Fury

by Bill Bright

  After what seemed forever, Daniel risked a peek. His heart heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the back of his uncle’s carriage toddling down the road, heading the opposite direction.

  He jumped ashore and continued his journey, sloshing beside the famous Erie Canal. For all its fame, there wasn’t much to see. Not here, at least. He’d heard someone refer to this stretch between Syracuse and Utica as the “long level,” because the water level neither rose nor fell enough to require a lock for seventy miles.

  It was a dismal stretch of land. Inland from the canal lay stagnant swampland and hundreds of felled, rotting trees.

  A burst of laughter from inside the cabin caught Daniel’s attention. His head turned enough to catch sight of the carriage out of the corner of his eye, now smaller than a postal stamp…turning onto a bridge.

  “No!”

  Daniel stared in disbelief as his uncle’s carriage crossed over the canal and, reaching the other side, reversed course. It was coming straight toward him!

  “How? How?”

  Gripped by panic and indecision, Daniel stood in the middle of the road, his arms limp with resignation.

  Did they see him? At this distance, with the rain falling hard, could they recognize him?

  Did it matter? Weariness covered him. His clothes clung to him, heavy and wet. Exhaustion had penetrated deep into his bones. He couldn’t do this anymore.

  Even if he chose to flee, where could he go? To one side was a canal forty feet wide; on the other side, a marsh littered with rotting timber. Ahead, the road stretched for as far as the eye could see. Even with fresh legs he couldn’t outrun them.

  Salvation—if it was to be found at all—lay on the packet boat. He leaped aboard.

  His feet shuffled across the deck, resigned to his fate. He could hide, but they’d find him. He considered throwing open the cabin door and pleading his case. Would they believe him and protect him? Or would they hand him over to the adults—the killers?

  Not willing to place himself at the mercy of strangers, Daniel lifted a cargo-hold door. He saw mountains of salt. The corners of the hold were dark. If he hid there…covered himself with…

  “They’ll find you in there.”

  Standing on deck was the boy Daniel had seen riding the horse in the rain. He appeared to be about Daniel’s age.

  “Give me your hat,” the boy said, “and your coat.”

  The boy removed his own hat and slicker as he spoke, handing them to Daniel. “Put them on.”

  Daniel did. The hat was wider than his own. The slicker was warm from the boy’s body.

  “Do you know how to ride a horse?”

  “Of course I know how to ride a horse.”

  “Good. Mount the lead horse. Keep your head down and the towline taut.” The boy checked down the road at the carriage’s progress. “Hurry!”

  Daniel met his rescuer’s eye. He saw intellect and a dash of adventure. “Thanks,” he said.

  Jumping to the bank, Daniel ran to the front horse and climbed on. As instructed, he kept his head down, tracking the carriage’s progress by glancing over his shoulder.

  Daniel discovered that a canal packet boat, while good for hauling tons of cargo, made for a sorry escape vehicle. A person on foot could overtake it. So it didn’t take long for Uncle Asa’s carriage to catch up.

  Without being conspicuous, Daniel watched as the carriage matched the boat’s speed.

  “Hullo!” Epps hailed. He sat dry and cozy next to Uncle Asa.

  The boy who had taken Daniel’s hat and coat must have stashed them somewhere. He stood at the bow of the barge and returned Epps’s hail.

  Shouting through the rain, Epps said, “We’re searching for a boy. A runaway. Sixteen years of age. We think he might have passed you on the other side of the canal about ten minutes ago. Did you happen to see him?”

  “Wish I could help you,” the boy at the bow shouted back. “But I took my post shortly before you arrived.” He motioned toward Daniel with a thumb. “And he…excuse me a minute, gentlemen…” A sharp whistle split the air. “Theophilus! Show him who’s boss! Keep that line taut!”

  The towline, which had slacked, snapped taut.

  Uncle Asa was intrigued. “His name’s Theophilus?”

  “Aya.”

  “Does that mean something?” Epps asked.

