by Jane Steen
I walked past him.
“You ain’t wantin’ to look, ma’am. Tain’t pretty.”
“I’ve seen worse.” I set my jaw and looked.
No, it wasn’t pretty. His eyes were wide open as if in astonishment, filmed by death—and did there have to be insects? It was cold but there was no frost. Flies and ants, attracted by the blood, crawled over the professor’s face and feasted on the sticky, black-looking mess of gore and brains that had gushed from an opening near the crown, running into the wiry black hair. One hand still clutched a silk hat. The professor was unusually well dressed, I realized, as if he had been dining. The other hand showed evidence of the coyotes’ work, as did the tears in the well-cut pantaloons and spats.
There’s a world of difference between seeing, up close, the body of a stranger and that of someone you have known, have laughed and talked with. I felt the hot tears well up in my eyes and slide down my cheek. The pastor drew me close, patting my head as if I were one of his children. He had set the lamp down to do so, and the light shone directly on the professor’s face.
“Why?” was all I could say. But I was horribly afraid I knew.
23
Accusation
We drove the rest of the way to the seminary in near silence, leaving Zeke to stand guard over the body until Pastor Lombardi could send for the sheriff. According to Tess, Sarah had cried and asked a thousand questions about why I had left the wagon, but by the time the pastor helped me climb back in, she had succumbed to exhaustion. In the end, it was the pastor who carried my profoundly asleep daughter up the wearisome flights of stairs to our room, but not before sending a servant to Springwood for the lawmen.
I hadn’t expected to sleep, but I closed my eyes on the picture of the professor lying cold on the prairie and opened them to a dull, gray morning with gusts of drizzle falling from the lowering clouds.
I had slept so long that Tess was already awake and dressed, brushing out her fine, fair hair by the window as she sat with her legs folded up under her skirts to keep her feet off the cold boards.
“Where’s Sarah?” I looked around the room, expecting to see the blaze of red hair.
“Bella came to fetch her earlier.” Bella was Dorcas’s daughter, a pleasant, thoughtful girl who frequently offered us little services as a way of breaking up the monotony of her day. “She said she’d give Sary a special breakfast in the kitchen and keep her out of our way while we recover from our journey.”
“That’s nice.” I yawned, shivered as my feet touched the floor, then sat up straight as a thought struck me. “I hope Sarah won’t be down there listening to the servants talk about the—the professor.” For I knew the details of the poor man’s grisly death would already be well known to the servants, who always seemed to know everything.
“Dorcas won’t let them talk in front of Sary.” Tess leaned forward to look out of the window. “There’s men coming, look.”
I crossed to the window and leaned over Tess. A straggling group of men—homesteaders and men from Springwood, to judge by their clothes—were approaching from the west, a few on horseback but most on foot. They hadn’t come from the direction of Springwood—had they been scouring the prairie for Zeke’s redskins? Most of them carried rifles.
“I wonder where they took Professor Wale?” I thought out loud.
“To the undertaker’s house in Springwood, I expect,” said Tess. “I asked Bella—I whispered, Nell, while Sary was getting dressed—if they brought the professor back here last night, and she said no. She said the professor dined at the house of Mr. Joseph Lehmann last night, and he must have been walking back since the weather was so fine yesterday.”
I frowned. “Was Reiner there too? Did you ask?”
Tess’s expression took on a look of concentrated excitement, and she hissed, “Nobody knows where Reiner was last night, Nell. He was in Springwood, but not at his uncle’s—he said he walked around the town, but nobody saw him. He was in his room this morning.”
Of course, because of Thanksgiving the students had a three-day holiday—there would have been no classes on Friday or Saturday. It was now Sunday, and—
“Heavens, chapel!” I exclaimed. “What time is it?”
Tess shook her head. “There’s to be no morning chapel, but everyone has to attend in the afternoon. Dr. Calderwood has been to Springwood in the cart already, with Mr. Poulton. I don’t know if they’re back yet.”
I slumped against the window frame. “I feel like I’ve missed half the day already. I'll hurry and dress, and then let's go see if we can find out what’s happening.”
Upon awakening, my mind had been clear and detached, fastening, as it so often did, on the practicalities of the day rather than on the tragedy of the day before. But by the time I was pushing the last pins into my hair, my head seethed with questions and possibilities. The image of the professor’s body was constantly before my eyes, so that on several occasions I quite forgot what I was doing.
Perhaps, as Zeke had suggested, it really had been a party of Indians. In our great building and its satellite town of Springwood, provided as they were with many of the luxuries and conveniences of civilization, it was easy to forget that battles were raging not so many days’ ride from us. The Comanche and the Kiowa had attacked settlers and buffalo hunters a few days to the south and west of us in the summer, and all through the fall there had been rumors of groups of either hunters or warriors sighted on the plains around us. A lone man on the prairie, with no firearm—for the professor never carried a gun—would be an easy target.
We had intended to go straight down to the kitchen, but a hubbub coming from the second floor arrested our attention. With no more than a mutual glance, Tess and I darted in the direction from which the sounds were proceeding.
“Bastard! You bastard!”
