by Jody Hedlund
For a reason she couldn’t explain, she’d been relieved that Elbridge had foiled Ben’s proposal plans. But he was a determined man, and she had the feeling he wouldn’t give up his aspirations toward Hannah quite so easily.
Mary plucked a piece of straw from the sleeve of Susanna’s jacket. “Don’t worry. The right young man will come along soon enough.”
“Perhaps.” But she wasn’t holding out much hope, because she was becoming more convinced with each passing day that she couldn’t marry someone unless she counted him as both a friend and admirer.
Chapter
13
Ben shoved against Parson Wibird’s door and stopped short when it didn’t open. The parson never locked his door. Something was wrong.
“Who’s there?” came the parson’s voice on the other side of the thick door.
“It is only I, Benjamin Ross.”
The lock rattled for an eternity, then finally the door opened, but just a crack. Parson Wibird’s face peeked out, his squinty eyes narrowing upon Ben.
“Where’s Joe Sewall?” Ben peered past the parson into the hallway cluttered with books, crates, and an assortment of papers. “And why are you locking your door?”
“I’ve had some threats.” Parson Wibird swung open the door and motioned Ben inside with a wave of his hand.
Ben slipped through and was surprised when the parson slammed the door closed behind him and relocked it.
Parson Wibird straightened and then massaged the back of his neck, weariness drawing tight lines across his usually composed face. “Mr. Sewall is safe. But if some of the men had their way, they’d drag him out and hang him.”
Ben shook his head at the ongoing ignorance of the men. If only he was at liberty to share his suspicions about who was really behind the murders. Just the thought again of what he’d discovered sent a chill up his spine.
“Mr. Sewall is tucked safely away in my keeping room.” The parson cocked his head toward the lean-to along the back of the parsonage, which served as a kitchen and sitting area.
As a bachelor, the parson had hired one of the poor women of Braintree’s First Church parish to come several times a week and do his cooking and cleaning. But Ben had the feeling the woman was forever facing an uphill battle in keeping the parson’s home clean and organized.
Parson Wibird fidgeted with the lock again. “I told him he had to stay with me—at least until you can find evidence for the real murderer.”
“I’m getting closer.”
“Then you know who did it?”
Ben swallowed his frustration. It hadn’t taken him long to get the information he’d needed. A few well-placed questions with the right people had given him the name of the man some of the merchants hired to track their runaways.
It was the name of the person he most wanted to avoid. . . .
“Lieutenant Wolfe.” Ben’s muscles tightened just thinking about the lieutenant quartered in Weymouth in such close proximity to Susanna and Dotty. His heart had urged him to ride out to Weymouth and warn Susanna. He’d wanted to do it ever since he’d heard the name. And even tonight, as weary as he was, he wished he had an excuse to ride the four miles to visit her.
Parson Wibird crossed his lanky arms and rocked back and forth on his heels, obviously waiting for further explanation.
“Apparently the lieutenant has gained quite the reputation in Boston for being able to locate runaway slaves and indentured servants. He’s had a high success rate in returning the runaways, even if some of his methods are a bit cruel. But no one seems to mind so long as he does the job.”
“So you think those murdered girls were runaways?”
“I have no solid proof now that they’re dead and buried.”
“And even if we knew for certain the girls had been runaways, how can we connect the lieutenant to their murders?” The parson’s forehead furrowed.
The impossibility of the situation weighed upon Ben, slumping his shoulders. “I’m afraid we don’t have much evidence of anything. At this point I’m merely speculating.” The only proof he had that the other two girls were runaways was the similarity of their situation to Dotty’s, except that in Dotty’s case, so far she’d managed to outrun and outwit the lieutenant in his twisted game of cat and mouse.
Even if Ben could prove Lieutenant Wolfe had been tracking the murdered women, Parson Wibird was right. Ben still wouldn’t have evidence that the lieutenant actually killed them. Unless he involved Dotty. She could identify and testify against the lieutenant. The scars on her feet would link her to the murdered women. But would that be enough?
