Diamond Duo (35 page)

“Not close.” Her voice faltered. “From here to that tree.”

“Did you touch anything?”

She shuddered. “No, sir.”

“What’s the first thing you did after you found her?”

“I didn’t stay there at all. I left in a walk.”

The constable laughed. “Likely the fastest walk ever performed in Jefferson.”

The judge gave him a stern look, and he turned away, still smiling.

Sarah couldn’t stop shaking. She clasped her hands together to keep them still then pressed them to her chin. “Can I go now?”

The judge shook his head. “Not yet. I have to summon a jury and hold an inquest.”

More words she didn’t know. “What’s an inquest?”

“An inquiry of sorts. We’ll have to carry out an official investigation.”

Her heartbeat quickened. “When?”

“Right now.”

“Where?”

He lifted his head to motion behind him. “Right over there.”

Panic clawed at her throat. “And I have to stay?”

“I need to ask you more questions. With the jury present.”

“But, Judge, my husband needs me at home. He’s ailing. I didn’t even tell him I left.” She hadn’t remembered any of these details until she spoke them aloud. “Please, sir, can’t I go? This trouble ain’t got nothing to do with me.”

“It does now. You’re an official witness. When we find out who did this, there’s going to be a trial. You’ll be called on to testify.”

The overhead trees swirled. Sarah’s stomach took a sickening dive. White spots danced before her eyes again, and bitterness rose in her throat. The judge noticed, because he offered his arm and helped her sit on the ground. “I’m real sorry, Miss. . .now what was your name again?”

She swallowed bile. “Sarah.”

“Sarah. That’s right. Just settle yourself there and try to get comfortable, Sarah. This will all be over soon, and you can go see to your husband.”

It wasn’t over soon. Judge Bickford found men to serve as his jury, but it took them forever to arrive. The judge, constable, and some other men searched the clearing, collecting things from the ground and writing them all in a book. Dr. Eason came, and she wanted him to tell the judge about Henry, but he barely took time to nod in her direction before he hurried over to kneel by the body.

By the time the judge got around to questioning Sarah in front of the jury, she was faint from so many hours without food and water. He asked the same questions he had before, going round and round until her head whirled.

Night approached, making it so murky in the grove that they stumbled over each other in the dark. Judge Bickford made the decision to bring in a hack to move the body to his office, where he would take up with his inquest the next day.

At long last, Sarah was free to go–and she couldn’t get away fast enough. She took the road instead of the woods, but after going just a little ways, she realized she was alone in the dark.

And the killer began to play games. He crept alongside her for a few steps, hiding in the trees to her right, his feet rustling grass and snapping twigs. He bobbed through the brush on the other side with a rattle of bare limbs and crunch of dry leaves. When he darted across the road in front of her, hunched over close to the ground, Sarah froze.

Common sense whispered that the sounds were the critters she loved, startled from their wallows by her shuffling feet, and the darting figure was nothing more than a wild boar. But her shattered nerves and wounded spirit wouldn’t accept it.

She turned to run back to the comforting voices and circles of lantern light bobbing through the forest but realized they were coming out of the woods behind her, heading in the opposite direction. The tears came then, flooding her eyes and causing her nose to pour. She didn’t dare cry aloud for fear the killer would hear and come after her. Pulling up her skirt, she started to run, the wind rushing past her ears, her long legs pumping in time with her heart. Sarah ran as fast as she could, sobbing the whole way, until she staggered onto the back porch.

Henry opened the screen door with a crash and folded her into his arms. He squeezed her so tightly against his chest she feared he’d hurt his ribs. Or hers. “Where were you? Girl, I been out of my mind.”

“Henry!” she wailed. “I tried to come back. They wouldn’t let me.” She reached for his face and found it wet.

“Who? Who wouldn’t let you?”

“Judge Bickford and his men.”

Henry held her in the light streaming from the kitchen and studied her face. “Tell me where you went, Sarah.”

