Abiding Peace

by Susan Page Davis

  “Surely you ladies weren’t lingering to gossip this fine Sabbath morning?” Samuel arched his eyebrows.

  “Certainly not, sir.” Christine clamped her lips together.

  All through the worship service, the scene replayed in her mind. By the end of the final psalm, she wallowed in guilt so low that she doubted she would ever leave the morass.

  She took the children home and set out their dinner. She left them setting the table and ran out to see if the pastor was headed home. He came from the church, and she met him a short distance from the house. “Forgive me, sir, but I had to speak to you in private. You hit the mark this morning. My behavior was unconscionable.”

  Samuel eyed her keenly. “If you’ve aught to regret, Christine, I’m not your confessor. Take it to the Lord.”

  “Aye, and I have, to be sure. But I wish your pardon as well. For I not only gossiped with Jane, but I lied to you about it.” Her voice quivered. “I wouldn’t have thought I could do that, but it slipped out so easily!”

  “This … gossip. Will it hurt the person in question?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I doubt it. But it has hurt me. It’s made me see myself as mean-spirited, a character trait I do not wish to possess. Why should I care if Alice’s affianced husband gives her his dead wife’s skirts and English scarf? But I don’t wish to be an example to your children of a petty, shrewish woman.”

  “Did the children overhear?”

  She hung her head. “I don’t think so. And when we saw Alice at the trader’s, I believe I accepted her scorn without giving a poor example to the girls.”

  “Alice scorned you?”

  She felt flames in her cheeks. “It is nothing, sir. What she spoke was true, but perhaps said unkindly.”

  “The same as what you did this morning, then, only to your face?”

  “Aye.”

  He nodded. “My dear, I admire your tender conscience. Would that all my parishioners had such.”

  “Oh, Samuel, I promise you that with God’s help I shall endeavor not to speak ill of others or to be uncharitable.”

  Samuel sighed. “Perhaps the Almighty had a purpose in your exchange with Goody Gardner.”

  “Oh?” She blinked and waited for him to speak further.

  “Your talk this morning drew my attention to the scarf Alice Stevens wore.”

  Christine was baffled. “And?”

  “And I recalled that Goody Ackley nearly always wore it when going out in public, as you say. That is all.”

  Christine squinted at him against the sun, feeling certain that, on the contrary, that was not all.

  sixteen

  In the week before the trial, the nights turned chilly. Samuel spent much time in the fields, getting in his crops and helping the men of his parish harvest their grain and flax.

  At last the magistrate and lawyer returned, along with a second attorney to represent the crown. The people gathered once more at the meetinghouse. Christine wished she could sit at the back of the room, but as witnesses, she and Samuel were bid to sit in the usual pew occupied by the pastor’s family, along with Charles Gardner, who brought his wife this time. Samuel also allowed Ben and John to join them, and so the pew was nearly filled.

  Christine felt quite warm in the close quarters and extremely conscious of Samuel’s nearness. From time to time, one of them shifted, bringing their two shoulders into contact. Christine tried to ease away slightly, without drawing attention to the movement, all the while wishing she could relax and rest against Samuel’s strong arm.

  Goodman Ackley occupied his usual pew, though it was farther back than he would like. Alice, his soon-to-be wife, sat primly beside him, darting glances at the people around them. Her new attire reflected her future elevated status as the wife of a fairly prosperous farmer rather than that of a hired girl.

  Christine was glad that when she had sat down, Alice could not see her. Not many in the congregation could. However, the magistrate, the attorneys, and the prisoner, as well as whoever sat on the stool used as a witness stand, had a first-rate view of her and the minister. She determined to stay alert and not give one tiny crumb of behavior that could be used to criticize Samuel.

  She looked past Ben at Jane Gardner, and Jane gave her a feeble smile. The solemnity of the occasion was overpowering. Christine wondered if it would be better for her to sit on the other side of Jane, not beside Samuel. His proximity continually drew her thoughts to him, which might cause her to look at him often, which in turn might lead others to think malicious thoughts.

