No Mortal Reason (17 page)

The rambling account was delivered with a fervor Diana had not expected, though she should have. Mrs. Lyseth’s eyes gleamed. She threw her whole body into the narration. Boiled down, it amounted to very little. She had gone into “a decline.” Then she’d seen the light . . . literally.

It sounded to Diana as if she’d fallen asleep and been awakened by the sun shining into her face through a window. In Celia Lyseth’s interpretation, however, she’d seen the face of the Lord Jesus Christ in among the dust motes, and He’d spoken to her, telling her to rise up and accept salvation.

No more vapors after that! She’d become an earnest churchgoer, and started attending camp meetings, and been partly responsible for bringing Pastor Riker and his church to Lenape Springs.

And where, Diana wondered, had her daughter fit into all that? Diana began to feel a certain sympathy for Floyd Lyseth. It could not have been easy living with a wife who’d rail against sin at the drop of a hat.

Hearty cries of “Amen, sister!” followed the recitation.

Mrs. Lyseth was flushed and smiling when she resumed her seat in the pew beside her taciturn spouse.

Riker knew better than to ask Floyd Lyseth to testify and passed on to another local man who told how he’d been freed from his addiction to demon rum by the Lord’s intervention. Riker skipped over the Grants and Ellingtons too, and none of the villagers he did call upon revealed anything scandalous. No lovers. No thefts. No murders.

“You, sir,” Riker said, looking right at Ben. “Have you been saved?”

Diana’s heart began to race. She knew better than to think Ben would betray her by admitting that they were only pretending to be married, but she feared his reaction to Riker’s demanding tone. She had felt Ben grow more and more tense throughout the recitations and she feared he might respond now, as his mother assuredly would have, by saying something outrageous.

“What have you to confess?” Riker’s gaze held Ben’s and the tension between them was palpable in the silence that followed.

Ben forced a smile. “I am a man of science,” he said slowly.

He clearly intended to expand upon this announcement, but Riker was no fool. “Better than nothing,” he snapped. With a peremptory “Next!” he moved on to a new target.

“Did you mean to deliver a lecture on Darwinism?” Diana whispered.

“I was considering telling him I was an atheist.” He waited a beat. “Or perhaps an Episcopalian.”

Diana stifled a laugh.

The church services wound down at last with the singing of “Nearer My God to Thee.” The funeral followed immediately. Rather than have the body laid out in the Lyseth home for viewing, as was the custom in most instances, the remains had been turned over to Pastor Riker. The coffin was carried in by four pallbearers and set down in front of the altar. Once again, the preacher spoke of sin rather than redemption, as if the young woman’s death were her own fault. Diana’s hands had clenched into fists by the time he wound down.

“Horrible man,” she muttered as they trouped out of the church and walked the short distance to the cemetery.

The words said over the grave were the familiar ones—”Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”—but Diana thought Riker’s tone seemed grudging.

Some of those who filed past the grave site when the service was over dropped flowers onto the casket. Diana stopped for a moment to stare at the brass plate that read:
At Rest
. Elly Lyseth would not be, she thought, until they had brought her murderer to justice.

A woman Diana had not noticed earlier spoke up as the crowd began to disperse. “You must all come back to the villa for refreshments. Mr. and Mrs. Lyseth haven’t room enough to accommodate such a crowd.”

Diana looked at the speaker more closely. If this was Lida Rose Leeves Riker, she possessed only the most superficial resemblance to her brother. Ed Leeves looked like what he was—a professional gambler. His sister was the epitome of the domesticated female—plump, red-cheeked, and anxious to please.

“Can you tolerate any more?” Diana asked Ben.

“If you can.”

“Then I think we should go. It will be an opportunity to learn more about the town.”

Tressa and Sebastian Ellington came up beside them as they walked through the village. “None of the Grants are coming,” Mrs. Ellington said. “Feelings run too high against Myron’s plans.”

“What has that to do with Elly Lyseth?”

“What did anything Pastor Riker said in there?” Mrs. Ellington asked as they left the little white clapboard church behind. “Well, you’ll enjoy seeing the villa. Old Cyrus Leeves, Lida Rose’s father, had his own style.”

“In what way?”

