“Can’t I help you? And Mr. Murphy?”
“I suppose you could.”
For the next half hour, Kate took orders and packed up groceries, while Paddy tended to men at the hardware counter. Grace stayed close to Kate, fetching items she pointed out, loading bags and baskets.
“I’ll be off making deliveries, lass,” Paddy said. The shop was empty but for the three of them. He pulled his apron over his head and handed it to Grace. “Way too big for yeh, child, but yeh might as well put it on.”
She did, looking pleased, though Kate had to knot the neck strap to hold the apron up and wrap the ties twice around her middle.
“Don’t forget your lunch,” Kate said.
“My stomach would never let me.” Paddy kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back before dusk. If there’s anything you can’t find, or orders you aren’t sure about, we’ll figure it out later.”
He grabbed his lunch basket off the steps. Then the back door closed and they were alone. I’m only ten years older than she is, Kate thought. Ten short years.
Though the customers when she arrived had all been men, the female side of town streamed through in the afternoon. Women from the church, or mothers of Grace’s classmates, who offered her a quiet word or a quick embrace. Kate blinked back tears at their thoughtfulness, a reflection of their esteem for the reverend and their understanding of the girl’s loss.
“So good of you to take her in,” a woman said while Grace’s attention was elsewhere. “It must have been dreadful, finding him the way you did.”
Dreadful, sadly, did not begin to describe it. Twice during the night, Kate had cried out at the memory and sat up, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes while Paddy wrapped his arms around her.
What else could she have done? It might have been her Christian duty, as another woman had said, before recalling that Kate was Irish and a Catholic, but Kate hadn’t acted out of duty. She hadn’t intended to take the girl at all until it became clear that Anne Lang could not keep her, but in that moment, her mind had been made up.
“It’s no trouble,” she said. “Grace is a lovely child. Your total is one dollar and seventeen cents.”
She gathered up the bits of advice the women gave her, and gratefully accepted their offerings of bread and a few extra eggs. Yes, the Murphys sold groceries, among other things, but Kate understood that bringing food to the house of the bereaved—for that’s what they had become, with the addition of Grace—was a way to extend condolences. A way that people instinctively took care of those around them in times of sorrow. From her customers, she learned that the reverend had not just prayed with those in need, but organized members of his flock to provide food and firewood for the family of an injured man, given an impoverished widow train fare to return to her parents’ home, and performed other good deeds both expected and unexpected of a man of the cloth. She heard no hint of animosity in the talk, but fear edged in when two women mentioned that their husbands had joined another search party today. Until the thieves were captured and brought to justice, children would walk home from school in groups, or their mothers would come to walk with them. These women would keep their families home after dark, and bar their doors.
She learned, too, that the sexton and other male volunteers had scrubbed the blood off the wood floor. A group of women were busily airing out the church and cleaning it from top to bottom, washing the windows and floors and polishing the pews with bees’ wax to make them gleam. Cleaning, too, was an instinctive response to loss, especially one so harsh and abrupt.
But like her, they had not touched the reverend’s office. They’d leave that to the minister from Pondera, when he came on Sunday to preside over the funeral and burial.
That seemed too soon, but it wasn’t. Yesterday, the day of the murder, had been Wednesday. What made it seem rushed, Kate realized, was that the death had been so unexpected. She had not yet had time to notify Agnete Swensen, though if Grace were right, that would make no difference. And even if she had, where else would Arval Haugen be buried but here in Jewel Bay, the site of his church as well as his death? He had no family to welcome his body home. His wife had been buried with her people, and it seemed unlikely that Mrs. Swensen would spare room in the plot for her murdered son-in-law. The farm was gone, the town a part of his past. He had no home ground but this. How strange it would be for Grace, if she did return to Chicago, to leave her father behind.
