The Devil's Cold Dish (26 page)

Once Rees stepped into the channel between the lines, he disappeared from view in almost every direction. He paused and took in a deep breath, safe in the forest of white. “Jericho,” he heard a woman's voice say. “What are you doing here?” Rees directed his steps toward the voice, emerging very suddenly at the back of a shack. Inside the small space was a fireplace, the fire dying to coals, and several massive coppers ranged around the walls. Flatirons were positioned upon the stone hearth. “And who is this?” The question brought Rees's head around to the house about twenty feet back from the river and to the woman standing on the steps. Rees thought she was probably over fifty, although the arms bared almost to the shoulder were solid with muscle. Only a few strands of gray touched her dark hair but deep lines bracketed her mouth. Not smile lines either, Rees thought. The deep furrows were the marks of disapproval.

“Who are you?” she asked, the brown eyes so like Caldwell's sweeping over Rees.

“Will Rees. Weaver,” he added as an afterthought.

Her expression lightened. “Are you the son of Martha Rees?” she asked. Rees nodded. “I laundered bedding for her from time to time, especially when your father became ill. I didn't realize you and my son were friends.”

“Good friends,” Rees said.

She acknowledged his comment with a nod and looked at Caldwell. “Why are you here?”

“I think we better go inside,” he said. “And sit down while we discuss it.” Caldwell sounded nervous and kept licking his lips.

He's scared of his mother,
Rees thought. Not that he was surprised. She looked to be a tough old bird. Now Caldwell resembled a rabbit caught nibbling the greens in the garden, and expecting a spade across the head.

“Very well.” Mrs. Caldwell turned and climbed the last step into the cabin. Caldwell gestured at Rees, inviting him to precede him. Rees didn't hesitate. He went up the slope and the steps as quickly as he could. He was tired and hungry and longing for a cup of coffee.

“Wipe your feet,” Mrs. Caldwell ordered, gesturing to the woven mat by the door. As Rees obeyed, he looked around.

The cabin was long and narrow and the main room occupied the whole length. Opposite Rees and the door through which he'd come was the kitchen: a few shelves for dishes and a large sink. The front door was placed to the left with a flight of steps just past the opening and rising to the second floor. A large fireplace was located on the wall in front of the stairs so that the steps disappeared behind the chimney. Rees guessed that the second floor and the staircase to it had been added later.

But his first and strongest impression was of the strong odor of vinegar and the scrubbed white appearance of every wooden surface. The logs that made up the cabin walls had been washed, the bark peeled away by frequent and relentless scouring. A large washing copper, polished to a shine, rested against the wall by the fireplace. Even the fireplace was almost spotless. Black stained one side of the stones but Rees felt certain if he touched it he would not feel the greasiness of soot. Except for the still-smoldering wood from today's banked fire, all of the ashes had been cleaned away and the granite slab that made up the hearthstone glistened with recent washing.

Without being asked, Rees removed his shoes. He did not want to risk bringing even the slightest crumb of dirt into this home. Mrs. Caldwell smiled at him in approval.

Her son, however, clumped in without wiping his shoes and threw himself into one of the rocking chairs by the fireplace. Rees saw the exact moment when Caldwell recollected his purpose in visiting; he jumped to his feet and joined Rees on the mat.

“You must want something,” Mrs. Caldwell said to her son in a sour tone. “Otherwise you would not comply with my wishes.” Turning to Rees, she said, “You look hot and tired. I can offer you cider or tea. Or water.”

Rees stifled his sigh; he would really prefer coffee. But he accepted the cider and, at Mrs. Caldwell's gesture, sat down at the small table. Caldwell called for ale. Mrs. Caldwell disappeared into a room by the back entrance, a pantry positioned under the hollow left by the rise of the stairs. She returned a moment later with two full mugs and a loaf of bread. Visiting the pantry once again, she came out a second time with two plates, held together to form a closed carrier. Removing the top plate revealed a mound of sliced ham. Caldwell reached for a slice with his greasy fingers and she slapped his hand with a sharp crack. “Manners, Jericho,” she said.

Porcelain plates and a silver fork came out of a cupboard. Rees thought that washing laundry must pay better than he would have suspected.

