Abiding Peace (19 page)

“Hello.” Alice seemed distracted as she compared the selection of fripperies.

“Good day, Miss Stevens.” Abby dropped a pretty curtsy, and Christine felt a stab of pride. The eight-year-old’s manners were better than many adults’.

Alice shot her a smile that was almost a smirk. “Soon-to-be Goody Ackley.” She held out a roll of fancy black braid so Christine could see it. “The master—that is, my soon-to-be husband—has given me his late wife’s clothing. I intend to cut down her somber old dresses and fix them up with pretty trimmings. Think you this would look well on her plum-colored wool?”

Christine gulped for air. “I’m sure I don’t know. I’m … not one who knows much about fashion.”

Alice looked her over for a second. “Aye, so you don’t.” She turned back to her shopping.

Christine inhaled slowly, feeling the flush creep up her neck. Abby’s look of distress prodded her to control herself.

“Come, girls, let us find the hooks we need.”

A few minutes later, they were outside the trading post and headed for home. Christine picked Ruth up to carry her and let Abby tote their small purchases in her basket.

“Miss Christine,” Constance said, looking up at her soberly and clutching her free hand, “did she rude us?”

Elder Heard blew the conch shell Sunday morning, and all the villagers hastened toward the meetinghouse. The temperatures had moderated, with a promise of autumn on the breeze, and all of the women donned shawls that morning.

As they reached the common before the meetinghouse, Christine spotted Alice Stevens approaching in the company of her parents. It did not surprise her that Alice wore her late mistress’s plum-colored wool skirt and bodice or that the skirt was edged in swoops of black braid. She tried to forget the impolite words the young woman had spoken at the trader’s. Alice’s coming marriage seemed to have altered her attitude toward her neighbors. Christine hoped it was not a permanent change.

Jane Gardner hurried toward her with little Johnny on her hip. “Christine! Good day.”

Christine smiled. “Ah, well met, Jane.”

“What were you staring at?” Jane threw a quick look over her shoulder at the people entering the meetinghouse.

Christine ducked her head. “I’m embarrassed to say it, but I was surveying the future Goody Ackley’s fashions.”

Jane squinted toward the church steps. “Ah, a new gown?”

“New to the wearer. I met her at the trader’s Tuesday, and she was buying trimmings for the late Goody Ackley’s old clothing.”

Jane nodded with comprehension. “Ah. It seems she has also acquired the mistress’s fine scarf from England. Remember how Mahalia used to wear it to meeting?”

“Every Sunday,” Christine agreed.

“Well, ladies.”

Christine jumped at the pastor’s voice. She’d thought him inside long ago.

“Good day, Pastor,” Jane said with a smile. “Oh, here comes my husband. Pardon me.” She hastened toward Charles.

“Surely you ladies weren’t lingering to gossip this fine Sabbath morning?” Samuel arched his eyebrows.

“Certainly not, sir.” Christine clamped her lips together.

All through the worship service, the scene replayed in her mind. By the end of the final psalm, she wallowed in guilt so low that she doubted she would ever leave the morass.

She took the children home and set out their dinner. She left them setting the table and ran out to see if the pastor was headed home. He came from the church, and she met him a short distance from the house. “Forgive me, sir, but I had to speak to you in private. You hit the mark this morning. My behavior was unconscionable.”

Samuel eyed her keenly. “If you’ve aught to regret, Christine, I’m not your confessor. Take it to the Lord.”

“Aye, and I have, to be sure. But I wish your pardon as well. For I not only gossiped with Jane, but I lied to you about it.” Her voice quivered. “I wouldn’t have thought I could do that, but it slipped out so easily!”

“This … gossip. Will it hurt the person in question?”

“I don’t know, sir. I doubt it. But it has hurt me. It’s made me see myself as mean-spirited, a character trait I do not wish to possess. Why should I care if Alice’s affianced husband gives her his dead wife’s skirts and English scarf? But I don’t wish to be an example to your children of a petty, shrewish woman.”