But despite the women’s kindness, Kate fretted. She had known life here would be nothing like life in Baraboo, in the cocoon of the Flannery family home dominated by her mother’s strong presence and her father’s steady hand. She had known this was the frontier at the edge of the untamed wilderness. Front Street lacked a boardwalk, although some businesses, like the inn and the bank and the Mercantile, had built their own. Volunteers had regraded the street this past summer on “Good Roads Day.” But despite the residents’ efforts and ambitions, Jewel Bay was raw and unfinished.
Could she be the helpmate Paddy needed, a trusted figure behind the counter that townspeople would rely on, as they did him?
Never mind all that. Today, she had to figure out where the extra canned peaches were, how to adjust the scale, how to deal with the leering faces of the lumberjacks who came in for beans and potatoes and salt pork and the prying eyes of the society women, such as they were, wondering what sort of wife and woman this slip of a girl so new to this great big roaring state of Montana might turn out to be.
She straightened her shoulders and got to work.
Midafternoon, Grace was deep in conversation with a stout woman of about sixty, no taller than she. A member of the church, Kate guessed from the woman’s comforting tone and gestures. Grace looked more at ease than Kate had ever seen her, except at the piano.
The door opened and Laura Peterman entered. She glanced around the shop, spotting Grace, and her lips curved.
“I see you’ve put the child to work.”
Kate cursed her fair skin, flushing again. Would she ever learn to control it?
“I mean no judgment,” the elegant woman said as she pulled off her gloves. Today’s dress was a pale peach, almost too pale for the season, but not quite. Again, a hint of lavender surrounded her. “Only that it’s good to keep children busy. Not that anything will keep her mind off what happened. Or yours.”
So she knew that Kate had found the body.
“What can I get for you today?” she asked, eager to steer the conversation away from the tragedy and her handling of it.
“Not a thing. My husband is in important meetings all day, so I decided to drive the buggy in and gather the children from school. And I wanted to let you know Elizabeth will not be able to attend her piano lesson today. I’ll pay you—”
“No, no,” Kate said. “Miss Lang is giving the lessons today, and I am certain she won’t mind.”
“Good. And how is Grace? That’s the doctor’s mother-in-law speaking with her, by the way. A very good soul.”
“Ah, thank you. As for Grace, she’s a brave child. Sweet, and very helpful. She has no family other than a distant grandmother. I’ll write to her, but I am not sure what the future holds.”
“As none of us is,” came the reply, and Kate wondered what unexpected hardships she’d endured. After a long moment, Laura Peterman spoke again. “I understand Deputy Gibson led a search party last night, but they didn’t find the killer. Or killers. Have you heard any news today?”
“Only that another search is underway. Deputy Gibson seems competent. Paddy—Mr. Murphy—is certain he’ll find the killer.”
“Oh, I am sure he will,” Laura Peterman replied. She was a genuinely pretty woman, with light brown hair and eyes of a golden brown. Kate’s younger sister, so skilled in portraiture, would very much enjoy painting her. She was about to say so when Laura reached across the counter and touched Kate’s arm with her ungloved hand. “Do let me know, Mrs. Murphy—Kate—what I can do to help you and Grace.”
She called out a greeting to the doctor’s mother-in-law, drew on her gloves, and left.
∞
Paddy returned earlier than expected, freeing Kate and Grace to head home on foot to start supper. Grace was silent on the walk, and Kate wondered if she’d heard something she shouldn’t have, in the conversations that had swirled around the shop that afternoon.
“We’ll stop and pick up a few more things for you. I imagine your father kept an address book, so we can write to your grandmother.” They were nearing the parsonage now.
“Buster!” Grace called and crouched to embrace the muddy dog racing to her.
“Good heavens. What is he doing here?” But it was obvious. The dog had seen no reason to stay at the Murphys’ when Grace wasn’t there. How much the dog understood about his master’s death, Kate had no idea. But clearly, the dog knew Grace needed him. He licked her cheek, then laid his big head on her shoulder, one muddy paw on her skirt.
It will wash, Kate reminded herself. It was good for the girl to have a companion.
