“That’s not the worst, though,” Varney went on. “While all this fracas was going on in the dooryard, nobody was paying any mind to the chimney. It was still stopped up, and the smouldering made it catch fire. Before anyone’s attention could be got, it had burned a big hole in the back part of the roof. That church won’t be used by anyone for a while.”
Lewis felt his anger growing, but he attempted to control it so that it wouldn’t be reflected in his words. Anger would do them no good here.
“That is the most disappointing thing I think I ever heard,’ he said finally. “That this contention should lead to the destruction of a House of God.”
“Oh, aye, it’s bad business all right. Anyway, I just came to say that in the meantime, we’d better make plans to use my place instead, don’t you think?”
Bless Varney and his ilk, he thought. In spite of the trouble in Demorestville, his first thought was the continuation of the church.
He realized that the man was still standing in the doorway. His news had taken them by such surprise that he had not yet been invited in.
“Take a seat, Mr. Varney,” he said. “I’ll get us some coffee while we sort this out.” Betsy had nudged the kettle over onto the stove and it was singing.
Varney smiled. “Now, I’d hoped you might offer, but I’m a tea man, myself. Not everyone is, you know. Some people never have it in the house, so I just happened to have brought a little with me, I’m that thirsty. I hope you’ll boil it up for me.” He produced a package that looked to weigh at least half a pound, and Lewis knew that he would leave it all behind when he left. Their few luxuries most often came that way. A member of the congregation would drop by and “just happen” to have a little of this or that, which they always managed to forget to take away with them again. Lewis silently sent up a prayer of thanks; tea was far too dear to find its way to his table very often. The storekeeper’s gift would go a long way toward reviving Betsy’s spirits.
Varney settled himself at the table while the tea steeped.
“What is the reaction to all of this trouble in the rest of the village?” Betsy asked. “Has anyone learned a lesson from this, or do the feelings still run high between the two groups?”
“The Wesleyans claim that they had nothing to do with it, that the men who climbed up on the roof were the village hooligans. They say they’re going to hold the Methodist Episcopals to account for the damage to the church. After all, we were the ones using the church at the time, so according to them, we’re the ones who are responsible.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Lewis said. “How can we be responsible for something done by someone else?”
“Oh, aye, I know. The man who broke his leg, in the meantime, is threatening to bring a lawsuit against both groups because of his suffering bodily harm. Some of the Episcopals are threatening to have the Wesleyans up in front of a magistrate for fomenting dissension. It’s a right stew, it is, and in the meantime, everyone is asking me what they should do.”
“I’ll tell you what they should do, and you’ll take this news back with you, Mr. Varney. We will help the Wesleyans repair the damage to the church.”
“Now, why would we do that, beggin’ your pardon? It’s them that caused the damage.”
“Because I’m tired of this nonsense, that’s why,” Lewis said. “This could have been a lot more serious. People could have been killed. The church could have burned down entirely. I can only hope that an act of conciliation will have the desired effect, and put the whole matter to rest.”
He could see that this directive didn’t sit well with the storekeeper, but the man had no alternative to offer.
“I want you to tell everyone that a subscription has now been opened to make the necessary repairs and that donations of money and goods or offers of labour can be made at the General Store. You’ll see, Mr. Varney, that even if this gesture doesn’t result in a truce, it will certainly enhance your reputation as a fair-minded man. It won’t do any harm and it just might do some good.”
He could see that Varney liked the idea of enhancing his reputation, after he’d had a moment to mull it over, and he nodded his head as he considered the proposal.
“And in the meantime, yes, I think we’d better plan on using your place for services, if you don’t mind. Thank you very much for the offer.”
Over their tea they discussed how all of the meetings and services could be accommodated without too much disruption to the store’s business, and eventually arrived at a plan that would answer both considerations.
It was only as Varney was leaving that he mentioned the news that sent Lewis reeling. It was said as an afterthought, an addendum, information that was only by-the-by.
“Oh, with all the other dreadful things I had to tell you, I almost forgot,” he said. “There’s a young girl died quite suddenly. I know she’d had some conversation with you, although I don’t believe she had actually joined the Society yet.”