“Did the children overhear?”

She hung her head. “I don’t think so. And when we saw Alice at the trader’s, I believe I accepted her scorn without giving a poor example to the girls.”

“Alice scorned you?”

She felt flames in her cheeks. “It is nothing, sir. What she spoke was true, but perhaps said unkindly.”

“The same as what you did this morning, then, only to your face?”

“Aye.”

He nodded. “My dear, I admire your tender conscience. Would that all my parishioners had such.”

“Oh, Samuel, I promise you that with God’s help I shall endeavor not to speak ill of others or to be uncharitable.”

Samuel sighed. “Perhaps the Almighty had a purpose in your exchange with Goody Gardner.”

“Oh?” She blinked and waited for him to speak further.

“Your talk this morning drew my attention to the scarf Alice Stevens wore.”

Christine was baffled. “And?”

“And I recalled that Goody Ackley nearly always wore it when going out in public, as you say. That is all.”

Christine squinted at him against the sun, feeling certain that, on the contrary, that was not all.

In the week before the trial, the nights turned chilly. Samuel spent much time in the fields, getting in his crops and helping the men of his parish harvest their grain and flax.

At last the magistrate and lawyer returned, along with a second attorney to represent the crown. The people gathered once more at the meetinghouse. Christine wished she could sit at the back of the room, but as witnesses, she and Samuel were bid to sit in the usual pew occupied by the pastor’s family, along with Charles Gardner, who brought his wife this time. Samuel also allowed Ben and John to join them, and so the pew was nearly filled.

Christine felt quite warm in the close quarters and extremely conscious of Samuel’s nearness. From time to time, one of them shifted, bringing their two shoulders into contact. Christine tried to ease away slightly, without drawing attention to the movement, all the while wishing she could relax and rest against Samuel’s strong arm.

Goodman Ackley occupied his usual pew, though it was farther back than he would like. Alice, his soon-to-be wife, sat primly beside him, darting glances at the people around them. Her new attire reflected her future elevated status as the wife of a fairly prosperous farmer rather than that of a hired girl.

Christine was glad that when she had sat down, Alice could not see her. Not many in the congregation could. However, the magistrate, the attorneys, and the prisoner, as well as whoever sat on the stool used as a witness stand, had a first-rate view of her and the minister. She determined to stay alert and not give one tiny crumb of behavior that could be used to criticize Samuel.

She looked past Ben at Jane Gardner, and Jane gave her a feeble smile. The solemnity of the occasion was overpowering. Christine wondered if it would be better for her to sit on the other side of Jane, not beside Samuel. His proximity continually drew her thoughts to him, which might cause her to look at him often, which in turn might lead others to think malicious thoughts.

Joseph Paine, the trader who doubled as constable, stood and called the session to order. Much of the testimony seemed repetitious to Christine. She recounted the same facts she’d given at the hearing, and she couldn’t see that the other witnesses added much to their previous information, until the crown’s attorney brought forth the market basket Stephen Dudley had found in the woods.

Seventeen-year-old Stephen was called to tell how he discovered the item and where and when. “No more questions,” said the lawyer.

“But it wasn’t there a day earlier,” Stephen said.

“No more questions,” repeated the lawyer.

The magistrate looked at McDowell’s attorney. “Your witness, sir.”

The defense attorney rose, his eyes gleaming. “Now, Master Dudley, you said you found this basket near the camp in the thicket. That would be the same camp you and your brother found the day after the accused was arrested.”

“Aye, sir.”

“So you were there on the Friday with your brother.”

“I was, sir.”

“And you found no basket then.”

“We did not. Richard can tell you, sir.”

“Oh, we shall get to your brother, have no fear. Yet you say that on the Saturday morning, the basket lay there, on the ground, in plain sight.”

“Exactly so, sir.”

Christine was proud of the boy’s calmness.

“How do you explain that, Master Dudley?”

“I don’t, sir.”

“So when you found this basket, on the Saturday morning, what did you do with it?”

