Where the Dead Talk (13 page)

"Lock both doors. Now."

He finished reloading his other musket while he told her what he’d just seen. The front door tugged and shook. Jude lifted the musket. The sound of a voice came muffled from the outside. Three knocks rang out, quick raps on the door.

"Jude Brewster?" came a voice. "Are you in there?"

Jude lowered the weapon and went to the window near the door. In the light from the lanterns outside, he could make out two horses in the road – one with rider – and a figure standing by the door. He stepped over to the door.

"Who’s that?" he called out.

"Benjamin MacGuire. Why you closed up?"

MacGuire was one of the town militia who’d ridden off to Boston. Jude turned and motioned for Elizabeth to go to the kitchen. She shook her head.

"You can’t be seen here," he said.

"I’m not going to hide."

Another round of knocks on the door. Jude cursed under his breath.

"Please," he said to her.

"No. I won’t. I’m not ashamed. Never will be again."

He turned in frustration and slid back the locks on the door.

"Hell, Brewster," MacGuire said, stepping in, "not even Reading or the Heights are rolled up as tightly as West Bradhill. Lights off all over the place, tavern locked. The British are in the city, and that’s where they’re staying for now, so I wouldn’t –"

He stopped when he saw the empty common room, and Elizabeth.

"Mrs. Watts," he said, tipping the corner of his three-point hat. He was unable to keep the curiosity from his face. MacGuire turned to Jude, and spoke with voice lowered.

"Now it’s none of my business, what’s going on here –"

Jude could feel his face flush, though the darkened room probably hid it. MacGuire took off his hat and knocked it against his leg, a spray of rainwater coming off of it.

"Thought you were in Boston," Jude said.

"We were, alright, and you should have seen it, Brewster. Men from all over the colony come down, ready for a fight."

He ran a hand through his greasy hair and scratched the side of his unshaven face.

"A cup of beer would go down right easy, if you’ve any," he said.

Jude nodded, stepped to the serving wall, and drew a mug full of ale. He handed it to MacGuire, who nodded his thanks and took a long sip. A line of foam clung to his lip when he pulled it away, and he used the back of his sleeve to wipe it.

"I missed that," MacGuire said. "No one can touch your ale, Brewster. No one."

"So what happened?" Jude said.

"Nothing. That’s the problem. It was turning into a lot of standing around and sleeping on the ground. The Brits are holed up tight. Word is that they’ve got a fleet racing to the harbor even now."

He took another long pull from the ale.

"Now the captains and other militia officers were busy, alright. Busy talking. Working things out, I suppose. But truth is, it doesn’t look like nothing is going to be happening for a while. No storming the city, no driving them back across the water. Not yet, anyway. So a bunch of us figured that we’d come back. Our fields and businesses aren’t going to take care of themselves, now are they?"

"And Henry didn’t mind?" Jude said. He was growing uneasy with the night outside the door, only half paying attention to MacGuire's story.

"I wouldn’t go that far," MacGuire said. "He and Eldridge Carrier had words, no doubt about that. Henry wasn’t happy, but Henry don’t have a farm to look after."

He drained the cup and muffled a belch.

"How many of you came back?" Jude asked.

"Nearly ten. Eldridge and Zeke, my boys. Some others."

His eyes strayed over to Elizabeth again and he stepped in close to Jude and lowered his voice further. Jude could smell the ale.

"Your business is surely your own, Brewster, but I can’t imagine the Reverend doing anything less than shooting up into the sky to pull down the very wrath of Jesus Hisself if he knew his wife was sitting in your tavern."

Jude couldn’t think of what to say. The British officer earlier, everything with Elizabeth, what he’d just seen in the stable out back and the yard: none of it seemed able to pass his lips as MacGuire stared at him. The sound of horses and a wagon outside and voices gave him a reprieve. There were a few shouts back and forth, and then footsteps outside the door. Zeke Morrill stepped in, his eyes lit up. With his mouth hanging open, he looked around the room, clearly expecting to see a partially full common room, with light and voices and townsfolk. Confusion passed over his face as he took in the very different scene.

"We got one of ‘em," Morrill said, looking at Elizabeth.