“I trust that you have reasons to suspect the lieutenant that I don’t know about,” said the parson, studying Ben’s face.
Ben nodded. As much as he wanted to disclose the information he had about Dotty, he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew Susanna would be safe from any repercussions in helping the runaway.
“Nevertheless,” Parson Wibird continued, “it would be a very serious matter to press charges of murder against an officer of the king, even if we had solid evidence against him. But to level accusations against the lieutenant when we have nothing but speculations? We would only bring trouble upon ourselves and perhaps our community if we were to do so.”
“Then I guess I’ll need to search for something we can use against the lieutenant, something that would prove he’s indeed the murderer.”
Parson Wibird widened his permanently squinted eyes, giving Ben a glimpse of the same doubts that had been plaguing him in recent days. “In the meantime, it doesn’t appear we’re much further along in defending Joe, does it?”
“I’m sorry, Parson.” If Ben couldn’t prove Lieutenant Wolfe was the murderer, how would he be able to keep the townspeople from acting on their fears and hanging Joe Sewall?
“I guess this means I’ve got a permanent houseguest and will need to install several more locks.”
“I’d be indebted to you if you’d continue to keep Joe safe until I can sort out my next plan of action and talk more with the constable.”
Parson Wibird clamped him on the shoulder. “You don’t even need to ask. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Ben wiped his tired eyes, freeing them from the dust and grit that had built up from his long ride that day. He’d finally left the circuit and stopped in Boston to see Hannah in the Quincy mansion at the top of Beacon Hill.
And now he regretted he’d wasted the time visiting her.
Of course he’d planned to propose again. But she’d had other guests and had been distracted. Besides, he’d been just plain tired and anxious to get home after several weeks away. At least that’s what he’d told himself during the ride back to Braintree.
But the truth was, as much as he needed a woman like Hannah, he hadn’t thought about her once during the time he was away. He hated to admit it, but he’d thought much more about Susanna. And a part of him rationalized that he couldn’t marry one woman when he was clearly enamored with another.
Whatever the case, he hadn’t been able to muster the enthusiasm or desire to propose to Hannah. In fact, he was irritated more than anything. If he hadn’t made the stop to visit her, he might have had time to ride out to Weymouth and see Susanna to warn her about his suspicions regarding Lieutenant Wolfe. Surely he could have derived some excuse for a visit.
But even as he gripped the door handle, he knew he had to proceed carefully. He’d only jeopardize the secrecy of the Caucus Club and the safety of the underground smuggling operations if he made an appearance in Weymouth without a solid reason. Lieutenant Wolfe already suspected his involvement. He couldn’t give the man any more reasons to question him.
No. He’d have to wait for Cranch’s wedding on the following Friday, and then he’d have to find a way to talk with Susanna alone.
In the meantime, he’d write her another letter and warn her to stay as far away from Lieutenant Wolfe as possible.
Susanna dipped her rag into th
e soft soap Phoebe had recently made from the barrel of ashes, along with the grease they’d accumulated during the fall butchering. With the clear jellylike soap, Susanna wiped the marble surrounding the fireplace, rubbing away streaks of soot and bringing the speckled stone to a gleaming shine.
The rancid odor of the lye stung her eyes, and she paused in her work to blink back a watery tickle.
“Keep working, Susanna,” Mother said from the side table where she stood polishing several silver candle holders. “There’s no time to dawdle.”
With only two days until Mary’s wedding, Mother was in a frenzy to make the house spotless, in particular the large front parlor where they would hold the matrimonial ceremony.
The wedding wouldn’t be a large affair, mostly attended by close friends and family. There were still those Puritans among their community who shunned any ostentatious displays at weddings. They had opposed the changes in the law which had allowed weddings to be performed by ministers at home rather than civil magistrates in a public building as had been the custom.
Nevertheless, Mother expected nothing short of perfection for the day.
Mary was washing the window with such vigor that Susanna wanted to ask her if she expected to transform it into a diamond. But Susanna only smiled and bit back the words.
