Cradle to Grave (2 page)

“I'll write a response to Mouse and Elder Herman,” Lydia said. “With mail service being the way it is, we'll probably reach Dover Springs before the letters, but just in case we're held up along the way.”

“Likely we will be,” Rees said, envisioning snowstorms and icy roads. He gathered Lydia into his arms and kissed her forehead. “But we'll be together.”

“Together where?” David asked, coming into the warm kitchen from the barns. “Where are you going?” Snow coated his hat and had frozen into ice particles in the scarf wound over his mouth. He stepped back, his face and neck coloring as he took in the embrace. Lydia and Rees broke apart, exchanging a glance.

“A friend of ours is in trouble,” Rees said.

“A good friend,” Lydia agreed, jumping in to forestall the scowl gathering upon David's face.

“She needs us … we'll only be away for a little while.…” Rees stumbled to a stop, silenced by his son's glare.

“It's winter,” David objected. “I thought at least you'd stay home for the winter.”

“You don't need me here, not right now,” Rees said, realizing he'd thrown fuel on the fire as soon as he'd spoken.

“I do need you,” David said. “Why won't you ever stay home?”

“I'm a traveling weaver; that's what I do,” Rees said. He knew David could never understand the hunger for new experiences that kept his father on the road, weaving for a living, instead of toiling on the farm.

“This time I asked him,” Lydia said, taking a step toward David.

“I'll wager he didn't say no,” David said angrily. “You'll see. He'll never stay home. Not even for you.”

Rees saw Lydia swallow, her distress evident, and he put an arm around her.

“He must travel,” Lydia said softly. “Weaving is his livelihood. The money he earns supports us.”

“He could weave here, in town.” David glared at his father. “You're running away just like you did after Mother died.” The words hung in the air. Although Rees opened his mouth, he could not argue. This time, David was right; Rees was running away. Sam's injury hung between him and his neighbors. He saw recrimination even in the glances of his friends. And from those who disliked him? There were the sudden silences when he approached, and sometimes people would even rise from their chairs and leave when he entered a room. David continued. “A lot of people in town blame you for Uncle Samuel, blame you because he's touched in the head now. You need to stay and fight for yourself.”

Rees could think of nothing to say. His friend and attorney George Potter's sworn testimony, that Rees had hit Sam only in self-defense, had pulled Rees out of the fire. And Sam's injury could be construed as accidental; he'd fallen and hit his head on the mounting block. But Rees knew that many people
did
blame him and, worse, he blamed himself. How many nights had he woken up in a cold sweat wishing he'd pulled his punch or kicked Sam's feet out from under him. Something else, anything else. But the beast, his anger, had put power behind his punch and Sam had gone down like a felled tree, cracking his head on the granite mounting stone. “It's not that simple,” Rees said. “People here think I'm one step removed from a murderer.”

“So go ahead,” David said. “Run away. Again.” The implication that Rees was a coward stung and he spoke quickly.

“I'll return in time for spring planting.” But David pulled on his old coat and stamped out the door without replying. Rees took a few steps after his son.

“He wants you home,” Lydia said, putting her hand on her husband's sleeve. Rees looked down into her face. “He's had a lot of change lately,” she said. “Our marriage was just the last of them.” Rees nodded. Although David had said nothing, he hadn't liked it when Rees and Lydia moved into the large southwest-facing bedroom once shared by his parents. Lydia paused and added, “I wouldn't ask this of you, but Mouse, well, she's my sister in all but blood.”

Rees nodded and touched her wrist. “I know. And I promise you, I'll be home as much as I can,” he said. “I won't leave you alone more than necessary.” He didn't want her to feel abandoned, as David did. And probably as Dolly had, although he had not thought about it like that before. But at least Dolly had grown up here, and when the fever took her, her mother and sisters had been at her bedside. Lydia was a stranger in Dugard.

“Go after him,” she said. “Talk to him. He needs you right now.”

“David?” Calling his son's name, Rees pursued him outside. He had to trot to catch up and his boots slipped on the icy ground. “David, wait.” He followed the boy into the shadowy barn, redolent of hay and cattle.

