by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
He rose and went to the door. When he opened it, Brady’s fist was drawn back to knock upon the boards again. He stopped with his hand in midair and stared into Jack’s eyes.
“What is it?” Jack asked, noting with relief that Simon and his father were alone.
“The boy insisted we come back and tell you that he’s seen something.” Simon pushed up next to his father. His green eyes glittered with excitement, and his face was full of anticipation and wonder.
“I seen him, Goodman Hunter! Just now. I seen the man what took your ax!”
Chapter 19
You’re certain it’s him?” Jack asked.
He’d brought Goodman Brady and Simon into the house and seated them at the table. Lucy flitted about as the boy told his story, quietly preparing tea and getting out the apple cake intended for Sunday dinner. She set a plate and a pewter mug of steaming tea before Edward Brady. He did not refuse it.
“It were him, I’m sure, sir!” Simon’s eagerness warmed Jack’s heart.
“The boy told me a bit of what’s gone on here as we walked back,” Brady said. “It sounds to me as if this bit of knowledge might help your case.”
Jack met his gaze and realized Brady was making a concession. It was not an apology, and he had not called Jack “sir,” but it opened at least the possibility that he doubted Jack’s guilt.
“Simon told me a few days ago that he saw my ax stolen last June,” Jack said. “I hoped that he could identify the thief for me.”
“Is that why you kept him here?” Brady asked, his eyes squinting.
“Nay. Simon had been with us more than a week when he told me. We like the boy, and he was welcome here, whether he could name the man or no.”
“A week?” Brady asked thoughtfully. He blew on his tea and sipped it, then fixed his stern gaze on Simon. “You were not here all summer, then?”
Simon stared at the slice of cake Lucy had placed before him. “No, sir.”
“Then where were you all this time?”
“I …” Simon swallowed hard. “I stayed about the town, sir, and … and the farms.”
“Were you hiring out to farmers?”
“Nay,” Simon whispered.
Jack wanted to defend the boy but kept silent. He glanced at Lucy and saw that she also waited to hear what Simon would say.
“Then how did you eat?” Brady roared, his red eyebrows drawing together in a frown.
“I … I took things.” Simon hung his head.
Jack cleared his throat. “The boy and I came to an understanding, sir. He would work for me in haying time to pay back the bit of provender he’d taken. He would have repaid me by the end of this week. I told him I would pay him after that, and he could make restitution to the other farmers whose chicken coops and gardens he plundered.”
Brady stared at Jack for a long moment.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Simon whispered. “Truly I am, and I’ve told Goodman Hunter and … and God. They both forgave me.”
Brady drew in a long, slow breath. “This is not the way I raised my son.”
“I know that, sir,” Jack assured him. “The boy felt desperate and justified his actions in his own mind, but now he sees his error. He’s been a good lad since we found him out, and I trust he’ll be obedient once you take him home.”
“We shall see,” Brady replied. “But what of this other matter?”
“Well,” said Jack, “if Simon can identify the man who stole my ax, then I suppose we need to go to the law and tell them his name.”
“I don’t know his name,” said Simon.
“A lot of folks were walking to the meetinghouse,” his father explained. “All suddenlike, the boy says to me, ‘Look yonder, Father! That man is a thief.’ And I says to him, ‘How so, son?’ And he tells me, ‘I saw that man steal Goodman Hunter’s ax—the one what killed his neighbor last June.’ ”
Lucy stepped forward. “This man—the one who took the ax—he went into the meetinghouse?”
“Aye,” said Simon, looking at her with wide eyes. “I don’t recall seeing him there last Sunday, but he looked to be headed there today.”
“I expect Goodman Rutledge is at meeting,” Jack said.
“Who is that?” asked Edward Brady.
“He’s the chief constable,” Jack said. “Perhaps if we go to the meetinghouse, we can have him called outside.”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “Then if the thief is in the meeting, we can wait until they’re done, and Simon can watch as the people come out and identify him for the constable.”
