A Mischief in the Snow (32 page)

“Then you admit you tried to make us believe
that your own son
is a murderer?” asked Longfellow, to be very sure—and to gain time by keeping the lawyer talking.

“Certainly. I supposed he had more of his mother in him, and that he would run away, taking the blame. But he proved too intelligent—probably because I, too, contributed to his being.”

“And now?” asked Charlotte.

“Now, we will proceed from judgment, to sentencing.”

“How do you propose,” asked Longfellow, “to accomplish our silence with one pistol?”

The attorney walked to an alcove where several curios were displayed. Among them was a rosewood box.

“Oh—” Charlotte breathed, as Moses Reed reached to open the lid.

“They're not loaded,” Longfellow informed him. “I keep powder and balls hidden, after another guest took— certain liberties.”

“But I've brought powder and balls for my own weapon. Earlier in my visit, I made sure that yours, too, were serviceable. In case I might come to need them.” He cocked first one dueling pistol, then the other.

Longfellow's eyes went to the door. The lawyer laughed, and stepped to block it. Two cocked pistols were now in Reed's hands. A third lay on the tea table at his side.

“I don't care who you are,” Ned cried defiantly. “I won't help you!”

“If you come with me willingly, boy,” his father answered, “I will let you live.”

“For how long?” the young man returned.

Charlotte gasped, and Moses Reed gave her a reassuring
smile. He could not see that Magdalene Knowles, wearing felt-soled slippers, had come into the doorway behind him, on her way to the kitchen with a tea tray.

“Have no fear, Mrs. Willett. It should be less painful than the other end of my pistol, which you felt yesterday. And your head will no longer trouble you. As for your heart, it may as well be taken by me as by another.”

“And Magdalene?” Longfellow challenged. “What of her?”

“I have no further interest in what becomes of Magdalene Knowles. With no one left to care for her, she'll die soon enough. And that will be that.”

“I doubt it,” said Longfellow.

Reed turned at a slight sound, but he was too late. Magdalene had thrown the tray with surprising force; the man who had once claimed to love her raised his arms instinctively.

She launched herself toward him like a wild thing, causing Reed to stagger and fall, and cry out as he twisted a knee. Her full skirts flew over his face as she attempted to claim one of the weapons he'd dropped—the lawyer hung on to the pistol in his right hand. By some miracle, neither one had yet gone off.

Ned joined his writhing parents on the floor, clutching an arm that still threatened them with sudden death. For a few seconds he held on, until Moses Reed struck him a fierce blow with a clenched fist. The boy fell away, but by then Longfellow had leaped across the entangled bodies. Using a heel for encouragement, he made the attorney drop his weapon. He moved swiftly to reclaim a second, on the table. Turning to survey the scene, he saw Charlotte standing with a raised poker, her eyes flashing, much of her soft hair fallen down about her face.

Finally accepting what had happened, Reed sank back
with a groan. At last Magdalene straightened her skirts, then reached beneath them. In another moment, her hand emerged with the third pistol.

She studied it for a moment, seeming to consider, while the others froze. She turned so that the barrel faced the man beside her. Without even a flicker of expression, she then made another sudden move—and flung the pistol aside, into the fire.

The sharp explosion that followed caused a final moment of panic, until it was discovered that no one in the room had been injured after all.

“Well, Reed,” said Richard Longfellow, as Ned rose to his feet. “It would appear that once more, your plans have changed. But none here will harm you further, as long as you stay still. We will all be glad, I think, to leave that privilege to the courts. Ned,” he instructed, “go across to the inn, and tell Captain Montagu he's needed. Don't explain why. The village will soon know the truth—but not, I think, tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps, when Mr. Reed is on his way back to Boston, with a suitable escort. Wait a moment—tell Cicero, too. He'll not forgive me if he misses the rest.”

“Gladly sir.” Ned stared down at the man on the floor, but turned away without a word. Instead he went to his mother, to kiss her cheek in a manner that seemed entirely natural.

“I thank you, again,” he said, “for my life.”

At long last, Magdalene Knowles had reason to smile.

C
HARLOTTE WILLETT AND
Richard Longfellow sat together in her blue study, on the afternoon of his return from a trip to Cambridge. Winter's grip had loosened; they now sat with their sides, rather than their feet, to the fire.

“Reed will be hanged within the month,” he reported. “Few were surprised that none of his Suffolk County colleagues offered to come and defend him—nor did any here in Middlesex. He stood to give his own defense, with the usual results. It seems even lawyers can't abide someone who has so thoroughly tainted their fine profession. In fact, I heard John Adams made it a point to go personally across the Charles to chastise Reed, while the fellow sat in jail. There is nothing a man of rhetorical skill enjoys more than a captive audience,” he finished with a bemused smile.

“Lem,” Charlotte offered, “went to visit Jonah, Ned, and Magdalene last evening. They've all decided Bermuda's healthy climate would be best for their future home
together. That had been Ned's plan for his grandfather all along. And a physician he summoned last week from Boston gives Jonah every hope for many more years, if he no longer has to face the winter cold.”

“That's good to hear. I'll go and visit them tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry you missed our own excitement…”

During the time Richard was in Cambridge, Charlotte and the rest of the village had been roused one night by the meeting house bell, which rang out madly. At first it seemed there must be some mistake, for no one smelled smoke. A few supposed a superstitious neighbor had been unsettled by a magnificent display of the aurora borealis. This time, it sent down draperies of red and green from the northern sky.

And then, someone had pointed lower, to the marshes, where there was a yellow glow. It was soon agreed this must be the house on the island, consuming itself. What was not decided was whether the fire had been started by an earthly hand, or by one of the malevolent spirits still residing there.

When Charlotte finished telling Longfellow of the conflagration, he suggested that it might after all have been caused by old John Fisher, gnashing his teeth at the mess his daughter had left behind. Charlotte then asked if rot of another sort, perhaps logs left to molder, might not have heated itself to the point of combustion. This caused her neighbor to praise her astute application of Scientific law. And yet, neither knew, for sure….

What was known before long was that the house, and all of its curious furnishings, had been thoroughly destroyed. As its new owner would soon travel to Bermuda, it was assumed the island would be home to no one for a generation, at least. Until then, the boars could rest easy.

“But now,” said Longfellow, after he'd taken a last
forkful of admirable cherry pie, “I wonder what you'll find to do with yourself, Carlotta.”

“I've wondered that myself. With Lem able to care for the dairy, I might try something new, I suppose.”

“Bees, perhaps?”

“Well…”

“You might consider taking up the violin; we'll need a new fiddler. But you might do better to build something useful on your brother's land, to surprise him when he visits. You'll allow me, I hope, to help you start. I've a willing pair of hands.”

“I know,” she answered, smiling. “But by planting time, what assurance do I have that you won't have them full with new plans of your own?”

“Who knows?” said Longfellow. He stretched his feet further across the fire, until they nearly touched those of his neighbor. Through the south windows, the maples already showed swollen red buds that came before the green. He imagined the new season full blown, and found himself pondering how long he'd need… to find a reason to join Charlotte in something that would take them on together, so that he might always have her at his side.

A M
ISCHIEF IN THE
S
NOW

PUBLISHING HISTORY
A Bantam Book/March 2001

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