“To fetch firewood.” She buried her face against his chest to block out the memory of crawling wood bugs. “There was a body. In the woods. I found it.”

He lifted her into his arms and carried her inside the house, though it must have caused him terrible pain. She let the tears come as loudly as they wished now. She was safe.

Tuesday, February 6

B
ertha marked another X on Mama’s big wall calendar then stepped back to count the number of days since she’d last seen Thad. Sixteen. The age she’d been when she first set eyes on Thaddeus Bloom–a brash, giggly sixteen-year-old to his quiet and confident eighteen. Tomorrow she’d scratch off the seventeenth day. The age she was when he left town. The day after that, when she stepped up to the wall with her thick pencil, it would be eighteen days since Thad rode away without saying good-bye. Eighteen. The age she turned today.

“Happy birthday, sprite!”

Bertha leaped right out of her musings and almost out of her bloomers when Papa roared behind her.

Laughing, he danced up and kissed the back of her head then hooked his finger around the tasseled shade and pulled it out for a peek. “ ’Tis a fine day for it, too. Will ye look at that? The sun’s out.”

Mama bustled into the kitchen and grabbed her apron from a hook. “Well, it wasn’t shining eighteen years ago. We were shoveling snow that year, if memory serves.”

“And they’ve been shoveling since, Emeline. It’s forever snowing in Maine.”

Mama gathered Bertha for a tight hug and answered Papa across the top of her head. “I’ll ignore your derision for now and just say I’m glad we came south.” She took Bertha by the shoulders and gazed at her face. “Happy birthday, dear daughter. And many happy returns of the day.”

“Thank you.” Bertha smiled and sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. She loved her mama before, but liked her much better now. It amazed Bertha the difference love could make in a woman’s heart if she allowed it to come in.

Mama glanced at the newly crossed square on the calendar page, and a tiny frown perched on her brow. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, ma’am. I believe I did.”

Her face softened and she nodded. “Francis, go gather eggs. I need three of the freshest you can find.”

He winked at Bertha. “And they say slavery’s been abolished.”

She laughed as he slipped on his coat and went out. Mama gathered measuring cups and spoons, flour, sugar, butter, and milk and arranged them around a big bowl on the counter. Then she stood with her finger pressed to her lips. “Where is my saleratus of baking soda?” She turned to Bertha. “Though I regret asking you to do extra on your special day, would you mind rolling out biscuits for breakfast? I’ve gotten a little ahead of myself, I think. But I wanted to get this done.”

Bertha pretended not to know what she meant. “Get what done?”

“Your cake, silly. For today’s celebration.” Her eyes danced with excitement. “We’re going to have a high time. “I’ve invited Magda’s family, of course. And the minister, along with our friends from church, our nearest neighbors, and your young friends from school. Oh yes, Moses and Rhodie Pharr. Can you think of who might be missing?”

“Only one.”

Mama paused from sifting sugar into her bowl. “Oh, Bertha. I
considered the possibility Thad might turn up but thought it best not to mention it. I want only your happiness today.”

“I know you do.” She lifted one shoulder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to leave school this soon anyway. Only wouldn’t it be nice if he could be here?”

“It would at that.” Mama tilted her head and gave her a pleading look. “Try to put Thad out of your mind, just for today, and have a good time.”

Bertha bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try.”

Mama reached for her mixing spoon. “While you’re at it, make an effort to act pleased with Papa’s gift. He tries so hard every year, and he means well.”

At the look on Mama’s face, Bertha’s hands stilled on the rolling pin. “It’s even worse than usual, isn’t it?”

Mama hunched her shoulders and tittered. “Infinitely.”

“Tell me.”

“Words fail me, dear.” She leaned to check on Papa’s where-abouts then motioned for Bertha to wait while she crept down the hall. She returned with the latest copy of
Harper’s Weekly
and spread it open on the kitchen table. After another glance out the window, she started flipping pages.

“
Harper’s Weekly
?” Bertha laid aside the biscuit cutter and wiped her hands. “There are lovely gifts in there.” She hurried around to peer over Mama’s shoulder. “Books of poems. Leather cases for gloves and handkerchiefs. And look! Fur-lined collars from New York!”

