Trail's End

by E. L. Ripley

  The thread was tied very neatly. Someone had made this with care.

  And Tom didn’t have the faintest idea what it was supposed to be.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rather than stiff and sore, Tom’s leg was just sore from the morning’s exercise. He didn’t mind that particularly, and the ache was less severe in a warm spring than it would be in a cold winter. It was hot enough now to have all the windows open in the sewing room. Nothing could push all the worry away, but the sunlight and the breeze made a gallant effort.

  Tom did as well.

  Mrs. Heller whispered to Mary Black, and in the hush of the morning, there was no secrecy to be had at all. Some of the men were doing work on the roof of the Pilkin house just a hundred feet away, but when the hammers stopped, the whole place was as quiet as a grave.

  Mary bore Mrs. Heller’s foolishness stoically. Tom had noticed her change her seat on several days in the hopes of having a new neighbor, but to no avail. Mrs. Heller followed her, and the other ladies made no effort to rescue the widow. One nice thing to come of it was that Mary’s poker face was getting better every day; when Tom first arrived, she had blushed when Mrs. Heller said these things. Now her face hardly changed at all.

  Mrs. White sat closest to Tom, and she was visibly entertained. Tom wouldn’t say it, but because she was the wife of one the town’s leaders, and also the oldest in the room, it should’ve been her place to do something. It was also her house. This was a tedious way to spend the day in the best of times, but having to get through it with Mrs. Heller in your ear? That bordered on inhumane.

  Mrs. Young was too shy to interfere, and Mrs. Pilkin clearly didn’t consider it her place. She was like Tom: an import to this community, though she hadn’t shown up uninvited; she’d merely married into the Friendly Field family.

  Tom had made a business of watching people, and it hadn’t been difficult to figure out the odd little hierarchy in this room. The broader state of things, he wasn’t so sure about, but he had a good feel for the five women he spent his days with.

  Mrs. White always watched him from the corner of her eye, but not out of suspicion. She’d been the one to teach him to handle a needle and thread, so she considered it a point of pride that his work not be shoddy. At least, she believed she’d taught him.

  For reasons that weren’t clear to Tom, Asher was handy with a needle, and he’d been the one to impart the finer points—but then Mrs. White had been affronted, and now Tom had to be careful to at least appear as though he went about things her way.

  He’d spent so much time handling cards that fine work with his fingers should have come easily to him, but it wasn’t that simple. And they didn’t have a thimble large enough for him, so he was obliged to be very careful.

  It hadn’t been his choice to spend his time this way, but he wouldn’t have been able to do a useful amount of tilling in the fields with his bad leg. He had no other skills; sewing seams was something nearly anyone could learn to do. Thaddeus had proposed it rather hesitantly, as though he expected Tom to take offense at the notion or refuse. That wasn’t unreasonable; Tom expected a lot of men would’ve been appalled.

  “Mrs. Heller, do you know where to gather mushrooms nearby?” he asked curiously, keeping his eyes on his work.

  She looked up. “Oh—mushrooms? They are found in among the trees to the east.”

  “They have little flavor,” Mrs. White noted.

  “Are mushrooms to your liking?” Mary asked, seizing the moment.

  “I like them as much as the next fellow, I guess. I ask because I understand they grow here plentifully.”

  “Who told you that?” Mrs. White asked, frowning. “I have seen them, sure enough, but no more than a few here and there.”

  “It has been some years since you were in the wood a great deal,” Mrs. Heller pointed out. It was not a diplomatic thing to say, but Tom wasn’t sure she knew what diplomacy was.

  “It’s not important,” Tom said, curtailing anything that might have come of the exchange. “It’s because of the boy. He likes to wander in the mornings, and he found some up in the hills to the northeast, but they’re no good for eating.”

  “He does not wander to the pond behind the Wilson house, does he?” Mary asked lightly. That was where the ladies bathed.

  “Not to my knowledge. He was proper about that courtesy on the trail, and I expect he will be here as well.”

  “He is so well-mannered,” Mrs. Pilkin remarked, and her expression was uncertain, as though she worried even such a harmless thing might draw a rebuke. There were no rebukes to be had here; if there were, Mrs. Heller would’ve drowned in them long ago.

  “He certainly is. That’s always impressed me about him,” Tom told her. “Does anyone live in those hills?” He asked the question bluntly.

  “Heavens,” Mrs. Heller replied, looking taken aback, “why would they?”

  “Rough country,” Mrs. White said to Tom. “Hilly and rocky. No soil worth having, as I understand it.”

  Nothing to farm, and nowhere to graze, so there would be better game elsewhere. Trappers would be unlikely to waste their time, and there was no talk of prospecting. That left relatively few reasons that anyone might be up there. Even the timber was poor.

  And there was no one up there. Tom already suspected that; the thread that had been used to make that strange thing up in the hills was the same as the thread in his hands now. He just wanted to be sure.

  There was a tap at the door, and Phillip Lester let himself in, ducking his head.

  “Ladies,” he greeted them, “and Mr. Smith, peace be with thee.”

  “Same to you,” Tom replied.

  Phillip had something in his hands, which he brought directly to Tom.