  “From the Bible,” Uncle Asa said. “It means, ‘Friend of God.’” To the boy, “It’s not a common name.”

  The boy shrugged. “It’s the name he was given.”

  “Mind if we come aboard and look around?” Epps asked.

  “Glad to have you. Visit for as long as you like. On a day like today, any distraction is welcomed.”

  Epps jumped out of the carriage and onto the boat. Uncle Asa stayed behind, keeping pace with the craft.

  Daniel watched as Epps searched the deck, opened the cargo holds, then disappeared inside the cabin. The boy went with him, closing the door, leaving Daniel alone in the rain with his uncle.

  A powerful urge came over Daniel to seize this opportunity and confront his uncle.

  All right, Uncle Asa. Here I am. You want me dead? Then do it yourself. But you know what? I don’t think you can do it. Like your friend, Cyrus Gregg, you have to hire someone to do your killing for you.

  The cabin door opened and Epps stepped out. He stood on deck and surveyed the canal in both directions. His gaze settled on Daniel and lingered before moving to the swamp. Then he leaped to land and got into the carriage.

  Having followed him out, the boy on the barge waved good-bye.

  Daniel’s hopes rose.

  The carriage picked up speed. Daniel ducked his head as they passed him. And then they were gone. When it was safe, he climbed off the horse.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Daniel said, handing the boy his hat and slicker.

  “Yours are in the storage chest to the right of the cabin,” the boy said. “By the way, I’m Ben.” He offered his hand.

  Daniel shook the boy’s hand. “Daniel. I suppose I owe you an explanation. You see, that’s my uncle—”

  Ben cut him off. “No explanation needed. God told me to help you, so I did.”

  Daniel didn’t know what to say to that. The boy didn’t look like he was trying to be humorous.

  “All I can say is, you handled it well,” Daniel said. “Whistling like that, telling me to keep the line taut.”

  The boy laughed. “I wasn’t yelling at you. I was yelling at Theophilus—the horse.”

  Daniel laughed with him.

  After retrieving his hat and coat, he thanked Ben again and wished him well.

  “Which direction are you headed?” Ben asked.

  “The opposite of them,” Daniel replied.

  “Godspeed, Daniel.”

  Chapter 29

  Cyrus Gregg stood to one side of the drawing room so the women could do their work. He congratulated himself on his restraint. A wise man knew when to act and when to refrain from acting. This was a time for patience.

  There was a soft knock on the door behind him. He turned and opened it.

  “Martha…Abel…how good of you to come.”

  An elderly couple entered. Martha hurried past him, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and went straight to the other women. Abel stepped inside the door and hung back next to Cyrus Gregg in the dimly lit room. He was holding a pie. Blueberry from the smell of it.

  White haired with a face of wrinkles, Abel Reynolds was an easygoing man, a deacon of the church. “Quite a shock,” he murmured.

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” Cyrus Gregg replied.

  The men spoke in hushed tones and without looking at each other. Gregg’s eyes were fixed on the small circle of women in the middle of the room.

  “From what I heard, you’re the one that found out,” Abel said.

  “Aya.”

  “Bring Nola and Bea with you?”

  “Aya. Figured I’d need help.”

  Abel nodded solem
nly. “You’re a good Christian man, Mr. Gregg.”

  “I try to be.”

  They watched the women for a time in silence.

  Abel shuffled his feet. “Well, this is going to take a while…” He stepped toward the door. “I’m goin’ to pick up some lumber at Henderson’s, then I’ll come back and pick up Martha. Can you see that…?”

  Abel hefted the pie, as if uncertain what to do with it. He seemed glad to hand it over when Gregg offered to take it.

  “Much obliged,” Abel said.

  “Oh, Abel—Henderson just got a new shipment of mahogany for me,” Cyrus Gregg said. “If you can use any of it, help yourself. And tell Henderson to charge you the price he gives me.”

  “Mighty kind of you, Mr. Gregg!” The old man’s eyes sparkled over his good fortune. He thrust out a hand.

  Juggling the pie, Gregg shook the old man’s hand and then watched him exit.

