by Delia Parr
Her sister-in-law chuckled. “Tell James, will you? He’s miffed at me. Just a little,” she added when Martha frowned.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Martha asked.
Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Probably not. He’s back to thinking about moving again. It’s nearly winter. He does it every year. I should know better than to argue with him. By spring, he always changes his mind.”
Martha laughed. “James is a lot like Grandfather. He always dreamed of selling the tavern and moving into a small cabin on the shores of Candle Lake, too. Don’t worry. The first person who has the misfortune to offer James a fair price for the tavern will find out James will do exactly what Grandfather Poore did—run the poor soul out of the tavern without bothering to collect the man’s coins for his refreshments.”
“I should let him follow his dream,” Lydia admitted. “As long as it stays just that—a dream. Living that far from town appeals to me about as much as eating raw fish.”
James’s voice bellowed from the kitchen. “Lydia? We’ve got hungry patrons waiting!”
“I’ve got to go. Now, hurry. Your water is getting cold. I’ll lock the other storeroom door so you can bathe in privacy.” She giggled and closed the door.
Martha quickly undressed, slipped into her robe, and snatched some lavender for her bathwater. She fed Bird and apologized. He was too busy eating to respond.
Within half an hour, she was dressed in a fresh gown and feeling quite revived. There was not much she could do with her hair. Since it would not dry in time, she had not washed it; instead, she scented her brush with lavender water, brushed it through her hair, shaped a quick knot on top of her head, and covered it with her Sunday bonnet.
The prospect of walking all the way to the town meeting with her sore foot was daunting, but she did not have time to saddle Grace again and be on time. She tested her foot, winced, and shrugged her shoulders. There was nothing she could do to avoid the long walk, but with luck, Reverend Hampton or someone else might give her a ride home. She hated to show up without the support for the academy she had promised, but there was nothing she could do about that, either. If she hurried, she might still be able to get a seat up front and save one for Reverend Hampton.
With high hopes, she limped out the door.
Getting a seat at the meeting had been a phantom hope that evaporated the moment Martha saw the crowd of people standing outside the meetinghouse because there was not room enough for them inside. She squeezed between frustrated and angry townspeople who were too busy complaining to one another to pay her much mind. She caught a glimpse of Thomas several times as he struggled to be heard above the din to call the meeting to order.
Halfway to the front, she gave up trying to get another inch closer. The crowd was packed so tightly together she probably would not be able to turn around and leave, either. Since the audience was mostly men, as usual, she could not see much past the crowd in front of her. When she looked back over her shoulder, she scanned the crowd behind her and caught a fleeting glimpse of Samuel.
Samuel? She strained her neck. There! In the far corner, Samuel stood with his back against the wall. Although he was surrounded by people, he radiated an aura of disdain that made him appear to be completely alone in the room. He caught her glance and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Order!” Thomas shouted. “Order! We will have order or I’ll end this meeting right now.”
Hoots. Groans. Jeers. They mellowed to a bearable level, but Thomas continued to glare and held silent until the citizens quieted. He stood right in front of the pulpit with Sheriff Myer at his side, along with a man she thought might be Reverend Hampton. She just could not see enough of him to be sure.
Thomas glanced around the gathering. “You will all have a chance to be heard after the sheriff reports what he’s learned. Reverend Hampton has also asked to address you, which I have agreed to let him do. Then and only then will you be invited to voice your own concerns or opinions.”
Deafening shouts of disapproval rang out.
“Send him and that passel of hoodlums packin’!”
“He ain’t no minister of ours.”
“We got no room for the likes of him and his band of thieves!”
“Order!” Thomas shouted. “Order!”
The audience eventually quieted, and the sheriff stepped forward. “As you know, I’ve been compiling a number of reports about the stolen property. I’ve investigated each and every one. Unfortunately, none of you, none of you,” he repeated, “has been able to provide a reliable description of the person or persons responsible. None of you has offered any evidence against any specific individual, either. That doesn’t make my task any easier.”
