by Marian Wells
****
In January Jason Treadwell was executed for the murder of Oliver Harper, peddler and money digger.
For a time the rumbles in South Bainbridge subsided as if in honor of the dead. But feelings and words, like a mole tunneling through a field, must surface. As February rolled around and the weather softened enough for conversation but not enough for work in the fields, clusters of people juggled words and sifted gossip.
In the log cabin that served as a meeting place for the Presbyterian congregation, the people were warned against the devices of the evil one. And the devices named were hunting treasures in the earth and dabbling with the ancient arts of witchcraft.
Ma was nodding her head vigorously. While Jenny listened, she noticed that the leader, Josiah Stowell, who had stood right up front in the past, calling the worship and leading the songs, was absent. She wondered why. Mostly she wanted to see his face and hear what he would say when they talked about the digging and the dead lamb.
Jenny was silent as she walked homeward. Just ahead of her, Nancy and Ma were talking. Jenny studied Ma’s faded dress with the tear in the hem. She was thinking of the bright flowered dresses her mother had made for Mrs. Harper. Abruptly she said, “Money diggin’ and the like can’t be too bad if a body is able to earn a livin’ from it.”
Nancy and Ma stopped suddenly and Jenny bumped into them. Ma stared down at Jenny, “Child, what’s got into you? Sure, I know that money diggin’ is going on and that instead of fearin’ it as the device of the devil, people are a-scornin’ it as an idiot’s folly, but you’ve been raised better.”
“Have I?” Jenny was staring up at the two of them. She noticed that Ma was dark like she was, while Nancy was fair like Tom. Bewildered by their expressions, she realized she didn’t feel related to either of them.
Nancy was demanding, “Didn’t you hear what the parson said? Jenny, I fear for your soul.”
“Nancy, you’ve no call to be uppity. There’s too many good folks around usin’ the rod and diggin’.” Jenny flounced past her sister and scooted down the path.
****
It wasn’t long after, that another stranger came to town. Jenny had been passing down the street on her way to school when she first saw Peter Bridgman standing in front of the lawyer’s office with Mark Cartwright. She lingered on the corner watching them. She loved seeing and hearing new things. She felt like the world was flooded with sunlight and every detail of the street was bright with it, though the sun wasn’t even shining.
Later she learned the stranger, Peter Bridgman, was nephew to Miriam Stowell, and he was asking hard questions. With Peter Bridgman around, the town heaved a collective sigh of relief. Now someone would do something. Poor Mrs. Stowell. Her husband, good man that he was, was being led astray.
Josiah Stowell, they said, had been the one who had gotten the notion all on his own to go to Palmyra and fetch the young seer here to help him decide where to dig for treasure. He’d heard that young Joe had a talent for finding things in the earth.
So Josiah’s silver lined the pockets of that tall, young, blonde fella. It was strange enough for a man like Stowell, a good, solid, hard-working farmer, to decide in his old age to listen to those stories about hidden treasure; but he was risking the inheritance of his wife and children on his foolishess, as well. So Peter Bridgman was in town asking his questions. What Stowell’s wife, sons, and daughters dared not say, Peter must, if the family fortune were to be saved.
One day Jenny followed Tom out to the barn. While he milked the cow, Jenny hung over the gate and whispered her questions. “Why does that Mr. Bridgman care about what Mr. Stowell’s doin’? Seems if there’s money to be made, it won’t make no difference how he’s doin’ it.”
Tom leaned his head against the cow’s flank and studied Jenny’s face. His Adam’s apple slid up and down his neck; finally he replied, “Jen, can’t you understand people frown on treasure huntin’?”
“Why?” He shrugged and Jenny persisted, “Seems a body’s entitled to work in his own way.” She paused to lick her lip. “’Sides, all that money’s goin’ be found by someone, so might as well be the one that wants to do the diggin’.”
“If there’s really money to be found,” Tom said shortly as he returned to his milking.
“You think there isn’t?” Jenny asked, astonished.