Mrs. Caldwell positioned the fork upon the plate of ham and began sawing slices from the loaf of bread. She offered both bread and ham to Rees first and he made a thick sandwich. Only then did she permit her son to take his share. For several minutes the cabin was silent as both men ate hungrily. Mrs. Caldwell waited until both plates were clean of everything but a few crumbs before she spoke. “Now that you have eaten and drunk, I want to know why you've come to me. What's the trouble? And don't even attempt a falsehood,” she added, directing a stern glare at her son. “I can tell when you lie.”

 

Chapter Twenty-four

Rees hesitated a few seconds. “Well,” he said and then he looked at Caldwell. The other man flipped his hand as if to say, “This is your tale, you tell it.” So Rees said, “This all started with the murder of Zadoc Ward.”

“No,” Caldwell interrupted. “Everything started with the rumor that your wife practiced witchcraft.”

Rees hesitated for a moment. “Maybe so,” he agreed. “Very well. My sister began spreading rumors about my wife.” He paused. How much did Caldwell's mother really need to know anyway? “Thefts of livestock and petty destruction on my farm followed. I didn't know if that was connected or not. But then the attacks became more serious. And when the body of Ward was found shot to death, Zedediah Farley immediately suspected I had had a hand in it.”

“Because you'd brawled with Ward,” Caldwell put in.

“And because Farley thought Lydia might need the body for her rites.” He stopped again, recalling with sorrow the desolation on Lydia's face when she saw the destruction of her hives. “Then the corpse of Thomas McIntyre was found, hanging upside down from a beam in his mill, with the marks of some kind of torture on him and candles all around.” Rees's throat closed and he couldn't continue.

“I got wind of a plan to capture Lydia and bring her before the magistrate on charges of witchcraft,” Caldwell said.

“I thought they might put her to the water test,” Rees said, raising his eyes to Mrs. Caldwell. “Or press her…” His voice wobbled and he had to stop.

“Lydia is expecting,” Caldwell explained to his mother.

“Our first,” Rees said.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Caldwell said in a hushed voice. “When is she due?”

“September.” Rees stopped again, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

“Fortunately,” Caldwell continued, “I was able to gather some of Rees's friends and we arrived in time to prevent any violence.”

“Was she arrested?” Mrs. Caldwell asked. Rees shook his head. Just remembering those few hours made him shake. He turned to Caldwell.

“She was in hiding,” the former constable said. “And Rees was able to spirit her away. But I lost my position over it.”

“And Farley, the man who believes with all his heart and soul that Lydia is a witch, was put into Caldwell's place by Magistrate Hanson.”

Mrs. Caldwell pursed her lips. “It sounds as though you have some powerful enemies.”

Rees nodded. “And then my sister's husband, Sam Prentiss, was found shot to death. Of course Farley suspected me. He and his men came out to the farm to arrest me. And if it weren't for your son, Caldwell here, I would have been caught and probably strung up without even a chance to defend myself.” Rees could still hardly believe it.

“So, you're on the run,” she said.

“No,” Rees said firmly. “I'm not. I want to stay in the area and find out who is doing this to me. I will find out who is doing this.” He said the last with such intensity it sounded like a vow and both the Caldwells stared at him.

After a moment of silence, Mrs. Caldwell said, “If I were you, I'd look to my family. No one else can get so close and do so much harm.”

Rees nodded. “At first I thought it might be my sister, but although she admits to spreading rumors, she swears she did nothing else. And I wonder how she, a woman, would lift the body of a man. And then I considered my brother-in-law but he was the most recent murder victim.”

“And he was touched besides,” Caldwell said. “Foolish.”

“I wonder.” Mrs. Caldwell turned to the sink and began putting the dirty dishes into the dishpan as she stared unseeingly through the window. “Is there a man other than her husband that your sister is close to?”

“No,” Rees said quickly, although his thoughts went unerringly to Piggy Hanson.

Mrs. Caldwell fixed her eyes upon Rees. “Now you're lying to me.”

“I'm not,” Rees protested, sounding even to his ears like a guilty schoolboy. “But I did see the magistrate visiting her.”