"One of what?"

"One British officer. He was on the road leading out of the village. Didn’t see no one else, but everything is still out there, and there’s smoke on the wind. Let’s figure out what to do with him."

Both Morrill and MacGuire went back out the door.

"Tell them," Elizabeth said.

"They’ll likely find out themselves soon enough," he said.

"But you have to tell them."

He turned and stepped outside. In front of him, half a dozen men and boys from the town’s militia stood around a wagon, pointing their muskets. In the back was a British officer, the one that had come into the tavern and then fled from the militia. He was tied up. MacGuire laughed.

"Wait’ll Henry hears about this," he said. "Instead of coming down hard on us, he’s gonna shake each and every one of our hands. Don’t think any other militia found themselves no officer."

The other men nodded their heads. The Major turned and looked down at them from the back of the wagon.

"Yes, and what masterful tactics and precision you displayed. Why, it was as effortless as if you had simply stumbled across me when I wasn’t looking," he said.

"I don’t think I asked you to –" MacGuire began.

"Yes, well I don’t wait to be asked, and certainly not by some unwashed hayseed who was apparently high-tailing it as fast as he could away from where the fight is."

"Well," MacGuire began, "you’re not in any kind of position to tell me –"

Major Pomeroy cut right in over him again, the disdain plain on his face in the flickering light of the front lanterns. His words were fast, with a hard edge to them.

"Trust me, you’re the one not in any kind of position to start crowing about catching a prisoner by accident. You’ve absolutely no idea the mess you’ve walked into. What’s your name?"

MacGuire’s mouth hung open, his eyebrows raised. He looked at the other men and then back at the Major.

"I’m not –"

"Your name," the Major said, raising his voice.

"Ben MacGuire."

"Well, Ben MacGuire, perhaps you’d care to take a close look at your little village. I’ll wager that you’re in for a surprise."

"What kind of –"

"Uph uph," Pomeroy tutted over him, "you’ll let me finish."

MacGuire’s brow scrunched down low.

"The darkness is crawling with problems, Ben MacGuire – and British troops aren’t one of them, I assure you. No matter what the situation might be down in Boston, you’ll soon wish you’d stayed there."

He shifted, eyes taking in the scene.

"Now," he said, "untie me immediately. I’ll be heading straight away from here."

"What in the hell are you talking about, mister?" MacGuire said.

"Major."

"Fine. Major."

MacGuire was flustered.

"Look, Ben MacGuire – don’t just take my word for it. Ask a few questions of the local citizenry, if you can find them. Or perhaps you hadn’t noticed the sort of empty, quiet, and dark quality that’s fallen over the village. Perhaps you should ask our old friend the tavernkeep."

The men all turned to look at Jude.

"What’s he going on about, Jude? Is there more troops here, or is he trying to vex us?" MacGuire said.

"Yes, do tell, Brewster," the Major said, "am I trying to vex them?"

Everyone was suddenly looking at him. MacGuire and his boys, Morrill, Daniel Gerry from out by Miller’s Hollow, the Cooper brothers.

"I can’t say as he is," Jude said.

He looked over across at the town green. Behind him, Elizabeth came and stood in the doorway; Jude saw the men all look.

"You should tell them," Elizabeth said, softly.

"Benjamin, Morrill. You and the boys better come on inside. Probably not too safe out here. Bring him in, too," Jude said, pointing at the officer, "As long as he’s tied up, he won’t do no mischief."

A few minutes later, the common room of the tavern looked nearly back to normal. Men were seated around the handful of tables, candles and lanterns were lit, and the fire in the hearth warmed the room. Jude brought out some bread for them, and poured ale. The officer was still bound, and Jude felt it only right to loosen one arm and feed him, too.

"Good lord," the Major said, taking a gratifying sip of fresh ale, "it's nearly worth it all."

He raised his mug in a silent toast. Jude nodded his thanks.

"Jude," MacGuire started, "some of the boys been wondering if maybe you don’t have more to tell us than you’ve let on."

MacGuire ‘s boys passed a look between them.

