Death of a Dyer (37 page)

“I almost forgot,” Lydia said, pulling a packet of paper from her pocket. “I found these yesterday as I tidied your room.” Rees looked at the wad blankly. “They were on your bedside table so they must be something important.”

Rees stretched out his hand and took the packet, recognizing the ribbon and spiky writing all of a sudden. “Love letters from Molly to Nate.”

“From Molly?” Lydia repeated. “That’s not her hand. She cultivates a dainty feminine cursive. Remember? The handwriting on the invitation? And look at the dates; the most recent is about twelve years ago. Richard is seventeen so Molly and Nate wed eighteen years ago.”

“From Nate to Molly then when he was in London,” Rees suggested. Of course, that could not be the case. The salutation was clearly to Nate and besides Rees knew Nate’s writing and this bore no resemblance to it all. “They were in the cottage…,” Rees said, dropping them into his pocket. “I meant to return them but forgot.”

“Good morning,” Abigail caroled as she entered the kitchen.

“The sky is clouding up,” David announced. “Looks like we’ll have rain.”

Rees jumped to his feet and crossed to the back door. Dark clouds scudded rapidly across the sky, and as he stood there peering into the heavens he heard the rumble of thunder. They all knew what that meant; the weather was changing. These dark clouds would be sweeping out this unseasonable warm weather and bringing cooler temperatures. Hailstones began pattering down upon the ground, and Rees felt a sudden cold wind swirl into the house.

David looked over his shoulder. “Let’s get out and pick as much as we can,” he said. Lydia and Abby had already started for the tender plants still producing in the kitchen garden.

Rees joined David and Augustus as they hurried to the fields to gather in as much as possible. Even pumpkins could be damaged by hail. He did not find the opportunity to ponder the mystery of Nate’s death until several hours later when, tired and wet and very cold, he returned to the house. But his mind had continued working without his conscious direction and when he returned to the puzzle the first few steps of a solution leaped into his mind.

*   *   *

Rain continued all afternoon and into the night, a heavy vicious rain that ripped the changing leaves from the trees and spread them across the ground. Many of the plants in the garden had been flattened, the leaves shredded. Any grains not harvested were destroyed.

Rees joined Lydia at the back door after supper, where she stood watching the rain pelt the tattered green. “I don’t like this time of the year,” she said. “From now until summer, no fresh food. Well, we’ll have beets.…” Rees nodded. Lydia and Abigail had been drying fruit and pickling vegetables for weeks and now would finish the last of it. The beets and apples that survived this weather would be picked and stored downstairs. Soon the cattle and the sheep would be brought back from the meadows and returned to the barns and the fenced paddocks.

Rees sighed. “We’ll see snow before you know it. And then, I’ll set up my loom in the parlor, until after we’re married. Marsh told me Nate wove for many of the local housewives and I expect to pick up some of that custom. At least for the winter.”

Lydia glanced at him, smiling, but with a shadow of worry darkening her eyes. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said. Now that he’d made the decision and accepted it, he wished the wedding over and done with. “We’ll have to speak to Father Sperling, arrange a date.” Smiling, she tentatively linked her arm in his.

Rain continued through the night. Rees knew it because he heard it; he lay awake for many hours staring sightlessly into the darkness as random snippets of conversation trotted through his mind. Consciously he saw little connection between them and he kept forcing his thoughts back to the certainties he knew.

“I visited my wife in Portland,” Marsh had said.

“King Carleton liked the girls young.” That was Susannah.

“I left when Richard ran home,” James had said. “Nate was still alive.”

“Richard came back to the house,” Kate said. “I saw him.”

“You and Nate were such close friends.” Caro’s voice echoed through his head.

“Do you speak Greek?” Carleton’s mocking question.

When Rees finally slid into sleep he dreamed of Nate, first of the boy, and then of the man. Nate put his arm tight around his friend’s shoulders. “We’ll always be together, Will,” he said. “You and me.” His grip tightened as he aged into adulthood and firmly commanded Rees not to marry, never to marry. Rees flung out in a temper. Why was Nate telling him what to do?