“I took it along to the parsonage. I thought to ask the constable or the pastor about it.”

“And what did they say?”

“They weren’t t’home, sir. Both had gone to Portsmouth to ask for you and his honor to come.”

“Ah.” The attorney nodded in encouragement. “What did you then?”

“Miss Hardin said she would go with me to Goodman Ackley’s to ask if it were his wife’s basket, and I said mayhap we should get the captain to go, too. So I fetched Captain Baldwin and we went.”

“And what happened at the Ackleys’ farm?”

“The master and Alice Stevens, what were the hired girl, both said it were Goody Ackley’s basket.”

Richard Dudley and Captain Baldwin were summoned to the stand in turn, and both confirmed Stephen’s testimony.

Goodman Ackley was next. In mournful tones, he told how his wife had gone off that morning and how he regretted not accompanying her on her errand. The crown’s attorney asked if she had carried the basket previously introduced as evidence, and he declared that she had.

Alice Stevens was called next. She swayed down the aisle in her finery, took the oath, and sat down on the stool. Like her affianced former master, she bewailed the goodwife’s disappearance and death, and she stated that Mahalia Ackley had indeed carried her customary basket that day.

The magistrate declared a recess at that point, and Christine and the Jewetts walked home for lunch, taking the Gardners with them. Samuel seemed preoccupied, but he joined in conversation with the guests and Tabitha while they sat at dinner.

As they left the parsonage to return to the trial, he murmured to Christine, “Forgive me if I hasten on ahead. I must have a word with the defense attorney before court reconvenes.”

She watched him hurry off, surprised at his agitation.

“The parson’s a bit on edge,” Charles observed as they followed at a slower pace.

Jane said, “I thought so, too. Both during the testimony this morning and at dinner. Has this business made him restless, Christine?”

“Nay, but we would both like to see it finished well.”

“Of course,” Charles said. “But is there much doubt of the outcome?”

Christine watched Samuel as he hurried into the meetinghouse. Something wasn’t right, she thought. Something other than the basket. Samuel must feel it, too.

They filed into the Jewett pew again, and Samuel joined them. His face was sober, but he tossed a faint smile at Christine as he settled beside her.

The boys traipsed in just before Paine stood to call the crowd to order.

Samuel leaned toward her. “Pray, my dear.”

Startled, she nodded, unable to look into his face for fear she would betray the mixed apprehension and sweet pleasure his words brought her.

Mrs. Paine, the wife of the trader, was called forward. She acknowledged that she had waited on Goody Ackley the morning the woman disappeared and recounted the items the customer had purchased and placed in her large basket.

“And that was the basket you saw here this morning?”

“I believe it was, sir.”

The crown’s attorney then relinquished the floor to the defense council.

“Can you recall what the deceased wore that day?” McDowell’s attorney asked.

Mrs. Paine eyed him thoughtfully.

Samuel’s hands clenched into fists.

Christine listened carefully as the trader’s wife spoke.

“Yes, sir, she wore her gray linsey skirt and a blue bodice over her shift, and of course her bonnet and scarf.”

“A shawl, do you mean?” asked the attorney.

“Why, no, sir.” Mrs. Paine sat up straighter and looked out over the meetinghouse. “I mean a particular scarf that she always wore into town or to meeting. Her husband had bought it for her at an emporium in Boston a year or two back, and she was very vain of it.”

The magistrate tapped his gavel. “Keep your responses to the facts, madam.”

“Aye, sir. But she wore it that day, and she often boasted that her husband had paid a great sum for it. Raw silk, she called it. Hmpf. I’m sure it’s largely woolen, with perhaps a bit of silk woven in. If you’d like to see it, you’ve only to cast your eyes o’er the far pew, where the husband of the deceased sits now, with his betrothed and her family. In fact, your honor”—Mrs. Paine turned and gazed up at the magistrate—”Alice Stevens wore it when she sat in this very spot to give testimony this morning, and she wears it still.”