  Joseph Paine, the trader who doubled as constable, stood and called the session to order. Much of the testimony seemed repetitious to Christine. She recounted the same facts she’d given at the hearing, and she couldn’t see that the other witnesses added much to their previous information, until the crown’s attorney brought forth the market basket Stephen Dudley had found in the woods.

  Seventeen-year-old Stephen was called to tell how he discovered the item and where and when. “No more questions,” said the lawyer.

  “But it wasn’t there a day earlier,” Stephen said.

  “No more questions,” repeated the lawyer.

  The magistrate looked at McDowell’s attorney. “Your witness, sir.”

  The defense attorney rose, his eyes gleaming. “Now, Master Dudley, you said you found this basket near the camp in the thicket. That would be the same camp you and your brother found the day after the accused was arrested.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “So you were there on the Friday with your brother.”

  “I was, sir.”

  “And you found no basket then.”

  “We did not. Richard can tell you, sir.”

  “Oh, we shall get to your brother, have no fear. Yet you say that on the Saturday morning, the basket lay there, on the ground, in plain sight.”

  “Exactly so, sir.”

  Christine was proud of the boy’s calmness.

  “How do you explain that, Master Dudley?”

  “I don’t, sir.”

  “So when you found this basket, on the Saturday morning, what did you do with it?”

  “I took it along to the parsonage. I thought to ask the constable or the pastor about it.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They weren’t t’home, sir. Both had gone to Portsmouth to ask for you and his honor to come.”

  “Ah.” The attorney nodded in encouragement. “What did you then?”

  “Miss Hardin said she would go with me to Goodman Ackley’s to ask if it were his wife’s basket, and I said mayhap we should get the captain to go, too. So I fetched Captain Baldwin and we went.”

  “And what happened at the Ackleys’ farm?”

  “The master and Alice Stevens, what were the hired girl, both said it were Goody Ackley’s basket.”

  Richard Dudley and Captain Baldwin were summoned to the stand in turn, and both confirmed Stephen’s testimony.

  Goodman Ackley was next. In mournful tones, he told how his wife had gone off that morning and how he regretted not accompanying her on her errand. The crown’s attorney asked if she had carried the basket previously introduced as evidence, and he declared that she had.

  Alice Stevens was called next. She swayed down the aisle in her finery, took the oath, and sat down on the stool. Like her affianced former master, she bewailed the goodwife’s disappearance and death, and she stated that Mahalia Ackley had indeed carried her customary basket that day.

  The magistrate declared a recess at that point, and Christine and the Jewetts walked home for lunch, taking the Gardners with them. Samuel seemed preoccupied, but he joined in conversation with the guests and Tabitha while they sat at dinner.

  As they left the parsonage to return to the trial, he murmured to Christine, “Forgive me if I hasten on ahead. I must have a word with the defense attorney before court reconvenes.”

  She watched him hurry off, surprised at his agitation.

  “
The parson’s a bit on edge,” Charles observed as they followed at a slower pace.

  Jane said, “I thought so, too. Both during the testimony this morning and at dinner. Has this business made him restless, Christine?”

  “Nay, but we would both like to see it finished well.”

  “Of course,” Charles said. “But is there much doubt of the outcome?”

  Christine watched Samuel as he hurried into the meetinghouse. Something wasn’t right, she thought. Something other than the basket. Samuel must feel it, too.

  They filed into the Jewett pew again, and Samuel joined them. His face was sober, but he tossed a faint smile at Christine as he settled beside her.

  The boys traipsed in just before Paine stood to call the crowd to order.

  Samuel leaned toward her. “Pray, my dear.”

  Startled, she nodded, unable to look into his face for fear she would betray the mixed apprehension and sweet pleasure his words brought her.

  Mrs. Paine, the wife of the trader, was called forward. She acknowledged that she had waited on Goody Ackley the morning the woman disappeared and recounted the items the customer had purchased and placed in her large basket.

