Cradle to Grave (32 page)

“Perhaps Owen Randall?” Rees suggested. “They seemed to be friendly.”

“They were?” Cooper looked startled. “I'll ask him. Of course he probably won't tell me anything. The selectmen think they own the town.”

Rees hesitated, reluctant to ask the question he felt must be asked. “Cooper. Where did you meet Maggie?”

Although Rees thought for a moment that the constable would not answer, Cooper said abruptly, “My wife was living with her parents then. Maggie and I met in my house at the back of the shop. Once or twice we went to the shop, after hours.” He sighed. “I should have married Maggie Whitney. I was a coward. I allowed my father-in-law to frighten me. Now I am wed to Genevieve for good or ill, and I regret it.”

Rees clapped the constable on the back with wordless sympathy.

*   *   *

Rees rode back to the cabin on horseback. It was painful. He no longer rode astride very often, especially without benefit of a saddle, and he hurt. Muscles unaccustomed to this position complained in bands of fire and he thought he might be rubbing up some blisters in his nether regions. Dismounting with a groan at the foot of the drive, he walked the horse up the slope to the lean-to and put him inside. He limped into the cottage. Lydia was serving supper to the children, including Simon, who'd returned from the Baker farm. Baked beans and salt pork, now rather crusty from reheating, and biscuits soaked in milk.

Rees waddled to the rocking chair in front of the fire and gingerly lowered himself into the chair. “Rough ride?” Lydia asked, approaching with a bowl of beans.

“I'm not a boy anymore,” Rees admitted with a rueful smile.

“What happened?”

“The house is gone,” Rees said. “Whatever Silas had was destroyed.” He sighed. “The cleansing power of fire.”

Lydia nodded. “Like Dugard.” During Rees's search for a friend's murderer at home in Dugard last year, one of the suspects had been put in jail for his own protection. The murderer had burned down the jail in an attempt to kill, not just destroy evidence. Lydia put her hand upon his. “I'm sorry. But your investigation isn't over.” She glanced at the children. Rees followed her gaze. Jerusha and Nancy so fair, their light hair curling around their faces. Simon, white skinned, but with hair almost as dark as Joseph's and those astonishing gray eyes. And then there was Judah, fair skinned and brown haired. “Who is Judah's father?”

“Do you believe Mrs. Baker?” Rees asked in a soft voice. “She accused Maggie of picking up men.”

Lydia hesitated, her face wrinkled with thought. “No,” she said at last in a very low voice. “I don't. Think about it. The constable fathered both Jerusha and Nancy, and when Maggie knew she was expecting the older girl, she married Mr. Whitney to give her a name. She tried to maintain a certain respectability.”

“The man who fathered Simon cared enough to give Maggie a valuable teething stick,” Rees said, following her thoughts.

“And the silver dollars.” She paused. “Let's talk to Mouse. It's been several days since we visited her anyway, and…”

A shrill scream interrupted her and she moved quickly to separate Judah and Nancy.

Rees remained seated for a few seconds more and then rose to fetch the Bible from the shelf. He sat down in the rocking chair to read it by the flickering light of the flames burning on the hearth.

He looked for Maggie's untutored printing several pages in. He skipped the entries for Jerusha and Simon. Nancy's birthdate was given as summer (Independence Day?) 1791. He looked at her, carding wool at Lydia's feet; she would be five this summer. Although Maggie had wet-nursed Maartje's baby after Simon's birth, the Griffin baby's death had removed the contraceptive effect and Maggie's relationship with Cooper had resulted in another pregnancy.

And finally Judah, born May 1794. Maggie had been employed as a wet nurse after his birth, but the length of time between children also hinted at an enforced chastity.

Rees flipped forward to the Tucker page and the list of deaths. Olive's death was entered, in Maggie's crude hand, as May 1793. Rees had been in Pittsburgh that year, caught in the turmoil now referred to as the Whiskey Rebellion. And Maggie, clearly, had been busy caring for her mother as well as for her children.

He looked at the notations for Olive's siblings: “gone west” was repeated several times. And throughout the Bible there were comments written in Olive's carefully schooled hand in the margins. “This is truth,” read one.

“Did you find anything useful?” Lydia asked.

“Not really,” Rees said. Slamming the Bible shut, he dropped it onto the mantel.