Kate had not taken a good look around the parsonage yesterday, and now she saw that it was sparsely furnished, the pieces mismatched, serviceable but well-worn. Donated, no doubt, by members of his congregation. Arval Haugen and his daughter had been in Jewel Bay nearly three years, but clearly, he had not been the sort of man who paid attention to homely details like whether the furniture matched or paintings hung on the walls. His mind had been on higher things. Her gaze fell on a small secretary, cherry with a glass-front upper cabinet, the mullions in an elegant diamond pattern.
“That was my mother’s,” Grace said. “It’s the only piece of furniture we brought west.”
Kate’s breath caught in her throat. The upper shelf held hand-painted porcelain cups and saucers. Freya’s work? She tilted her head to read the titles of the books on the lower shelves. Theology texts. She rummaged quickly through the notes and pamphlets tucked in the cubbyholes, but found no address book. Grace had no idea where he’d kept it, and Kate could see nowhere else to search in the tight quarters.
“Why don’t you pack up your school clothes and a nice dress, dark if you have one, while I go see if I can find the address book in the church office?” A dark dress for the funeral, which they had not yet discussed. “And bring your piano music. We’ll start our lessons again next week.”
Grace agreed, and Kate went outside. The air was warm, though the birch and aspen leaves had changed color and begun to drop, and the afternoon would have been quite lovely had it not been for her difficult errand. As she neared the church, she wondered if she should have waited for Paddy to go with her.
Don’t be a silly girl, she told herself. You’re a grown woman. Now act like one. But it was nice to have the dog walking with her.
She decided to try the side door rather than go in the front, so she could duck into the office without passing by the altar. Despite the thorough scrubbing, she knew she’d never enter the church again without seeing the blood, the dead man, his beseeching eyes.
Without warning, the dog darted past her out of sight. “Buster. Come back here.”
She followed him to the rear of the building, to a woodpile large enough to serve both church and school. The dog was digging furiously at the base of the pile, dirt flying from his paws.
“Buster, stop that! You’ll bring the whole pile down.” He’d already dislodged several smaller pieces. But that wasn’t what momentarily stopped her heart.
In the opening he’d created, where a chunk of firewood should have been, was a gleaming silver candlestick.
∞
After the discovery, Kate hesitated to dare enter the church. Did the school even have a telephone? The lines were new, the school location temporary. Besides, classes had ended, and with the Peterman girl not taking a lesson today, the building would be empty.
In the tidy homes up and down the street, children were doing chores and schoolwork. Fathers were returning from their work and mothers getting supper ready. She could not bring herself to disturb them.
“Kate Murphy, don’t be foolish.” She took a deep breath and straightened her filthy skirt, not bothering to brush it off. “Stay here, Buster.”
First, she went back to the woodpile. Retrieved the candlestick and tucked it into her bag, then returned to the church. Marched in, pushed open the office door, and placed the call to Deputy Gibson.
“Fetch Ivan Gregory,” the deputy told her. “Ask him to keep watch until I get there. Then take Grace home.”
Why did he not simply call the man himself? Because he wanted her out of the way. Was that a harsh judgment? She’d had the impression the deputy didn’t think a young woman, barely more than a girl even though she was married, had any business mucking about in murder. But she hadn’t chosen to become involved. She’d found the body, and that gave her a responsibility.
Maybe she was misjudging him. Maybe he simply wanted to keep her safe.
Her, and Grace.
But she held her tongue. The muddy dog had waited for her outside. No one was in sight. She crossed the wide, dirt street and hurried to Gregory’s house.
No lights in the windows and her knocking went unanswered. What should she do? Deputy Gibson had wanted the woodpile guarded. But she had left Grace alone.
At the sound of footsteps, Kate turned to see a man walking toward her. Though his dark cap was pulled low, she was sure she’d seen him before. In the shop, she supposed. A laborer. What was his name?
“Hello,” she called, and the man stopped, raising his head in surprise.
