Abiding Peace (20 page)

A noise of whispering swelled amidst the people.

Again the magistrate clapped his gavel to the desk. “Silence.”

The immediate stillness was broken by only the lowing of a cow on the common.

The magistrate studied Mrs. Paine. To the lawyer, he said, “Have you any more questions for this witness, sir?”

“No, your honor.”

Mrs. Paine returned to her pew, and the crown rested its case. The defense attorney stood and turned toward the onlookers.

“The defense calls Doctor Elias Cooke, resident of Dover Point.”

Samuel inhaled deeply as a man walked quietly up the aisle. The physician wore a powdered wig and a long, black coat and breeches. Christine felt Samuel’s tension as Paine administered the oath to the physician, and when she glanced at him, she saw that Samuel’s face was pale.

“Doctor Cooke,” said the attorney, “you were called to examine Mahalia Ackley’s body soon after it was discovered.” The attorney stood sideways so that he could look at the witness and also at the onlookers if he wished.

“That is correct, sir.”

“Why were you summoned here?”

“They have no physician in Cochecho, and Captain Baldwin asked if I would come and examine a dead woman to tell him what I could.”

“And how long after her death did you see her?”

“I believe it was a few hours after death occurred. No greater than eight hours, from what I’ve heard of her activity that morning.”

“And were you able to determine how Mahalia Ackley died?”

The physician looked up at him and said calmly, “Aye, sir. She had a wound on her temple, and her face was bruised, but I believe she was killed by strangling.”

“Strangling, you say?”

“Aye. Her throat was marked where something had been pulled tight about it, and the blood vessels in her eyes had ruptured.”

“And could you say what instrument was used to kill her?”

The doctor shook his head slightly. “I believe it to have been an article of clothing, sir.”

The swell of low voices began again, but when the magistrate lifted his gavel, it subsided.

“A specific article of clothing, sir? For instance, would you say a belt?”

“Nay, not that.” The doctor unbuttoned a few silver buttons and reached inside his coat. “The minister assisted me in my examination, and since he is one who often stands in as a healer in this community, I welcomed his aid. I pointed out to him an oddity pertaining to the wounds.”

“And what was that, sir?”

“Fibers clinging to the creased skin of the victim’s neck.” He held out a folded piece of paper. “It may interest you and the magistrate to look at them. The Reverend Jewett”—Cooke nodded in Samuel’s direction—”can tell you. He saw me remove several white fibers from the body. I believe the woman was strangled with an article woven of fine white wool and silk.”

A shriek came from the rear of the hall. Christine looked at Samuel, but he had already jumped to his feet and turned to look over the back of their pew. Christine leaped up and looked toward the rear of the room.

Alice Stevens clawed the white scarf from about her neck, threw it on the floor, and crumpled into her father’s arms.

The uproar could not be silenced by the pounding gavel. Paine and Captain Baldwin leaped into the aisles in an attempt to calm the surging crowd.

Christine sat down hard on her wooden seat and shrank back against the pew, thankful she couldn’t see what went on behind them but wondering what Alice Stevens and Roger Ackley were doing at that moment. She had an excellent view of McDowell, who craned his neck to see what was happening, grinning as he pulled against the leg irons and fetters that held him to the deacons’ pew.

Samuel plopped down beside her and stared straight ahead.

After a good ten minutes, order was restored. The magistrate declared a quarter hour’s recess, after which all witnesses were expected to appear ready to testify again if called.

John Jewett was standing on his seat, looking over the high back of the pew. As the crowd began to surge toward the door, he cried, “Father! Alice Stevens swooned. How can she testify again?”

Samuel shook his head. “We shall see, son.”

“Her mother and father are trying to rouse her,” Jane noted.

Samuel stroked his beard. Christine saw that his hand shook. “Perhaps I should see if they need assistance,” he said.

“That doctor’s looking at her,” Ben reported, also peering over the top of the pew.

Samuel drew a deep breath. “We wished for justice, Christine. Do not cease your praying now.” He patted her arm briefly and then clasped his hands in his lap.

“Do you wish to go outside?” Charles asked Jane.

“Mayhap we are better off to stay right here and see what befalls,” his wife replied.

Christine was glad. She did not feel like facing the inquisitive stares and questions of the villagers. She sat stiffly beside Samuel, pondering all that she had heard. The two attorneys huddled with the magistrate at the front table. As Samuel had suggested, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and prayed silently.

After ten minutes, Charles left them for a short time and returned with a dipper of cold water, which he offered first to Jane then to Christine.

She took a sip, thankful for the cool liquid.

“Pastor, would you like a drink?” Charles asked.

Samuel took the dipper and drained it. “Thank you, Charles.” He slumped back against the wall.

Charles took the dipper away. When he returned, he bent close to Samuel. “Goodman Ackley tried to bolt. Baldwin’s got him in custody. They’re going to bring him in last, when everyone’s seated again.”

“What about the scarf?”

“The attorney asked Alice’s parents to give it to them as evidence. She’s come round, but she still looks like death. They’ve moved out of Ackley’s pew to another at the side.”

Soon afterward, court reconvened. The defense attorney called Alice Stevens to the front of the room. Everyone stared at the hired girl as she rose, her face white. Her father escorted her to the witness stand, holding firmly to her elbow.

After she was reminded of her oath to tell the truth, McDowell’s attorney directed his questions to her. “Miss Stevens, you were in Goody Ackley’s employ at the time of her death?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where did you get the scarf you wore to court today?”

“My … Her husband gave it to me, sir.”

“Why did he do that?”

Alice hung her head. Her answer was so quiet, Christine could barely hear it. “A week and more after she died, he asked me to be his wife.”

“And you accepted?”

