by Marian Wells
Silently she shook her head. “What does that mean?” he demanded. “Could or couldn’t?” But Jenny just shrugged. She saw only his shiny shoes and the white shirt knotted with a silk tie. Overcome with shyness, she dropped her head, hugged the bundle close, and quickened her steps.
He kept pace with her. After a moment of silence, he said, “Jenny, you have a good mind. The best reader in the bunch. I hope you get to stay in school.”
She stopped in the middle of the path, “Oh, yes; but why ever wouldn’t I? Is teacher leaving?”
“No—” The word was drawn out, hesitant, and Jenny watched his face. He frowned as he studied her. “Do you have books at home to read?”
“Only one. It’s Pa’s, and he ain’t too keen on me readin’ it. Sometimes when he’s gone, I snitch it. Ma pretends she doesn’t see; otherwise she’d be in trouble with me.”
“If you’re careful with it, he wouldn’t object.”
She was shaking her head. “You don’t know Pa. I even wash first. Just as long as he doesn’t smack Ma, I’m willin’ to risk the strap.”
They walked on in silence until finally he asked, “Where are you going?”
She raised the bundle. “Ma’s been sewin’ for Mrs. Harper. She says it’s about like one hog scratchin’ another’s back, but she doesn’t mind. It brings in money.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s nothin’ but a peddler. Mrs. Harper should be doin’ her own duds, not wastin’ money like a fancy lady gettin’ someone else to do her sewin’ for her—”
“Mark, you heading for the Harpers’, too?” They both turned and watched the young man approach.
“Yes. Michael saw the sheriff leave in a hurry, so he sent me to snoop around. Trust an attorney to have a nose for news.” Jenny hesitated shyly and then walked ahead of the two as they began to talk. Their voices dropped and Jenny quickened her steps.
“Jenny,” Mr. Cartwright called. She turned and he stepped forward, saying, “Ah—couldn’t you deliver that dress tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “Ma’ll skin me. I’m to get the money tonight.”
He hesitated and shrugged. With an apologetic glance at his companion, he muttered. “Could be just gossip.”
“Like as not.”
The three of them had just turned up the lane leading to the Harpers’ when a horse cantered toward them. The rider sawed on the reins and said in a low voice, “Go on up, she’ll need all the help she can get, poor soul.” They watched him dig his heels in the horse.
Cartwright looked after the man. Soberly he said, “My friend, I think your information is correct.” He turned to Jenny, and as he paused a wail came from the vine-covered cottage in front of them.
Jenny hugged herself and shivered, but before the men could move, the door burst open and Mrs. Harper rushed out. Screaming, she ran toward them and threw herself into Cartwright’s arms.
Jenny gulped and watched, while Cartwright was patting and murmuring. He was also looking uncomfortably from her to the youth at his side.
Stepping forward, Jenny thrust the bundle at Mrs. Harper. “Ma’am, Ma’s finished your flowered dress. Here ’tis.”
The woman raised her head from Cartwright’s shoulder and stared at Jenny. “My husband is dead! You’re bringin’ me a flowered dress and my husband is dead!—they’re totin’ him in here, butchered like a hog . . .”
****
“Butchered like a hog.” Through the days and weeks that followed, the words stayed with Jenny, often goaded into her mind by the memory of that long, shrouded bundle being carried up the path. She still shivered over the horror she felt as Jake Evans nearly dropped his end when he first glimpsed Mrs. Harper and tried to snatch his cap off his head.
Later more details came out, and the words Jenny heard continued to be passed around town. Peddler Harper, God rest his soul, had been found deep in the woods with his throat slashed from ear to ear.
For weeks the tiny village of South Bainbridge, New York, vibrated with fear. Doors that had never had a lock were barricaded with the heaviest pieces of furniture in the house. Children were scurried indoors before sunset.
Scarcely had the nerves begun to steady when the murderer was apprehended. Word was passed through the streets by clusters of neighbors who met to discuss the news. The question was, Why? Who could imagine a man like that Jason Treadwell murdering a poor old peddler? Even Jenny recalled his sad, pale face.