“It might work,” said Jack, “provided we are discreet.”
“I’m willing to go with you,” said Brady.
An hour later the little group clustered beneath a large maple tree, waiting for the meeting to end.
“I don’t know, Hunter,” Ezekiel Rutledge said to Jack, shaking his head. “The boy saying someone took your ax doesn’t prove that person killed Barnabas Trent.”
“I agree,” Jack said. “But won’t it lend credence to my claim of innocence?”
“Aye, that it will,” Rutledge acknowledged. “The boy seems honest to me.”
“I raised him to be truthful,” said Brady. He glanced at Jack, who nodded. If Brady feared he would tell the constable about the boy’s pilfering, he could rest easy.
At last the service ended, and the people streamed out of the meetinghouse.
“Look carefully, son,” Brady told Simon.
Rutledge put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “If you see him and you are certain, tell me.”
Angus Murray and his family exited the church, and the captain glanced their way. He spoke to his wife, then walked toward them.
“Goodman Rutledge, Goodman Hunter. What’s afoot?” The man nodded at Lucy and Simon, then eyed the stranger with curiosity.
Jack looked toward Rutledge, hoping he would make an explanation, but the constable only murmured, “Captain,” and resumed watching the congregation coming down the steps.
“This is Simon Brady’s father,” Jack explained. Murray nodded, a question still scrawled on his face.
“I see him!” Simon squealed. He grabbed Jack’s arm. “That’s him, sir. The one with the blue coat.”
They all looked toward the church door. Jack inhaled sharply. The man Simon indicated was none other than Charles Dole.
“Lucy,” he said, “take Simon out of sight.” Jack walked toward the church with Rutledge and Edward Brady. Captain Murray fell into step with him.
Rutledge halted at the bottom of the steps as Dole came down them.
“Charles,” Rutledge said, “I’ve something to discuss with you.”
Dole’s gaze flitted from Rutledge to Edward Brady then to Jack. “What is it, Ezekiel?”
“Let us speak in private,” said Rutledge.
Dole’s frown became a scowl. “You can speak to me here. I suppose this reprobate has told you I stopped by his field and had words with him.”
Rutledge shot a glance at Jack. “Nay. This concerns another matter.”
Dole glared at Jack and Brady. Angus Murray stepped up beside Jack.
“If you insist on plain talk in public …” Rutledge said.
Dole sniffed. “I do. Get on with it.”
Rutledge took in the small crowd that had gathered. “All right. A witness has come forth saying he saw you take Jack Hunter’s ax from his barn last June.”
Dole exhaled in a puff. “Nonsense. You know Hunter’s a liar. He’d say anything to save himself.”
“It’s not Hunter who made the claim,” Rutledge said.
Dole’s eyes focused on Brady. “If this witness of yours thinks he has evidence, why didn’t he come forward earlier?”
“Because he did not know the significance of what he saw. Come, Charles,” Rutledge pleaded. “Let us walk over to the jail and speak about this in private.” He laid his hand on Dole’s sleeve, but the man shook him off in anger.
“What are you saying? Some f
riend of Hunter’s claims I killed Trent?”
Jack prayed Rutledge would exercise wisdom and restraint.
“I’ll have you up for slander!” Dole lunged toward Brady, but Captain Murray leaped forward and caught Dole by the shoulders.
“Not so, Charles,” Rutledge said. “This man never met Hunter until today, and furthermore, he is not the witness I spoke of.”
“Then who is it?”
“You’ll have a chance to face the witness in court.”
“Court?” Dole snarled. “You’ll not take me to the jail.” Dole tried to push past Rutledge, but the captain caught him once more.
“Shall I hold him, Constable?” Murray asked. He tightened his grasp on Dole’s shoulders.
Dole winced. “Unhand me! Ezekiel, make this half-witted Samson let me go.”
Murray’s laugh boomed out over the churchyard. “Constable Rutledge, if there are to be charges of slander brought today, perhaps I should be the plaintiff.”
