If the stranger had assaulted Yost Kepler, then he’d done it on his very first night in town. A night when he knew that the sheriff of Colerain County was miles away in Panther Valley.
He set a new sheet of paper on the desk. When he finished writing, he called to Alonzo. “Please take this to the newspaper and have them print it on some handbills. I think we can afford fifty of them. Get them to add pointing fingers or stars to draw attention. These bills we will post around town—in the hotel, the post office, the freight depot, boardinghouses, livery stables. Put some up in Panther, in that store they have there. Also in the saloons in Hammertown. Especially down in Hammertown.”
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING!
IN A CASE INVOLVING assault AND murder
GEORGE ENGLAND
A MAN IN HIS twenties, CLEAN-SHAVEN, OF MEDIUM HEIGHT AND BUILD
MAY BE WEARING A red vest WITH A green design ON IT
AND RIDING A dun horse
STATES THAT HE IS A RESIDENT OF CHINCLACLAMOOSE
REPORT ANY INFORMATION TO:
GIDEON STOLTZ, SHERIFF
The moment when our lives begin
We all begin to die
Fifteen
The tall, broad-shouldered figure slipped through the saloon’s rear door a moment after Gideon walked in at the front. Rather than wade through customers, Gideon stepped back out the front entrance and took off running. Three buildings down, he rounded a corner and saw the broad-shouldered man angling across a street.
“Jesse!” he yelled.
The man stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and slowly turned.
“Brother Gideon,” Jesse Burns said.
“It’s good to see you.”
“I didn’t think a man of the law would tell such a bald-faced lie,” Jesse said. “I know, you’ve just been itchin’ to find your favorite brother-in-law and buy him a drink.”
“I could do that.”
They went back to the House of Lords and took a table. The clientele on this Saturday night was noisy and rough-looking. Sheriff Payton’s stance toward the various tippling establishments in Hammertown had been to largely leave them alone. If they paid their liquor taxes, and if nothing too violent or immoral took place, he paid little heed to what went on down there—the arguments and fisticuffs, the petty thefts, women peddling their favors. But you could not ignore something as vicious as Henry Peebles gouging out an eye and chewing off a thumb—and certainly not a beating that caused a man’s death.
Jesse ordered whiskey and a beer. Gideon asked for sweet cider, figuring he shouldn’t drink on the job.
“Have you seen the bills we are putting up?” he asked. He pointed at one that Alonzo had tacked to the wall in back.
Jesse tossed down the shot, followed it with a gulp of suds. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I seen ’em.”
“I wonder if you can help us. The man we are looking for sat drinking with Yost Kepler in this tavern on the night when Kepler was beaten and left for dead.”
Jesse shrugged lazily.
“Have you heard anything about what happened that night? Have you seen anyone like the man described in the bills?”
Jesse’s head went side to side. “All I heard was that the Dutch boy got knocked on the head, poor fellow. I don’t know nothin’ about the one you think done it.”
“Do you know anyone who goes by the name of George England?”
“You don’t listen too good, Brother Gideon. I just told you I don’t know nothin’ about that one.”
“I’m told that Yost Kepler came in here to drink now and then. Did you know him?”
“Can’t say I did.”
Gideon stared into Jesse’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
Jesse looked at his beer.
“I think he may have known you,” Gideon said.
Jesse glanced off to one side and tipped his mug again.
“Where do you work these days, Jesse? In case I need to talk to you.”
“Kind of hard to find me. I ride around scoutin’ for timber. The ironworks always needs wood for coaling. The furnace burns through better’n five thousand cords a year and the forge another three thousand. I find the trees, somebody else tracks down the owners and asks if they want to sell.”
“You must be all over the county. You must meet a lot of people.”
Again the lazy shrug.
“You must turn your charm on many, many folks,” Gideon said. “Why do you think Yost Kepler wrote your name down on a piece of paper?”
Jesse had been raising his beer mug. It paused for a moment in its upward arc. As he placed the mug against his mouth and drank, Jesse’s dark eyes searched Gideon’s. When he finished, Jesse set the empty mug down on the table, hard.
“I have no fucking idea,” he said. He wiped his hand across his mouth again and returned Gideon’s stare with defiant eyes.