In a town as small as South Bainbridge, there were only two places people could congregate to discuss the local news—the general store and the tavern. In each place the slant of the news differed.
The tavern version came out at the Timmons’ table. Jenny sat between her mother and father, while her head turned from one to the other. Her father’s dark brooding eyes moved across Tom, then shifted to her. “Where’s a man to be safe? When a no-’count like Harper is done in, who’ll be next?”
While he lifted his spoon and the others waited, Jenny looked around the group. Little Matty and Dorcas were too young to be touched by it all, but their eyes were round as they silently watched.
Pa scowled, shoved his bowl back, and took up his conversation. “There’s things out there. Spirits. I’ve had enough experience in my life to know ya can’t mess around with ’em if’n you don’t know how to handle ’em. Harper for sure didn’t. He shouldn’t have been diggin’ in the first place, messin’ around in their territory.” From beneath the scowling shelf of his bushy eyebrows he watched Tom. Jenny saw her brother squirm uncomfortably. Pa had that expression on his face—the one he used when he whipped her for taking his green book.
Jenny studied Tom; was it possible he had been reading the book?
“There’s nothin’ wrong with a little diggin’,” said Tom, interrupting Pa’s silent stare.
“’Tis a waste if’n you don’t have the power,” he said heavily. “You’re not even willing to study it out. I’m sayin’ you best leave it all alone. If you don’t you’ll get in a fix. Them spirits are stronger than you. Messin’ in their territory will getcha trouble, and nothin’ more.” His hooded eyes stared at Jenny, and she knew he was warning her, too.
Jenny’s thoughts were full of the questions she was aching to ask. Ma said them for her. Gently her voice chided, “Now, Pa, be careful or the young’uns will think you’re encouraging them in the craft. Has it ever got you a thing?”
Jenny watched the anger twist his face. The muscles on his neck knotted into ropes. But quickly before he could speak, Ma continued, “You know we weren’t raised that way. Good, God-fearing families we both came from. They say the Bible teaches against spells and such, against believin’ in the power.”
Jenny’s jaw dropped. Never before had she heard Ma talk like that to her pa. Caught in astonishment, Jenny nearly lost Pa’s reply.
Now he roared, “Woman, you don’t know what you’re a-sayin’! The craft’s been around longer than your black Book. If I haven’t succeeded, it’s ’cause you’re never willin’ to take chances, run a risk. This town’s too goody-goody. I tell you, I’m sick of it, and I intend to quit it!”
Ma dropped her spoon and raised a troubled face. “Where’d we go?”
He shrugged while she looked around the room lighted only by the glow of the fire. The trouble faded from her face and Jenny watched hope brighten her eyes. “If we moved to the city you’d get a job. Like in a factory. And there’d be good churches.” For a moment there was a question in her eyes. “If we could just get back in where there’s proper church, everything would be different. I hear tell of camp meetings, and I pine for . . .” her voice trailed to silence and she sighed.
“I’m thinkin’ of west,” he muttered. “Farther west there’s a heap o’ land nearly for the takin’. And there ain’t no churches.” Jenny studied his face, wondering at the satisfaction in his voice.
Jenny watched Nancy gracefully gather the dishes and stack them in the dishpan. Ma was speaking now, and Jenny
knew it was talk from the store.
“Mrs. Taylor says Harper’s widder is recoverin’ right well. I guess I’d better get those dresses to her. Judgin’ from the looks of her, she’s gonna be a merry widder. Don’t know what’s goin’ on, but there’s talk she’s signed an agreement with some fellas and is in line to make a heap of money. Don’t sound moral to me.”
Tom sputtered and choked. “Ma, ’tis business. She’s just a-carryin’ on a business deal her old man started.”
Pa turned on Tom. “How come you know?”
Tom opened his mouth, closed it, and shrugged. Ma was staring at him and Jenny watched the frown grow on her face, “There’s talk at the store about that new lad in town. If I heard right his name’s Joe. They say he’s bringin’ trouble,” Ma stated.
Tom protested, “That’s no fair. ’Tis a busybody linkin’ him with Harper’s death.”