Lewis had been reaching for some wooden spoons and an iron pot for Martha to play with, but now he froze in mid-turn. “Who is it? Who’s dead?”
“That pretty girl who came to one or two of the meetings. Rachel … Rachel Jessup — her that lived with that evil-looking fellow who works at the blacksmith’s.”
Lewis felt his heart miss a beat. “Yes, I knew her. She had been coming to meetings with her sister-in-law. I had hoped she would join the congregation. She told me she was going to make a decision soon.”
“Well, I’m afraid she’s left it too late. She’ll make no decisions now.”
He had not asked the obvious question yet, but Betsy did it for him.
“How did she die?”
“She was found by her brother,” Varney said. “Her sister-in-law had just had her baby and was at her parents’. Apparently the girl was left behind to look after the house, but when the brother came back, she was dead in her bed.”
Martha was bored by the makeshift toys Lewis had given her and was making another bee line for the ash can. “Martha, no!” he said sternly. Her face wrinkled up in protest, but at least she didn’t start to cry. Betsy picked her up, and began jouncing and rocking her.
“Do they have any idea what happened?”
“Not really,” Varney said. “She was fully dressed, apparently, even had her boots on. The only thing amiss was that there were some strange marks on her neck.”
Lewis had seen strange marks on a young girl’s neck before. He could picture them in his mind — an evil necklace round a soft white neck.
Not again. Oh, please, not again.
He had to sit down, he was shaking so badly. “Was there, by any chance, a book in her lap?”
“Why, yes, I believe so,” Varney replied, surprised. “One of those little ones with a red leather cover. A prayer book or some such. How did you know that?”
Just like Sarah.
“Do you happen to know if the girl had one of those little pins? You know, the ones with the Lord’s Prayer?” To his own ears the question sounded odd and hoarse, but Varney appeared not to notice.
“Well, now, I don’t know, I’m sure. Do you mean one of those pins that the Caddicks make? It’s so small, you see. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d never notice it.”
That was true. It had been Betsy who found it with Sarah, as she was preparing the body for burial. A shiny little pin stabbed into the bodice. Betsy had raked her hand on it and it had left a long scratch along one finger. She had pulled it out and was about to set it aside when the sunlight had caught it, revealing the writing on the head of it. She had commented on how odd it was; she had never seen anything like it before. They had not known of the Caddicks’ talents then.
“So what is everyone making of the death?” Lewis asked.
“Oh, there will be a Coroner’s inquest — there has to be because it was an unexpected death — but I reckon that it will be put down to an act of God. There’s nothing to indicate that anyone else is involved.”
/> He exchanged a glance with Betsy. They had heard all this before — no evidence to indicate foul play, no reason to believe anything else — except for the marks around Sarah’s neck — and the pin — and the little red book that neither of them had ever seen before. But try as they might to point this out, no one else was willing to believe the death was the result of anything but some strange kind of “fit,” that general all-purpose diagnosis that really meant “we don’t know.”
“I must go and speak with the family.”
“Yes, I expected you would,” Varney said. “The sister will find a comfort in that.”
They sat at the table for a long time after Varney left, neither of them wanting to discuss the tragedy that reminded them so forcefully of the one they had lived through so recently. Nearly every detail the same, and the promise once again that justice would be blind. Oh, poor Rachel, Lewis thought, gone to meet your Maker with nothing to show him but chestnut hair and a pair of soft grey eyes.
IX
Lewis badly wanted to confirm the details with the local doctor in case Varney had somehow got them wrong, but he knew he really should see Minta first. Her parents lived in a nicely built frame house on the outskirts of Picton, the front dooryard neatly fenced and planted with laylock and virgin’s bower. An older woman answered the door, and when Lewis announced who he was, she showed him to the downstairs room where Minta lay, her new infant by her side. Her eyes were red from crying, but it was obvious that the new little boy was claiming most of her attention. Lewis wasn’t sure if her weeping had been for Rachel, or was just part of that peculiar storm of emotion that often follows childbirth.
“Will you christen him, when the time comes?” she asked.
“I would be delighted,” he said. “But what will your husband think of that?”
“He’ll do as I say.”
