Cradle to Grave (10 page)

“Cooper seems a good man,” Lydia said in a calm voice, putting her hand on Mouse's back. “He'll watch over the children.” Rees knew Lydia did not agree with him about that, but she managed to sound convincing as she comforted Mouse.

“He'll do nothing,” Mouse said, consigning Cooper to the company of the wicked.

“I agree with you. Mrs. Whitney is not a fit mother,” Lydia said. “But you won't be permitted to take those children. Not yet, anyway. I'm sorry.” She glared at Rees when Mouse put her hands over her face and wept.

Rees retreated to the top of the stairs. He knew Mouse had expected him to succeed in removing those children from their mother and, although the situation was more complicated than she knew, he still felt guilty.

Elder Herman stood and crossed the floor to join him. “Sister Hannah has been out of the World most of her life; she doesn't understand what it's like. Especially after the events of last night. I don't want to quarrel with our neighbors.”

Rees looked at the Elder. “Have you had experiences with the selectmen of Dover Springs?”

“I prefer to say this is for the best.” The Elder nodded at Rees. “Thank you for all your assistance,” he said. “You've done more than anyone could expect. I suppose you'll be leaving for home soon?”

Rees jerked his head in a cautious nod.

“Don't worry about Sister Hannah. We'll watch over her.”

“If anything changes, will you write?” Rees asked, watching Mouse wipe her eyes on her apron and pull herself erect. The Elder nodded.

“Of course.”

Mouse jerked away from the Sister. “Thank you for trying to help,” she said to Lydia. Glancing at Rees and then back to Lydia, Mouse said, “I appreciate your friendship and I understand what you have done for me.” She straightened up, her shoulders stiff and her spine straight.

“This is God's Will,” Herman said, watching Mouse with approval. “We must accept that which we cannot change.”

Mouse nodded at everyone in turn and started for the stairs.

But Rees didn't think the sudden determination expressed by Mouse's posture meant acceptance. “Mouse,” he called after her in worried concern. “Don't do anything foolish, Mouse.”

“Of course not,” she promised, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Good day to you all.” She clattered down the stairs. They heard the door slam below.

“She will be obedient to God's Will,” Elder Herman said. He spoke with total confidence. Rees shared an anxious glance with Lydia; they knew Mouse too well to believe she would meekly submit.

They followed the Shakers down to the snowy street. Herman waved a farewell and hurried back to his chores. But the Sister lingered a moment longer. “Is it true,” she asked Lydia in a soft voice, “that you were once a Shaker Sister?”

“Yes,” Lydia said. “I was. I lived in Zion.”

The Sister's gaze went to Rees and for a moment she inspected him, as though she could not understand how he had enticed Lydia away from the community. Then she, too, turned and walked quickly away.

Rees and Lydia climbed into the buggy. Lydia's forehead was furrowed, and when she was settled she said, “I'm worried. I'd like to stay an extra day, if we can? Just in case Mouse behaves rashly.”

“I agree,” Rees said, far more alarmed than he cared to admit to his wife. “We can spare a day. David will be surprised to see us return so soon—less than a month gone.”

Lydia smiled, although the anxious pinching around her eyes did not ease.

*   *   *

The night passed with no alarms, and Rees began to believe he was worrying needlessly. And he was happy to see that Lydia ate a good breakfast, so he was hopeful that she, too, regretted her anxiety.

After breakfast they purchased a substantial quantity of cornmeal and molasses at the store and set out again for the Whitney farm. A fresh layer of snow cloaked everything and more was falling from the gray sky. Although it stopped before they reached their destination, the pearly opalescent sky promised another shower. Rees looked at the sagging clouds and frowned, worried that a heavy snowfall would delay their departure.

This fresh white coat made even this shack pretty, lending an austere purity to the battered dwelling and frosting the pines standing sentinel over the outhouse. The scarecrow's rags flapped gaily at them in the cold breeze. As Ares struggled to pull the buggy up the snowy drive, Rees noticed fresh wheel tracks in the powder. They were not the first visitors this morning.

Rees threw a heavy horse blanket over Ares and he and Lydia crossed the drive to the cabin.

Jerusha opened the door, greeting them with a smile. “Come in,” she invited. “I never thanked you properly the day before yesterday.”