“Aye.” She looked up quickly. “I thought—” She let out her breath in a puff and blinked as tears flooded her eyes and raced down her cheeks. “He gave me some of her clothing, sir. That were among ‘em.”

“And can you remember exactly when he gave you that scarf, Miss Stevens?”

She shook her head. “A few days ago, I think.”

“Did you see it the day your mistress died?”

“I … don’t know, sir.”

“Did she wear it when she left for the trading post?”

“I’m not sure.”

The attorney took a few steps across the front of the meetinghouse as though deep in thought and turned to face her again. “Was she wearing it when they brought the body home?”

“Nay. Of that I’m certain, sir.”

The men who had discovered the body in the woods off the road to Ackley’s farm were called back and asked if the dead woman’s scarf was on or near the body when they found it. All said no.

Next, Paine himself testified that Mahalia wore the article in question when she came in to trade on the fateful day. A woman who was in the shop at the time also swore that the deceased had worn the scarf.

Finally, Roger Ackley was called. The congregation hushed as he walked slowly up the aisle beside Captain Baldwin, dragging his feet with each step. He snuffled and took the stand. Again, the magistrate reminded the witness of his oath.

The magistrate fixed his stern gaze on Ackley’s face. “Goodman Ackley, what say you? I have examined the fibers Dr. Cooke gathered from your wife’s body and found them similar to ones I gleaned from the scarf you presented to Alice Stevens last week. So similar that I would not be loathe to say they came from that scarf. Have you an explanation?”

Ackley opened his mouth then closed it. He looked around, his eyes wild. He started to rise, but Paine and Baldwin, on either side of the stool, pushed him back down. He pulled in a shuddering breath. “My wife wore that scarf often. I gave a pretty price for it, and she doted on it. It is not unnatural that some of the threads should cling to her … skin.”

The magistrate frowned. “The physician tells me they would not stick as they did from a casual wearing. Sir, your wife was strangled with this garment.” He held up the white scarf. “I ask you, sir, where has it been since the day your wife wore it to her death?”

“I do not think she wore it that day, sir. Nay, she can’t have. I found it later, among her things.”

“As you found her basket?” the attorney asked.

“What … I do not understand you, sir.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Why … in the chest at our home.”

“You wife’s basket was on her arm when she left the trading post. The scarf was about her neck. Her body was found a few hours later. No basket was present. No scarf. The basket turned up the next day at the outlaw’s camp. Yet it was not there when he was captured. The scarf turned up in your wife’s clothes chest.”

McDowell’s attorney swung around and addressed the magistrate. “Your honor, I submit that my client did not kill Mrs. Ackley. Rather, I ask you to believe the evidence. The poor woman was strangled by her own husband, who placed the basket at McDowell’s camp to make him look guilty. But he couldn’t bear to discard the scarf he’d paid so much for. Nay, sir. He had his eye already on a younger, fairer woman, and he gave it to her when he wooed her.”

The magistrate held up both hands. “Sir, Goodman Roger Ackley is not on trial today. However, I instruct the captain to remand him into custody until a hearing can be held to ascertain whether there be sufficient evidence to pursue this line of inquiry. Meanwhile, the accused, Mr. McDowell, has confessed to several petty crimes.” He picked up a piece of parchment and read them off. “I shall recess for one hour, and when we return, I shall pronounce sentence on McDowell for these lesser crimes. I find there is not sufficient evidence to convict said McDowell of murder.”

The next morning, Samuel walked to William Heard’s garrison in a chilly downpour. Few people were about the roads.

The magistrate and lawyers had spent the night at the ordinary but planned to leave together after they broke their fast. Baldwin had commissioned two men to go with him to deliver McDowell to the jail at Portsmouth.

Samuel felt he needed to see the man once more before he left to fulfill his year’s sentence in jail.

William Heard admitted him to the smokehouse. Baldwin was already there, checking the leg irons in preparation to removing the prisoner.

“Thank you for coming, Parson,” McDowell said when he saw Samuel.

“I came to see if you needed anything and to tell you that I shall continue to pray for you.”

“Thankee, sir. I know I deserve what I’m gettin’. I guess I can stand a year, so long as they don’t throw me in a dank, cold hole for the winter.”

“I trust they will see to your bodily needs. Do not lose hope, McDowell. Do not lose faith in God Almighty.”

“I shan’t, sir. He knows I’m sorry I done what I did. And He made it so I shan’t be hanged for killing that woman, such as I didn’t do.”

Samuel nodded and turned to Baldwin. “Captain, this man is a brother in Christ. Please allow us to pray once more before you take him away.”

An hour later, Samuel entered his house and removed his dripping hat. Christine was near the hearth, coughing as she stirred a simmering kettle. As much smoke seemed to billow from the fireplace as went up the chimney. The fire sputtered as rain pattered down on it. He looked about, mentally counting the children in the haze, and relaxed when he was sure all were safe within the walls of home.

“Ah, there you be, sir. Your coat at least is soaked, and probably your other clothing as well. You’d best change and hang your things here to dry.”

He ducked into his bedchamber and closed the door. On his pallet lay a new suit of charcoal gray wool. He bent and ran his hand over it. So. She had finished her weaving and sewing, despite all that went on in the village.

Well, this suit was too good for him to loll about home in or to wear over to the meetinghouse for school time and preparing sermons. He put on the workaday trousers she had made him that summer and a different shirt. She was right; he’d gotten soaked to the skin.

He carried his wet garments out to hang near the fire. Christine had left the door open, and the smoke had cleared a little.

“Where are the children?” he asked.

“I sent them all to the loft under Ben’s direction to crack nuts for me. I am baking a cake.”

“I see.”

“Do you, sir? Today is your birthday, you know.”

That tickled Samuel, and he laughed. “I had forgotten it.”