‘And was the ropedancer there?’ Lydia asked. She still sounded vexed but Rees could see her ill temper fading.
‘She was,’ he said. ‘But we men were all busy. The women went ahead.’ Now why had he said that?
Lydia’s brows drew together. ‘Yes?’ There was a tone to her voice he did not understand. ‘So, you didn’t see her?’
‘No, I did. From a distance.’ Rees grinned at his wife but she did not smile. And he did not feel happy with himself. He had always promised himself that he would never lie to his wife. But this time the falsehood just slipped out.
‘Will you be returning to the circus tomorrow?’ Lydia asked. She sounded wary.
‘No,’ Rees said. ‘I don’t plan to. Although I need to speak to Rouge.’ Lydia bit her lip and began crumbling her bread. Rees stared at her nervous hands. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. It’s just – well, there is so much to do around here.’
‘After dinner,’ he said, ‘I’ll finish cutting the bolt from the loom so the cloth can be delivered tomorrow. And then I’ll work in the fields. I don’t believe the Shaker Brothers finished seeding the northwest buckwheat field.’
Lydia forced a smile. ‘Good.’
‘I think I saw Brother Aaron in town,’ Rees said, changing the subject.
‘You think?’ For the first time, Lydia sounded like her usual self.
‘He wasn’t in his usual clothing. And he ran off before I could speak with him.’
‘I guess he is not the murderer then,’ Lydia said, rising to clear the plates.
‘Why do you think that?’
‘If he was, he would be far away from Durham now,’ she said.
Rees was not convinced although he thought Lydia’s comment had merit. There were plenty of reasons why a murderer might not flee. But he did not want to argue, so he pushed his chair back with a clatter and rose from the table. ‘I’ll be in the weaving room,’ he said.
He wove the final few rows and then spent the better part of an hour tying off the warp and removing the cloth from the beam. He folded it neatly and left it on the bench where it would be safe from the dirty hands of his children. With the exception of Jerusha, who was quickly becoming a passable weaver herself, the children were forbidden to enter the weaving room. Tomorrow he would bring the finished cloth to the widow and collect his fee. Perhaps he would stop by the circus, just to see what had happened with the axle and the wheel. In spite of the flutter in his chest, he assured himself that Bambola had nothing to do with it.
Rees put on his clogs and straw hat, looped the bag of buckwheat seeds over his shoulder and went out to the field. He saw immediately the side of the field where the Shakers had stopped; one side was a neatly plowed field while the other was still a mess of muddy clods and rocks. The larger stones had been tossed into a pile and Rees thought he probably had enough for a stone wall. He started at the nearest end and began walking slowly past the first row, casting the seeds as he went. It was too early to plant wheat – too cool – but buckwheat and rye could go in.
Back and forth Rees went. At first this was a pleasant job. The damp soil smelled fresh and enjoyably earthy. The sun touched his shoulders with warmth and the walk was easy. But, as the planting continued, he began to find this task monotonous. Nonetheless, he was determined to finish this field. The Shaker Brothers had put in a small field of rye so, once the buckwheat was planted, only the wheat and corn were left and he still had a few weeks before it would be warm enough for that.
At milking time Annie came by to tell him she would do it so he kept on. Late afternoon was transitioning into evening by the time he finished. The sack was almost empty and Rees was tired. The rough clogs, which had grown heavier with mud as he went through the field, had worn blisters on his feet and his back was sore from stooping. But the field was entirely seeded and the soil raked over the rows. Staggering with fatigue, he walked up the track to the house. He left his clogs on the porch and padded into the house on bare feet. Lydia turned to look at him.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you should go into the pantry to change your clothes. I don’t want you tracking mud all the way up the stairs.’
Rees looked down at himself. Mud coated him from head to toe. He plodded into the pantry. Except for cheese and today’s milk, the shelves were largely empty. Those bare shelves explained his work today; his family counted on bountiful fields to refill them before next winter.