He paused and looked around the crowd of people. “It doesn’t do any of us a bit of good to make accusations against anyone without proof. Spreading rumors and misinformed gossip is only making matters worse.”
“Close that academy and you’ll see the thievin’ stop real quick,” a man shouted.
She recognized Barnaby Smith’s voice. It sounded like he was in the back of the room.
“I don’t have the authority to do that,” the sheriff responded.
“Take a vote,” another man suggested. “We’ll give you all the authority you need.”
The crowd cheered, clapped, and stomped their feet. Martha cringed. She was tempted to put her hands against her bonnet to cover her ears when she heard a familiar voice ring out. “May I? Please? Gentlemen, if I may have quiet. Please!”
Reverend Hampton’s voice was calm. It was soothing. He was infinitely patient and waited until the complaints fell to just above a whisper before attempting to address the audience. “As you well know, I am the first to admit my boys’ wrongdoing when it occurs, but in this case, they have become scapegoats for a pernicious thief who has maligned innocent children whom God has entrusted to my care as much as he has violated the sanctity of your homes and property. Closing the academy would not solve your problems. Closing the academy would hurt these boys because the scandal would follow us wherever we tried to resettle and unfairly taint their futures. But I do have a solution—one that would vindicate the boys as well as myself and set the thief on notice that this community will not rest until he is caught and punished.”
He paused and scanned the crowd. Martha could hear grumbles of discontent and disbelief, but apparently the audience was curious enough to hear the minister’s solution that no one challenged him.
“On Saturday, we’ll be leaving on a short holiday of sorts. I’ve accepted an invitation to visit one of my friends, the Reverend Mr. Malcolm Dewey. We’ll be leaving for Denville early Saturday morning and we’ll remain there until this mystery is resolved and we are welcomed back once you are all reassured none of the boys from the academy is responsible. Sheriff Myer and Mayor Dillon both know how to contact me,” he added. “I pray we can return home to Trinity soon.”
Both surprised and impressed by the minister’s proposal, Martha immediately thought of Will and turned to gauge Samuel’s reaction while Reverend Hampton answered questions from the crowd. Samuel, however, was not in the corner where she had initially seen him—or anywhere else in the back of the meetinghouse, either.
While taking the boys away for a brief spell could very well end speculation and suspicions about them, taking Will to Denville, a remote village just outside of Clarion, would also give him an opportunity to run away to sea again. Troubled, she eased her way back through the crowd, hoping Samuel might be waiting for her outside. She stood just beyond the opened door and looked around the dark yard. No sign of Samuel.
Considering his poor vision, she could not imagine how he had gotten to the town meeting in the first place. Returning home would be just as difficult, and she hurried through the yard and down East Main Street as best she could with her sore foot.
She caught up with Samuel in the cemetery. “Samuel! Wait!” she cried, and ran a bit lopsidedly to close the distance
between them. Panting, she took his arm. “You shouldn’t be out by yourself,” she chastised.
He cocked his head. “Way you’re walkin’, I might say the same applies to you.”
“I stubbed my toe. It’s nothing. Why didn’t you wait for me?”
He stiffened and removed her hand from his arm. “I’ve been takin’ care of myself for fifty-four years now. I’m in no need of a nursemaid.” He tapped the side of his head with one finger. “I see with this, too. There isn’t a path in or around town I haven’t traveled a hundred times at night.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to you about Will.”
“What about him?”
“I don’t know how much you heard . . .”
“Heard it all.”
“Then you know Reverend Hampton is taking the boys to Denville on Saturday. I visited the academy yesterday. Reverend Hampton didn’t mention anything to me about this. I was wondering if Will had said something to you.”
He snorted. “The boy’s been comin’ regular, but he didn’t say nothin’ ’bout goin’ away. The past few days, he’s been downright ornery. Practically used up the last of my horseradish root, too. I knew somethin’ was eatin’ at him. Now I guess I know what it is.”
