Wishful Seeing (15 page)

“I do realize it,” Thaddeus said with a smile. “That's why I asked her to keep my house for me. And we'll come back sometime when we're not in quite such a hurry.”

They were just pulling out from the Gordons' lane when Martha caught sight of a lone horseman riding in their direction.

“Oh no. Is that who I think it is?” she asked.

Thaddeus squinted a little and then said, “I do believe that's James. He must be working his way back to Cobourg.” He cast his mind over the appointment schedule they had set up. “Yes, that would be about right. He should be heading home about now.”

Small must have recognized them, as well, for he kicked his horse into a trot and soon caught up with them. He beamed at Martha.

“I didn't expect to see you.”

“It's such a lovely day, we thought we'd drive up this way and visit some old friends,” Thaddeus said. He didn't make any further explanation and Martha understood that her grandfather was loath to disclose any details about what they were doing. Small looked understandably puzzled. Part of the reason he had been appointed an assistant on this circuit was so that Thaddeus wouldn't have to travel so much.

“That's a long way for a visit,” he said.

“Well, yes, but I've got my granddaughter to drive me home, you see, if I get tired.”

That seemed to satisfy Small, even though Martha thought the statement made no sense at all.

“You're planning to return to Cobourg tonight, then?” Small considered for a moment, then to Martha's profound annoyance said, “I can ride at least part of the way with you.” He smiled at Martha again. “You'd like some company, wouldn't you?”

Thaddeus looked annoyed as well. The last thing they needed was to land in at the Howell farm with a stranger in tow. But short of telling Small what was going on, Martha couldn't think of any gracious way of telling him to make himself scarce.

Neither, apparently, could Thaddeus.

And then, to Martha's dismay, Small climbed down from his horse, tethered it to the wagon, and scrambled up to the seat of the rig. She was obliged to slide over and crowd into her grandfather so that no part of her would touch Small.

Thaddeus noticed her discomfort and shifted to his left as much as he could in order to give her more room, but it still wasn't far enough away for Martha. Small kept leaning over to her to make some comment about the weather or the road. She was aware of his Adam's apple bobbing unpleasantly every time he spoke.

After an uncomfortable mile or so, they reached the long, winding lane that led to the Howells' dilapidated farmhouse. Off in the distance they could hear a dog barking frantically, but as they drove down the lane, this sound seemed to move farther away until it was no longer audible.

“She already knows we're here,” Thaddeus said quietly to Martha. “Keep your eyes open. I have something to tell you later.”

“Where are we going now?” Small asked, then his eyes narrowed. “This is the Howell place, isn't it? Does this have something to do with the trial?”

“I'm just making a delivery,” Thaddeus said. “If it will put you behind time, I don't mind if you ride on ahead.”

“No, no, that's all right,” Small said. “I'm not in that big a rush,” and he moved another inch closer to Martha.

When they reached the house, she pushed past her grandfather and hopped out of the wagon. Thaddeus handed down Mrs. Gordon's basket of food and then they walked up to peer in through the kitchen window. Martha could see that there was evidence of recent occupation, but no one was there. Neither was there anyone in the barn.

“What about the privy?” Martha asked.

“I doubt she's there, but it would still be best if you checked,” Thaddeus said. “I'd hate to startle her in the middle of something.”

Martha giggled and was about to head for the precariously tilted outhouse when Small said, “Can you hear something? It seems to be coming from up over the hill somewhere.”

They could — the occasional rumble of a cart, or the call of a man's voice, together with the intermittent sound of metal striking rock.

“It must be the railway crew,” Small said. “I didn't realize they were cutting through so close to the road.”

Thaddeus walked around the end of the barn, gesturing for Martha to come with him. Small made to follow.

“James, it would be most helpful if you stayed with the wagon,” Thaddeus said. “The horse is rather skittish, and I don't want him to gallop off if he should become frightened by the noise.”

Martha thought this statement was hilarious — the cart horse they had hired was one of the most phlegmatic creatures she had ever seen — but she was relieved that Thaddeus had manufactured a reason to leave Small behind. She hoped that Small would become bored, or realize that he was late for a meeting or something, and ride on ahead without them.