“There. I knew it. Most likely he and your sister cooked up this scheme between them.”

“He's married.” Rees's voice trailed away. He recalled meeting Mrs. Hanson, a faded, gray woman who, although ten years Piggy's junior, looked decades older.

“I say, look to the connection between the magistrate and your sister.” She paused and added in a cynical tone, “My experience tells me that someone is unfaithful to his wedding vows.” She paused a moment and Rees was certain she spoke of her own past. “By enacting this elaborate story, she manages to free herself of her husband and blame the brother. If you pretend for a moment your sister is no relation to you, I think you'll see the truth to what I am saying.” Mrs. Caldwell waved the dishrag for emphasis.

“I'm not sure that's correct,” Caldwell said. “The magistrate doesn't like you, that is true. But enough to serve you such an ill turn?”

Rees shrugged with uncertainty. “But why accuse Lydia?” he asked. He did not like agreeing with Mrs. Caldwell, but her suggestion made sense. Caldwell frowned at Rees as though he were particularly slow-witted.

“Because a guilty verdict of witchcraft results in the confiscation of all goods and properties. And your sister has desired your farm for years.”

Rees recalled Caroline's happiness the last time he'd visited her. She had told him that. “Piggy Hanson has promised my property to her,” he said, appalled by the cunning behind this scheme. Then he remembered Caroline's other offhand comments; she'd asked about selling and mentioned moving to Boston. Was that her plan?

“And the magistrate is helping her, for whatever reason,” Caldwell said, throwing a quick look at his mother.

Mrs. Caldwell attacked the plates aggressively and soon they were stacked on the table, ready to be returned to the pantry. “Mr. Rees can stay with me a few days,” she said. “No more. I have customers coming and going—I don't want to take the chance someone will see him and bring the storm down upon my head. And before sleeping in the bed upstairs, I want both of you to bathe.” Rees nodded in agreement. Even a few days would allow him a chance to investigate from a place of relative safety. He didn't think he would wish to stop with Mrs. Caldwell for much longer than that anyway. He would spend all his time trying to clean up any infinitesimal speck of dirt she might see.

“Why should I bathe?” Caldwell protested. “I'm fine.” Rees left the table and walked to the back door.

“You stink of horse and sweat and whiskey,” his mother said. “You will bathe or I won't permit you in the house.”

“My entire childhood was spent washing,” Caldwell said, his voice rising. “I'm a man now. I don't see why I should have to obey these queer whims of yours.”

Rees picked up his shoes and his pack and went down the back steps, the sound of the quarrel fading behind him. He was still hot and sweaty from his trek through the woods, and his face stung with a crust of salt. He was certain he stank as well, even though Mrs. Caldwell had been too polite to say so, and a bath seemed a small price to pay for his safety. Anyway, he wanted to consider Mrs. Caldwell's suggestions. Unfortunately, they made sense, too much sense, and he knew if Caroline had not been his sister, he would probably have thought exactly the same. He couldn't see a romantic attachment between Caro and Piggy but maybe the angry spite they shared was enough of a connection. And while Rees didn't want to believe his sister capable of such guile, Piggy had that ability in abundance.

Positioning himself behind the washhouse, so that he could not be seen at all from the house, Rees shucked his clothing and cautiously stepped off the flat granite boulders into the water. It was as warm as it got, now at the end of the day, but it was still chilly enough to take his breath away. He ducked completely under and scrubbed his hands over his body. Then he climbed out and sat on the rocks to dry.

“My mother sent down a towel,” Caldwell said, appearing with a large linen square. Ragged with long use, the cloth was soft and absorbent and Rees gratefully wrapped it around himself. “I will be sleeping in the washhouse,” Caldwell said.

“Over a bath?” Rees asked.

Caldwell turned his head to look at his companion. “I've spent my life washing or being washed until my skin was red and sore. When I was younger I sometimes went to school in damp clothes. Not a pleasant experience during the winter, I can assure you. My mother just had to scrub my breeches the night before. And if I hadn't been sleeping in my shirt, she'd probably have laundered that too. Well, now I am a grown man and I won't allow her to dictate to me.”