“Take a look at the ladies’ outhouse,” Mrs. Ellington suggested.

Diana made a point of it. It was a small replica of the main house, complete with mansard roof and window boxes full of flowers. The inside was paneled with black walnut and the seat had been made from a two-inch thick mahogany plank.

The interior of the hotel was also interesting, but it had suffered from Jonas Riker’s occupancy. Although the paneling was exquisite and the furniture of good quality, it appeared that all frivolities, such as mirrors, had been removed. Likewise, Pastor and Mrs. Riker dressed very plainly, although their clothing was of excellent quality.

As an ornament at Ben’s side, Diana was relieved of the necessity of making small talk. Instead she could simply listen and absorb. It was one of the things she did best. She made no attempt to sort through what she heard. That would come later.

“Had to melt snow to water the cows after the blizzard,” a farmer complained. “Couldn’t get through to the spring on the back lot.”

“Heard Gil Tanner, over to Liberty Falls, put a windmill over his spring as soon as the snow melted. It pumps water into a cistern above the orchard and he gets a good force of water in the barn and in the house. Lucy’s already put in a bathtub.”

“I’ve got twenty-five cows now. Ship four forty-quart cans of milk a day to the City on the O&W.”

“What are they charging for freight?”

“Ten cents a can. Too bad half the milk bill goes for feed during the year.”

 Before Ben moved on, Diana had also learned that a good milk cow sold for $35 and a newly born calf for a dollar.

“Nothing but gambling and racing and loose morals in Saratoga Springs,” Pastor Riker told a parishioner.

Diana wondered how he knew.

“Norman Saugus goes through with his plans and that’s what we’ll have here. The man’s got to be stopped. It’ll be the ruination of Lenape Springs if he’s not.”

A child tugged at Diana’s sleeve. She looked down into wide hazel eyes and saw, with some surprise, that the girl was holding out an autograph book and a pen. “My mama says you’re just like Nellie Bly. Will you write something in my book?”

Unsure whether to be flattered or alarmed, Diana took the leather-covered volume and searched for a blank page. The first entry was a sentiment from mother to daughter:

Let the road be rough and dreary

And the end far out of sight

Foot it bravely, strong or weary

Trust in God and do the right

“Who is your mama, child?” Diana asked. “And what is your name?”

“I’m Rose Castine,” the girl said. “My mama and papa own the general store.”

And that meant, Diana realized, that the entire town must know she worked for a newspaper. She was surprised no one had made any mention of that fact, but supposed respect for the dead might account for their reticence.

Several of the autographs in the little book made mention of roses, while one concluded “in this quiet little spot, I’ll plant a sweet forget-me-not.” Diana pondered. She did not want to wax sentimental. After all, she was a stranger to this child. Nor did she wish to spout off about God, as others had. Finally, calling to mind a rhyme her school friend Rowena had liked to write in autograph books, she scribbled:

When you are tired of life

And all its changing scenes

Go out into the garden

And hide behind the beans.

Rose giggled happily when she read the words and scurried away to show them to her mother. Diana went back to eavesdropping on conversations, a little less certain than before that she would overhear anything worthwhile.

Most of the talk was about the weather—how cold this year had been; that the speaker had never seen so many empty barns as now; that the outlook for the corn crop was discouraging.

“It’s been a backwards spring,” one man said.

“I heard,” his companion remarked, “that they had frost three days last week over to Shinhopple.”

“Mrs. Northcote?” a soft, female voice inquired.

Diana turned to find Mrs. Riker standing behind her. She seemed nervous, and glanced over her shoulder to locate her formidable husband before she spoke again.

“Someone said you were in Colorado recently. I wonder . . . well, that is, I think that’s where my brother is, but I haven’t heard from him in many years. I suppose it would be a very great coincidence if your path crossed his, but—”

“In fact, I did meet your brother,” Diana interrupted. And she’d been under the impression that Ed Leeves had been in touch with his sister, since he’d known more about what was going on in Lenape Springs these days than Diana’s mother had. Now that she thought about it, she supposed it was far more likely that an “entrepreneur” like Leeves would hire someone to send him a report on his relatives.

“Is he well?” Mrs. Riker asked.

“He’s successful.”