There was little to see behind the barn other than the steeply sloping hill.

“Should we climb it?” Martha asked.

She could see him hesitating, and then he said, “Leland Gordon thinks George Howell is still here on the farm. I have no idea whether he's dangerous or not. I don't like the idea of walking into an ambush.”

“Oh.” All of a sudden the adventure got very real for Martha and she briefly wondered if she shouldn't wait back at the cart after all. It would depend on what Thaddeus did next, she decided. If he climbed the hill, she would go with him. If he turned around and left, she would follow without a murmur.

“Can you see whether there's a path up the hill?”

She looked carefully, but there were too many trees and bushes to tell. “I can't see anything.”

He studied it for a moment more. “I'd hate to come this far and give up. Let's see what we find up there. Keep low when we get near the top.”

“Mind the thorns, though.”

Thaddeus grabbed an old hay rake that was leaning against the barn and used it to push branches out of the way while Martha slid through the opening. Then she grabbed the other end of it and held the thorny bushes back for him. Once they were past these, the way was clearer. They zigged and zagged up the hill until they crested the rise and discovered that the hill descended again quite steeply. A little pond fringed by cattails was nestled at the bottom in a tiny vale. On the other side of this was a smaller hill, wooded on the side closest to them, but completely bare at the top.

“I didn't realize the track was passing this close,” Thaddeus said. “Howell must have sold off the timber for ties and he'll collect a roadway allowance, as well, I expect. He certainly has been playing all the angles.”

Three workmen with pickaxes appeared at the summit opposite them. One blond giant of a man swung his axe in a high arc over his head and brought it smashing down into the earth. A second time, a third, a fourth, and then with the fifth blow he lost his balance, his arms flailed wildly, and the point of the axe swung perilously close to his head. Suddenly he just disappeared down into the earth he had been digging. The air was filled with yells and angry barks.

“What just happened?” Martha asked.

“I'm not sure,” Thaddeus said. “Stay here and keep your eyes open.”

He slid down the hill and picked his way through the marshy edge of the pond, then scrambled up the steep climb to where the workman had disappeared. Just as he reached the top, Martha saw a thin girl with blond hair appear seemingly out of nowhere on the far side of the pond. She began to climb after Thaddeus.

Martha didn't give her grandfather's admonition to stay put a second thought. She slid down the side of the hill and ran through the bulrushes.

“Hey,” she shouted at the girl. “Wait for me.”

The girl turned but made no attempt to run away. Her dress was filthy and torn, her hair wild, and tears were running down her face.

“I've got to get Digger!” she said and began climbing again.

Martha thought she was referring to the workman who had fallen.

“It's all right,” she shouted. “The others will get the man out. They'll get a rope and pull him out.”

“Not the man. Digger.”

Martha had no doubt that the girl in front of her was Caroline Howell. Who “Digger” was, she had no idea. But she certainly wasn't going to wait to find out. She scrambled up the hill in pursuit of the girl.

Thaddeus arrived at the top of the hill to find five workmen peering over the edge of a large hole. It must be a sinkhole, he figured, the inside of a hill eroded by water until just a crust covered the top. The workmen had been in the process of drawing soil and rock to buttress the line embankments — Thaddeus could see that a portion of the adjacent slope had been dug away already. He approached the hole cautiously and looked in.

He saw a mound of scree, the blond labourer backed up against the side of the hole, and an angry brown dog that barked ferociously at the man's feet.

“Hilfe! Hilfe! Zwerg! Der Teufel!”

The workman kicked at the dog with his heavy leather boot in an attempt to fend it off.

“Hilfe! Hilfe!”

“Does anyone have a rope?” Thaddeus asked.

“Joe's gone to bring his wagon up,” one of the work crew answered. “He'll have a rope.”

The others stared at him blankly.