  “And that was the basket you saw here this morning?”

  “I believe it was, sir.”

  The crown’s attorney then relinquished the floor to the defense council.

  “Can you recall what the deceased wore that day?” McDowell’s attorney asked.

  Mrs. Paine eyed him thoughtfully.

  Samuel’s hands clenched into fists.

  Christine listened carefully as the trader’s wife spoke.

  “Yes, sir, she wore her gray linsey skirt and a blue bodice over her shift, and of course her bonnet and scarf.”

  “A shawl, do you mean?” asked the attorney.

  “Why, no, sir.” Mrs. Paine sat up straighter and looked out over the meetinghouse. “I mean a particular scarf that she always wore into town or to meeting. Her husband had bought it for her at an emporium in Boston a year or two back, and she was very vain of it.”

  The magistrate tapped his gavel. “Keep your responses to the facts, madam.”

  “Aye, sir. But she wore it that day, and she often boasted that her husband had paid a great sum for it. Raw silk, she called it. Hmpf. I’m sure it’s largely woolen, with perhaps a bit of silk woven in. If you’d like to see it, you’ve only to cast your eyes o’er the far pew, where the husband of the deceased sits now, with his betrothed and her family. In fact, your honor”—Mrs. Paine turned and gazed up at the magistrate—”Alice Stevens wore it when she sat in this very spot to give testimony this morning, and she wears it still.”

  A noise of whispering swelled amidst the people.

  Again the magistrate clapped his gavel to the desk. “Silence.”

  The immediate stillness was broken by only the lowing of a cow on the common.

  The magistrate studied Mrs. Paine. To the lawyer, he said, “Have you any more questions for this witness, sir?”

  “No, your honor.”

  Mrs. Paine returned to her pew, and the crown rested its case. The defense attorney stood and turned toward the onlookers.

  “The defense calls Doctor Elias Cooke, resident of Dover Point.”

  Samuel inhaled deeply as a man walked quietly up the aisle. The physician wore a powdered wig and a long, black coat and breeches. Christine felt Samuel’s tension as Paine administered the oath to the physician, and when she glanced at him, she saw that Samuel’s face was pale.

  “Doctor Cooke,” said the attorney, “you were called to examine Mahalia Ackley’s body soon after it was discovered.” The attorney stood sideways so that he could look at the witness and also at the onlookers if he wished.

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “Why were you summoned here?”

  “They have no physician in Cochecho, and Captain Baldwin asked if I would come and examine a dead woman to tell him what I could.”

  “And how long after her death did you see her?”

  “I believe it was a few hours after death occurred. No greater than eight hours, from what I’ve heard of her activity that morning.”

  “And were you able to determine how Mahalia Ackley died?”

  The physician looked up at him and said calmly, “Aye, sir. She had a wound on her temple, and her face was bruised, but I believe she was killed by strangling.”

  “Strangling, you say?”

  “Aye. Her throat was marked where something had been pulled tight about it, and the blood vessels in her eyes had ruptured.”

  “And could you say what instrument was used to kill her?”

  The doctor shook his head slightly. “I believe it to have been an article of clothing, sir.”

  The swell of low voices began again, but when the magistrate lifted his gavel, it subsided.

  “A specific article of clothing, sir? For instance, would you say a belt?”

  “Nay, not that.” The doctor unbuttoned a few silver buttons and reached inside his coat. “The minister assisted me in my examination, and since he is one who often stands in as a healer in this community, I welcomed his aid. I pointed out to him an oddity pertaining to the wounds.”

  “And what was that, sir?”

  “Fibers clinging to the creased skin of the victim’s neck.” He held out a folded piece of paper. “It may interest you and the magistrate to look at them. The Reverend Jewett”—Cooke nodded in Samuel’s direction—”can tell you. He saw me remove several white fibers from the body. I believe the woman was strangled with an article woven of fine white wool and silk.”