“’Tweren’t that, even though everybody knows they were in on the business deal together,” Ma answered. “It’s the talk about the diggin’ goin’ on. They’re sayin’ Stowell brung that young fella out here on some crazy notion he has about findin’ money by diggin’.”
Tom jumped to his feet, knocking his stool aside. “He’s just a young’un. I can’t understand why people don’t accept him like they’d do another’s relation.”
“He’s nobody’s relation,” Nancy put in. “Besides, a fella that good-looking either has people pulling or pushing.” She dried a plate and put it on the table. Leaning across, she faced Tom. “Just like you,” she quipped. “How come you’re so hot for defending him?”
There was no answer from Tom. Jenny watched him stare at his bowl. When she looked at her sister, Jenny saw the changing expression on her face. The saucy questioning air disappeared and a slight frown creased her forehead.
“Seems,” Nancy said slowly, “the fella affects a person. There’s something about him that makes a body hate or love him.”
Caught by the statement, Jenny stood watching Nancy turn aside with a sigh. She heard her mother say, “Nancy, you’re not fourteen yet. You’re not even supposed to know there’s fellas like that.” An anxious note in her voice made Jenny wonder what she meant.
Jenny was still thinking about that statement the next afternoon when she and Tom met Joe on their way home from school. Jenny had suggested cutting through the edge of the forest, and there was Joe sitting beside the trail. It was cold and crisp, and snow rimmed the rocks and bushes, but he was sitting there as relaxed as if it were a day in June.
When Tom hailed him, he got to his feet and waited for them to reach him. Speaking in a whisper, he said, “You know, when there’s been a death like old man Harper, there’s a surge of energy released in the spirit world. I was feeling it. Sitting here I was wondering how best to take advantage of the power.”
Jenny shivered and jumped around on the trail. She too spoke in a whisper. “Are you goin’ to be diggin’ for treasure? Will you teach me how to use the rod? Tom said you knew all about it. What are charms? Are you afraid of the spirits? Have you ever seen one?”
He hunkered down beside her and grinned unexpectedly. “Hey, are you that uppity little kid from school? How come you aren’t asking these questions during recess?”
She studied him for a minute, still dancing on her toes with excitement. “Because Ma says this diggin’ for treasure is all wrong. Nancy would tell on me. Will you show me how to draw circles so the demons won’t get me?”
He got to his feet, laughing. Jenny was disappointed to see the mood of mystery had faded from him. Hands on hips, she stood in the path staring up at him. “No one will take me serious. I’m tryin’ to learn. If you and Tom won’t teach me, where’s a body to learn?”
Still chuckling, he said, “Too bad my pa isn’t here. He’s the one I learned from.” And Jenny had to be content with that. She and Tom dallied a moment longer before leaving. When they turned toward home, Tom was whistling happily.
Chapter 3
One October afternoon, Jenny lingered behind the rest of the students, reluctant to go home. The waning afternoon was still warm, and the bright autumn trees surrounding the schoolhouse enticed Jenny. Turning her back to the raucous group headed down the trail, she watched the wind flick the red maple leaves like brilliant flags.
While she hesitated, staring at the trail cutting into the trees, a movement in the deeper shadows of pine caught her attention. A pale patch flashed, and she caught a brief glimpse of bright hair before the dark shadows swallowed the tall figure.
Quickly Jenny turned and trotted down the path. Without a doubt it was Joe. But just before she reached the trees, she hesitated. She was disobeying Ma. How many times had she been scolded for tarrying after school, and for tagging after the fellows instead of staying close to Nancy?
Jenny’s feet began to drag, but all of the questions she had been wanting to ask Joe tumbled into her mind. If she hurried, he might show her how to use the rod.
As Jenny moved down the trail, she began to hear the clink of shovel against stone.
He was in a clearing, standing on a mound of dirt, digging. Suddenly shy, she hung back in the trees, watching. When he threw down his shovel and pulled the stone out of his pocket, she forgot everything except her curiosity. As she ran toward him, he jumped to his feet and turned. The quick smile on his face changed to a frown when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you comin’ this way. I want to help. What are you seein’ with the stone? Would I be able to see, too?”