  Once again the only male in the room, Gregg set the pie on the dining-room table. He contented himself to stand in the background and observe.

  Seated on the sofa, surrounded by four attending matrons, the widow Camilla Rush wept.

  Yesterday he’d brought two women from the church with him when he broke the news to her about Asa and Daniel’s tragic deaths.

  With tact and solemnity he informed her of the report he’d received: that the remains of Asa and Daniel had been found in a Pennsylvania forest; that the cause of their deaths could not be determined because so little was left of the remains after the animals had gotten to them; but that pieces of Asa’s cane and the boy’s musical instrument were found with the bodies.

  Today, as word spread of the deaths and the church responded with food and comfort, Cyrus Gregg assumed the role of family friend. He saw that guests were greeted and made himself available for any little thing that needed to be done, like putting a blueberry pie on the table. He kept at arm’s length from the mourners but always within sight.

  Tomorrow he would offer to pay for the funeral, including the donation of two of his finest caskets, and attend to all the details. He would convince Camilla it was the least he could do for his close friend, Asa.

  She would be grateful, though overcome with grief. Then, on Saturday, he would comfort her. A pat on the hand. A shoulder to cry on. A hug. Camilla would be lonely, and he would keep her company.

  Cyrus Gregg gazed with compassion at his future bride. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks stained with tears, yet still she looked adorable. The black dress against her pale skin was seductive.

  Straw had worked its way down Daniel’s back. He reached, a contorted effort, and pulled it out. He was getting good at it. Scratchy straw in inconvenient places was common among those who slept in haylofts.

  Wanting to avoid the canal towns, he’d made his way to a place called Wright’s Settlement, a community two miles northeast of Rome, New York.

  The rain stopped shortly after he arrived. The sky cleared, and when night fell, so did the temperatures. Daniel found shelter in a large barn of a dairy farm. Spending the night with thirty cows wasn’t his idea of an ideal arrangement, but it provided him shelter and hay for covers.

  He burrowed down deep into the hay, became cozy and warm, and was drifting off when a ruckus awakened him—female squealing, male laughter, playful protestations, doors opening and closing, and all manner of happy outbursts.

  The light from a swinging lantern cast crazy shadows among the rafters. A loudthump was followed by guffaws. From what Daniel could make out, there were at least two girls. He couldn’t tell yet how many guys there were.

  Once the light found a resting place, the shadows settled down. So did the merriment…somewhat.

  Daniel’s curiosity got the better of him. Elbowing back a layer of hay, he rolled over onto his knees and crawled to the edge of the loft, careful not to make a sound.

  Lining the sides of the barn were two rows of cow backsides. The lantern had come to rest on a stool between them. Three young people sat in a circle around the lantern, two girls and a boy. The boy had his back to Daniel. He was rocking back and forth in convulsive laughter. The girls—one blonde, one brunette—seemed to be laughing at his laughter.

  The blonde was stunning. Even from a distance, her eyes and the radiance of her face was unmistakable. Gloves could not conceal the elegance of her hands, nor her coat, the regal grace of her neck. Her laughter was the antidote to loneliness.

  Next to her, the brunette was pretty in a wholesome way, with smiling dark eyes and dimples. She covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed.

  From the back, all Daniel was able to determine of the guy was that he was average in size and—if the girls’ reaction was any indication—he seemed to have a knack for making things funny.

  Daniel found himself smiling, just watching them. The three were comfortable with each other, exhibiting an ease that comes from years of intimacy.

  Out of the darkness, a moth swooped down and circled the lantern. The girls reacted to it with squeals and a frantic waving of hands. The moth, finding a greater light, took to circling the blonde. She jumped up, ducking and swatting and shrieking.

  Daniel found her plight amusing, her laughter infectious, and the length of her legs captivating. He repositioned himself to get a better view by moving around a pillar. But as he did so, his recorder squirted out of his waistband and tumbled over the edge of the loft.

  It was one of those moments when time slows and the inevitable crouches, ready to pounce.