Lydia reappeared with clean clothes – old and faded but clean – and a basin of warm water for him to wash in. As he stripped off his muddy shirt and breeches, Rees wished he could spend all his time weaving.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Early the next morning, as soon after chores as he could manage it, Rees wrapped the woven cloth in paper and left for town. The widow, pleased with the cloth despite what Rees saw as flaws, paid the eighteen shillings owing. Most of it would go into the strongbox under the bed, joining some of the money still unspent after previous weaving commissions. He always tried to keep some money aside – just in case.
Although he knew he should go straight home, he decided to stop by the circus. Just to see if there was news, not to see Bambola. It would be only for a few minutes.
The circus had settled in to the fairgrounds, spreading out to occupy most of the western half. Rees stopped the first man he saw. ‘Is Monsieur Boudreaux here?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said the man, averting his eyes and hurrying away. Unsettled by the fellow’s rudeness, Rees walked around the wagons to see if he could find someone else to speak to. Most of the circus folk gave him a wide berth. But a few tumblers in drab practice clothing were rehearsing, somersaulting over one another, in a crudely marked circle filled with straw. When Rees asked for Mr Boudreaux they shook their heads without really looking at him. Rees began walking away and then turned back. ‘Mr Asher?’
One of the tumblers pointed north. So, Rees followed the line of wagons around to the other side.
A rough circle had been pounded down through the stubble and, to the delight of three farmer’s boys, a horse was cantering around it. Asher, in his shirtsleeves, shouted instructions to the rider. Rees thought they must have been here for some time; the horse’s hooves had worn the straw away and turned the ring into bare dirt. With an exclamation of disgust, Asher threw down his whip and crossed the battered ground to speak to the boy on the horse’s back. The discussion was not a pleasant one; although he could not hear Asher’s words his tone was sharp. Rees looked at the boy. It was Shem; he’d returned to the circus. Tears glittered in his eyes.
Asher turned back to cross the field once again. When he saw Rees he offered a brusque nod. Rees waited until the circus master was once again in position and the horse was galloping around the circle before speaking.
‘So, what are you doing here?’ Rees asked curiously, waving his hand at the horse and rider.
‘Boudreaux is not certain he wants to rejoin us.’ Asher flicked Rees a glance. ‘Without him, I need another horseman.’ He abruptly stopped talking and shouted at Shem. ‘No. No. No. You stand on him with no more grace than a bushel of potatoes. You must imagine yourself flying through the air. Try it again.’ He flicked his whip, the horse started abruptly into his gallop and Shem, startled, fell off, landing with a thud on the ground.
‘Well, he flew,’ Rees said with a chuckle.
Asher groaned. ‘Get up,’ he told Shem. ‘Get up. Enough practice for today. We’ll start again tomorrow.’ He turned to Rees and said in a low voice, ‘I doubt this fellow has the talent to become one of my equestrians.’
Rees, who couldn’t imagine himself standing on a horse at all, said, ‘He looked pretty good to me. I’m sure he’ll improve with practice.’
‘Fortunately, I have the time to work with him,’ Asher said. ‘The wheelwright expects the repairs to the wheel and axle to take two or three days more.’ He sighed. ‘I just hope the boy improves – at least to the point where he doesn’t e
mbarrass us.’
‘Boudreaux is exceptionally talented,’ Rees said. ‘Shem won’t attain that expertise in just a few days.’
‘That’s true,’ Asher agreed. ‘I hope Pip Boudreaux chooses to stay with us. He would be a sore loss.’ Turning, he glanced at Rees. ‘But what are you doing here?’
‘I was nearby and thought I’d stop,’ Rees said, feeling heat rise into his face. Asher nodded. To Rees’s guilty eyes, the ringmaster’s expression indicated mocking understanding.
But Asher said only, ‘I hope you don’t still suspect Boudreaux of the murder?’
‘No,’ Rees said. ‘But, if not Boudreaux, maybe someone else.’ As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to snatch them back.
Asher scowled at him. ‘I see. We must be guilty because we are traveling show people?’
‘I didn’t mean that at all,’ Rees said. He put his hand on Asher’s shoulder. ‘I probably understand better than anyone what it means to be the traveler, the outsider, who, by the very nature of his fleeting visits, is always suspect. But there is no ignoring the fact that your stops in many of these towns have been accompanied by the murder of a young girl.’