It will be tricky, Thaddeus thought, to get close enough to the edge of the hole without further collapsing its crumbling sides. He turned as the wagon came lumbering up. It was one of the square three-wheeled construction carts, cumbersome and difficult to manoeuvre. The sorry beast that pulled it managed to reach the halfway point before it gave up and halted.

“Stop there,” Thaddeus called.

“I don't think I can get any closer anyway,” the man called back. It took him several minutes to turn the horse and wagon so that it was pointing back down the hill. Then he climbed up to where Thaddeus and the rest of the crew were standing.

“I've got a length of sisal,” he said. “It's pretty heavy for the job, though.”

“It's better than nothing.”

The man nodded and returned to the wagon, where he lifted out a heavy coil of rope and tied it to the back of the wagon.

All the while the dog continued to bark and growl as the man yelled a steady stream of German interspersed with the occasional call of
“hilfe!”

Thaddeus walked gingerly to the edge. The loose sandy soil shifted under his feet. He took a couple of steps back, then dropped to his knees and crawled over to the hole.

“We're throwing you a rope,” he shouted at the man. “Tie it around yourself and we'll pull you up.”

There was no answer but a continued guttural invective.

“Are you hurt?”

“Hilfe, hilfe! Zwerg! Der Teufel!”

“He don't have much English,” said the worker who had spoken before. “You'll have to talk to him in his own lingo.”

“Surely he'll be able to figure out what we're doing when we throw the rope down,” Thaddeus said. “You don't have to speak English for that.” He grabbed the coil from the wagoner and tossed it over the side. He was relieved to see that it reached all the way to the bottom. “Grab the rope and we'll pull you up,” he repeated. “Tug on it when you're ready.”

There was a renewed volley of frantic barking as the dog confronted this new menace. It lunged at the rope and grabbed it briefly, growling and shaking it from side to side. Then it seemed to realize that it was in no peril from the inanimate object and renewed its standoff with the beleaguered German, planting itself firmly between the man and the rope.

“We need to do something about that damned dog,” the wagoner said. “Hang on a minute.”

He walked back to his wagon, then returned with an old battered-looking rifle. “I'll take care of the beast.”

He was just aiming down the hole when there was a deafening shriek and a small body slammed into the man sideways. He lost his footing and fell heavily. The rifle discharged harmlessly into the air.

Caroline Howell had arrived at the top of the hill. She ran over to the edge of the hole and dropped to her knees. “Digger!” she called. “Don't worry, I'll get you.”

Martha appeared a few moments later. She was panting heavily from the climb, which hadn't seemed to bother Caroline at all. “She's after her dog,” Martha said to Thaddeus.

The animal had stopped growling and barking at the sound of its owner's voice.

“Can you get your dog away from the man in the pit?” Thaddeus asked.

Caroline leaned a little farther over the side. “Digger! Go sit,” she said. “Go on! Over there!” She pointed at the side of the hole farthest from the German workman. The dog obediently went to where she was pointing and sat, its tail wagging furiously.

The German didn't wait for any help. As soon as the dog was out of the way, he grabbed the rope and pulled himself up hand over hand, showers of loose soil and gravel cascading over him as he climbed. When he reached the top, his workmates finally stirred themselves and grabbed his arms to pull him out. They stood him upright and helped brush him off, then they all wandered down the hill.

Joe the wagoner retrieved his rope and his gun, glared at Caroline, and followed them.

“But what about the dog? Thaddeus asked.

“It can stay there forever as far as I'm concerned.”

Caroline looked at Thaddeus beseechingly. She was very like her mother in colouring, he thought, the same pale hair and high cheekbones, but unlike her mother, there was no sunniness in her face.

“Will you help me?” she asked.

Thaddeus looked over the edge of the pit again. The dog began to yelp and jump up and down, then it leaped up onto the heap of rubble that had fallen and clawed frantically at the side of the hole in an attempt to climb up. All this did was bring down more dirt. After a few minutes it seemed to realize that this was futile. It stopped digging and began running around the pit, looking for another way out. Eventually, it started pawing at the far wall, then dug furiously, dirt flying out behind it.