The Siren's Tale (25 page)

“
I don’t know his name, sir. If that is what you call him, well then, I guess Caleb is the man she spoke to.”

“
Caleb used to live here in the shed, doing chores for my mother like you do now. He is no more a devil than you or I are. He used to be a coal miner and now he has become a well-established business man who sells ice. Don’t believe such hogwash, Thomas.”

“
Well, if you say so, sir.”

“
But to get back to the point, you say my mother spoke to Caleb of coming my way on the evening before she died?”

“
Yes, she did, sir.”

“
How very curious.”

“
Well, I don’t mind telling you, I thought so myself. I come in to give her some vegetables for her dinner. I overheard her tell him she would be going over to your place.”

“
I wonder why she would confide her plans in Caleb.”

“
Well, that I wouldn’t know nothing about, Master Nicholas. Widow Brighton didn’t confide in me none, though I often asked for her advice, as you may recall, sir.”

“Oh yes. You asked her advice in the matter of the crazy old biddy who stabbed my wife in church with a hatpin. No harm ever washed up on you from that occasion, did it, Thom? Well, well, well. Seems a long time ago now, and superstition dies hard.” 

Nicholas stood musing for a while, while Thomas waited hat in hand for further instructions from the new master of
the Brighton Grange.  

“
I wonder why Caleb hasn't come forward with this information?”

“
Oh, I know the answer to that, sir. He has been off in the mountains for several weeks. That day he talked to Widow Brighton could have been the last day he was in town.”

“
You must go and find Mr. Scattergood for me. Scour the countryside, ask around. I am not strong enough yet, or I would go myself. Find him as soon as you can, and tell him I wish to speak to him. Tell him it is urgent. Would you do that for me?”

“
Certainly, Master Nicholas. I am a good hand at hunting up folks by day. I chase my father up one hill and down dale. Now, at night I don’t take kindly to going out much. I am afeared of the spirits they say is out on Hatter's Field after midnight.”

“
Confine your search to the daylight hours if you like, man, but at all possible speed send Caleb Scattergood to me, as soon as you possibly can.”

Several days after speaking with Thomas Hawker and without telling his wife, Nicholas rode over to visit his mother's grave. It was late afternoon when he reached the valley after a five-mile ride. He had not been on the ranch since the funeral. In the far distance where the reach of the Grange property extended, he could see the cowboys hard at work, roping the new calves, and branding them with the Brighton four-point star. 

As he came through the white palings an
d the front gate, Nicholas had the oddest sensation his mother would be coming out to welcome him, as she always had, her apron primly tied and her bonnet only partially hiding the white streak in her black hair.

The garden gate was locked and the shutters were clos
ed, as he had left them after the funeral. About that event he remembered only his own excruciating numbness and his wife sitting beside him in the church, her radiant beauty glimmering behind a thick, dark veil. All eyes had been upon her, moving back and forth between her and Widow Brown, waiting for something explosive to happen. But fortunately, nothing did.  

He got down from his horse and unlocked the gate. A s
pider had constructed a giant web there, which he gently brushed away. He entered the house and flung back the shutters. Then, to remove the stale, musty odor and create some heat to get through the cold evening hours, he got the home fires going in barn and house. Once the fireplaces were roaring, he took a look around.

Tomorrow
he would go through old papers, burning everything unneeded and making a preliminary survey of the cupboards for Cassandra. It was hardly likely she would want to use much of what was so carefully stored. Her tastes in domestics ran to sleek, modern styles, whereas his parents’ preferences had been for heavy, old-fashioned furniture and ornate antiques.

After completing a few
more tasks, he felt tired and was glad to find his old room unaltered. He fell into it and slept more soundly than he had in months.

In the morning, Nicholas went from room to room, surveying the furnishings: the gaunt oak-cased clock that had belonged to his grandparents; his mother’s corner cupbo
ard with the glass door and the spotted china within sitting on lace doilies; the heavy wooden tea trays; the fountain in the garden with the brass tap.

Which, if any,
of these venerable items were likely to meet with Cassandra's approval? He tried to imagine her sitting in the stiff chair his mother had favored, playing her zither. He shook his head sadly. His exotic wife and her surreal music were misplaced in this homespun picture. 