Asher pushed his hat back and scratched his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ he said. Rees shook his head sternly at the other man.
‘You knew there were other murders and that Boudreaux might be suspected of them,’ he said. ‘You had to know. Boudreaux dyed his hair.’
Asher sighed and nodded. ‘He was too visible with that white blond hair. Too recognizable. And because he likes to ride down the town roads rehearsing, he is the one who is remembered and accused.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought if someone came looking for a man with blond hair we would have only one with black. But now the dye is fading into red. I suppose we will have to wash it out anyway. That must sound foolish to you.’
‘Not at all,’ Rees said, recalling all the times he’d wished he were not so instantly recognizable with his height and flaming red hair.
‘Anyway, I know there are others of us you might consider,’ Asher continued, turning his sharp brown eyes upon Rees.
‘There are,’ Rees agreed. Otto the strong man for one. ‘But there are other suspects beside circus people.’ Brother Aaron, who seemed to have the ability to leave Zion whenever he wished and travel around. And now of course, untethered from the Shakers, he could now do what he wanted. Then there was Piggy Hanson, the magistrate. Rees was trying to conjure a clever question about Hanson without fully displaying his suspicions when he heard Piggy’s voice nearby. Just as if Rees’s thoughts had summoned him.
‘I’m looking for Mr Asher. I understand he has a guest? Mr Rees. A tall man with red hair?’
‘Not a friend of yours, I daresay,’ Asher said, looking at the expression on Rees’s face.
‘No,’ he said. He’d known Hanson since they were boys and Piggy had been vindictive even then. Adulthood had not changed him.
‘Go behind the wagon over there,’ Asher said. ‘I have no love for the magistrate. He’s dogged our travels and been at almost every stop we’ve made. I’ll speed him on his way.’
Rees hurried across the field and crouched down behind a wagon. All he could see of Asher was his lower legs. Just a minute or two after Rees had hidden himself, a pair of smart black breeches came into view, accompanied by footsteps crunching across the straw. ‘Mr Asher,’ Piggy said.
‘Magistrate.’
‘I’m looking for Mr Rees. Tall man with red hair.’
‘I don’t know him.’ Asher sounded indifferent.
‘Who was that fellow I saw running away?’
‘Monsieur Boudreaux. They do resemble one another, don’t they?’
‘Ah yes, I’d heard he was returning to your circus.’ Hanson slapped his cane against his boot. ‘If you know Rees resembles your friend, you must know who he is. Have you seen him?’
‘If you are speaking about the constable’s friend, I have not. Have you tried the tavern?’
‘I did. Constable Rouge said he had not seen Rees today.’ More slapping. ‘All right, thank you.’ Rees heard Piggy’s footsteps crunching away.
When he was sure his nemesis was truly gone, he left the shelter of the wagon. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Asher.
‘You’re welcome. And I wouldn’t walk into town if I were you. That’s where the magistrate was headed.’
Rees nodded his thanks and very carefully walked the other way, taking a roundabout route to his wagon. He saw no sign of Bambola at all and was embarrassed by the surge of disappointment that swept over him.
As he climbed into his wagon, he thought he saw someone running between the wagons. Too tall to be Lydia disguised in David’s old clothing, the young man looked like David. Heart leaping, Rees almost called out. But a second later reality reasserted itself. David could not be here; he was still in Dugard with his wife. The hurt of the separation burned through Rees all over again, just as if they had recently parted. David was one of the few people he truly trusted. He missed him every day. Wondering if his son had received his letter, he sighed and picked up the reins.
TWENTY-NINE
When Rees started east on the main road he was surprised to see Shem trudging along the side. Now assuming the boy he’d seen running through the circus had been Shem, he pulled up. ‘Shem,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’
Shem kept his head down. ‘Back to Zion.’
‘Oh?’ Rees saw enough of the boy’s face to know he’d been crying. ‘I’ll give you a ride.’