The enraged howl came from the library, the door of which was open and which was crammed full of students and teachers. The air was a rank fug of male scents, a top note of tension and fear sharpening the atmosphere so that I could almost capture the tang of it on my tongue.
We pushed, barely noticed, through the crowd. At its center was, as I had expected from the voice, Reiner Lehmann, bright red with fury. The Springwood sheriff and two of his men stood to one side, their faces unreadable.
“You unspeakable bastard!” I realized Reiner was addressing Judah, who faced him squarely, no sign of emotion in his mien or posture. “You’ve set this up. I don’t know why or how, but I know it’s you.”
“Of course it wasn’t me.” Judah’s gaze flicked to me and then to a group of teachers who stood in front of a milling crowd of students. “I have nothing against you, Lehmann—nothing at all now.”
And his glance strayed back in my direction. There were smirks from one or two of the older students, but they died under Judah’s withering looks.
“Yes, we’ve had our disagreements,” Judah continued, “but they’ve been minor ones—the sort of thing that must happen from time to time in a community such as this. And to accuse me of causing Professor Wale’s death is ridiculous. You know very well, as does everyone else, that I spent the whole of yesterday afternoon writing in this library, in full view of several people—and that I didn’t retire until ten o’clock, well after the professor’s body was found. Another fact that any number of those present observed.”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the assembled teachers and from some of the students. Well, at least that answered one of the questions that had been scratching at the surface of my mind. Did anyone else know that Professor Wale had been threatening to expose some kind of secret about Judah? I tried hard not to look at the row of Greek texts that concealed the letter’s hiding place.
“And it was your rifle they found a quarter mile from the professor’s body. The one your father sent you in the summer, that you were so fond of showing off,” Judah continued in the ringing tones of an inquisitor. “Can you explain how it got there?”
“No, I damn well can’t.” Reiner looked as if he would strike Judah at any moment. “But I can only think of one slimy bastard who’d be likely to creep around and steal it from me for his own purposes.”
Judah drew a deep breath and looked over at the sheriff, who nodded.
“First of all,” Judah returned his attention to Reiner, “I beg you to modify your language. To speak such profanities in the presence of ladies is unpardonable.”
I realized that Mrs. Calderwood was also there, clinging—most unusually—to her husband’s arm.
“And second, throwing accusations at me will not dispel the force of the evidence against you. You can’t prove where you were. I can.”
“Could still have been Injuns,” said one of the men from Springwood. “Bullet was just one of those like you get from the mercantile, and plenty of us have Winchesters—the braves too. His was just purtied up with some fancy scrollwork.” A look passed between him and the other men that showed what they thought of Reiner’s gun.
“So why’d I leave it on the prairie for everyone to find?” Reiner’s voice was high and indignant. “What kind of numbskull would shoot a man and leave his gun lying around as evidence?”
I wriggled to the front of the crowd, as close to Reiner—and, because of our relative positions, to Judah—as possible.
“Nell.” For the first time since Mrs. Drummond had told him about Sarah’s birth, Reiner looked me directly in the eyes with his old, frank expression, his eyes showing a bright, guileless blue against the high color in his face. “You know I didn’t do it, don’t you? You know I wouldn’t. I didn’t like the old—the professor—but I wouldn’t harm him.”
I looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. “I believe you, Reiner.”
“So will you come quietly?” the sheriff asked, seeing a look of calm descend over Reiner’s young face. “This isn’t a lynching party, young man. We won’t hang you without giving you a good chance to explain yourself.”
I felt the blood drain from my head at the sudden realization that for Reiner, this could be a matter of life and death. But common sense told me that he could hardly fight or flee. He was trapped, and he would have to comply.
“Go with them, Reiner,” I said. And turning to the sheriff, I asked, “Will you tell his uncle straightaway?”
“We already did.” The sheriff was also the land surveyor, a steady man in his late thirties with a pleasant wife—for whom I’d made a day dress—and assorted small children. He gave me a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’re not about to be hasty. We’ll give the lad his chance.”
Students began to stream out of the library doors as Reiner was led forth between the two sheriff’s men, neither of whom held on to him.
“You acted bravely, Nell,” Judah said into my ear. “I find more qualities to admire in you every day.”
“Do you think he actually did it?” Somehow I was not all that impressed by Judah’s evaluation of my qualities.
Judah shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t understand the business with the rifle, and I don’t see what Lehmann was doing wandering around the prairie at night. Maybe it was Indians—and maybe we’ll never know at all.” He smiled. “All I know is, I didn’t shoot the man.”
“Did you see him?” Tess had waited to ask since my return from Springwood because Sarah was in the workroom with us, but the moment the door closed behind my daughter, she positively pounced on me. Sarah was so near to four years old that I now allowed her to make specific journeys around the building as long as she promised not to stray.
“I did not.” I stretched my stockinged feet out toward our small fire. We were sparing with our scarce firewood, but the walk to Springwood and back over a waterlogged trail had made this small luxury necessary.
“I saw his uncle,” I continued after a few moments, during which Tess fidgeted. “But Reiner is no longer in Springwood—they moved him to Abilene. Of course, his uncle asked me all sorts of questions since it was I who spotted the—the professor, but I couldn’t help him a great deal.”
