king, even if we had solid evidence against him. But to level accusations against the lieutenant when we have nothing but speculations? We would only bring trouble upon ourselves and perhaps our community if we were to do so.”

“Then I guess I’ll need to search for something we can use against the lieutenant, something that would prove he’s indeed the murderer.”

Parson Wibird widened his permanently squinted eyes, giving Ben a glimpse of the same doubts that had been plaguing him in recent days. “In the meantime, it doesn’t appear we’re much further along in defending Joe, does it?”

“I’m sorry, Parson.” If Ben couldn’t prove Lieutenant Wolfe was the murderer, how would he be able to keep the townspeople from acting on their fears and hanging Joe Sewall?

“I guess this means I’ve got a permanent houseguest and will need to install several more locks.”

“I’d be indebted to you if you’d continue to keep Joe safe until I can sort out my next plan of action and talk more with the constable.”

Parson Wibird clamped him on the shoulder. “You don’t even need to ask. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Ben wiped his tired eyes, freeing them from the dust and grit that had built up from his long ride that day. He’d finally left the circuit and stopped in Boston to see Hannah in the Quincy mansion at the top of Beacon Hill.

And now he regretted he’d wasted the time visiting her.

Of course he’d planned to propose again. But she’d had other guests and had been distracted. Besides, he’d been just plain tired and anxious to get home after several weeks away. At least that’s what he’d told himself during the ride back to Braintree.

But the truth was, as much as he needed a woman like Hannah, he hadn’t thought about her once during the time he was away. He hated to admit it, but he’d thought much more about Susanna. And a part of him rationalized that he couldn’t marry one woman when he was clearly enamored with another.

Whatever the case, he hadn’t been able to muster the enthusiasm or desire to propose to Hannah. In fact, he was irritated more than anything. If he hadn’t made the stop to visit her, he might have had time to ride out to Weymouth and see Susanna to warn her about his suspicions regarding Lieutenant Wolfe. Surely he could have derived some excuse for a visit.

But even as he gripped the door handle, he knew he had to proceed carefully. He’d only jeopardize the secrecy of the Caucus Club and the safety of the underground smuggling operations if he made an appearance in Weymouth without a solid reason. Lieutenant Wolfe already suspected his involvement. He couldn’t give the man any more reasons to question him.

No. He’d have to wait for Cranch’s wedding on the following Friday, and then he’d have to find a way to talk with Susanna alone.

In the meantime, he’d write her another letter and warn her to stay as far away from Lieutenant Wolfe as possible.

Susanna dipped her rag into the soft soap Phoebe had recently made from the barrel of ashes, along with the grease they’d accumulated during the fall butchering. With the clear jellylike soap, Susanna wiped the marble surrounding the fireplace, rubbing away streaks of soot and bringing the speckled stone to a gleaming shine.

The rancid odor of the lye stung her eyes, and she paused in her work to blink back a watery tickle.

“Keep working, Susanna,” Mother said from the side table where she stood polishing several silver candle holders. “There’s no time to dawdle.”

With only two days until Mary’s wedding, Mother was in a frenzy to make the house spotless, in particular the large front parlor where they would hold the matrimonial ceremony.

The wedding wouldn’t be a large affair, mostly attended by close friends and family. There were still those Puritans among their community who shunned any ostentatious displays at weddings. They had opposed the changes in the law which had allowed weddings to be performed by ministers at home rather than civil magistrates in a public building as had been the custom.

Nevertheless, Mother expected nothing short of perfection for the day.

Mary was washing the window with such vigor that Susanna wanted to ask her if she expected to transform it into a diamond. But Susanna only smiled and bit back the words.

She couldn’t fault Mary’s nervous excitement. She was marrying a man she loved. That was indeed cause for rejoicing.

Phoebe’s footsteps in the hallway were quick and urgent. When she charged into the room, her thin face was creased with anxiety.