Shem hesitated and then, wiping his tattered sleeve across his eyes, he climbed into the seat.
‘Changed your mind about the circus?’ Rees asked.
‘I don’t want to join anymore,’ Shem said. ‘Mr Asher is mean.’
‘The world needs farmers more than they need men who can stand on galloping horses,’ Rees said. ‘And Daniel will be glad to see you.’
Aaron would be happy too. Would he leave town now that Shem was safe once again within the Shaker village?
Rees dropped the boy off on the outskirts of Zion and headed home.
Because Rees saw several Shakers working in one of his pastures when he turned down the lane he did not enter the farm yard. Instead he followed the muddy track as far as he could before climbing down and crossing the field toward Daniel.
The Shakers were working in an overgrown field that had not been cleared or planted for many years and so had become a meadow. Daniel saw Rees coming and crossed the field to the edge of the tall grass to meet him. ‘Jonathan thought you might want another field of rye,’ he said.
‘Maybe.’ Rees was surprised. Surely the Shakers had enough to do on their own farm. Of course, they expected to take possession of this property eventually. If Rees and his family had not been so desperate after their mad flight from Dugard, this farm would already be part of Zion’s holdings.
‘And it looks like we might have rain tomorrow,’ Daniel continued, ‘so we thought we would make a start today.’
Rees examined the other man’s face. Although Daniel was a young man, still in his twenties, dark rings circled his eyes. ‘Not sleeping well?’ he asked sympathetically.
Daniel shook his head. ‘I keep seeing Leah …’ He stopped and took in a deep breath. ‘Are you any nearer to finding the brute who murdered her?’
‘No,’ Rees said in a regretful voice. ‘I’ve found several possibilities but nothing certain yet.’
‘I heard the circus is back in Durham,’ Daniel said.
‘Yes. They’ve come to fetch Monsieur Boudreaux.’ Rees decided not to share Rouge’s plan to keep the circus in town until the murderer was caught.
‘Are you certain, absolutely certain, he’s innocent?’
‘I’m never absolutely certain,’ Rees said. ‘But I don’t think he’s guilty.’ Daniel sighed and turned his gaze upon his Brothers. ‘It would be easier if the murderer were Boudreaux, I know. But you wouldn’t want an innocent man to tak
e the blame, would you?’ Rees said. ‘Besides, the real murderer would still be out there. And,’ he added half under his breath as he thought of the letters Rouge had received, ‘he won’t stop murdering young girls.’
The silence lasted so long that Rees, assuming that the conversation was over, had turned away. Then Daniel said, ‘Do you know that Brother Aaron was expelled from the Family?’
‘Yes,’ Rees said. ‘Do you know where he is?’
Daniel looked directly at Rees. Instead of replying, he asked another question. ‘Is he one of the men you suspect?’
Rees hesitated. He didn’t want to tarnish the man’s reputation if he was innocent. Still, he needed to find him and question him. ‘Yes,’ he said.
Daniel nodded several times as if this was no more than what he expected. ‘I’m sure he was just trying to protect Shem,’ Daniel said.
‘I thought I saw him in town,’ Rees said, and guessed when Daniel bit his lip that he knew something more. ‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked again.
Daniel hesitated. ‘He’s working for the Perkins family on North Road,’ he said at last, after a break of several seconds. ‘As a day laborer.’
‘Thank you,’ Rees said. ‘I’ll speak to him.’ He paused, wanting to offer some assurance that Aaron was not guilty. But he couldn’t. ‘Good news. I brought Shem home to Zion. He’s given up on the circus.’
Daniel’s expression lightened. ‘That is good news. I’m glad he saw how foolish joining that carnival would be.’ Smiling, he turned back to the field.
Rees climbed into his wagon and drove the few yards to the farm gate. He parked in front of the barn, unhitched Hannibal and gave him a quick rubdown before releasing him into the pasture. Then he went inside.
Lydia turned from the dishpan with a smile. She was pink-cheeked and a little breathless and her cap was askew but she sounded just as usual. ‘Did you get paid?’ she asked.
A Circle of Dead Girls Page 17