Sleep did not come easily that night. He thrashed about, his busy thoughts keeping him from relaxing. He was almost convinced the Reverend Vermette was Judah's father. But, if so, where had he and Maggie gone to meet? Rees had searched the church and Mr. Randall's daughter had sworn no one could creep into the inn without being seen.

“Can't sleep?” Lydia asked, turning to face him.

“No.” Rees sighed. “I think I must search the Reverend Vermette's bedchamber at the Ram's Head. His betrothal to Miss Pike is recent and, if he and Maggie were meeting, they must have gone somewhere. And Maggie's cloak still has not been found.”

“Perhaps Reverend Vermette cleaned the attic in the log meetinghouse very carefully,” Lydia suggested. “That's why you saw nothing. But Maartje might have seen Maggie and the Reverend.” Her words trailed away.

“Perhaps,” Rees agreed. “I think I'll take another look at the meetinghouse, too. Just to be thorough.”

“We should talk to Maartje,” Lydia said, adding, “She is probably still home with the new baby. Miss Pike told me she'd delivered.”

“Yes,” Rees agreed. “And I must speak to Mouse again, as you suggested.”

“I miss her,” Lydia said.

Rees nodded. “And she knew Maggie, at least a little, and she's the only one I trust to tell the truth. Everyone else, Cooper, Vermette, even Owen Randall, have lied to me.”

“Good,” Lydia said, beginning to sound drowsy. “I want to see her again.”

Rees nodded and yawned. Now, with a plan, the activity in his mind was easing and he thought he could finally sleep.

*   *   *

First thing the next morning he hitched Ares to the buggy. Although the rain had stopped the previous day, the warmer temperatures had continued melting the snow. Ares plodded through the mud with his head hanging low, conveying without words his distaste for these conditions.

Constable Cooper was not in his shop but at the tavern eating breakfast. With the departure of Cooper's wife, Rees suspected the constable spent most of his time now at the Ram's Head. Mr. Randall sat at the checkerboard, as usual, playing one of his innumerable games. And no doubt listening to all that went on behind him.

Cooper was tucking into a bowl of stew when Rees approached. With a much put upon sigh, he put down his slice of bread and pushed away his bowl. “What now?” he asked.

Rees sat down in the chair across from the table. When Mr. Randall's daughter scurried over with a bowl of stew and a beaker of cider for Rees, he did not protest. He ate a few mouthfuls before speaking. Cooper fiddled with his own glass of ale and began tearing his piece of bread into fragments.

“You know I suspect Reverend Vermette is Judah's father?”

“For a while the pastor visited the farm regularly.” Cooper pushed his glass around the table. “But that doesn't mean he and Maggie were intimate. Besides, fathering one of her brats doesn't mean he murdered her.”

“But it could. Maybe Maggie threatened to tell Miss Pike.”

“And why would Miss Pike care?” Cooper asked with a nasty grin. “She won. Vermette dropped Maggie for Miss Pike. And for her daddy's land and money. That's the way the world works.”

Rees wanted to strike Cooper for his cynicism. “Maybe if Maggie threatened to tell the selectmen and they assessed Vermette for Judah's maintenance?” Rees said. “I'm sure Miss Pike wouldn't care for that.”

“Maggie would have to prove it first.”

“And then there's the shame.…”

Cooper rolled his eyes.

Even Rees knew that argument was weak. “Is there anyone else?” he asked.

“She may have simply picked up a man.”

“Do you believe that?” Rees asked quietly. “I didn't know Maggie. You did. But I don't believe it of her.”

Cooper hesitated for a long moment and then slowly shook his head. “No. I don't. Maggie wasn't like that. She's had some bad luck with men but … she just wanted a home and family.” He looked up, his eyes moist with tears. “I still can't believe she's gone.”

Rees paused for a few beats to allow the other man to compose himself. “We still have not found Maggie's cloak. Will you accompany me upstairs to search Reverend Vermette's room?”

Cooper scrubbed his arm across his eyes. “All right. I don't believe Vermette is guilty of murder, but I've been surprised before.” He swallowed the remainder of his ale in one long draft and stood. “We're going to take a look at the preacher's room,” he told Mr. Randall.