“You're very welcome,” Lydia said. Rees looked around the cabin. Mrs. Whitney had produced a small spinning wheel and it was drawn up to the hearth waiting for her attention. She was rocking by the fire, nursing Joseph, who appeared to be half asleep. Nancy sat on the floor carding wool while Judah played beside her. And the handful of baskets heaped upon the table proved that Maggie still had friends in Dover Springs. Someone had brought soup in a pail and now the stew bubbled over the fire. Rees recognized the wheel of cheese as coming from the inn, and Mr. Randall had included a freshly baked loaf of bread as well. Maggie had hung a chunk of fly-specked ham on a hook in the ceiling. Rees would wager that was from Cooper. Rees put the cornmeal and the molasses next to the cheese.

Jerusha clapped her hands. “We shall have enough food for a month and more,” she cried.

Rees looked at it. He did not think the food would last even a week with all these hungry mouths.

“I'll put Joseph in the cradle,” Maggie said abruptly, carefully detaching Joseph and standing up. “I must go out, Jerry.” She ignored both Rees and Lydia as though they were not there.

As she carried the baby into the back room, there was a knock. Rees, who stood closest, flung the door open. There were two visitors on the step: a man and a woman. The gentleman wore black, of plain cut although excellent broadcloth. He carried a heavy basket on one arm. His companion was a gentlewoman, garbed in a fashionable riding costume with a dark purple velvet jacket. The rich color did not flatter her sallow skin. A velvet purple hat completed her ensemble. With the addition of two more, the cabin felt even smaller and more cramped than previously.

“I am Reverend Vermette,” the man said to Rees, eyeing him curiously. “And this is my betrothed, Miss Pike. We thought we would pay a pastoral call and offer Mrs. Whitney whatever succor she requires.” He spoke in a rush, with a febrile intensity that Rees found unsettling. Reverend Vermette was all long lines: tall and lanky with a high white forehead, gaunt cheeks, and a long chin. A narrow blond mustache decorated his upper lip over a pronounced overbite. He looked desperately in need of a square meal. Maggie popped out of the back bedroom. She frowned at her new visitors but did not speak.

“So many children,” Miss Pike said, her smile revealing jagged teeth. “We heard they needed food.” She was a homely woman, her features irregular, but Rees thought her concern was genuine, although a little condescending.

Maggie shot her an angry look. “We're managing,” she said stiffly, to Rees's surprise. Why was this young woman refusing aid, especially with five hungry children to feed?

Vermette swung the large heavy basket up to the table. “These foodstuffs should sustain you for a few days or so,” he said. “Especially with the provisions Simon earns.” The boy drew himself up proudly.

Maggie crossed the cabin and lifted her shabby blue cloak from the peg. Rees noted with surprise that her blue eyes were full of tears. Her expression reminded Rees of a puppy, kicked once too often, and hiding behind her basket so no one would hurt her again. Unwillingly, pity threaded Rees's distaste for the woman. “I'm so sorry I can't stay and visit,” Maggie said, her tone indicating just the opposite, “but I have several errands.”

“Please,” said Reverend Vermette. “Please,” he said again, softening his voice, “allow me to take you into town.”

“No,” she said. “Thank you, no.”

“Allow me to at least take you to the main road in the buggy,” Rees said. Maggie turned to look at him. Although her hair had been combed and twisted into a knot, her eyes were still red rimmed and tired in her pale face. She nodded.

“Very well,” she agreed, to Rees's surprise. “But just to the main road.”

Now why, Rees thought, would Mrs. Whitney prefer to ride with him, a total stranger, instead of a man she must have at least met previously? But he didn't ask. Instead, he put on his coat and followed Maggie from the cabin, trying to ignore Lydia's horrified expression.

Maggie climbed up into the buggy, limber as a boy despite her long skirts. Rees glanced at the two horses tied up next to Ares while removing the heavy horse blanket. Since the Reverend had ridden up to the cabin on a rangy black gelding, Rees wondered how Vermette had planned to ferry Mrs. Whitney anywhere. Riding double? Surely not on Miss Pike's mount. Smaller, and saddled with a fine red leather sidesaddle, the mare shouted money in the shape of her head and her elegant carriage. Miss Pike would certainly object, and besides, Maggie probably didn't ride.