“Jen, go home,” he muttered. “Better yet, go tell Tom I need him to help me. There’s something down there, for certain.”
“Tom’s helpin’ on the Goodman farm today. They’re diggin’ potatoes and he’s gonna get some.”
“Just my luck,” Joe muttered. “There’s spirits down there protecting the treasure, and I sure can’t get it without some help.”
“I’ll help. I know enough about diggin’ to draw a circle for you.” He was still frowning. “Tom could come tomorrow. I’ll tell him tonight. Joe—” her voice dropped to a whisper, “are there really spirits guarding it?”
He studied her for a moment, “On your life there are. Come here and I’ll tell you what I’m seeing. This is where the Spaniards buried a heap of silver. There were two of them, but one killed the other. It’s the murdered one who’s doing the guarding. I can see his slit throat.” Jenny shivered and moved closer. “You want to look in my stone? We’ll see if you have the gift.”
Jenny eyed the dark stone he held out. After a moment she slowly shook her head. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “What would I do if I saw a spirit or something? Joe, I’m afraid.” She backed away from him.
“You’re a silly little baby,” he teased.
“I’m not. It’s just—” She hesitated, then crept closer. Climbing on the log beside the diggings, she peered down into the hole and then turned to look Joseph in the eye. He was close, and his head was nearly on a level with hers. “You just don’t understand young’uns,” she said. “Or girls. Some people get scared easier.”
The teasing disappeared. “We have a house full of ’em.” He put the shovel down and sat beside her on the log. “It isn’t fun being poor, is it? ’Specially when no one takes you serious because your pa’s—well . . .”
“My pa drinks and then uses the strap on us. Tom and me. Nancy and the little ones don’t get it.”
He was nodding, talking slowly like he had forgotten she was around. “Seems we were moving all the time. People pushing for money and pushing just because they thought they could get by with it. Always moving. Poor, too many kids around. Ma running a ginger beer and cake shop, painting old oilcloth just to keep us eating. No matter where we go, seems luck has run off and left us.”
Now he straightened and grinned at her. “But it won’t be like that forever. I’m going to be somebody. I’m going to make people sit up and take notice. No more will they be saying, ‘There goes that S
mith kid looking for trouble again.’” Abruptly he turned and grasped Jenny’s shoulder. “Tyke, I’ll tell you something, and don’t you forget it. There’s power out there. If you learn to tap the forces, you can have anything you want out of life.”
“How do you know?” Jenny whispered.
His voice lowered, and his eyes glittered. “There’s spirits out there to do my bidding. If you learn how to control the forces of the spirit world and use the rod and the stone properly, there’s riches and treasure for the taking. Jenny, it’s the rich man, the one who’s learned all these things, who’s respected. And it’s for the taking.
“Back home, there’s this fella. He’s a magician and he knows all about these things and he’s teaching me. Now my pa knows a little bit about it, but he doesn’t have the power. He’s worked with the rod and the digging for years, and he knows there’s evil spirits guarding the treasures, but he doesn’t have the power to break through them. But I have confidence in this fella Walters. He’ll show me how to get the money and treasures.”
As Jenny headed for home, she thought of what Joe had said; more important than the words was the feeling that now they were friends. Now Joe would tell her the things she needed to know, things that were in the green book. What would he think if she were to tell him how much she wanted the same things he wanted? But even as the thoughts came into her mind, she knew he wouldn’t listen. He thought she was too young—but someday she wouldn’t be.
Later that week, Jenny came home from school to find her father at home. Gratefully she took the egg basket Ma offered and scurried out to the barn. When Pa was drinking this early, she knew better than to tarry.
In the barn she found Tom bridling his horse.
“Where ya goin’?” Jenny asked. Pulling her shawl close, she leaned against the horse’s flanks.
Startled, Tom jerked his head and looked down at Jenny. “Didn’t know you were around. What difference does it make? Your nose is red,” he added. “Did you just get home from school?” She nodded and watched him adjust the bridle over the horse’s ears. “Better get in the house,” he urged, “’tis close to snowing.”