“I don't think he'd care for that,” Mr. Randall said. Cooper stared at him. Mr. Randall sighed and followed them to the foot of the stairs. “Don't destroy anything,” he shouted after them.

Vermette's room was at the very top of the house, at the end of a steep climb to the fourth floor. The sole door was unlocked, and as soon as Rees opened it he understood why. The room was monastic in its simplicity, containing only a bed covered with a quilt, a stand with a jug and ewer, and a chair with a Bible upon the seat. All the pegs were empty except one, from which hung a clean shirt. A canvas valise, much worn, lay upon the floor. Rees recognized it as the one he'd seen in Mr. Gray's house. He stared at it. What had Vermette been doing there? And did Mr. Gray know?

“You see?” Cooper said. “Nothing here.”

“I see,” Rees said. “Vermette couldn't have brought Maggie here without someone spotting them.” And not just Randall would be watching. Rees and Cooper had passed several people on the way up to the fourth floor; the stairs wound through the center of this old building, and there was no way to get through the building unseen.

The constable said nothing, but he threw a smug glance at his companion and chuckled as he clattered down the stairs. Rees sighed. He would have to question Mr. Gray again. And maybe Mouse had remembered something more. He hoped so. He was beginning to fear everything he thought he knew might be wrong.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The wheels of the buggy got stuck several times in the heavy, wet, melting snow. The muddy surface underneath was no help: just another sticky layer. Rees had to help Ares pull through it, and his boots were quickly soaked. When the slurry of snow and mud caught the wheels for the third time, Lydia jumped down to remove her weight from the buggy. She walked by the side of the road where it was drier. With no weight but the buggy's, Ares succeeded in pulling it free. Rees and Lydia climbed back into their vehicle. The hem of Lydia's dress and cloak were saturated six inches high.

When they reached Mount Unity, later than they expected, they saw the Brethren out in the fields. Long dark furrows sliced the white. They were probably planting peas, usually one of the first crops.

Rees was unsurprised by the length of time he and Lydia had to wait; everyone was busy. Finally one of the Eldresses appeared and brought them upstairs to the apartment. She smiled at them, but tendrils of hair had escaped from her cap and she appeared flustered. She left them alone in the cool hall for some time, finally reappearing with Mouse in tow. Then she ushered them all into the small room at the back and departed. Rees took down three chairs from the pegs on the wall.

“Have you solved the mystery?” Mouse asked. “Oh, I hope so.”

“No. But getting closer,” Rees said. He watched disappointment dim her excitement.

“But I don't know anything,” she said. “I told you everything I heard.”

“I'm sure you did,” Rees said. “But I am at a standstill. And you are the only one I trust to tell me the truth.”

“Let's start at the very beginning,” Lydia suggested. “When you and Sister Joan arrived at the cabin. The second time. What did Maggie say when you went in?”

“Nothing,” Mouse said. “She was in the bedroom. Sister Joan and I brought the basket in and then I heard Joseph's breathing.” Remembered fear brought tears into her eyes. “So I picked him up. And I asked Sister if I could stay a little while.”

“Was Maggie already passed out?” Rees asked in confusion. He recalled Mouse describing a conversation with Maggie.

“No. She was talking with Mary Pettit. I couldn't hear what they were saying. But Maggie started crying. And then laughing.” Mouse looked at Lydia and Rees in astonishment. “I'd forgotten that.”

“Mary Pettit was there?” Rees's voice rose into a shout. Mouse jerked back, startled. Lydia put a hand over Rees's. When he looked at her she widened her eyes and shook her head. Frowning, Rees fell silent.

“What was she doing there?” Lydia asked in a gentle voice.

“Visiting, I suppose.” Mouse grimaced in disapproval. “She brought Maggie whiskey. I could smell it on them.”

That explained some of the jugs lined up in the cabin, Rees thought.

“Do you know why Maggie was crying?” Lydia asked.

“No. And I couldn't hear what they were saying. Judah and Nancy were quarreling over a toy. I wasn't paying much attention anyway,” she added, lifting her chin defiantly. “I was holding Joseph.”

“Did you hear either Maggie or Mary Pettit say anything at all?” Lydia asked.

“As Mrs. Pettit started out the door, Maggie said, ‘I'll make him pay.' And they both laughed.”