She did not speak until they reached the main road into town. “Let me off here,” she said. “Please.” As soon as Rees pulled up, she jumped down into the snow. “Thank you.” And she turned and trudged away without another word. Rees, if asked, would have described Maggie's behavior as oddly ungracious.

He turned Ares around and retraced his path. Ten or so minutes later, he pulled up to the cabin once again. After re-covering the horse with his blanket, and tying him next to the other animals, Rees went inside.

Lydia looked at Rees in undisguised relief. She had taken the rocking chair by the hearth and was leaning over Jerusha. The girl was seated at the spinning wheel and Rees realized the wheel was for the child, not for Maggie, as he'd assumed.

“Your mare is a beautiful animal,” Rees said to Miss Pike.

“Yes, thank you,” she said with a flash of her teeth. “My father interests himself in horse breeding.”

“Miss Pike is a far better rider than I am,” Reverend Vermette said, directing a fond glance at her. “And a better marksman as well.”

“My father had no son,” Miss Pike said, brushing away the compliment with one gloved hand. “So I enjoyed the benefits of his complete attention.”

“Have you sisters?” Rees asked, returning his greatcoat to the hook.

“No. My dear Mama passed on soon after my birth and my father has not remarried.”

Rees cast a glance of cynical understanding at Vermette. Miss Pike, and her husband, would likely inherit a sizable estate.

Miss Pike rose to her feet. “Please call on me as soon as you're able, Mrs. Rees,” she said. “I hope we shall become great friends.” She stretched out a hand. Lydia took it but dropped it almost immediately.

“Of course,” she said with insincere politeness. Concealing his surprise at Lydia's abruptness, Rees shook hands with Reverend Vermette and saw them out the door.

“Are you ready?” Rees asked his wife.

“In a minute.” Lydia knelt beside Jerusha. “Let me show you how.” She twisted the yarn from the spindle between her fingers until it formed a long uniform strand. “Feel this. Do you see how it is?” Placing her hand over the child's, she guided Jerusha's fingers gently over the yarn. “Now, press the treadle with your foot. Yes, like that. The roving comes puffy into your hand. Your fingers smooth it and twist it into yarn.”

Rees peered into the bedroom. Joseph, snoring faintly, turned over in the cradle. It was already too small for him. In an attempt to tidy the room, Maggie had lined the whiskey jugs up against the wall. But there were a lot of them, and Rees would wager most were empty. The pity he'd felt for her just the moment before shifted again to contempt. When he withdrew he left the door open slightly. The air inside the bedroom smelled fusty and stale, heavy with the sharp sweet pungency of the alcohol.

Lydia stood up when he reentered the room and reached for her cloak.

“Mouse didn't come by yesterday, did she?” Rees asked Jerusha. She shook her head.

“Or last night?” Lydia added. Jerusha shook her head again.

“Was she supposed to?” she asked. “I wish she would. She was kind to us.”

“No, she wasn't supposed to,” Lydia said. “We were just wondering.” The look she shot at Rees accused them both of unjust suspicions.

“If the selectmen warn you out of Dover Springs,” Rees said to Jerusha, “remember you can always go to Mouse and the Shakers.” He stared into Jerusha's face until she nodded. “Now we will say good-bye.”

“Will you visit us again?” Jerusha asked.

“Of course,” Lydia said, hugging each one in turn.

Rees put on his coat and wrapped Lydia in her cloak. They returned to the buggy in silence.

In unspoken agreement, they drove to Mount Unity. “To take our leave of Mouse,” Lydia said. Rees nodded, ashamed of his suspicions. And Mouse, when she came out of the kitchen to speak with them, seemed composed. But although she wished Lydia and Rees farewell and safe journey and promised to write, Rees felt a certain reserve in Mouse's manner. He didn't think her coolness was due to the presence of a Sister standing a short distance away, either. After those few short sentences, Mouse turned abruptly and disappeared into the kitchen once again. Lydia stared after her in dismay and then turned to Rees with an unhappy frown.

“I suppose Mouse is still angry at us,” he said as he drew her back to the buggy.

“I hate to leave it like this,” Lydia said with a sigh, looking back over her shoulder. But the door to the kitchen was firmly shut.