Her faint smile told Diana she suspected what that meant but she did not ask further questions. Instead, taking note of her husband’s approach, Lida Rose Leeves Riker simply thanked Diana for the information and drifted away.

Diana moved on, too, past Celia and Floyd Lyseth. They stood close together but there was no sense of intimacy between them. They weren’t speaking, either. Now that she thought about it, Diana didn’t believe Mr. Lyseth had said a single word all day, not even when he stood in the receiving line that greeted mourners as they entered the Lenape Springs Villa. And Mrs. Lyseth, after her testimony in church, seemed to have been drained of both speech and emotion. After ten years, a display of grief would not have rung true, Diana supposed, but she found her impression of Elly’s parents as cold, heartless people profoundly disturbing.

A loud voice distracted Diana from her musings. “He’s always trying to change things,” a man complained. Diana recognized him as the blacksmith. “What’s wrong with the way things are? That’s what I want to know.”

“The whole hamlet will change if he gets his way,” his companion said. “Heard he wants to create places for folks to promenade. Going to hang Chinese lanterns all over creation, or maybe put in gaslights.”

“I heard electric lights on strings,” a third man contributed

“Bad for the farms if a lot of strangers come in,” said the blacksmith. “They’ll trample the fields. Scare the cattle.”

“What about the extra income from selling produce and milk to the hotel?” someone else asked, plainly trying to strike a positive note.

“He puts in a race track, they won’t be coming to eat and drink. Not milk, anyways.”

Rueful laughter greeted this comment.

* * * *

Ben was more than ready to return to the Hotel Grant by the time Diana signaled him that she wanted to leave. Over two hours had passed since the end of the burial service. Tressa Ellington’s departure with her nephew had preceded theirs by a good hour.

They found all the hotel’s residents, except Norman Saugus, in the family parlor, where a heated argument was in progress between Sebastian and Mercy.

“You shouldn’t be playing cards on a Sunday,” Mercy scolded.

“Since when have you been a Free Methodist? Today’s the first time I’ve seen you go to church since I got here.”

“I hope I’m a good Christian,” Mercy shot back, grabbing the deck of cards he’d just opened.

“There are board games in the sideboard,” Mrs. Ellington interrupted, and crossed the room to open its lower doors. A moment later she’d extracted a stack of boxes. “Look here:
Parlor Base Ball Game
,
District Messenger Boy
,
Buffalo Hunt
,
The Great Wall Street Game
, and even
The Game of Playing Department Store
. Take your pick.”

“I had my heart set on cards, Aunt Tressa.”

“Old Maid?” Mercy suggested.

He made a sound of disgust. “That’s for girls.”

When the bickering continued, Mrs. Ellington made an arbitrary choice and put away all the boxes except
District Messenger Boy
.  She unfolded the board and began setting out metal figure tokens.

“Better not be any dice,” Sebastian teased. “That would make it gambling.”

“Be easy in your mind. There’s a spinner. Now, then, players start as messenger boys. The winner becomes president of the telegraph service, having passed all the subordinate positions.”

“Boring,” Sebastian declared, but he sat down at the square table his aunt cleared of framed family photographs and a vase of flowers, and took a metal figure to represent his messenger boy. When Mercy and Mrs. Ellington and Belle Saugus joined him, the room quieted.

Howd, ensconced in a comfortably padded armchair, his feet propped up on an ottoman, watched his daughter with pride and affection. “Just like her mother, God rest her soul.”

“How so?” Ben asked.

“Grace didn’t hold with me playing cards on Sundays either. Or dice. Unless I was sure of winning, that is.” He chuckled. “One time I took a chance on one of ten turkeys at a turkey raffle at the blacksmith shop, but the raffle was on a Sunday and was to be decided by a throw of dice, so I sold my chance to Bill Manion. I made a profit of forty cents for a ten cent investment. Only thing was, Manion threw the dice and won the turkey, and it was worth about a dollar. Grace said I should have kept the chance.”

“Sounds like she knew you pretty well.” Ben took a seat on the faded yellow velvet sofa opposite. Unlike the simpler, square-backed Eastlake style furniture in their suite, this one was heavily padded—the only bit of wood showing was in the form of tiny legs—and the back was humped in the middle and at both sides.