A Mischief in the Snow (17 page)

P
OUNDING RATHER THAN
knocking, John Dudley startled them all. Orpheus let out a volley of growls; Longfellow lunged for the door, and let the constable in.

For once, he was nearly sober. Still, when Dudley caught sight of a body lying by the fire, he became less sure of himself. His eyes went to the ceiling as he heard boots creaking across the floorboards.

“The boy's up there?” he asked Longfellow.

“With Moses Reed, and Reverend Rowe. I presume they are asking him questions of their own.”

Dudley grumbled, and looked for the way out of the kitchen.

“Not so fast,” Longfellow ordered. “First, I need your help with Mrs. Knowles. From Boar Island. One of your near neighbors, I think.”

“How is
she
here?” Dudley blurted.

“There's been an accident. Now, she needs to be taken up to a bed. If you'll lift an end of that blanket, I'll take the other. Careful, man! She's been badly burned.”

“How?”

“It appears she fell, or stepped too near the flames at one of her own hearths. An old story, I'm afraid. Perhaps Magdalene Knowles, standing behind you, will be able to tell us more. Or Lem, more likely. Lift—gently, now!”

Together, they took the old woman, who moaned at the inevitable jostling, across the kitchen and up the stairs. Once they'd reached the upper hall, the two took their burden to the middle bedroom where they found a good fire prepared.

Lem and Moses Reed sat on the bed, their heads close together. The minister, meanwhile, used the opportunity to look around him. Longfellow reminded himself that this was Mrs. Willett's winter bedroom, which she currently occupied. A strong reaction to its invasion nearly overwhelmed him, until he heard his sister behind him.

Diana expressed her own shock at the fact that the bedclothes had not been folded back. She prepared the bed in her own way; then they eased the light body onto the smooth sheets, and it was covered.

Catherine's white eyes seemed to have darkened. Longfellow concluded that Charlotte must have opened her store of opium gum kept for emergencies. In another moment, Mrs. Knowles sighed. Her features relaxed, and it appeared she might be dreaming.

Charlotte and Magdalene entered, making the place altogether too crowded.

“We'll withdraw, gentlemen, and go below,” Longfellow said firmly.

“But I shall stay,” Moses Reed countered. “For reasons you'll understand shortly. It is of some importance, sir,” he added, as if begging a favor.

“Of course,” Longfellow assented. “The rest of us will
go, then. We still have much to discuss. Now, perhaps, more than before.”

“You come with me, young man,” the constable said gruffly, taking Lem's arm and pulling him out before the others.

“I'm glad that's over,” said Diana as she went to shut the door. “These two ladies will benefit from quiet as much as anything else,” she added significantly to Reed, who bowed his head and waited.

Taking a cup from the tray Charlotte had carried up with her, Diana seemed about to offer its contents to her patient. Then her green eyes widened, and she herself took on an ill appearance.

“Her lips!” she whispered desperately. “They're blue, the way it was with Charlie!”

Her friend reached to take her trembling hand. The color of life had begun to ebb from Catherine's face, and Charlotte doubted it would rise again. Magdalene moved forward to stand over the person she knew best in the world. It seemed she meant to speak. Instead, she bent to kiss the brow of the woman so long her mistress, her caretaker, perhaps even her friend.

When she turned away at last, the younger of the island's women looked directly into the face of Moses Reed, for he'd come to stand quietly beside her. Magdalene seemed to feel some new confusion. Charlotte supposed her reaction was quite different from their earlier awareness of one another, in the corner downstairs. Were they, in fact, acquainted, as she'd first assumed? Magdalene's expression dimmed, and she went to sit in one of the room's two chairs, choosing the one most distant from the rest.

“It cannot be long,” said the lawyer. “Mrs. Knowles? Is
there anything you wish to tell us? Anything of importance?” They saw a flutter of her eyelids, a slight roll of her head. “It may make a great difference.”

The old woman's eyes focused, one of her arms moved, and then Charlotte imagined the claw beneath fresh bandages would have pointed to her, had it been free. Carefully, she sat on the edge of the bed and leaned closer. On his own side, Moses Reed did the same.

Catherine's mouth began to move. “Pushed!” she finally expelled in a gasp. Charlotte sat back, struck as much by the thought as by the fetid breath that had delivered it. “Pushed,” Mrs. Knowles insisted once more.

“No!” Reed exclaimed. It seemed he'd not received the information he'd hoped for. And yet, was it entirely unexpected? Charlotte considered a new suspicion, while they waited to hear more.

“Who?” Reed finally asked, after many seconds had gone by. During that time Catherine seemed to have retreated into dreams. Then, marshaling the last of her strength, she attempted to speak again.

“You, madam, you… find out if the boy was…”

It was nearly too much; she clenched her body in a final attempt.