Gideon was footsore and frustrated. He and Alonzo had spent the day tramping all over town putting up posters and fruitlessly asking if anybody had seen their suspect, George England. Gideon scowled back at Jesse. Jesse folded his arms and smirked.
Gideon laid money on the table and left.
***
The next day, after church and the noon meal, Gideon went to Judge Biddle’s house. Mrs. Leathers was not there. Gideon had a key and let himself in. He collected the shotgun in its case, and the judge’s journals, and took them to the jail, locking the shotgun in the closet that served as an armory. He said hello to Alonzo, who was out back splitting stovewood. Then he sat down at his desk and opened the journal for 1805. He found the page he had been reading when Alonzo summoned him to come look at the young man found beaten and lying in an alley in Hammertown. Now Gideon prepared to immerse himself in the world of a different young man, a man deeply, blissfully in love—and perhaps as doomed, in his own way, as Yost Kepler had been.
Sept. 16. I have learned that Ad. Thompson courted Rachel this summer. The Rev. Tolliver told me this, not to shock me, but, I come to believe, to warn me. At first, I admit, I found the news repellent, for I disdain to tread in any man’s footsteps, but the more especially in his. Yet the Rev. T. assured me that the ironmaster did not progress far in his suit before Rachel spurned him, tho’ her father was perhaps not displeased that his lovely daughter had caught the ironmaster’s eye, Mr. Thompson being a wealthy man & a favorable match for any woman, or so it would appear. The Rev. McEwan was inclined to consider the offer of marriage that the ironmaster tendered, but when he saw how firmly Rachel was set against the match, I am told, & I do believe, he at once deferred to her wishes.
Sept. 19. Again to Panther for Sunday service, again happily accepted an invitation to dine at the parsonage, after which Rachel & I went strolling by the creek. The sumacs are donning their scarlet raiment, foretelling the autumn colors that soon will paint these hills. Rachel picked a bouquet of wild gentians, & I desired to tell her that their blue was but a faded wash compared to the blue of her eyes, but my lips would not form the words. She smiled, as if perceiving what went unexpressed, & placed one of the flowers in my buttonhole. I chose that opportunity to take the fair hand that held the bloom, raise it to my lips, & kiss it.
She blushed, but remov’d not her hand from mine. Never before have I experienced such joy, such unalloyed bliss, as it were a Seraph had condescended to brush her wing against my heart. Upon our return to the parsonage her father spoke jovial to his daughter, noting that her face was flushed—perhaps the day was warmer than it seemed! Rachel smiled and said she would go inside & prepare some Lemonade. After she departed, the Rev., with no small amount of pride, ushered me outside and showed me a barn he is building, to accommodate a cow and horse, the cow for fresh milk & cream, the horse so that he may take his ministry into the hills to reach those who cannot come to church. He wished me to especially note the frame of the barn, whose timbers he had squared himself, & pointed out the mortise & tenon joints, the members pinned together with square pegs driven in
to round holes—not a nail in the entire structure. A party of men from the church helped him stand the frame up. He has hired a man from the iron plantation to continue the work. However, the Rev. pronounced him a lamentable worker, “lazy, saucy, & profane.” This fellow is Nat Thompson, the ironmaster’s brother.
Gideon read through more entries describing Hiram Biddle’s courtship of Rachel McEwan: “The scenes which have been presented in my life’s drama have been full of Joy & Happiness, & more has been crowded into this one little month than has often passed before me in a year.” It appeared that the young judge had a hard time getting up his nerve to propose marriage. Gideon recalled how he had barely gotten his own proposal out of his mouth when True flew into his arms, planted a kiss on his lips, and said “Yes, yes, yes!”
Oct. 10. The Most Blessed Day of my life! After church met with the Rev. in his study & rec’d permission to ask Rachel for her hand in marriage. When I knelt before her, without hesitating she replied, “Of course I will marry you.” Her father shook my hand & pounded me on the back, gave us his blessing & best wishes for a long & fruitful union.