  A shriek came from the rear of the hall. Christine looked at Samuel, but he had already jumped to his feet and turned to look over the back of their pew. Christine leaped up and looked toward the rear of the room.

  Alice Stevens clawed the white scarf from about her neck, threw it on the floor, and crumpled into her father’s arms.

  seventeen

  The uproar could not be silenced by the pounding gavel. Paine and Captain Baldwin leaped into the aisles in an attempt to calm the surging crowd.

  Christine sat down hard on her wooden seat and shrank back against the pew, thankful she couldn’t see what went on behind them but wondering what Alice Stevens and Roger Ackley were doing at that moment. She had an excellent view of McDowell, who craned his neck to see what was happening, grinning as he pulled against the leg irons and fetters that held him to the deacons’ pew.

  Samuel plopped down beside her and stared straight ahead.

  After a good ten minutes, order was restored. The magistrate declared a quarter hour’s recess, after which all witnesses were expected to appear ready to testify again if called.

  John Jewett was standing on his seat, looking over the high back of the pew. As the crowd began to surge toward the door, he cried, “Father! Alice Stevens swooned. How can she testify again?”

  Samuel shook his head. “We shall see, son.”

  “Her mother and father are trying to rouse her,” Jane noted.

  Samuel stroked his beard. Christine saw that his hand shook. “Perhaps I should see if they need assistance,” he said.

  “That doctor’s looking at her,” Ben reported, also peering over the top of the pew.

  Samuel drew a deep breath. “We wished for justice, Christine. Do not cease your praying now.” He patted her arm briefly and then clasped his hands in his lap.

  “Do you wish to go outside?” Charles asked Jane.

  “Mayhap we are better off to stay right here and see what befalls,” his wife replied.

  Christine was glad. She did not feel like facing the inquisitive stares and questions of the villagers. She sat stiffly beside Samuel, pondering all that she had heard. The two attorneys huddled with the magistrate at the front table. As Samuel had suggested, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and prayed silently.

  After ten minutes, Charles left them for a short time and returned with a dipper of cold water, w
hich he offered first to Jane then to Christine.

  She took a sip, thankful for the cool liquid.

  “Pastor, would you like a drink?” Charles asked.

  Samuel took the dipper and drained it. “Thank you, Charles.” He slumped back against the wall.

  Charles took the dipper away. When he returned, he bent close to Samuel. “Goodman Ackley tried to bolt. Baldwin’s got him in custody. They’re going to bring him in last, when everyone’s seated again.”

  “What about the scarf?”

  “The attorney asked Alice’s parents to give it to them as evidence. She’s come round, but she still looks like death. They’ve moved out of Ackley’s pew to another at the side.”

  Soon afterward, court reconvened. The defense attorney called Alice Stevens to the front of the room. Everyone stared at the hired girl as she rose, her face white. Her father escorted her to the witness stand, holding firmly to her elbow.

  After she was reminded of her oath to tell the truth, McDowell’s attorney directed his questions to her. “Miss Stevens, you were in Goody Ackley’s employ at the time of her death?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And where did you get the scarf you wore to court today?”

  “My … Her husband gave it to me, sir.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  Alice hung her head. Her answer was so quiet, Christine could barely hear it. “A week and more after she died, he asked me to be his wife.”

  “And you accepted?”

  “Aye.” She looked up quickly. “I thought—” She let out her breath in a puff and blinked as tears flooded her eyes and raced down her cheeks. “He gave me some of her clothing, sir. That were among ‘em.”

  “And can you remember exactly when he gave you that scarf, Miss Stevens?”

  She shook her head. “A few days ago, I think.”

  “Did you see it the day your mistress died?”

  “I … don’t know, sir.”

  “Did she wear it when she left for the trading post?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The attorney took a few steps across the front of the meetinghouse as though deep in thought and turned to face her again. “Was she wearing it when they brought the body home?”