"Like maybe how you didn’t look too surprised when we showed up with that officer," MacGuire said, motioning over to the other table. Some of the others were nodding their heads.

"You might just want to –" Jude began.

MacGuire held his hands up.

"Now, Jude," he said, "you know I’ve always respected you and wouldn’t be saying this if it didn’t look to be so curious. But you were plain about not coming to fight with us, and now we find the village empty with a British officer about – and they usually don’t travel all on their own – and you’ll have to allow as how a man might start thinking –"

"Thinking what?" Jude said.

"Thinking that maybe you have something to do with this," one of the Cooper boys cut in.

"You’re heading down the wrong road, boys," Jude said.

Joshua Cooper nodded his head, his lips folding away into a tight line.

"Of course he’s gonna say that," he said, "but just look over there. He could’ve just as easily kept that one tied up, but here he is, providing him food and drink. He didn’t even put a hand to his head and say ‘Lord, a British officer!’ when we showed up. Hell, he didn’t even raise an eyebrow."

Jude looked at him.

"It’s because I’ve seen him before. Passed right through here the other morning," he said. With that, he told them what had happened. As he told the story, the men shot glances over at the officer, who was watching them and not speaking.

"And what about the rest of their troops?" Morrill said. "You seen any of them?"

"Yeah," one of the boys said, "has they been ridin’ through and roundin’ up folks? Lookin’ for us militia?"

Jude shook his head.

"I don’t think it’s been like that," he said.

"Well then, where is everyone?" MacGuire said.

Jude looked into the fire for a moment, then told them what he’d seen out in the stable.

Sing-Song

The village was dark. Carolyn rode up the lane that led to her house, bouncing in the driver’s seat of the carriage. The wind blew from the west, still sweet with the scent of rain and pine. Her house loomed up against the night sky and the backdrop of moving clouds. Lanterns burned on the first floor. She would tell her father everything – surely getting admonished in the process for travelling alone, for taking the carriage – but he would calm her worries, especially about the nonsense that Major Pomeroy had been going on about.

She slowed the horse and guided him into the carriage house. The animal’s steps and the creak of the wheels were suddenly loud in the enclosed space, heavy with the smell of hay and manure. She pulled him to a stop. Water dripped from the carriage as she stepped down and felt about for the lantern and tinderbox. The horse snorted and pulled the carriage forward an arm’s length.

"Easy, hold on," Carolyn said.

"Carolyn."

She froze. A voice, cold and barely audible, coming from just outside the big door. Her heartbeat jumped. She looked around, turned to the doorway.

"Yes?" she said.

The wind outside sighed through the big chestnuts in front of the house and the horse snorted again.

"Father?" she called out. The little light coming in from the direction of the house was clear on the ground, and she noticed a portion of a shadow, silhouetted on the ground, stretching into the open door across the packed dirt.

"Carolyn, I see you."

It was a voice, and not her father’s. An unexpected tide of fear swept in, threatening to lift her up and bear her away. The Major’s words came back to her.

It’s bodies, Miss Bucknell. Dead, and yet not quite.

She backed away from the doorway, leaving the tinderbox on the chest. A sick feeling blossomed in her chest. The voice. She took a few steps further back into the darkness, trying to be as silent as a draft. She stared at the shadow on the ground. It took a step forward. She held her breath, deeply afraid to make the slightest sound. A partial profile appeared at the door, the warm light from the house behind it, leaving the face in darkness. Suddenly, she couldn’t get herself to go backward, nor could she pull her eyes away from the door. She just stood there. A sound came from beyond the door, a sly step.

"My love."

Whispered just outside the door.

Jonathon, she thought.

She tried to stop that thought from rising to the surface, but there it was. It was his voice – but that didn’t explain the waves of fear and cold darkness that were sweeping her away. This was wrong, all of it. She’d imagined a dozen different ways that she might greet Jonathon when she finally saw him next: she’d have let him know that she’d been the one to throw the soldiers off his trail; she’d have let him know just how furious the search for him had been; she’d have teased him that the Major in charge had clearly been smitten with her – yet she’d narrowly decided that Jonathon was the one that had her heart and fancy (though in truth she’d found the Major appallingly rude).