She couldn’t fault Mary’s nervous excitement. She was marrying a man she loved. That was indeed cause for rejoicing.
Phoebe’s footsteps in the hallway were quick and urgent. When she charged into the room, her thin face was creased with anxiety.
“What is it, Phoebe?” Mother asked. “I thought you were cleaning the guest rooms.”
“Yes, Mrs. Smith.” Phoebe’s gaze darted around the room and landed upon the carpet that graced the center of the room. “But I came to ask Miss Susie to help me shake out the carpet.”
Susanna’s pulse quickened at the unusual request, which was obviously Phoebe’s excuse to speak with her. Was something wrong with Dotty?
They’d been able to keep her presence in the barn a secret so far. But Susanna had the feeling that sooner or later someone would walk into the barn unexpectedly and find Dotty conversing in hushed tones with Tom or helping him with the barn chores as she’d been doing of late.
“The carpet needs a good beating,” Phoebe said, pulling herself up to her full height, “but I can’t manage it by myself.”
Phoebe met Mother’s stern glower without blinking. She held her turbaned head tall and her chin almost jutted with defiance. When it came to Dotty, Phoebe had been all too willing to do whatever they needed to in order to help the young woman. Phoebe’s enthusiasm had overshadowed Tom’s hesitancy and had helped Susanna forget her own uncertainties about sheltering Dotty so freely.
“Yes,” Susanna said, not wanting Phoebe to bring trouble upon herself. “Once the carpet is out of the way, Mary can more easily sweep the floor.”
Mother pressed her lips together. “Phoebe may find one of Grandmother Eve’s servants to help her.”
“They’re busy upstairs,” Phoebe persisted.
Urgency nudged Susanna harder. If Phoebe was refusing the help of the servants Grandmother Eve had sent to assist with the wedding preparations, then the situation was indeed serious. “Please, Mother. After inhaling these cleaning fumes for so long, I have need of a breath of fresh air.”
“Very well.” Mother gave a dismissive shake of her hand. “You may beat the carpet. But be quick about it.”
After donning their cloaks, Susanna and Phoebe rolled the carpet and half carried, half dragged it out the front door to the patch of lawn.
“What’s wrong?” Susanna whispered. “Not something with Dotty, I fear.”
Phoebe dropped her end of the heavy mat. Susanna then lowered her end of the carpet onto the yellowing grass that was crusted with a layer of frost. Even though the November morning was filled with sunshine, the bitter edge of a cold breeze sliced through her cloak, making her shiver.
“When I was upstairs making the guest bed, I looked out the window—the one facing the orchard. There are a couple of soldiers in the woods beyond the orchard.”
Susanna’s heartbeat kicked into a gallop. “Do you think one of them was Lieutenant Wolfe?”
“I wouldn’t know. But who else could it be?”
Susanna had no doubt Phoebe was thinking the same thing she was—that Lieutenant Wolfe was closing in on Dotty’s whereabouts.
After the letter she’d received from Ben only yesterday, she’d been uneasy. Ben hadn’t disclosed much, only that dear Diana needed to avoid wolves. He’d told her he would explain more when he came to the wedding on Friday.
She hadn’t needed to read between the lines to suspect that Lieutenant Wolfe was somehow involved in tracking Dotty and perhaps connected in some way to the murders of the young women. What would Ben say if he knew Dotty was living in the barn all the time now?
A tap on the front parlor window and Mother’s frowning face peering out at them sent Susanna scurrying for the broom on the front porch while Phoebe made quick work of unrolling the carpet.
“Dotty’s not safe here.” Phoebe hefted up one side of the heavy mat as Susanna returned. “We need to find a new hiding place.”
“Do you think they’d dare snoop around our home or the barn?” Susanna lifted a broom to beat it against the rug. “They wouldn’t dare, would they?”
Before Phoebe could answer, two horses with Redcoat riders came trotting around the side of the house.