“There’s stories. People always are diggin’ and diggin’ and never findin’ a thing.” Tom’s voice dragged out the words slowly as he studied the pail between his knees.
Jenny settled back to think of the book, of those promises it made—if a person just did it right. Slowly the old excitement burned through her, excitement mingled with fear. She opened her mouth to tell Tom about all she was feeling, about what Joe said.
The eerie pictures she had seen in Pa’s book crowded into her mind, and she stopped. How could she ever put them into words and make them as real to Tom as they were becoming to her? Tom looked like he had quit hoping in anything as he leaned against the side of the cow, squirting milk into the pail. She turned away. “Ma’ll get me if I don’t find the eggs before dark.”
****
Suddenly winter was finished with New York State. The ice broke on the Susquehanna. March softened the air with gentle winds, and green fringes appeared on all the snowbanks. Life seemed to stir afresh even in the streets of South Bainbridge.
Jenny was walking to school alone, thinking restless springtime thoughts, when Arnold caught up with her.
“How about some more licorice?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “That means you have news to trade. Well, I’m not about to snitch anything for the likes of you.”
“Aw, Jenny,” he tormented, “you’re a poor sport!”
“Go do your kissin’ on Prue; then I’ll get the information for nothin’. She can’t keep a secret.”
“Would it make a difference if ya knew it was about Joe Smith?”
Jenny stood still. Of course it would, but she wasn’t going to let Arnold know that. She eyed him, seeing the way his eyes sparkled with excitement. Then she ducked her head and continued to walk slowly.
Tim Morgan caught up with them. “Say, Jenny, I suppose Arnold here has told ya all about it, huh?” He elbowed his way between them. “I’d never have guessed old Bridgman was that serious. Arrested! Ya goin’ to the trial? Pa says we can. Everybody’s goin’.”
“She don’t know!” Arnold howled. “You’re spoilin’ it all!”
“Of course I’m goin’,” Jenny trilled while staring defiantly at Arnold. “Only problem, I don’t know when it is.”
“Tomorrow. Wouldn’t surprise me if Teach lets school. Since it’s Joe, he’ll be wantin’ to go too.”
Jenny clenched her teeth and tossed her head. Her stomach was churning with the agony of unasked questions, but she smiled sweetly at Arnold and hurried her feet along the path. “There’s the bell. Gotta run!”
The school buzzed with the news. She listened, but saved her questions for Tom. A wrenching inside advised her that silence was best.
After school she flew across the yard, leaving the talk behind, and ran to find Tom. Halfway home she caught up with him. “There’s talk,” her shortened breath ended with a sob. “They’re sayin’ Joe’s been arrested, and that there’ll be a trial. Why?”
Tom lifted his head. “You’re takin’ on like it’s the end of the world. Bridgman’s claimin’ Joe’s up to no good with his lookin’ for the mine. Stowells are puttin’ it all on to him. They’re not wantin’ to risk a thing.” He shook his head mournfully. “Only way you can make a buck is by a-riskin’ something.”
Now he turned to look at her, “Say,” he said slowly, “you’re actin’ like Joe’s kin. Don’t be worryin’ your head about the menfolks, Jen. We can take care of ourselves. ’Tweren’t all that bad. Old Joe’ll have his day in court and then we’ll be back to diggin’. Wanna go hear it all? It’s tomorrow.”
She nodded, rubbing at th
e dampness in her eyes. “You make it sound like funnin’—nothin’ serious.”
“Aw, Joe’s a good guy. With that smooth tongue he’ll be able to talk himself outta anything.”
Chapter 5
Jenny’s mood lightened with dawn. She skipped beside Tom as they headed for town. “There’s Mrs. Harper wearing her new dress,” Jennie hissed. Others were in holiday garb, too. The two joined the crowd walking toward the only building in town large enough for the trial.
“Hurry!” Tom warned. “The seats’ll be goin’ fast. I hear they’re gettin’ in two justices of the peace besides Neely. They’re callin’ it a Court of Special Sessions.”
“How come you know so much about it?” Jenny asked, quickening her steps.