Rutledge leaned toward Dole and lowered his voice. “Charles, this witness’s tale rings true. You owned that farm before Trent. When you couldn’t pay your taxes, you lost it, and Trent bought it. I know that’s rankled you for twenty-five years.”
Richard Trent pushed through the people on the steps. “Constable Rutledge, you spoke true. This man owned my father’s farm once, but he defaulted on his taxes. My father bought it all legal.”
“That were my farm,” Dole snarled. “Weren’t my fault I couldn’t pay. They should have waited, but no! Trent comes along with ready coin, and they let him take half of it.”
“Aye, and the rest of the land was sold a couple of years later to Isaac Hunter.” Rutledge stared steadily into Dole’s wild eyes.
“It weren’t fair,” Dole shouted. “First Trent, then Hunter, that scoundrel! They got my land, and I had to start all over. I never could get ahead on the stony ground I got south of town.”
Dole twisted in Murray’s grasp, but the captain held him in a tight grip. “Stay put, Dole,” the big man growled.
Rutledge shook his head. “Did you think you could get the land back if you killed Trent, Charles?”
Edward Brady cleared his throat. “Pardon me, sir, but it seems to me a bitter man might connive something like this. He steals the ax of one man he hates and kills the other with it. If the one is convicted of murdering the other, then both of their properties are apt to become available.”
Rutledge scratched his head and surveyed Brady, then turned to Dole again. “Is there truth to that? Speak up, Charles!”
“Yes,” Murray roared. “Speak, Constable Dole!”
The heavy rain pounding on the roof put Lucy on edge as she washed the supper dishes. There would be no stroll tonight. Would Jack continue his awkward courting? He built up the fire, then took the Bible and sat on his usual stool, leafing through the pages.
Lucy wiped off the table, then removed her apron and went to her chair.
Jack read a chapter, then closed the Bible with a sigh. “We have a good life, Lucy.”
“Yes, we do. But I’ll miss Simon.”
“Aye. Still, it’s good that he was content to go home after he saw his father take my part this morning.”
She ran her hand over her hair and wished she’d snatched a moment to comb it. “Did you hear Edward Brady tell his son how proud he is of him?”
“I did.” Jack pressed his lips together.
Lucy leaned toward him. “They’ll never take you up for Trent’s murder again. Now that Dole has confessed to the killing, it’s all behind us.”
“It’s hard to realize that it’s over.”
“But it is! We can rejoice and not fear the future.”
“Let’s give thanks,” he said.
Lucy bowed her head and folded her hands in her lap.
Jack’s prayer was brief but heartfelt. When he finished, he stood and came to her side. “I have so much to thank God for, Lucy. And not only having my name cleared of this crime.”
“Aye.” A rumble of thunder sounded, and the drumming of rain on the roof almost drowned out her voice.
“Well, we shan’t have our walk tonight,” he said.
“It’s all right. At least your hay is under cover.”
“Yes, thanks to Angus and Samuel.”
“That’s another thing we can be thankful for … good friends.”
“Aye.” He stood before her, as though waiting for something.
Lucy smiled then pulled in a deep breath. She was learning that sometimes her husband needed a slight prod. “So, Jack,” she said softly.
“Yes?”
“If you were courting a girl, and it poured rain the evening you were to call on her, what would you do?”
He chuckled. “I suppose I’d go to her parents’ house and sit and stare at her while she knitted.” He drew his stool over and sat next to her, his knee almost touching hers.
“I haven’t got my knitting,” she said.
“Would you like me to fetch it?”
“Nay, I think not.”
He seized her hand and looked into her eyes. “Lucy, are you truly happy here with me?”
Despite his gravity, she couldn’t hold back her smile. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”
“So you have no regrets?” he asked, still anxiously searching her face.
“None.”
He reached up to caress her cheek. “I love you, Lucy.”
It was almost painful to breathe. She couldn’t break the stare, but she managed to whisper, “I love you, too.”