“Leave me alone,” David said, turning his angry face away.

“David, it's Mouse. This time we're going to help Mouse.” Last spring Rees had tracked David, who had run away from his aunt and uncle, to Zion, where he had taken refuge. He knew Mouse. “She's in trouble.”

David sat down upon a haycock and frowned at his father, not quite willing to surrender his anger. “Mouse? What happened?”

Rees sat down beside him. “We're not sure. But she was sent away from Zion and now lives in Mount Unity, New York. She's been accused of kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” David repeated. He shook his head. “I don't believe it. She was so kind and gentle.”

“Yes,” agreed Rees, “I'm finding the accusation incredible myself.”

“When will you be back?” David avoided looking at his father, staring instead at the straw on the barn floor.

“I don't know. As soon as I can be.…” Rees's voice trailed off. “I'm sorry, David. You were counting on me, at least for the winter.”

“Yes. I expected you to ride away as soon as the weather turned warm.” David's smiled was pinched. “But I understand. Of course you must go now. It's Mouse. And you speak for those who can't. You told me that.” Rees nodded, touched and embarrassed that David remembered. “You'll save Mouse. I know that. You've a talent for unraveling such knots.” They were both silent a moment, reflecting upon Rees's resolution of the murders in Zion and here in Dugard.

“I'm not … abandoning you,” Rees said, struggling to find the right words. “I trust you to run the farm. You're a man now.” David said nothing, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Rees impulsively reached over and put his hand on the back of his son's neck. David twitched and for a moment Rees feared his son would shake off the fond gesture.

But David let his father's hand remain. “You haven't done that since I was a child,” he said.

Rees nodded. “I wasn't sure you would allow it,” he said, self-conscious of the emotion in his voice. David's white teeth bit his lower lip and he looked away, toward the black-and-white spotted cow in the stall. Frowning, he turned his gaze back to his father.

“What do I do if Aunt Caroline comes over?” he asked, switching to a less emotional topic. “What do I do if she tries to move in?”

Rees sighed. Anger and frustration always infused his thoughts of his sister, especially now that she expected him to support her and her family. Even the return of the deed to the Prentiss farm, which Rees had acquired and given to her, did not satisfy her.

“I'll speak to George Potter and Constable Caldwell,” he replied. “If you have any trouble you apply to them for aid. She has no business on this farm.” Even though she felt entitled to it. “If necessary, ask Caldwell to speak to her.” David grimaced, still uncertain, but did not respond. “If she gives you too much trouble, I'll deal with her when I come home.” Rees shivered and stood up, pulling his son up with him. “Let's go inside. It's cold out here. And it's almost time for supper. I'm hungry. Are you?” David nodded and they returned to the kitchen together, not speaking but content with one another.

Chapter Two

After almost two weeks of icy roads, snowstorms, and dirty beds in different inns, Rees and Lydia reached Dover Springs, a small town to the west of Albany. Its main street boasted a church, a general store, and a sprawling inn called the Ram's Head. Rees drove to the inn and immediately arranged for a room. Since mid-February saw few travelers, the three rooms on the second floor of the Ram's Head were empty and he was able to secure a large private chamber at the back. This room was the warmest, with the heat rising from the kitchen below, and very clean. They would not need to use the sheets and quilts Lydia had brought from home. Rees hoped they might find lodging with the Shakers at Mount Unity when they arrived, but that wasn't certain.

The common room was crowded with other diners, mostly men, although a solitary woman sat by the fire. Rees thought most looked like regulars; the men engaged in easy conversation with one another as they tucked into their full plates with gusto. The food here must be passable, at least, although both he and Lydia were too knackered from their journey to care. Lurching over the rutted roads, the frozen surface hard as iron, had made Lydia nauseous and she looked white and pinched as a result. An elderly man with lank gray hair struggled to rise from his game of checkers. He motioned them to an empty table.

“Have you traveled far?” he asked.

“From Maine,” Rees said. “What do you have to eat?”