“If… the boy…” A bubble of red came to her lips, then another, and another, until they appeared to be a rosy cluster of honeycomb.

“What does it mean?” asked Charlotte. “Find out what? And which boy?” It was no use asking further.

Moses Reed regarded her soberly. “A dying wish, Mrs. Willett. Did you know her well?”

“I saw Mrs. Knowles two days ago, for the first time in many years. For the third time, I think, in all my life!”

“You must have made an impression,” he replied.

“Do you suppose she
could
have been pushed, as she said?”

“Many things could have happened. That, I think, is only one possibility. She could as easily have been in a delirium at the end, due to the opium. Perhaps she only stumbled at the side of her hearth. Her eyes were clouded, and perhaps she could not see something at her feet. The fire could have taken her with no further help. I've observed the results of such a thing before.”

It was, Charlotte agreed silently, an all too common occurrence.

“However,” the attorney went on, “as Mrs. Knowles
believed
she was pushed, she may have supposed Lem was behind her, though she could not be sure. I find his involvement difficult to imagine. Do you know of any reason he might have done such a thing?”

“None! She
must
have been mistaken!”

“Or, she could have meant someone else. But who?” he asked, looking away suddenly.

“No one else was there, that we know of. Except, of course—”

She, too, then looked to Magdalene, who sat quietly. Diana stood at her side, staring from a window. Neither seemed aware of what had just occurred.

“Let's not speculate,” Reed said swiftly. “Let us, instead, ask both of them what, exactly, they saw today. Lem, I think, will go back with Mr. Longfellow this evening. If I'm offered a bed there myself, I'll have a chance to ask your young man a few things more. You may find an opportunity to question Miss Knowles, if she is to stay here.”

“It would be quieter for her, I suppose.”

“Given time to recover, she may recall something. She's not entirely without sense.”

“Do you know her, Mr. Reed?”

“We have met before.”

“What you suggest does seem the best plan.”

“I would also ask that you say nothing to any of the others yet, about what Mrs. Knowles may have felt, or imagined. At least until we've obtained more facts.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“If you'd like, I'll see to moving her into an unheated room.”

“The one at the top of the stairs is the coolest.”

“I'll go down and speak with Mr. Longfellow.”

Moses Reed moved away from the bed, but went first to the north window where he spoke to the two women.

“Her suffering was brief. It is over.”

Diana nodded, but made no other reply.

“Miss Knowles? Mrs. Willett will care for you here, tonight. Have no fear. Rest. Later, you may begin to think of what you would like to do.”

Magdalene, too, said nothing.

The lawyer sighed. “Mrs. Montagu, if you and your brother have no objection, I would prefer to stay near Lem, this evening.”

“I'm sure that will be fine.” Diana rose. Giving no more than a glance to the woman she'd tended, she made her way to the door. “A word, Charlotte?” she called back.

Passing them in the hall a moment later, Moses Reed went quietly down the stairs.

“You know,” Diana then said, “that my ears are nearly as good as your own, Charlotte. And the room is not a large one.”

“You heard?”

“Most, I think. At least at the end, when I held my breath. I listened for Magdalene's, too. Either she is very cold, or she didn't understand. Or perhaps her hearing is not as acute as ours. But I rather think it is the first.”

“Mrs. Knowles has told me that Magdalene was born a natural child.”

“Do you mean to say that her father—?”

“No, not that. She has always had an affliction. Magdalene is not as we are, as you've probably seen; there are things she's unable to grasp. She is, in some ways, simple.”

“Well, do be careful. The old woman may have been right in blaming
someone.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Be safe. Lock your bedroom door tonight.”

For the first time, it occurred to Charlotte that she would offer Magdalene the far room, while Catherine would soon lie in the first along the hall. That left her own bed, here. More than one life had ended in it, she told herself. Those of her parents, in fact. And before that? It was not sensible to be squeamish about such things. Most slept in beds passed down to them.

“I'll give Magdalene something to help her sleep,” Charlotte decided, suspecting that she herself would choose the kitchen, after all. “If she'll agree to it.”

“Good. Take none yourself.”

“But I really can't imagine—”

“Well, I can. We'll need further proof, of course, before accusing anyone. But not that kind of proof!”

“Go and sleep well, yourself. You and Cicero will have your hands full.”

“Rowe and that awful constable can't stay for long.

The snow shows no sign of letting up, and you know what that can mean. May the Lord protect anyone out on the roads on a night like this!”

Had she known that one traveler, in particular, was not far away on the road from Boston, Diana would have prayed all the harder.

E
DMUND MONTAGU REINED
in his horse for perhaps the hundredth time, wondering how he had ever gotten himself into such a situation.