Martha’s heart filled with hope. “He doesn’t want to go, does he?”
“Maybe not.”
“Could he stay with you?” she asked. “I could speak to Reverend Hampton tomorrow. No one ever calls on you, so no one would know Will hadn’t gone with the rest.”
“What if someone found out?” he countered. “If the thefts continue, then Will is right here to take all the blame. Let the boy go with the others. If they come back—”
“If they come back? What do you mean if? Of course they’ll be back. Once the sheriff apprehends the real thief, the reputation of the academy will be restored. I’m not worried about their coming back. I’m worried Will might decide to run away again. There’s a port near Denville. Ships. Temptation,” she gushed, unable to stop her heart from racing with fear and apprehension.
“Maybe they’ll come back. Maybe the boy will be with them. Maybe not, but the boy’s got to make his own choices. All I know is I’m smelling a barrel of rotten fish. I just don’t know who’s packin’ the barrel, some low-down hypocrite stealin’ his neighbors blind and blamin’ innocent boys or a minister with a flock of black sheep.”
Martha clapped her hand to her heart. “Reverend Hampton?”
He sighed. “That’s why I keep to myself. I don’t trust anyone.”
“Not even me?”
“Not even you, at least not all the time,” he admitted. “But I’ll talk to Will tomorrow and see if I can find out what’s eatin’ at his gut. If I learn somethin’, I’ll come to see you.”
“No. I’ll come to your cabin,” she argued.
He shook his head. “I’ll be in the stable about this same time tomorrow night. If I’m not there, then you know I didn’t learn anything new.” He paused and tapped the rim of her bonnet. “In the meantime, you might try to do somethin’ about that garlic I’m smellin’.” Chuckling, he ambled away, leaving her alone with only her fears and doubts for company.
As much as she believed in Reverend Hampton and accepted his decision to leave Trinity for a short spell until the real culprits were caught, she had the troublesome feeling he might not return at all. The very notion was irrational and completely baseless, but she could no sooner deny what she felt than prove it wrong.
Convinced she was merely so unnerved by the continued thefts and so worried about Will that she was becoming as much of a skeptic as Samuel, she started for home.
28
The appointed time on Friday night came and went, but Samuel never appeared. Early Saturday morning, Lydia knocked on Martha’s door and poked her head inside. “Reverend Hampton is outside with his boys waiting to see you. They’re leaving for Denville.”
Martha followed her sister-in-law through to the kitchen and then went out the main tavern door. The air outside was cold, but the skies were clear and the sun shone brightly on the canvas covering the Conestoga wagon. Reverend Hampton was at the reins with two of the older boys sitting alongside him, freshly scrubbed and dressed as if they were going to Sunday meeting.
Sober, but looking optimistic, Reverend Hampton smiled. “We wanted to bid you a temporary farewell and to thank you for all your kindnesses.”
“You have a good day to travel. I pray you’ll all be able to come back very soon. Godspeed,” she responded. She braced against the cold and wrapped her arms against her waist.
He tightened his hold on the reins. “We appreciate your prayers most of all. Olympia is in the back with the rest of the boys. She’d appreciate a word with you.”
Martha found the minister’s wife seated on a crate. Behind her, the remaining five boys sat among the supplies they were taking with them. Will had his back to her, but the other four boys met her gaze. Olympia offered a brave smile, and her tear-stained cheeks were pale as she twisted a handkerchief in her hands. “I do hope we can come home before winter sets in,” she murmured. “I don’t know what Ulysses will do if they don’t catch the person responsible.”
Martha covered her hands with one of her own and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure it won’t be long. Is there anything I can do for you while you’re away?”
Olympia leaned forward. “Would you mind stopping by the house while I’m gone? John Wilson is tending the livestock for Ulysses, but I’d feel better if you could check on the house itself from time to time and make sure . . . We’ve left so much behind . . . You wouldn’t need a key. The front lock is broken.”