  “This is the best Sebastian was able to do,” he said, producing something small and copper.

  “I’ll be damned,” Tom said, and Mrs. Heller let out a little gasp while Mrs. Young’s eyes widened.

  “I apologize,” Tom said quickly, taking the crude thimble. “Thank you, Phillip. And I’ll thank Sebastian as well. This will save me a share of grief and a pint of blood.”

  “I hope it will. And here is some tea from Mrs. Lester; you will find it stronger than Mr. Mayfair’s leaves.”

  Coffee wasn’t a vice to these people; they simply didn’t drink it. Tom fully intended to lay his hands on some at his first opportunity, but until then he had no choice but to drink this god-awful tea.

  “That is mighty thoughtful,” he said. At first, this had been an uncomfortable ritual, but he was used to it now. These people just gave one another things. They didn’t ask or expect anything in return. “And the kid? Is he doing his job out there?”

  “Gabriel tells me he has never seen a harder worker.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  Phillip put his hand out, and Tom shook it.

  * * *

  * * *

  The day’s work wasn’t over until the sun set.

  Tom went stiffly out onto Mrs. White’s porch, returning Jeremiah’s wave as he passed—but the older man changed course. He nodded to Mrs. Pilkin as she descended, moving past her to join Tom. He took off his hat as he stepped into the shade.

  “Tom,” he greeted him. “Taciturn” seemed too mild for the man, but Tom liked him. Jeremiah was the only one who really showed any measure of distrust of Tom and Asher. He didn’t act on it; he extended them the same courtesy that everyone else did.

  But he seemed to have a little more sense than the rest.

  “Sir.” Tom held his own hat and squinted at the sunset; it was another pretty one.

  Jeremiah drew up beside him, and he let Mrs. Pilkin get a few steps away, then glanced at the door. They were alone, but he spoke quietly.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad things are going well. You’re a ge
ntleman, Tom. And the boy’s got more wits than all my sons combined.”

  This was the other thing these people would do: they would say these kind things. And they’d do it without a single thought for how uncomfortable Tom would find it.

  “You have a good life here. I’m grateful to be a part of it.”

  “It’s not an easy life. We have to work for it.”

  “I don’t so much mind that.”

  “Some men do,” Jeremiah noted.

  And anyone would have expected a man who made his living with cards to be one of them. That was what Tom would’ve thought in Jeremiah’s place, but he wasn’t the same man anymore. He didn’t even miss the cards most days. Or the money. He certainly didn’t miss his gun.

  His friends, he still missed. And he suspected he always would. But it wasn’t his decision to stay in Friendly Field that kept them from him. He had done that with his trigger finger. He couldn’t go back, and that was no one’s fault but his own.

  Jeremiah put on his spectacles, then laid a hand on Tom’s shoulder for a moment.

  “I was wrong about you, and I am glad to admit it.”

  “You weren’t wrong. You’d have been wrong to let a stranger like me by without a second glance.”

  Jeremiah just nodded and went on his way.

  Mary Black emerged from the house, tying on her bonnet. She saw Tom waiting and broke into a smile. It came so easily to her when she was anywhere but the sewing room.

  She was no beauty. Not even close. Her skin was much too pale, and her nose was more than a little too strong. Her bony frame made her nearly as tall as Tom, and he wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but her smile was too big and too toothy. She was close to his age, and her dark hair always looked a little wild. She had been a widow for two years.

  The light this time of day had a way of making everyone and everything beautiful, but it wasn’t the light that made him want to stare at her.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Would you do us the honor of joining us for dinner?”

  She knew damn well that he would, and this was only a formality. It was a standing invitation, and Tom wasn’t about to miss it.

  “We’re obliged to you, ma’am. On the trail, the kid did most of the cooking. After all day in the fields, he’s beat.”

  “He is a small young man,” she remarked, looking sympathetic.

  “And it looks like hard work.”

  “Are you relieved to perform your day’s labor with the ladies?”

  Tom leaned on his stick, frowning. “I believe I would rather work outdoors,” he said finally, “though my leg would frustrate me out there in the rows. You see how they all move along while they sling the dirt.”

  She nodded, still smiling. She was thinking of what Asher had said at dinner some nights ago: that it was unjust that the women had to work the same day as the men, only to still be the ones to prepare the evening meal.

  Mary had just worn this look of saintly patience on her face while the boy spoke.

  “Would you like help with your cooking?” Tom asked.

  “That is very generous, sir. As you know, precious little cooking falls to me.”

  “True enough. Me and the kid might be a few minutes late. We need a word with Thaddeus.”

  He’d had all day to decide what to do with the thing the boy had found, but he hadn’t needed all that time. He had to tell the elders; maybe they would know what it was.

  Mary would’ve made a terrific poker player; her control of her face was all but perfect—but the curiosity was there in her eyes.

  It was a pity these Quakers didn’t gamble.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thaddeus answered his door in the twilight, looking curious. The paunchy man was dressed and presentable; he’d no doubt planned to step out. He lived alone in his house, which was rather large, and always ate his evening meals with other families, different ones in turn.

  “Peace be with thee.”