Once he regained the road, he would find the village of Bracebridge. The builders had made enough cuts through the low hills to indicate where it might be, but he'd seen none of them for half an hour due to the snow—now, the increasing gloom had turned to night.

There was no point in going back. The wind continued to hurl sheets of icy snow at his horse's tail. Because his lantern illuminated nothing more than what whirled around him, he'd begun to feel as though he walked through an endless box, whose dull sides never changed.

If his horse had known where they were going, perhaps it could have been trusted. But home for his mount was back in Boston, which they'd left hours before. It was all he could do to keep the poor beast going forward. Before long, it would be impossible.

He had the idea of simply finding the shelter of some
trees, and staying where he was for the night. But as it could be no more than five o'clock, it would be a very long time before dawn. And he'd seen storms in this wretched country last for days. Only the year before, he'd been forced to walk through knee-deep snow one morning through the streets of Boston! It was difficult to believe, after one had lived through the intense heat of a Massachusetts summer; storms here could be devastating, and might quickly kill one who wandered, unprepared.

As the wind continued to howl, the horse under him began to shudder, and Edmund's feet no longer felt the stirrups. This, he knew, was the beginning of a bad end. He had only one choice more. Slowly he got down from his horse, and began to walk.

By stamping his feet against the ground, he felt, at least, a little pain. He also felt new sympathy for ordinary soldiers, who regularly found themselves in foul weather. He'd spent most of his early years in the King's service within the cities of England, helping men out of trouble. In the past he'd aided scores, allowing them to make amends to those they'd wronged, and to free themselves from ruinous situations. Not all, of course, could be saved. Some had been abandoned—young men with unusual vices, or those born with too little sense.

He heard himself laugh in spite of his growing fear. Could it be that he'd fallen at last, as they had, into a pit of his own making? Lately he'd woven together a net of men who ranged far from Boston, to inform him of what went on throughout the colony. But none of these could help him now; none could even tell him if he trod hard-packed earth, or gentler field. And that was the thing of vital importance. Without the road, he might go searching for a bed forever.

Forever? No, surely not. In fact it should not take long
at all. Another hour or two at most, and a hard bed would be his—an exceedingly cold and lonely one.

If only Fate would bring him within sight of another light—a house, or an approaching horse or carriage. Otherwise he would fall and be buried, until the sun resurrected him in the spring. What would his wife do then? Worse, what would she do before, wondering how much more she'd lost?

Diana! He should have gone after her days ago. Too late he'd come running, having been given only a scrap of a reason—even though he'd been warned the weather would change for the worse. He'd supposed he knew better than the colonials who advised him. Was he not, after all, an Englishman born and bred, unlike country fellows of limited skill, imagination, intelligence, and passion?

Who would have the last laugh now? His intolerance, his own stubbornness, had gotten him into this trouble. Were they also the reason he'd not listened to Diana? Had he tried as hard as he might have, to console her? No, that had been the fault of pride, and a fear of showing weakness in his own despair, after the loss of his son. Yet even that was not entirely true. How could he ever explain the rest?

Charles, he'd been called, for his father's father. Little Charlie had cried at first. Then, nearly silent, he'd faded as swiftly as a flower.

Again, Edmund cursed the men of Boston for the pain they'd caused, for he had no one else to blame. They'd taken government into their own hands, against Royal orders. Could he in all conscience have gone off to Bracebridge earlier, leaving a dangerous mob with no check, seeking only the comfort of his wife? Governor Bernard would hardly have approved.

Yet if only he had it to do over. If only he were given
another chance! A year at Diana's side had been worth more to him than all the rest. With time, he could surely make her happy again, and give her another child. At that moment, Edmund Montagu imagined the snow suddenly lessened. In the next, a ghostly line spread before him. It seemed to be a planting of trees. Stepping beneath its low branches, he found himself facing something like a hedge, which gave him a new difficulty. Once he and his horse had pulled themselves through the interwoven branches, he found they acted as a lee, slowing the wind. He paused to rest and think.

It looked familiar. But could it be? Hope made him almost joyful. Holding up his lantern, he examined branches that had scratched at him, catching his long cape with cruel spines. It was, indeed, a hawthorn!

At last he knew where he was, though he should have been at one end of the line, rather than somewhere in the middle. This was better than he could have hoped! For it was the same hedge he'd examined during the past summer, when a traveler had been found dead on the ground nearby. Now, he suspected this need not be his own fate, after all.

The line ran north and south, abutting the main road. For this reason, the captain turned to his left. He soon came upon the ditch he'd expected. Calling out to the horse, he continued to pull at its reins, encouraging a faster pace, staying in the frozen ditch so that there would be little to fear for the last two miles.

Soon he would reach his wife, and then he would cover her with kisses. A few hours after that, he imagined he would be glad to fall asleep, finally, in her arms.