“I was down here when he got examined by Neely to see if he had to have a trial. They even had him in jail overnight. That’s because he didn’t have bail money.”
“Will the Stowells be here?”
“My guess, he’ll be testifyin’,” Tom answered shortly.
Tom and Jenny had just wedged themselves into place on one of the narrow benches when the court was brought to order. The judge pounded his gavel on the desk, and Jenny leaned forward, craning her neck to see.
Jenny watched the serious faces of the men clustered at the front of the room. She recognized the man with the white hair and the walking stick. The portly gentleman was there too, and the doctor, taking notes.
On the right side of the justices, the witnesses formed a straggly line on the bench. She recognized Mr. Stowell, but most of the others were strangers to her. She did see Mr. McMaster, and Thompson, who worked for Stowell. He had been one of the men in the group the night Tom had taken her to the diggings.
As she settled back to wait, Jenny recalled that night. Even now she shuddered at the memory of opening her eyes to find that man standing over her with the sword.
The clerk called Joe forward, and Jenny slid out to the end of the bench to study the bright-haired youth as he took his place. The men grouped together, their voices low. Jenny asked Tom, “What are they doin’ now?”
“Swearin’ in Joe.” Behind Tom came a hiss for silence.
They had asked him a question, and he was telling them about his stone: “Back home there’s a girl who had a stone. She could look into it and see things nobody else could see. I went to visit her and she let me take a look in hers.” Joe’s voice had lost its waver and it rose, filling the room with confidence.
“All I could see was a stone, far away but coming close to me. Turned out it was my stone. It shone like a light.” Again Jenny caught a glimpse of the same strange gleam in his eye she had first seen when she was with Joe in the woods. He paused to take a breath and his voice deepened and dropped. “I could not rest until I found it. I got myself a grub bag and set out. I worked my way, following what I knew to be the direction to the exact location. I knew I would find it, and I did. ’Twas buried under a tree. I dug it up, carried it down to the crick and washed it.”
Joe paused, and with his voice deepening again, he said, “I put it in my hat, and lo, I discovered I possessed one of the attributes of deity, an all-seeing eye.”
A murmur rose and swept the room. Jenny looked around at the people and then turned back to Joseph. Justice Neely was asking him something. With an eloquent sweep of his hand, Joe held up the small chocolate-colored stone, by now familiar to Jenny. Silence settled on the room as the people studied the object.
Close to Jenny came a whisper, “There’s those who really do see things in a peep stone. Reckon he’s one of them?”
“He’ll have to prove the power.”
Another whisper asked, “What’s he being charged with?”
The reply came, “Being a vagrant, a disorderly person and an imposter.”
“’Tis a shame; he’s nothing but a tad. Let him have a little fun.”
“Must be something to it, if he’s come to trial.”
Then Jenny heard Joe speaking again. “Josiah Stowell came to Manchester after me, and I’ve been working for him, looking for a silver mine and working around the farm. In between times, I’ve been going to school.”
There was a question and the answer came. “He came lookin’ for me because he heard I had the gift of seership.”
And then the question. “Did you find the mine?”
“No. I persuaded him to give up looking.”
Joe Smith sat down, and Josiah Stowell took his place. In the murmur of questions, the voice rose. Justice Neely was speaking. His voice was solemn, but the room was filled with his thundering question. “Josiah Stowell, do you swear before God that you actually believe the defendant is able, with the use of his peep stone, to see objects buried in the ground just as clearly as you can see the objects on this table?”
The old man straightened and, with a determination that set his double chin to wagging, declared, “Your Honor, it isn’t only a matter of belief; I positively know that Joseph Smith can see these marvelous things!”
In the uproar, the gavel smote the table and the next witness, Mr. Thompson, was called. “This here fella says to Mr. Stowell that many years ago a band of robbers buried a treasure. They placed a charm over it all by having a sacrifice done, so it couldn’t be got at less’n he had what he called a talismanic influence. So they decided to go after it. Joe called for some praying and fasting, and then they set out and commenced to dig.” He paused to swallow hard, then continued.