  The recorder somersaulted, its black, shiny finish catching the light of the lantern. It hit bottom with an awful clatter among stacks of milk pails before landing on the straw-strewn floor. The three jumped back from it, as if it was an adder, not a musical instrument.

  The brunette was the first to look up into the loft. She grabbed a pitchfork. The young man, his eyes squinting into the darkness, held out his hand to the brunette. She handed him the pitchfork while the blonde bent down and picked up the recorder.

  “Whoever is up there, come down!” the boy called, his voice steady.

  Daniel’s instinctive reaction to the announcement of his presence had been to shrink back into the shadows. From the way the three scanned the loft—their eyes not finding anything to fix upon—it was evident they couldn’t see him.

  Daniel’s gut told him to sink deeper into the shadows and find some other way out of the loft than the ladder that had brought him here. His gut knew nothing of loyalty. It didn’t seem to realize Daniel could never leave his recorder.

  “I’m coming down,” he said. “I’m unarmed. I don’t wish to harm anyone.”

  He stood up in the loft. Three pairs of eyes fixed on him, tracking him to the ladder. As he climbed down, he felt vulnerable leading with his backside, knowing a three-pronged weapon was aimed at it.

  “Turn around slowly,” his captor said.

  Daniel did as he was told. The first thing he saw were three angry prongs inches from his face.

  “Daniel?”

  The prongs fell away.

  The face of his rescuer from the canal packet boat came into focus. Now he was all smiles.

  “Ben?”

  Ben turned to the ladies. “This is the fellow I was telling you about. You know, the friend of the Friend of God!”

  Blank expressions.

  “Theophilus!”

  The brunette was the first to get the play on words, the blonde a second later.

  She said, “You’re a friend of Ben’s horse?” Her blue eyes sparkled like gems in the dim light.

  Daniel found himself staring at her longer than what is considered polite. When he realized it, he pulled his eyes away. “Sorry.”

  She smiled at him without offense, which he appreciated. But now he didn’t know where to look. His eyes kept wanting to return to the blue gems.

  “Her name is Lucy,” the brunette said. She’d noticed Daniel’s dilemma and found it humorous.

  “Lucy,” Daniel repe
ated. He gave a slight bow and the briefest of glances, because he knew that if his eyes lingered on hers for even an instant he might not be able to pull them away again.

  “And this is Hannah,” Ben said, introducing the brunette.

  Daniel bowed and repeated her name.

  “Hannah is my intended,” Ben added.

  “Really? Congratulations!” Daniel said with genuine enthusiasm. He was happy for himself. The pairing of Ben and Hannah left Lucy unescorted.

  Ben lifted the pitchfork. “Can we expect company anytime soon?”

  It took Daniel a few seconds to make the transition to his uncle and Epps. “Oh…no…I think I lost them. I haven’t seen them since the canal.”

  “I believe you dropped this,” Lucy said, holding out his recorder.

  Taking it, he smiled. “I guess I should be angry at it for making such a rude introduction.”

  “Will you play it for us?” Lucy asked.

  Daniel didn’t play for other people. Until now he’d kept his music private. But when Lucy asked him to play, he knew he’d play for her.

  The journey to Rome, New York, had taken a toll on Asa Rush. Epps could see it in the way the man slouched and the heaviness of his eyelids even after a night’s sleep. He sensed his time with the educator was coming to an end.

  Already he’d allowed Asa to live longer than he intended. His last correspondence to Cyrus Gregg indicated the man was as good as dead. It was a statement written with confidence. Epps could end Asa’s life anytime. But he would do it when it was most convenient to him.

  A day. Two at the most,he told himself.

  He was going to miss Asa Rush. Talking to the man made him feel smart. Everyone else looked down their noses at him because of his lack of education. Everyone except Asa Rush.

  “Center of town. That’s what the boater said, isn’t it?” Asa asked.

  “There. On the corner.” Epps pointed to the hotel.

  “Sure I can’t talk you into sharing a room with me?”