Then he noticed
flowers in the window box that had died for lack of water. He was plucking them out by their roots when he heard footsteps on the gravel outside. Someone had come through the gate, which he had left unlocked, as his mother always used to do in order to encourage visitors and receive news from the village.

Nicholas
opened the door, the dead flowers in his hand. Standing there was Caleb Scattergood. Nicholas took a step backward in astonishment. Thomas had told him Scattergood was high in the mountains and not expected back for weeks. 

“
Good morning,” said Caleb. “Is your mother at home? She is due for an ice delivery.”

Caleb's bright blue eyes
grew puzzled as Nicholas continued to gape at him. Finally the master of the Grange managed to say, “You haven’t seen anyone or heard any news?”

“
I just came down from the mountains. I got home sooner than expected.”

“
My mother is—dead.”

“
Dead!”

Nicholas gestured through the window toward the enclosure in the garden wher
e the two graves lay side by side.

Caleb loo
ked at him closely. “You don't look well. Have you been ill?”

“
I grieved her death like a madman.”

“
Well! I hardly know what to say. When I parted from your mother, there was every indication she was going to begin a new life and a better one.”

“
And that she did.”

“
Your mother was a woman of great virtue and kindness, and she has died too soon. Many will deeply mourn her passing, myself among them. I am so sorry.”

The ice man’s kind words unleashed
a frozen spot in the bereft son’s heart. Nicholas wept openly, grasping his friend’s shoulder for support. Then, wiping his eyes, he said, “Never truer words were spoken of her. Come, I’ve been desperate to see you, Caleb.  Shall we go to the barn? It is warmer there.”

H
is former employer looked puzzled, but he followed Nicholas into the open room in the barn where the dancing and theatrical performance had taken place the previous Thanksgiving.

Nicholas had spent several hours last evening sitting here, remembering his first sight of Cassandra, until the fire in the crude fireplace was reduced to ashes. Though there was no fire there now,
Nicholas and Caleb stood at the settle, their hands clasped behind their backs.

“
How came Widow Brighton to die?” asked Caleb.

Nicholas recounted how he had
found his mother collapsed on a hillside in Bulette and how she died shortly afterward, of poisoning as the result of an adder’s bite and heat prostration.

“
I said I wanted to ask you something, Caleb. I'm most anxious to know what my mother said to you when she last saw you. I have reason to believe it was the night before she died. You talked with her quite a long time, I think? Or so Thom has said.”

“Yes. I recall a long conversation we had before I left.”

“About what, if I may?”

“Mostly you. In the end, she said she was coming to see you and mend fences. She said she would go to your cabin the next day. She promised me she would, if I may be so bold as to say it.”

“But why, if she felt so bitter? There was a boy she spoke to in a way I can’t ever forget. She said she was 'a broken-hearted woman rejected by her son.' And yet I never once saw her at my home, much less rejected her.”

“
I can’t answer that. When we spoke, she seemed to have no blame in her heart. It appeared to me she had mostly forgiven you for whatever hard feelings there were between you.” 

“
Yet another had it from her lips the next day I was unforgiven! My mother was not a flighty woman who changed her opinion from hour to hour. How can it be?”

“
Indeed it is very odd. There must be an explanation.”

“
Yes, yes. A piece of the puzzle is missing. One more thing to bewilder my poor weak mind!” Nicholas grabbed at his hair as if he meant to pull it out. Caleb watched his poor friend with concern in his eyes. 

“
If only I could speak with her! But the grave has forever shut in the mystery. How to find out the truth now?”

When Caleb left a
short time later, Nicholas passed from the dullness of sorrow to the restlessness of maddening uncertainty. Mrs. Fairwell came over and cleaned his room for him. He arranged for her and her family to take care of such domestic responsibilities until the time when he and his wife would move into the Grange more permanently.

After
two days of assigning duties, Nicholas felt more secure about leaving the Grange. Yet there was something preventing him from doing so. Finally he realized that the holdup was his unsatisfied desire to find out all there was to know about the last hours of his mother’s life.

Up to this point, Nicholas had avoided direct contact with the boy who had scarred his soul forever. So painful was the memory that he could bare
ly bring himself to face Horatio again. But armed with the new information, could he leave without getting more pieces of the puzzle on the table?