Oct. 12. (Writ. the morn after) Friends & neighbors filled the parsonage to celebrate our betrothal. The Rev. Tolliver present, having rode over from town with me in my gig, also a number of guests from congregation & iron plantation. Rev. McEwan spoke most movingly of how he was giving to me his most beloved treasure in all the world, & how he knew I would honor her and be kind to her. He quoted from Genesis, saying, “I have given my maid into thy bosom.” I stumbled through some remarks about my Great Good Fortune, & Rachel allowed me to kiss her, which caused the people assembled to huzzah & call out their wishes for long life, good health, &c. The tables groaned with food, but no wine or whiskey in evidence, not even applejack or bounce. My father-in-law (dare I so name him?) is perhaps one of those Stiff & Formal Clergymen that I somewhat fear. I myself believe that Temperance is a glorious affair—if not followed too intemperately. A memorable levee, nonetheless. A fiddle was produced. Rev. McEwan called out “Praise the Lord in the cymbals & dances, praise Him upon the strings & pipes!” & soon people were clapping & dancing. Our jubilee lasted well-nigh till dawn.
On slipp’ry rocks I see them stand,
And fiery billows roll below
Sixteen
Oct. 14. Rec’d a start when the Rev. McEwan came to my chambers, his face grave, so that at first I thought something dreadful must have happened to my beloved Rachel, tho’ that was not the case. He stated that he had done a rash thing & wished to receive my advice. It appears he caught his hired man, Nat Thompson, sleeping on the job & woke him with a kick that was “none too gentle.” Nat jumped to his feet & demanded to know why he had been so treated, the Rev. then calling him a “lazy cur,” whereupon Nat responded in kind, tho’ the Rev. would not say exactly what the man called him, only that it was “an insult I could not endure.” The Rev. then boxed him on the ear with his open hand. Nat avowed “You will pay for that blow!” & vaulted the fence & ran off.
The Rev. asked were he in Serious Trouble. I replied that the fellow might well file charges for assault, at which the Rev. blurted out: “No man should have to tolerate what he called me!” Tho’t to myself that, when wronged, our Redeemer says we must turn the other cheek, but replied only that if Sheriff Bathgate were to pay him a visit, to tell him exactly what Nat said, & if it were that Disrespectful, the sheriff might not support a charge—tho’ I thought such advice somewhat more Hopeful than Assur’d, knowing the sheriff’s consideration for the ironmaster & his kin. Strongly advised that the Rev. look for a different man to hire. He thanked me for my time & bade me good day.
Oct. 16. Rachel & a friend of the family, a widow named Mrs. Whitehill, came here, as my beloved wished to look over my house, where we will be domiciled together as husband & wife. Tho’ neither large nor grand, the house is ample for a single man, & would be sufficient for a married couple, at least at first. Seeing my wife-to-be somewhat distracted, I took her air to be one of disapproval, & so, opening my heart, told her of my long conceiv’d plan to build a finer residence more suitable of a judge’s dignity, for which I have already purchased a large lot near the courthouse. My beloved, however, seemed not to hear, or understand, or, I feared, to share in this dream of our future abode, saying only, rather absently, that my present house would be more than adequate, but if I wished to build a larger one, that would be fine also. At which point I became certain that something was terribly wrong.
When Mrs. W. went off to inspect the kitchen, I took the opportunity to ask my dear Rachel what was troubling her. Admit I was somewhat reliev’d to learn that it was only her father & his Rashness she was fretting over, not any misgivings concerning our selves & our imminent Matrimony. Nat Thompson has come back to work on the barn, & she fears more strife between him & her father. Said Nat was contrite, so the Rev. assigned him to finish shingling the roof, not wanting to go clambering around on the rafters himself. She said she worries how her father will fare, once she has left his household. I understood her to imply that she mollifies her father when his temper gets the upper hand. No doubt her sweetness & good sense have saved him considerable trouble & embarrassment in the past.
Oct. 19. At the parsonage found the Rev. in a black humour. He greeted me briefly, then retired to his study. Rachel made tea, & sat across from me at the table, appearing quite anxious & beside herself. Upon my prompting, she revealed that another row has occurred between her father and Nat. It seems her father rived a great many shingles, & stacked them next to the barn, directing Nat to finish nailing them to the roof, to assure that the frame be got under cover before the heavy rains of autumn commence. When the Rev. went outside several hours later, he found Nat cracking hazelnuts & eating the nutmeats, having done no work at all. He roared at Nat, calling him “good for nothing,” & the hired man, ungovernable wretch that he is, answered impudently that he was not a servant to be ordered about—cared not a straw for the preacher or his barn—the old man could Go to the Devil for all he cared. The Rev. M. had gone out of the house carrying a maul, intending to rive more shingles, & R. told me that in his fury he struck Nat with it.
