Peter Loon (37 page)

“I thought you would go with them,” she said when Peter went back inside.

“I thought so, too,” he said.

Peter had thought, also, that he would have the chance to see Manasseh Cutts and Crispin Moss, before he left Wiscasset, but he could not find them, nor gain any knowledge of their whereabouts in a short and awkward circuit of the town. He came back to the tavern to discover that Captain Clayden had paid for his and the Grays' breakfast, which they were not shy about eating.

They were on the road to New Milford before the morning was very old, with Elspeth on the family horse and her father and Peter on foot. Elspeth thought that little had been accomplished the night before, and said so. Peter was offended for the sake of her father, whose life and freedom had been preserved, but Mr. Gray himself appeared more amused than angry with his daughter. The man reminded Peter of Parson Leach just then, and he could understand that Mr. Gray and the clergyman were friends.

“The peculiar thing is,” said Sam Gray, “that I have nearly enough coin to secure my acres if I'm not dunned more than once for it.”

“Does Mama know this?” wondered Elspeth.

“Lord in Heaven, no!” said her father. “She thinks a coin to the proprietors is a coin to the devil himself.'

“Did you tell the sheriff when he arrested you?” she pursued.

“The matter wasn't raised,” said Mr. Gray.

Elspeth thought about this for a while, and when they had been traveling for half an hour or so, she let out a short growl and spurred the horse to a trot.

When she was some yards ahead of them, Peter looked ready to pursue her, but Sam Gray laid a hand on the young man's shoulder, saying, “Let her go, lad. The backcountry is harder on women, mostly, and it makes them angry at times, when they consider it.” Soon, she was out of sight.

“You're
not angry,” said Peter, thinking the man had more right to be, who had been thrown in jail unjustly and who had a daughter prone to wrath.

“Perhaps I should be,” admitted Sam Gray. “Her mother will think so. But it was almost restful there, once Mr. Leach and Captain Clayden arrived. And that old knight the Captain read about was more than I could have imagined. I don't know when I've laughed so.”

Peter told Mr. Gray about the angler Parson Leach had read about on the way to Balltown, and the older man thought it sounded a queer sort of conversation, between the angler and the hunter and the falconer. He said he would have liked to have heard it. Talking about the road to Balltown led Peter to describing others of his adventures and he was amazed himself what had happened to him in a few days, and how much greater it seemed than everything that had happened to him before it, besides the death of his father.

There were other men upon the road and Peter and Mr. Gray were a little concerned about Elspeth riding alone. They thought they spotted her, though, once or twice, waiting behind an imperfect screen of trees, or pausing on a rise in the distance before disappearing down the further slope. They had report of her from those men they caught up, and they fell in or left off with these fellows as their separate destinations required. Peter had little to say about the preceding night, or about his own deeds, but he was interested in what other men had to say and they seemed happy to fill his ear.

“Men do have opinions, Peter,” said Mr. Gray when they found themselves alone upon the road again.

The woods held httle mystery, now, that was not already endemic to an October day. A hint of rain followed the wind through the trees. The call of something strange came from above them, but like the ducks, days ago in Patricktown, Peter could not discover the source of the sound.

As they drew nearer to New Milford, and in particular, when they left the woods and crossed a field to ford the Sheepscott River, Peter dreaded seeing Elspeth again, and also feared that he would not. She was waiting for them above the Star and Sturgeon, but while he retrieved Beam's saddle and gear from the stable and readied the horse in the field, she stayed well away. Mr. Gray held Beam's bridle while Peter secured the cinches and gear.

Mr. Gray shook Peter's hand before the young man mounted and turned Beam's head about. Above them, in the field, Elspeth sat astride her horse like a man, dressed in men's clothes; but she had taken off her hat and untied her kerchief so that her dark hair spilled down her shoulders, and very little could have struck Peter with more force. He felt an inner tug that almost caused him to spur Beam in her direction, but he stopped himself, and experienced an unexplainable sense of vertigo–as if he had almost fallen off a bad height.

Elspeth's father had offered him room in his barn as long as he wanted it, but Peter demurred, and he pointed Beam home. Peter raised his hand in a wave. He thought for a moment that Elspeth would not respond, or that she would simply turn her horse and ride toward her home. But after some thought, she raised her own hand and watched him as he spurred Beam to the west, in which direction he had been told he would come to a crossroad and meet a discernable road north.

WHEN HE CONSIDERED RECENT DAYS AND THE MILES HE HAD TRAV
eled, not to mention the people he had seen–more people than he had known his entire life–Peter was amazed that he could make his way home in a day and a half's ride; and though he was concerned that he might lose his way he was glad of another route to travel home as he had no desire to return by way of the Ale Wife Tavern and Nora Tillage's father at the head of Great Bay.