“Why has he gone to Abilene? That’s a bad place, isn’t it?” Tess’s brow furrowed in consternation.
“Because Springwood doesn’t have a jail, Mr. Lehmann said. He didn’t seem all that concerned about it. He told me he was sure there was enough doubt about Reiner’s guilt that he could get him freed.”
I moved my boots a little closer to the fire. “I wish I could feel so confident—but Reiner’s uncle is a lawyer and understands these things.”
Tess came over to me, draping her arm over my shoulders and bestowing a light kiss on my forehead. “You look so worried, Nell. And tired. You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I am worried and tired. And no, I didn’t sleep well.” Lacking the utter exhaustion that had ensured a night’s sleep when we returned from the Lombardis’, I had spent the previous night haunted by the memory of the professor’s bloodied face and staring, insect-infested eyes. And what sleep I managed was beset by nightmares about Reiner standing with a rope around his neck, waiting for the drop into oblivion.
“I’ll go to the kitchen,” Tess said briskly. “Netta’s sure to give me some nice, hot drink for you, and then tonight you must go to bed straight after supper.”
I patted the small, plump hand that lay on my shoulder. “You’re the most wonderful sister I could ever dream of,” I said. “But I have to stay up late tonight. I have something to do.”
24
Release
Naturally, I’d had to wait until all the lamps in the library were extinguished, but I’d thought to bring the little shaded candleholder Tess and I used for nighttime contingencies.
The building was completely silent, and every creak of the stairs sounded as loud as a gunshot to my ears. My heart thumped so loudly I thought I’d wake the entire building. But now that the professor was dead, it seemed urgent that I retrieve his legacy to me, even if I didn’t read the letter he’d kept hidden all these months.
Anyone who approached the library would see my light, of course. The glass-paned doors had no curtains I could close. But by the same token, I would see them by the light they held—and the distinctive click of the library doors would leave me in no uncertainty if someone entered the room.
I closed the doors with care, making sure they were tightly latched, and then proceeded to my work.
The candle wasn’t bright in its pierced tin holder, so I had to feel my way through barely seen shadows of furniture, holding my breath in case I stumbled over a chair leg or caught my foot in a rug. The room had not been well aired, probably because of the pouring rain the day before. The taint of sweat still hung in its atmosphere, faintly acrid, a memory of the fraught scene of Reiner’s arrest.
Only when I knew I was near the bookcase in which the professor had secreted the letter did I open the little door of my candleholder to its widest position. It took me a moment to realize I’d misjudged where I was—how easy to become lost in darkness! I was two bookcases over from my imagined position. I held the candle high, scanning for the right books, brushing my hand over the edge of the shelves to be sure of my path.
There they were, unmistakable. The indecipherable Greek lettering gleamed gold on the spines of the heavy, red-bound tomes. I set the candleholder on a nearby table and pulled out the first five volumes one by one, surprised by how heavy they were.
My hands shook as I fumbled for the loose piece of wood. For a moment, I thought I’d mistaken the location, so well did it fit into place, but finally my fingertips encountered a minute break in the smooth case. nI pushed on the upper edge the way Professor Wale had shown me. Nothing happened; I pushed again, harder this time, and to my relief I felt the wood tilt back. I wiggled it until I was able to maneuver the wood out of its hole.
“You could have done this when you weren’t so tired, you know,” I grumbled to myself under my breath, angry at how ridiculously fast my heart was beating. I would probably
not sleep this night either. Taking a deep breath, I thrust my fingers into the space—and found it empty.
A few minutes’ frantic rummaging and close inspection, bringing the candle as near as I dared to the dry wood, convinced me that the letter was indeed gone. The professor might have taken it before he died, of course; had anyone searched his room? What exactly would they do with his belongings?
I replaced the piece of wood and the books and blew out the candle. I stood still for a few minutes in the dark, inhaling the scents of smoke and hot wax, allowing my eyes to become re-accustomed to the darkness—and thinking.
“I should have read the blasted letter while I had the chance,” I said aloud to myself. But had I intended to read it or burn it? I didn’t know.
I eased the muscles of my back as much as I could, feeling the pressure of a corset that I’d been wearing for too many hours. I should get some rest, I told myself, if not sleep. I willed my leaden limbs to move forward and fumbled my way to the door, guided by the faint light from the hall. I pulled it open and stepped out of the library.
“Can’t you sleep?”
My heart contracted so violently that I felt pins and needles in my fingers, even though I knew the voice well.
“Judah, you scared the living daylights out of me. What are you doing here?”
“I think I should ask the same of you.” Judah’s voice was filled with amusement. “Why don’t you use the candle you’re holding?”
Could he see in the dark? Obviously, I couldn’t tell him what I’d been doing.
“I figured I could find my way back upstairs without disturbing anyone. And no, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve had a bad couple of nights.”
“Are you worried about Reiner Lehmann? I know you went to Springwood, and I can guess you tried to visit him there. You’re far kinder than the boy deserves, Nell.”