“What is it, Phoebe?” Mother asked. “I thought you were cleaning the guest rooms.”

“Yes, Mrs. Smith.” Phoebe’s gaze darted around the room and landed upon the carpet that graced the center of the room. “But I came to ask Miss Susie to help me shake out the carpet.”

Susanna’s pulse quickened at the unusual request, which was obviously Phoebe’s excuse to speak with her. Was something wrong with Dotty?

They’d been able to keep her presence in the barn a secret so far. But Susanna had the feeling that sooner or later someone would walk into the barn unexpectedly and find Dotty conversing in hushed tones with Tom or helping him with the barn chores as she’d been doing of late.

“The carpet needs a good beating,” Phoebe said, pulling herself up to her full height, “but I can’t manage it by myself.”

Phoebe met Mother’s stern glower without blinking. She held her turbaned head tall and her chin almost jutted with defiance. When it came to Dotty, Phoebe had been all too willing to do whatever they needed to in order to help the young woman. Phoebe’s enthusiasm had overshadowed Tom’s hesitancy and had helped Susanna forget her own uncertainties about sheltering Dotty so freely.

“Yes,” Susanna said, not wanting Phoebe to bring trouble upon herself. “Once the carpet is out of the way, Mary can more easily sweep the floor.”

Mother pressed her lips together. “Phoebe may find one of Grandmother Eve’s servants to help her.”

“They’re busy upstairs,” Phoebe persisted.

Urgency nudged Susanna harder. If Phoebe was refusing the help of the servants Grandmother Eve had sent to assist with the wedding preparations, then the situation was indeed serious. “Please, Mother. After inhaling these cleaning fumes for so long, I have need of a breath of fresh air.”

“Very well.” Mother gave a dismissive shake of her hand. “You may beat the carpet. But be quick about it.”

After donning their cloaks, Susanna and Phoebe rolled the
carpet and half carried, half dragged it out the front door to the patch of lawn.

“What’s wrong?” Susanna whispered. “Not something with Dotty, I fear.”

Phoebe dropped her end of the heavy mat. Susanna then lowered her end of the carpet onto the yellowing grass that was crusted with a layer of frost. Even though the November morning was filled with sunshine, the bitter edge of a cold breeze sliced through her cloak, making her shiver.

“When I was upstairs making the guest bed, I looked out the window—the one facing the orchard. There are a couple of soldiers in the woods beyond the orchard.”

Susanna’s heartbeat kicked into a gallop. “Do you think one of them was Lieutenant Wolfe?”

“I wouldn’t know. But who else could it be?”

Susanna had no doubt Phoebe was thinking the same thing she was—that Lieutenant Wolfe was closing in on Dotty’s whereabouts.

After the letter she’d received from Ben only yesterday, she’d been uneasy. Ben hadn’t disclosed much, only that
dear Diana needed to avoid wolves
. He’d told her he would explain more when he came to the wedding on Friday.

She hadn’t needed to read between the lines to suspect that Lieutenant Wolfe was somehow involved in tracking Dotty and perhaps connected in some way to the murders of the young women. What would Ben say if he knew Dotty was living in the barn all the time now?

A tap on the front parlor window and Mother’s frowning face peering out at them sent Susanna scurrying for the broom on the front porch while Phoebe made quick work of unrolling the carpet.

“Dotty’s not safe here.” Phoebe hefted up one side of the
heavy mat as Susanna returned. “We need to find a new hiding place.”

“Do you think they’d dare snoop around our home or the barn?” Susanna lifted a broom to beat it against the rug. “They wouldn’t dare, would they?”

Before Phoebe could answer, two horses with Redcoat riders came trotting around the side of the house.

Susanna sucked in a cold breath.

There, sitting tall and straight upon his gleaming black steed, was Lieutenant Wolfe. Next to him rode his freckle-faced, redheaded assistant. The brilliant sunshine turned the crimson of their coats into the color of freshly spilled blood.