He reached the western settlement of Balltown before noon, and here he crossed the Sheepscott by an ancient ford and found a tavern, where a meal could be had for the price of his story concerning doings in Wiscasset. He related the business as if he had been but a witness, and raised the reputation of Parson Leach and Captain Clayden whenever opportunity arose. His tale was good for commerce there since the tavern keeper and those of his patrons who heard Peter could tell the tale again, and many were the tankards filled that night as others received the story at second hand or more.

In his leisure at the tavern Peter thought to ask after his Uncle Obed, and was amazed that several of his listeners knew of someone named Winslow, that each of these Winslows was someone separate from all the others, and that each of them had some extraordinary story attached to them. One had tried to murder his wife in a jealous rage, and another had owned a horse that could pick apples from a tree and drop them into a basket without breaking the skin, while yet another had had a vision of the devil on a lake up north and hadn't known his right mind since. There were a peculiar lot of people in the world, Peter thought, and a lot of peculiar people.

Peter had no idea how far spread were Nathan Barrow's companions, and as he continued his way home he was uneasy of being seen when he found himself nearing farms and houses. He hoped his horse was outstripping most of the Liberty Men on their way home, or that they were from other towns, or that he and Mr. Gray had already passed them the day before.

His path took him along the Sheepscott River Valley, and he traveled most of the afternoon in sight of the stream. A short storm of wind and rain rose out of the southwest and wet him thoroughly before it blustered off. From a low hill overlooking Pleasant Pond he could see the dark cloud and its attendant rain as a shadow racing away, north and east.

It was here, riding the perimeter of a small acre of hardwood, that he first saw a thread of smoke to his right. He hesitated before riding from behind the cover of the trees, but could see no direct way to avoid whoever was responsible for the fire. The smell of smoke reached his nose when its source was not yet apparent, and before he was properly ready, he came round a rocky knoll and into the presence of Mr. Klaggerfell and his dog Pownal.

The old man sat with his back against the granite protrusion of the hill and his dog stood opposite him by the fire. The animal was already waiting for Peter before he appeared, its hackles up, its throat rumbling ominously. Peter pulled Beam up, with a surprised “Ho!” and let her shift back a step or two.

“Don't mind old Pownal,” said Mr. Klaggerfell.

“You will pardon me, but I do,” said Peter.

The old man gave him a serious look then, and said, “You're the young fellow with the preacher I met the other night.”

“I am.”

“Yes. Well, all is for nothing. The people here are not up to fighting, it seems.”

“I would guess that that was more than nothing,” said Peter.

“You would?” said the old man with hardly an inflection.

“And to many purposes, in fact.”

“They are not mine.”

“I hope so,” said Peter, and he was startled by his own words.

Mr. Klaggerfell rose to his feet; the motion held no threat in it, only the activity of an old man using sore bones. He looked off to the northeast. “That squall, just went by, didn't damp my fire,” he said, which observation the young man could not immediately connect to their conversation.

“Goodbye, Mr. Klaggerfell,” said Peter. The old fellow set Peter's teeth on edge, and he wanted to quit him as soon as was polite–or sooner, if possible.

“That preacher of yours is a lucky man,” called the man after Peter.

Peter did not wait for the old warrior to explain his meaning. Beam happily (and even thankfully, Peter thought) took him down the slope in the direction of a small settlement between the river and Pleasant Pond. Peter did look back, now and again, and though he could see the old man and his dog and the smoke of the fire dwindling behind, he had the uncanny feeling that something of them clung to his back like a leech. Peter was glad to be rid of even the sight of them.

In the hamlet below there was less offered in the way of victuals and more in the way of suspicion concerning Peter in his fine Clayden clothes, and he did not stay long. He had only to follow the Sheepscott north, skirt the Deadwater Slough, west of Great Pond, and he would be within a quarter mile of home.

Night came on and he found a bed of leaves. Beam was tethered nearby, and he hoped the horse would whinny if there were other creatures in the vicinity. It rained in the gray hour before dawn and he rose from his soaked bed and, walking Beam, picked his way alongside the river.

All the way he had only the company of his own thoughts, and he spent many a stretch considering Nora Tillage, and Emily and Sussanah Clayden, and Martha, and Elspeth Gray. He was old enough to think of the rest of his life, but he was not wiser for his deliberation. His life at home occupied him as well, and he was increasingly anxious to see his family, and particularly little Amos.

It was mid-morning, with the skies overcast and peevish with fitful rain, when he rode Beam up a stump-covered slope and came upon the fresh grave. Three other markers lay beyond and he knew them by the names of his sisters and a brother who had died in years before.