He bent toward her and kissed her. She responded with a sweet longing in her heart.
“Lucy, dear, I wondered….”
“Yes, Jack?” She snuggled in against his shoulder.
“Are my things in your way up in the loft?”
She sat up and cocked her head, trying to figure out this turn of phrase. “In the loft?”
“When you do your weaving.”
“No, I …” She stopped as his meaning became clear. “It might be a bit easier if your clothes were put away in the clothespress and …”
He lifted her hand to his lips. She closed her eyes, savoring his touch.
“… and if the straw tick …”
“Yes?” He kissed each finger, and she shuddered with delightful anticipation.
Your husband loves you, she told her herself. He’s only waiting for you to speak.
“Well, if I didn’t have to trip over it …”
“I’ll put it away tomorrow.” He stood, pulling her up with him, and swept her into his embrace. “I think …,” he whispered.
“What?”
He glanced toward the mantelpiece then looked directly at her with his pensive gray eyes. “I think we’ve done enough courting for a couple who’s been married two months.”
“Almost three.”
“I do believe it’s time we ended this courtship and …”
She swallowed hard, trying to still the fluttering in her chest.
“… and I stopped sleeping on the floor.”
She gasped as Jack stooped and lifted her in his arms.
“Can you pick up the candlestick, sweetheart?” he whispered in her ear. He swung her toward the table. She grasped the candle and held it with great care as he carried her toward the inner chamber.
Epilogue
Jack and Sam Ellis shed their linsey shirts as the late June sun beat down on them. Sweat poured down Jack’s face as he swung his scythe over and over. After an hour of steady mowing, Sam called to him, and he stopped his rhythm and laid down the scythe. Sam walked toward him, drinking from the cider jug as he came.
“Here, you need a rest.”
Jack took a swig of sweet cider. At least it was cooler than the air around him. They had sunk the jug in the shallow water at the edge of the creek when they began haying.
“I should be at the house,” he said with an anxious glance toward home.
“The ladies will tell
us when you’re allowed,” Sam reminded him.
Jack sighed. “She’s working harder than we are, and it’s too hot for this.”
“She’ll do fine, Jack.”
“That’s easy for the father of ten healthy youngsters to say.”
A call reached them, and both men turned to stare up the slope. Sarah Ellis stood near the woodpile, waving her apron.
Jack thrust the jug into Sam’s hands and bolted for home.
Before he reached her, he could see that Sarah’s face was one huge smile.
“Lucy?” he gasped.
“She’s fine, and so is your son!”
Jack laughed. “It’s a boy?”
“A strapping, healthy boy.”
“I thank you, Sarah.” Jack ran around to the door and hurried to the bedchamber.
Alice Hamblin was bending over the bed, holding a bundle wrapped in flannel. “Well, well, here’s Papa,” she said with a smile.
Jack slowed his pace and walked forward, trying to control his panting. His heart flipped as he looked at Lucy. Her hair was plastered to her brow, and her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but her face radiated joy.
He sat on the edge of the bed and took her in his arms. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am,” she whispered.
He held her close.
After a moment, Alice said, “Well, Papa, do you want to see little Johnny?”
“Johnny?” Jack asked, blinking at her.
She nestled the bundle into his arms, and Jack looked down at his son. In spite of Sarah’s description, the baby seemed tiny, and his face was red. Golden down grew on his head, and he opened his mouth in a huge yawn.
Jack laughed. “He’s beautiful, Mother Hamblin, but didn’t Lucy tell you? We’re naming him for your late husband.”
“That’s right, Marm,” Lucy said with a smile. “We’ll save Jack’s Christian name for next time. This is Thomas Hunter.”
Alice bent over the baby, her eyes wet with tears. “Thank you. That’s a wonderful gift you’ve given this old granny.” She smiled and stroked the infant’s head. “He looks like Lucy’s brothers did when they were born.”
“I don’t mind.” Jack grinned. “The Hamblins all be handsome.”