“Mutton stew or venison. Ale or whiskey to drink. Bad time for traveling, winter.” He inspected them curiously.

“Do you have tea?” Lydia asked, her voice faint. “And bread?” Rees looked at his wife, noting her pale face.

“Rough journey, I suppose,” the innkeeper said. “My daughter baked bread this morning. And we have cider.”

“No. Just tea, please,” Rees said firmly. He took Lydia's hand in his. She offered him a weak smile.

“Very well.”

“Mr. Randall.” A man at another table hailed him.

“Just a moment.” He turned back to Rees. “And to eat?”

“Stew,” Rees said, guessing that the venison would be tough and stringy. “For both of us. And bread,” he added, with a look at Lydia. “I'll take the cider.”

With a nod, Mr. Randall turned to the customer who had summoned him.

“What's wrong?” Rees touched Lydia's gloved wrist.

“Just a little tired. I don't think I can manage cider.” She leaned across the table and said in a low voice, “We should go to Mount Unity immediately after supper. Mouse is waiting.”

“We need to rest,” Rees objected. “And it will be dark soon.” When her mouth took on a mutinous curve he added, “And Ares needs to rest as well. I think at the last posthouse they gave us an older gelding. If we want to use him here…” He allowed his words to trail away, knowing she would not treat any animal cruelly. Lydia's mouth relaxed and she nodded, although reluctantly.

“Of course you're correct. It's just that we've come so far and are now so close, and I know Mouse must be very anxious.”

“We'll leave for Mount Unity first thing tomorrow morning,” Rees promised. Although he tried to speak quietly, his resonant voice attracted the attention of a dark-haired gentleman at the next table. He leaned over, scowling.

“You connected with that group?” he asked.

“No,” Rees said. “Visiting someone.”

“It's a strange company. They get up to all manner of evil. Some say even witchcraft.” His eyes lingered a moment upon Lydia, as though refraining from sharing specifics because of her presence.

“Now Caleb, they've been good neighbors,” the innkeeper said, frowning the younger man into silence. “Please forgive my nephew for his thoughtless remarks.” The old man offered Rees a polite smile.

Rees acknowledged the comment with a nod. He and Lydia exchanged a glance; both were familiar with the distrust the Shaker communities received. Then Mr. Randall brought their food. He hesitated by the table asking questions, but Rees resisted all attempts to be drawn into conversation and he and Lydia ate their supper in silence.

*   *   *

They arose at dawn the following morning. Rees ate a hearty breakfast, although Lydia contented herself solely with a slice of bread and a cup of weak tea. As soon as Rees obtained directions to Mount Unity from the innkeeper, they left. The main road quickly dropped behind them, but the smaller route onto which they turned appeared just as heavily traveled. The rutted snow shone with a glaze of ice as though rain had fallen upon it or warmer temperatures had caused melting, only to refreeze during the night. Lydia held on, her gloved hands grimly clutching the rail as they lurched from side to side, her face almost as white as the snow around them. Rees touched her shoulder anxiously and she managed to smile at him.

He suspected the extensive fields around them, lying fallow under their blankets of snow, belonged to the Shakers. Even in winter they looked neat and well kept. “Hearts to God, hands to work” was a Shaker motto; they believed in honoring God through their labor, so everything they turned a hand to was as perfect as they could make it. Rees admired them for that, but he knew he could be neither obedient nor celibate.

They passed an orchard on the right. A black man wearing a flat-brimmed Shaker hat walked through the aisles, inspecting the trees. He did not look up as the buggy sped past.

Barns appeared on the left, and as Rees drove into the village the white Meeting House suddenly came into view. Set back from the road and screened by the barns, it sat directly across from the brick Dwelling House. Except for the man walking the orchard, Rees had seen no one. Cold and the regimen of daily tasks kept everyone busy inside. Rees pulled to a stop in front of the Dwelling House and turned to Lydia. She was looking around her, her lips pressed together. Wondering if she felt nostalgic for her former life and regretting the life she'd made with him, he reached out and put his hand upon hers. She looked at him, her eyes full of tears.