“They found the treasure all right; we heard the shovel hit the box. But the harder they dug, the more it slipped away from them. One fella even managed to get his hand on it before it slid clear away from him. Finally Joe called a council of war against this foe of darkness—spirit, he said it was. We knew it was a lack of faith or something wrong with our thinking, so Joe devised a plan.”
There was a gulp and Thompson’s voice rose with excitement. “We got a lamb. Stowell knelt down and prayed while Joe slit the lamb’s throat and spread the blood around the hole. This was a propitiation to the spirit. But we never did get the money.”
A sigh swept the room and Jenny squirmed and looked at Tom. “’Tweren’t the time you was there,” he muttered.
As the day warmed, the crowded room grew stuffy. More witnesses were called, and Jenny moved restlessly on the bench. When the last witness had taken his seat, the heads of the justices tilted together.
Justice Neely then slowly got to his feet. His voice droned in the heavy air of the room. Although Jenny strained to understand, his words were meaningless to her until she heard, “We the court find the defendant—guilty as charged.”
There was a second of silence, and in the breathless pause Jenny saw Joe leap to his feet and dash through the crowded room. But Jenny’s eyes were riveted on the men at the front of the room.
Justice Neely was still standing, hands calm at his side. The other justices hunched over the table just as quietly, watching Joe run. He passed the constable who was sitting beside the door with his chair tilted back against the wall, his hat shading his eyes.
“He’s gone,” Tom breathed softly. “He’s taken leg bail, and I’ve a notion they don’t care a snitch. Reckon we’ll never see the likes of him again.” There was a twinge of regret in his voice.
Over the sudden babble of voices, Justice Neely shouted, “Court is closed for this session!”
The only sounds in the stifling room were the rustle of skirts and the clatter of heavy boots. Slowly Tom and Jenny got to their feet to follow the crowd out the door. Jenny peered around Tom and saw the justices clustered by the table talking. She measured the distance and studied their broad, black backs. With a quick movement, she turned and dashed to the front of the room. The man with the white hair and the walking stick was saying, “I just can’t see crippling the chances of this young fellow. He looks like, given a proper chance, he’ll make good. I hope my hunch isn’t wrong. Otherwise I’ll be regretting this the rest of my life.”
“I hop
e so, too. He was pretty eager to take leg bail once it was suggested. Must have had a few fears—at least he sure could run.” The black-coated men moved restlessly and Jenny scooted for the door.
When she caught up with Tom, the crowd was standing in the street, somber-faced and questioning. Tom and Jenny joined the others and watched as the building was locked. They were still waiting as the line of dark coats moved quietly down the street with the constable following along behind. Now his hat was squared on his head and his hunch-shouldered gait made him look like a gnarled guardian angel, a protective shield between the justices and the questioning citizens of South Bainbridge.
When the last man had disappeared from sight, the crowd stirred. “Why do you suppose they went to all that trouble and then just set there and let him run?”
“He weren’t much more’n a tad,” a sympathetic voice answered. “Those gentlemen are right fatherly. I hear they’re feelin’ he’s a deprived youth who needs a good warnin’ to straighten him up.”
“I wonder if that’s really the case,” came a voice from the depths of the crowd. “Is that all he is? There’s been a heap of riling up since he’s been around. I’ll not forget the way those fellas toted Peddler Harper down off the hill, stone-cold.”
Jenny squirmed her way through the crowd to see the speaker’s face, and the square-shouldered man standing beside him turned to look at her. It was Mark Cartwright. For a moment, Jenny’s eyes caught his and she saw the questioning frown.
Now another spoke reluctantly, “I heard a fella say, and I’m not mentioning names, that he asked young Joe if he really could see money and all these wonderful treasures. He said Joe hesitated a bit and then said, ‘Between the two of us, I can’t see ’em any more than you or anybody else, but a body’s gotta make a living.’”
Tom tugged at Jenny. “Let’s get along for home.” He turned down the street, Jenny trotting to keep up with his long strides. When they had left the town behind, Tom slowed and Jenny caught up with him.