“Dear God!” I said, & expressed fear that the Rev. had injured the man. But Rachel stated that her father said that tho’ Nat fell down in a heap, he jumped back up again very spry & shoved past the Rev., who then fell himself, striking his own head against the chopping block. The blow dazed him, but he insists he saw Nat go running off thro’ the woods. My beloved now fears that Nat will come back & work some harm—set fire to the church or parsonage. I said I doubted it would come to that, but I would not be surprised if he brings charges for Assault, as striking someone with a deadly weapon is a serious & actionable offense. I told my betrothed in all honesty that I could not possibly shield her father should this matter come before me in court.
Oct. 20. Again to Panther, the Rev. meeting me at the door & asking me in to his study, where he told me essentially, tho’ in greater detail, the same story R. related yesterday. My only advice was that he be scrupulously honest about the incident, should he be brought up on charges. He seemed shamed, & agreed that “honesty is the best policy.” My reason for visiting had been to bestow upon my beloved the ring my father had given to my mother upon their engagement, a thick gold band beautiful in its simplicity, which I had resized to fit her slender hand. She kissed & thanked me, but much of the luster of the occasion was dull’d, owing to our mutual apprehension regarding the affray between her father & the hired man. Nat not having been seen since, people are saying very publickly that the Rev. killed Nat & hid his body. Would that the knave had never set foot on the parsonage.
Oct. 22. A Flood has washed away all!—the Rev. McEwan’s good name & his Freedom!—I can scarce see this page or hold my pen, know not whether it be night or day—
I was in my chambers when horses & waggons arrived in a great hubbub. Sheriff Bathgate & the State’s Atty. Mr. Sewell rushed in, &
Ad. Thompson, who shouted, “The preacher has killed my brother!” I acknowledged having heard rumours to that effect, but considered them to be no more than idle gossip. I informed the sheriff and Mr. Sewell that I had spoken with the Rev. & he assured me that Nat had gotten up after their scuffle & run off. The ironmaster insisted, quite heatedly, that the Rev. had struck down his brother & Killed Him in Cold Blood. I made to reply, but Sheriff Bathgate cut me off. He stated that witnesses have come forth & he feels he must investigate. He called in to my office two women & a man. The women were Edwina Hendry & her daughter Flora; the sheriff instructed them to tell me exactly what they had told him.
Mrs. Hendry said this past Monday, in the late forenoon, she & her daughter were walking past the parsonage when someone called out to them from behind the hedge. It was Nat Thompson; he parted the shrubbery & invited Flora to share some hazelnuts. He said, “Old McEwan hired me to put a roof on his barn, but I would rather take my ease & eat these filberts.” At that moment Mrs. Hendry heard a door slam at the parsonage. She said Nat rolled his eyes & stated “Now I’ll catch it” & let go of the shrubbery. Mrs. Hendry admitted she could not see clearly thro’ the hedge, but heard the Rev. shouting & Nat answering back. The Rev. cried out “You will lie dead at my feet!” Mrs. Hendry said she saw something rise & fall & heard a heavy dull thump. She and her daughter were scared & ran away. Flora Hendry confirmed what her mother had said, adding that, as they hastened away, she looked back over her shoulder several times but saw no one leave the garden.
I thanked the women for coming forward with that they had seen. I told the sheriff & Mr. Sewell that the Rev. McEwan had already informed me of the fight, & that Nat had risen after receiving the blow & run off into the woods adjoining the parsonage on the other side. The sheriff then produced his next witness, one Samuel Lingle, a teamster. Lingle stated that he had attended a social event, some gentlemen playing cards, on the next night—not the night of the day when the Hendry women said they had seen the Rev. & Nat fighting, but the day after that. Lingle was returning home after midnight, in the light of the full moon. As he passed the parsonage he heard the sound of digging &, curious as to why someone would be working so late, peer’d thro’ the hedge. He saw a man in the garden digging with a spade—a tall man wearing a dark nightgown & white nightcap. At which point the man in the nightgown raised his head & appeared to look toward the hedge, so Lingle quietly let the branches close & went on his way. The sheriff asked Lingle if he recognized the man digging in the garden. “I’m pretty sure it was the Reverend,” he said.
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