Susanna sucked in a cold breath.
There, sitting tall and straight upon his gleaming black steed, was Lieutenant Wolfe. Next to him rode his freckle-faced, redheaded assistant. The brilliant sunshine turned the crimson of their coats into the color of freshly spilled blood.
Every nerve in her body screamed at her to get away now. She suspected that Lieutenant Wolfe would devour her if he could.
She took a step back, needing to escape into the safety of the house, but Phoebe stopped her with a jab to her side. The sharpness in the slave’s eyes shouted an unspoken warning: What would Lieutenant Wolfe think if they turned and ran?
Surely he would think they were afraid of him and that they had something to hide.
If they stood their ground and faced him with unswerving determination, perhaps they would be able to divert him from Dotty’s presence, if indeed that’s why he was there.
She steeled herself. “Lieutenant Wolfe, what a surprise.”
He reined his horse, but not before he allowed the beast to step upon the carpet and leave muddy hoofprints along its edge.
Phoebe jerked the floor covering away from the horse.
The lieutenant glanced at Phoebe and then dismissed her as though she were nothing more than a discarded thread of yarn. Instead he forced a stiff smile to his lips. “Miss Smith.”
“What brings you west this morning, Lieutenant?” She willed her voice to hold steady. “Surely your search for illegal activities hasn’t taken you this far from the coast?”
“There’s more than one form of illegal activity that I’m investigating.”
So, he was searching for Dotty.
Her mind urged her to stay calm even though she could hardly breathe with the panic that was beginning to suffocate her. “As you well know, Lieutenant, I am a loyal subject of the king, as is the rest of my family. If we suspected any illegal activities in this part of Weymouth, we would notify you.”
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes and peered first at the parsonage and then at the barn.
Would he insist upon searching the premises?
Oh, God, help . . . The desperate plea echoed in the deep chambers of her heart.
She’d begun to believe she was justified in breaking the law to help Dotty, that there were times when one had to choose God’s greater edicts of kindness and love over the regulations of sinful men.
But what if she’d been wrong? What if she’d only brought danger to her entire family?
“Toda
y, my assistant and I are hunting for a runaway indentured servant.” The lieutenant studied her face as if searching there would lead him to the one he sought.
“And what reason do you have to believe such a runaway would be in this area of Weymouth?”
“It appears you and your mother have gained quite the reputation in this community for your service to poor, helpless women.”
“Of course we have always thought it our God-given duty to help those less fortunate than ourselves.”
The lieutenant didn’t reply, except to smile.
“There’s never been anything illegal about our help.” She spoke rapidly, realizing how incriminating her words sounded.
But the lieutenant was already dismounting. “Sergeant Frazel, you may search the barn. And I’ll search the house.”
“Yes, sir.” The young assistant nodded and lowered himself to the ground.
Phoebe started toward the barn. This time, Susanna had to do the stopping, snagging Phoebe’s cloak and holding her in place.
The lieutenant repositioned his hat and then started toward the front steps of the parsonage.
Susanna couldn’t move. She knew she needed to do something—anything to prevent the sergeant from going into the barn. Even if Dotty had the chance to hide herself under the hay in the loft before the soldier stepped inside, anyone with a modicum of investigative skills would have no trouble seeing that the young woman was living there. The sergeant would stumble upon the old chamber pot she was using, locate leftover crumbs or mussed hay.
Susanna stared at the sergeant striding toward the barn. She wanted to race after him and block his way, distract him, at the very least shout out and give Dotty a chance to escape through the side door before he walked in.
She could feel Phoebe’s wiry body tense, ready to spring into action. But Susanna kept her grip upon the slave’s cloak, rendering her immovable.
Lieutenant Wolfe had already ascended the porch steps and was knocking.
Mother opened the front door, and her surprised greeting carried a hint of worry. Yet Susanna couldn’t focus on the exchange between her mother and Lieutenant Wolfe. The only thing she could hear was the thud of her heartbeat as Sergeant Frazel entered the barn.