Rees woke up with his eyes moist. Rain still rattled on the roof overhead and dripped from the eaves. David and Lydia crept downstairs, but Rees remained in bed, staring at the gray early morning light. He pondered Nate and the childhood friendship that had been more vital to him than his parents and the final argument that had irretrievably broken the bond. Finally he picked up the letters and, untying the ribbon that bound them, he began to read.

Although he did not read all of them, concentrating upon the oldest and the newest, he felt he’d read enough to understand something else about Nate. Preoccupied, he finally arose and went downstairs. He replied to David’s and Lydia’s questions in monosyllables, so distracted, he did not notice the glance they shared. After breakfast he harnessed Amos to the buggy, which would provide more protection from the rain than the open wagon, and set off for Dugard. His coat and hat were soaked before he even left his driveway.

Although this was market day, he passed only a few wagons and other buggies. The rain had discouraged most of the farmers. Rees viewed the empty, albeit muddy, road with favor and urged Amos into the fastest gait possible.

The Potters were awake as Rees had expected, but still at breakfast. Sally regarded the dripping apparition at the back door in surprise. “Why Mr. Rees,” she said.

“Who is it, Sally?” Mr. Potter asked from inside the kitchen.

“Mr. Rees,” Sally called. She was too polite to say “again.”

“Where’s your manners, girl? Let him in out of the wet.” Mrs. Potter hastened to the door and flung it wider. “Please, Will, come in.”

Rees obeyed with alacrity and stood dripping upon the brick. He could see through the inside door into the kitchen, where the Potters ate en famille.

George Potter had risen from the table and, as he dropped his napkin to the table, he regarded his friend in surmise. “Why Will, what is it?” And then, “You’ve figured it out.”

“Not all of it,” Rees said, “but most.” He handed his wet coat and hat to Mrs. Potter.

“Let’s go upstairs to my office,” Potter suggested. He cast a glance back at his wife and she nodded as though he’d spoken his wishes aloud. Rees followed Potter through the house and up the stairs to the office on the second floor. The lawyer took his usual seat behind his desk and motioned his friend into the chair in front. “All right,” he said. “Tell me.”

Rees smiled. “Not yet. I prefer to tell everyone at once.”

“Can you at least explain why Nate Bowditch, a man I knew from childhood and someone I counted as a friend, chose a lawyer from another town to represent him.”

“That’s why,” Rees said. “You are friend to everyone involved.”

Potter frowned, unsatisfied. “He must know I would always be impartial.” Rees said nothing. “Tomorrow is Sunday. So you must meet with everyone this afternoon or Monday.”

“Can we do it today?”

Potter rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “I suppose. We’ll have to hire a few lads to carry the message around.”

Rees nodded. “I’ll pay the few farthings necessary. And please, send someone to my farm to fetch Augustus. I have a few errands.…”

Potter looked at his friend curiously but assented with a nod.

When Rees left Dugard, he drove toward Thomas Bowditch’s farm and the family graveyard where Nate was buried. Although Rees had not attended his friend’s internment, he knew the location of the cemetery. He remembered joining Nate at his mother’s burial. He parked on the road and walked through the sodden fields to the small plot. The stones marking the plots of Nate’s parents were already weathered and dark with rain. Nothing marked Nate’s grave but a muddy rectangle. Rees stood at the foot, wishing he’d brought something, flowers or a boyhood treasure, to place upon Nate’s unmarked final resting place. For a moment he just stood there, staring at the mud. He’d intended to tell Nate that he’d identified the murderer, but instead he said, “I’m sorry, Nate. I’m sorry we didn’t speak sooner. I’m sorry we didn’t become friends again. But I know who killed you.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it,” Thomas said from behind him, “how one can be so furious with a brother and still miss him so much when he’s gone?”

Rees jumped and whirled in surprise. “I didn’t even know him these past few years and I…” He stopped, his throat closing. He turned his face away to hide the moisture in his eyes.

“I know. Come down to the house and dry off by the fire. You’re soaked to the skin.” Clapping Rees upon the shoulder, Thomas drew him away from the grave.

By tacit agreement, Rees and Thomas did not speak of the murder. Instead they reminisced about the boy they both knew. Thomas shared several stories about the man his brother had become, a man that, in some ways, was the same rascal Rees remembered. “So the Widow Penner kept returning the cloth,” Thomas said, “and telling Nate it wasn’t green enough. So, although he’d already dyed it green, he dyed it blue and then yellow. You never saw such a green. Mrs. Penner couldn’t deny it was green, emerald green, but you could see from her face that she didn’t like it. Nate gave her another length of cloth to make up for it, dyed a dark blue. She was grateful. I daresay she was through with green.”