  “Yeah. Can we have a moment of your time?” Tom asked.

  “Of course. I’m afraid I don’t have any tea ready.”

  “That’s all right. We don’t mean to keep you long.”

  Thaddeus saw Tom’s intent. “Oh, inside? Very well.” He stepped aside for them, and the lamp in the foyer was out. He really had been just moments from leaving.

  Tom got straight to the point. “Me and the kid were out that way this morning.” He pointed northeast. “Up in the hills.”

  “I was there yesterday,” Asher cut in. “I found a great deal of mushrooms, and I meant to harvest them.”

  “We didn’t find any mushrooms today, though,” Tom went on. “Just this.” He took out the feathered object.

  Thaddeus’ frown deepened, and his brow furrowed. He took the object hesitantly, turning it over in his hands.

  “I was kind of hoping it might be meant to be a sort of doll,” Tom said halfheartedly, scratching his head. “But I don’t think it is.”

  “Strange thing.”

  “What do you make of it?”

  Thaddeus shook his head. “It was up that way, you said?”

  “Just short of that rock cliff.” Tom hesitated. “I think it’s an odd thing to find in the woods. Someone put that together, and they were particular about it—it looks wild, but those knots are tidy.”

  “I see that.” Thaddeus shook his head and placed the object on the sideboard. “I’ll speak with Saul and Jeremiah about this.”

  “I’m not looking for trouble. I just thought you should know.”

  “Of course. Of course.”

  Thaddeus didn’t appear concerned, and that suited Tom. They left the house and parted ways in the street, though it wasn’t really a street, this open space surrounded by all the houses. Thaddeus was heading to Saul’s home or perhaps the Heller house.

  “You coming to Mary’s?” Tom asked the boy.

  “Not this evening, Mr. Calvert. I’ve received an invitation from the Bockners.”

  “Is he that tall, thin fellow with yellow hair? Pretty wife, sort of plump? Lots of kids?”

  “Yes.”

  Tom had been introduced to that family, but he had no dealings with them. He had no doubt that they were friendly, but he was also fairly sure they wanted Asher for one of their three daughters. Those daughters were in Tom’s opinion too young to marry, but Asher’s gentle manners and hard work placed him in high demand for these courtship exercises disguised as meals.

  On the trail, Tom had done his best to guide the boy in these things, but he’d failed. Now the kid was on his own, though he seemed no more interested in Quaker girls than in Norwegian ones.

  “What’s wrong, kid?”

  The boy was tense, though he was trying not to show it. “That thing. It looks like something to do with witchcraft.”

  Tom raised an eyebrow and put his hat back on. “What do you know about that?”

  “Only what I was told by my aunt.” The boy folded his arms, scowling. “And she was no authority.”

  “Let the Quakers worry about it. It’s not our problem.”

  “I did not tell you the truth, Mr. Calvert. I was not looking for mushrooms. Yesterday, when I went up that way, I went because I saw someone, and I wanted to know who it was. That was how I found the mushrooms.”

  “Who was it?”

  “That, I do not know. I lost them in the dark.”

  “Made you suspicious?”

  The boy nodded, and Tom sighed.

  “Just be easy, kid. Anyone else is as free as you are to take a stroll up there. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Asher nodded, and they shook hands. With that, Tom limped off one way, and Asher went the other.

  Mary’s door was open, but Tom knocked all the same.
>
  Mrs. Washburn, Mary’s mother, greeted him dryly, as she always did. “Back again?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Peace be with thee, then,” she grumbled. “Mary’s almost got dinner ready.” This was a lie, but Tom was glad to hear it. If Mrs. Black wanted him to believe the blatant falsehood that her daughter could cook, it meant she was coming around to the idea of him as her son-in-law.

  He helped with the settings and fixed a high shelf that was going crooked, and then it was time to eat. Mrs. Washburn lit the candles, and Mary brought out the food. Neither made any inquiry about Asher.

  “I trust you received Mrs. Heller’s generous compliments today,” Mary said lightly as they ate.

  “She flatters me,” Tom replied. That was what Mrs. Heller would do when she sat next to Mary: remark on Tom’s looks and what exotic things he must have learned abroad in the country. What an eligible fellow that made him, even if he was a cripple.

  Tom took no offense, and he didn’t think of himself as a cripple. He could get around all right, even if he couldn’t run or dance anymore. At first, he thought Mrs. Heller said those things for fun, to make Mary blush. She didn’t, though.

  She just said what was on her mind, often loud enough for others to hear it. She had no sense to speak of. There was no blaming her for that.

  Mary had sense, though.

  “You’ve got no lawman,” Tom remarked. He couldn’t get that thing from the woods out of his mind, and no matter how he looked at it, it seemed like trouble. If there was trouble, what would these people do about it?

  “Your pardon?”

  He cleared his throat. “You have no mayor. No preacher.” The Quakers held regular services, but there was no particular man to give the sermons. The people of Friendly Field would do it in turn. The day might even come when Tom was called upon, if he stayed long enough.

  “Thaddeus, Saul, and Jeremiah—they’re your mayor more or less. Are they also your sheriff for when someone gets out of line?”