Mama turned right past all the ads Bertha mentioned, as well as the ones for Tiffany & Co. and Decker Brothers’ pianos. Riffling back a few pages, she stopped and placed her finger under a tiny drawing of a white skeleton.

Bertha frowned and leaned close to read the text aloud. “ ‘The Performing Skeleton. Fourteen inches in height. It will dance in perfect time to any tune.’ ” She skipped ahead a bit. “ ‘Seemingly endowed with life.’ ”

Mama took up where Bertha left off. “ ‘Never fails to delight,
astonish, and produce a decided sensation.’ ”

They stood up together. Mama pressed both hands over her mouth in a useless attempt to stifle her laughter. Bertha pointed at the ad. “The astonish part is working already.”

Mama gave up her fight for composure. “Oh, Bertha,” she howled.

“For pity’s sake, I’m eighteen. I can’t receive a dancing skeleton at my eighteenth birthday party, witnessed by all of my friends.”

A rattling noise from outside straightened Mama’s face and sent them both scrambling–Mama to her room with the magazine and Bertha back to her biscuits. Mama came out sober and empty-handed and scurried to her mixing bowl. “What was that?”

Bertha shrugged and glanced toward the window. “I think someone’s here.”

Papa called a greeting, and Bertha nodded across the room at Mama, who smiled back. Neither stopped what they were doing to receive a guest. Bertha knew her mama assumed, as she did, that Papa’s friend from the house behind their place had come to visit. The old man always came calling through the backyard and never ventured inside.

A high-pitched keening, like the cry of a wounded panther, ripped holes in the comforting silence, exposing every nerve in Bertha’s body. She jumped back, and the sheet of biscuits slid to the floor.

Mama dropped her spoon then snatched it up, brandishing it like a weapon. Her frightened gaze left the widow and fixed on Bertha’s face. “Oh my soul. Bertha, go find the source of that appalling sound.”

What on earth?

Sarah rolled over in bed to find bright light streaming through her bedroom window. She raised one arm to shield her eyes and squinted at the curious sight. Each day since her first one in Jefferson, her feet had hit the floor and plodded to the kitchen
long before daylight dawned. She threw back the covers and tossed her body off the opposite side of the bed, feeling around with her toes to find her shoes.

“Henry!”

No answer. Something was wrong. She just knew it. Why else would she still be in bed at this hour? Some vague memory tugged at the fog in her mind, something dark and dank with fear. She could get no better grip on her recall than her toes could get on her slippers. “Henry, where are you?”

Sarah gave up trying to reach under the bed with her feet. Padding barefoot, she crossed the room and snatched her raggedy robe from the back of a chair. Tying the belt around her waist, she reached for the bedroom door. It opened before her fingers touched the knob.

“Did you decide to join the rest of the world?”

She scowled at his grinning face. “Where were you? What were you thinking to let me sleep all day?”

He chuckled. “Seven thirty ain’t exactly all day. The sun ain’t been up ten minutes. Besides, you needed to rest.”

“Rest?” She lifted the pitcher from the dressing table so she could fetch hot water for the basin. “I’ll rest in heaven. Did you forget I have your chores, too?” Opening the door, she stared back at him. “I know you meant well, but you’ve put me so far behind I’ll be working past midnight.”

“Sarah, wait.”

Sarah, wait? Sarah, sleep? She didn’t have time for either. She hustled down the hall mumbling under her breath. When the passage opened onto the kitchen, she scarcely believed her eyes.

Arabella, Thomas’s shy, pretty wife, stood at the sink washing dishes. Their newest baby sat up on the table while her eight-year-old sister spoon-fed scrambled eggs into her wide-open mouth. Between bites for the baby, the young girl picked through a pile of dried beans scattered across the tabletop. The oldest girl swished a broom near the door. They all gave Sarah timid smiles then went back to their work. Her work.