“Of course, but I’m sure everything will be just as you’ve left it.”
“Thank you.”
When the wagon started forward, Olympia grabbed the edge of the crate and Martha stepped back. “Looks like we’re on our way. Perhaps we’ll see you soon.”
“Very soon,” Martha promised. She returned Olympia’s wave before the wagon disappeared into the covered bridge. Disappointed Will had not turned around to say good-bye, she hurried back into the tavern. Convinced by Olympia’s parting words that Reverend Hampton would surely be returning to Trinity as soon as circumstances allowed, she dismissed her reservations that he might not return at all as completely unfounded.
From the front window, she watched the wagon exit from the bridge, turn, and head directly down West Main Street. As the wagon passed by the homes and businesses, townspeople emerged. Some waved good-bye. Others stood stone-faced, observing the wagon carrying the town’s nemeses away with no small measure of contempt as a fare-thee-well. At the confectionery, the Lynn sisters hailed down the wagon and handed baskets of sweet treats to Olympia.
Once the wagon left the town proper and disappeared from view entirely, Martha returned to her room. Bird was in top form, serenading his heart out while she tidied up. She spent half an hour searching for her missing chamber slippers before giving up all hope of ever finding them. Her bruised toe was healing nicely, but she had no desire to reinjure it or spend the winter walking on cold floorboards.
She donned her cape and bonnet, checked her reticule to make sure she had a fresh handkerchief, and returned to the kitchen, where Lydia was peeling potatoes. “I’m going to the general store. Do you need anything?” she asked.
Lydia paused and held her knife in midair. “I can’t think of anything. What takes you there?”
“A new pair of chamber slippers. Mine have all but disappeared from the face of the earth.”
Lydia frowned. “I haven’t seen them. Maybe you left them somewhere along your journey.”
“No. I distinctly remember wearing them once or twice after I came home, but that’s neither here nor there. If anyone comes for me, tell them I won’t be long,” she offered before heading back outside. She walked briskly, with only a mild aching in her foot now. She arrived at the general store, where several elderly male patrons were g
athered around the cookstove, smoking pipes and discussing the minister’s departure earlier.
With her reticule in hand, she approached the display case in the rear of the shop. Just as she had remembered, a pair of chamber slippers was nestled next to a pair of shiny black satin dancing slippers and sundry female notions. When Wesley Sweet finally responded to the bell that announced her arrival and emerged from the back storeroom, he acknowledged her with a smile.
“Good mornin’, Widow Cade. Haven’t seen you in here since you got back.” He eyed the case and grinned. “What’ll it be today? Got your eyes on those dancing slippers?”
She chuckled. “Not exactly. It seems I’ve misplaced my chamber slippers.” She pointed to the pale blue slippers. “I wonder if I might see those?”
He removed them from the case and set them on top. “Straight from Philadelphia. Soft as a lamb’s ear and lined with wool, too. You want to try them on? I’ll get a chair—”
“That won’t be necessary,” she insisted. After slipping her hand inside and gauging that they would fit well enough, she nodded. “They’re fine. How much do they cost?”
The young man hesitated. He was tall and finely built, with taut muscles, and she could almost see his mind at work, carefully calculating his profits. “One dollar.”
She raised a brow. “That’s a bit steep, isn’t it?”
He pursed his lips. “Eighty cents. That’s the best I can do.”
She sighed. “Eighty cents. Check the books, will you? I think I have enough on account to cover them,” she suggested, although she was certain she had much more than that. Before she had left to follow Victoria, she had sent over a reward she had received, a barrel of flour and a large crock of butter, to be put on her account, and she had not made any purchases since then.
He turned and went directly to his desk. When he returned, he confirmed her thoughts. “You have two dollars on account. Minus the slippers, that would leave you with one dollar and twenty cents. Would you like me to wrap up the slippers for you?”