“Why, if it isn’t the new Mrs. Murphy,” he exclaimed, sweeping off his cap and bowing in a theatrical gesture. It was quite silly, given his dirty work clothes and scuffed boots, and all that weighed on her mind, but even so, she found herself smiling, almost charmed. “Thaddeus London, at your service.”
London. That was it. She’d heard the name from Paddy, though what he’d said about the man escaped her.
“I’ve come to see Mr. Gregory, but he doesn’t appear to be at home.”
“Noo. No, he’s not. Fine place like this, but it belongs to the power company. I hear he’s got his eye on building himself an orchard, on the edge of town,” London said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Might there be something I could help you with? A fine lady like you.”
“I wanted—no. It’s nothing that can’t wait.” Deputy Gibson had told her to summon Ivan Gregory. Yesterday in the church, she had detected a carefulness between the men, but no distrust. This London, though, seemed a different kettle of fish. Jewel Bay might be a young town, but it was like any other town that way, full of all kinds of men, and women, too, here for their own reasons. “But I thank you.”
That should have been enough for the man, a dismissal, an indication to go his own way. But he did not. He kept his gaze on her a moment too long, and then another moment, and she had to remind herself not to show her discomfort. She had as much right to walk these streets as he did, as anyone did.
Then London flashed her a toothy grin. “Good day to you then, Kate Murphy.”
She watched him saunter down the street and round the corner. “Go find Grace,” she told the dog.
Buster cocked his head. “Go,” she repeated. “Go find Grace.” And off he trotted.
She followed at a distance, keeping an eye on London. As the man neared the church, he turned and waved, then kept on going down the hill. Aiming for one of the taverns, she guessed, or the boardinghouse. She watched until he was out of sight. She checked the woodpile, but it had not been disturbed any further. Then she scurried to the parsonage.
Grace was sitting on the front step, a book in her lap, a valise at her feet. A valise, and the dog.
Kate blinked back her tears, put on a smile, and marched toward them.
∞
She might almost have been back in the house in Baraboo with her sisters, laughing, as she and Grace sponged the mud off their skirts, then started supper. W
as it right to laugh, in a time of loss and fear? Or wrong not to enjoy the moment? What, Kate thought, did God want of us in such times?
At the sound of the automobile, she patted her hair. No need to pinch color into her cheeks, already pink from the heat. Paddy came in the kitchen door, as he usually did, and after hanging his coat on the hook, he took Kate in his arms and held her as tight as ever he had held her. He smelled of work, and leather, and the hay he’d fed the mule.
“Will you give us a minute, child?” he asked Grace.
The girl nodded and went into the front room, closing the door behind her.
“You’re all right, then, lass?” He held Kate’s shoulders and searched her face. “You and the girl?”
“We are. How did you hear? What did you hear?” She laid her hands on his and searched his face, her eyes hungry for news.
“All news passes through the doors of a general store, in any small town.” He led her to the table and sat, then bent to unlace his boots. “Aye, and it’s what I wanted my shop to be, but I do wish the news were better.”
“Have they found anyone? Or anything?”
“The other candlestick? No. And what have you done with the one you found? What have you told the girl?”
“You tease me for carrying a big cloth bag instead of a lady’s purse, but it came in handy. I didn’t dare leave the candlestick behind. If the thief returned, no one would ever believe I’d actually found it.” Kate sat across from her husband. “All I told Grace was that I hadn’t been able to find her father’s address book, that we’d have to search for it later. Truth is, I never got a chance to look. I went inside long enough to use the telephone and left. It was Buster who got the scent, good dog.”
The dog lifted his head and sighed as Paddy rubbed one floppy ear.
This time, Grace insisted on sitting on the box as they ate, and Paddy said he’d stop by the parsonage and borrow a chair. “For now,” he said lightly, acknowledging all they did not know. How long Grace would stay with them, where she would go when the time was right, and when another minister might be sent to Jewel Bay.
Carried to the Grave and Other Stories Page 16