So
, the following morning, after finishing up at the Grange, Nicholas paid a call around ten o’clock at the modest lodgings of the Nelson family, who had been odd jobbers in Alta for decades. Their more famous next door neighbor, Widow Brown, was in the cabin having a cup of coffee with Mrs. Nelson, when Nicholas sidestepped through the open door and took off his hat.

Widow Brown said nothing to the visitor,
but regarded him very closely when he asked Mrs. Nelson if he might speak with her son.

“
Dode!” Mrs. Nelson yelled out the door. She always used the boy’s nickname. The boy and his father had the same first name of Mark, and Horatio was too long to shout. “Someone is here to see you!”

In a few minutes Horatio
appeared, a slingshot in hand, as he had been out birding on Hatter’s Field. He was wearing red suspenders Nicholas recognized as having been his own when he was younger. Cassandra often parceled out his old clothes to her domestic help, finding it a ridiculous habit that her husband held on to such things. Recalling the youth’s many services to his wife, Nicholas managed a smile.

“
Well, say hello to the gentleman,” prompted his mother.

“
Howdy,” the lad mumbled, refusing to look Nicholas in the eye. Horatio knew of the harm his words had caused this man. He knew little about Mr. Brighton, except he had gone mad, and so he was leery of what might be coming.

“Hello, Horatio. I hope you are well.”

“Not as well as could be,” said the boy’s mother. “He had the fever and was sick in bed for two weeks before. This is his first day out of doors in almost a month.”

Widow
Brown gave Mrs. Nelson an intense look, which signified the Widow's strongly held belief that Horatio’s frequent bouts with fever were entirely owing to his continuing to wait on Cassandra. Widow Brown had frequently impressed on Mrs. Nelson the dangers of her son consorting with a known witch. However, the Nelsons needed the money, and the youth was adamant in his loyalty. So despite Cassandra's notoriety among the grown-ups, Mrs. Nelson allowed Horatio to continue in her employ.

“
So that is why you’ve been unable to come to us, “ said Nicholas. “Mrs. Brighton has missed you.”

Horatio grimaced and shuffled his feet, looking out
-of-doors as though to say he would much prefer to be there at this moment.

“
I wonder if I might speak to your son privately,” said Nicholas.

After an uncomfortable pause, Mrs. Nelson
shrugged and went into an adjacent room, with Widow Brown grumbling and lumbering after her.

“
Now, Horatio,” began Nicholas, “I don’t want you to feel you are in any way responsible for anything that has happened to my family. You were a help to my mother in her hour of greatest need. I thank you for that from my heart. Do we understand each other now?”

“
Yes, sir,” said Horatio. “I—I didn’t know it was your mother, sir! Not till afterward.  I meant nothing by it, what I said.”

“
I know you didn’t, Horatio. You are sure she said those exact words, then?”

“
Yes, sir,” he answered miserably. “I wish she hadn’t said them. It has caused me a heap of trouble. Everyone says I made you take sick.”

“
It wasn’t your fault I got sick. But what I was wondering, Horatio, is if you could tell me more about that day, so we can learn what she meant by the words. It was when you were out picking berries that you first saw Mrs. Brighton, right?”

“
Yes, sir, for father's pie.”

“
And she was sitting on the ground, unwell?”

“
No, sir, she wasn’t. Not the first time I seen her.”

“
The first time. You mean you saw her more than once?”

“
Yes.”

“
Dear God! When did you see her the first time?”

“
Well, I seen her about an hour before the last time.”

“
And where was she then?”

“
She was knocking at the door.”

“
The door? What door?”

“
Why, your door, sir. The same one I saw you go through.”

“
You mean, the door at my cabin in Bulette?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
And what time was that?”

“
It was around noon, I think, when I saw you go in. The sun was straight up in the sky. From where I was picking berries on the knoll, I could see her, too, sir, when she was at the front of the house.”   

Nicholas was reeling with the
new and confusing information being delivered. He stared at the youth with his hazel eyes rounded like saucers, but he managed to keep his voice quiet and controlled, so as not to frighten the boy.  

“
So, after I went in, then you saw my mother knocking on my door?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Think carefully, Horatio. How long after?”

“
Well, sir, I don’t know exactly. Perhaps an hour or so. It was some time after the other gentleman went in.”