Rees laughed. “But he has some bright green,” he said, recalling the apron hung from the ceiling of the dye room. Thomas nodded.

“Now. He found the trick of it after.” Thomas paused and then added, “I suppose there won’t be much demand for dyers now, with the current fashion for whites and pale grays.”

“I doubt that style will last for long,” Rees said. “White doesn’t flatter everyone and rapidly becomes tedious.”

Thomas nodded. “My brother said the same.”

“He always liked bright colors,” Rees said. “Remember, he used to help your mother set the pieces in her quilts.”

Thomas nodded and sighed.

Finally Rees rose. “I know I’m keeping you from your work,” he said. “And I have to return to town.”

Thomas nodded. “I’ll see you at two o’clock,” he said. “I look forward to knowing the name of the villain who killed my brother.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Noon was fast approaching when Rees finally returned home. The rain had diminished to drizzle and he hoped for clearing skies by evening.

Lydia came out upon the porch when she heard the buggy wheels. “My goodness,” she said, “you look half-drowned. Come inside for dinner.” Rees tossed the reins over the rail and took the steps at a run. But even before he set foot in the hall, he heard Caroline shouting at Charlie. He looked at Lydia.

“Your sister does not care to eat alone in the cottage,” she explained. Rees said nothing. He could hardly wait until his sister and her children found another home.

With so many hungry mouths around the table, Lydia had thought ahead and prepared a large stew. Rees recognized some of the vegetables picked from the kitchen garden the previous day. Lydia also sent around a basket of bread, the last of this week’s baking. At least the children were not noisy; they still ate with a single-minded hunger that made Rees’s skin crawl. Had Sam starved his children? He looked at his sister. She caught his glance but did not speak and his initial frustration at their continued presence in his home faded. He realized they were all frightened. Even Caro was too scared to stay alone in the cottage. They felt safer here, in the kitchen, with other people around them. “I’m trusting you to keep watch,” he said to his son with an emphatic nod.

“Of course.” David straightened his shoulders, very conscious of his responsibility. “I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

Rees ate little, too preoccupied to feel hungry. Lydia was nervous also; she pushed away her bowl untouched. “I think it’s time to leave,” he said to her. She rose instantly to her feet and went to the hooks for her cloak and winter bonnet. Rees clapped his old hat upon his head, the newer one being too wet to wear, and donned his best coat of indigo-dyed linen. They went outside to the buggy. Augustus had already put Bessie between the traces and was sitting in the backseat, waiting.

“Will my mother be there?” Augustus asked.

“I hope so. And James Carleton as well as Molly and Richard Bowditch. If he can make it.”

After that no one spoke.

They were the first to arrive at Potter’s office. Although they were early, he was ready for them and with a great flourish seated Lydia in a chair by the desk. As Augustus took up a position next to the wall, Potter gestured Rees to the desk. Sally brought in cake and coffee. Rees accepted a cup but then couldn’t drink it. His stomach fluttered, as it always did before a presentation of this sort.

Jack and Susannah arrived next, with Rachel in tow. “She wouldn’t come without us,” Susannah explained to Rees. Her bright gaze fastened upon Lydia and as soon as she could Susannah hastened to Lydia’s side.

“Weddings, you know,” Jack said to him. Rees sighed.

Rachel clasped hands with Augustus before finding a chair somewhat removed from the others.

Dr. Wrothman was next up the stairs, quickly followed by Caldwell. The constable joined Augustus leaning against the wall. Potter, trying not to breathe, quickly flung up a window. Then James Carleton plodded up the stairs. Rees stared at him, shocked by his appearance. A sling held his bandaged shoulder still. Well, Rees had expected that. But dark circles ringed Carleton’s eyes as though he hadn’t slept for several days, and instead of a finely woven jacket and silk waistcoat he wore a simple linen coat, tow colored. Food spotted the shirt underneath. Potter glanced at Rees as Dr. Wrothman hurried to Carleton’s side to help him sit down.