Again this firm authority masked by meekness. A woman produced a child and, particularly if it was a male, assumed an aura of power, as if reproduction had given them sovereignty. He had been told that Seth was a brute, and that Minta had been having a thin time of it, but that may just have been a reflection of the difficulties she was having carrying the child, or the unfortunate look that Seth had. He always seemed so burly beside his petite wife, and had a very dark complexion. His habitual glower also didn’t help his appearance any. But Lewis now began to get a glimpse of the true dynamics of this marriage; he had seen evidence of it when Minta had stepped forward in the churchyard, and now she wore a queenly aura that she didn’t bother to hide.
“We’d like you to preach at Rachel’s funeral, as well,” Minta said.
He should have been prepared for the request. He was, after all, a minister first and foremost. And how could he refuse? How could he explain that it was far too soon for him to see another chestnut-haired girl laid to rest? He must pull himself together; he was the preacher and it was his duty to be the comforter, not the one to give in to the emotion of the occasion.
He nodded. “Of course I will. Have you decided a name yet?”
She smiled. “Henry, after my father, and George, after Seth’s. Henry George Jessup. Now, don’t you think that a fine name?”
“It is indeed. The finest of names. When exactly was Henry George born?”
“Saturday night. Seth thought it time to bring me here Saturday morning, and he stayed until the baby was born, in spite of the fact that the midwife kept trying to shoo him out of the room. He was a great comfort to me, you know, and I realize that most husbands aren’t. It’s too much for them, as a rule.”
Lewis felt a twinge of guilt when he thought back and realized that he hadn’t even been home for most of Betsy’s lying-ins, never mind in the same room.
“And he found Rachel when?”
“On Sunday night. At least that’s when he came back and told us something awful had happened.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Poor Rachel. All the time I was cooing over my child, she was lying alone and dead in her bed.”
“Minta,” he said gently. “Do you know if she repented her sins before she passed on?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t ever talk about it much. But … I think so. Oh, I hope so.” The tears began to spill down her face now. “It’s not as if she would have many of them, would she? She was so young. She didn’t have much time to sin.”
He knew he should have pointed out that it didn’t work quite that way, but he felt reluctant to add to Minta’s burden. The baby began to fuss and he deemed it time to leave.
“Thank you,” she said as he left.
“Thank you for coming,” her mother echoed, but she was tight-lipped when she said it.
Dr. Gordon was a brusque, busy man and was just climbing into his buggy when Lewis caught up with him.
“Whatever you want, make it quick,” he said. “Joe Blezard has chopped off half his foot with an axe and I need to go and see if I can do anything about the half that’s left.”
“I just wondered if I might ask a few questions about Rachel Jessup.”
The doctor’s brow furrowed as he struggled to recall the name. “Oh, yes, the girl in Demorestville. Strange case, but then most of them are.”
Lewis grappled with how to ask the next question gracefully, but there didn’t seem to be any way to do it, so he gave up and asked straight out. Doctors weren’t the sort of people who could be shocked. They saw too much.
“Do you think she was strangled? I heard there were marks on her neck.”
Gordon looked at him sternly. “The blessed grapevine — the gossips know more of the details than I do. Yes, there were strange marks on her neck, and yes, she strangled, but whether from the hand of man or the hand of nature, I have no way to judge. Her skirts were thrown up, but there was no evidence of any interference that way, and they could have become disarranged if she’d had some sort of fit. The only other thing of note was an open book in her lap.”
Varney had had the details right after all. “Did you happen to find a small pin anywhere on her person?”
He had the doctor’s full attention for the first time now. “Yes, there was one in the book. How did you know that?”
“There didn’t happen to be writing on the head of it, was there? It would have been very tiny and hard to see.”
“As far as I’m aware it was just a regular pin, like she might have used for making a dress. In fact, I assumed she had been sewing and had tucked it into the page, you know the way women do, so she wouldn’t lose it. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t really look at it closely. There was no cause to.”
“Just one other quick question and then I’ll let you be on your way. I’ve heard that it was the Book of Proverbs that she had. You don’t happen to recall what chapter it was open to?”
“No, not off-hand. But the pin was left to mark the place, so it would be easy enough to find out. Either the Constable took it for evidence, or the family still has it. But tell me, how do you know about it?”
“I just heard a rumour, that’s all, and I wondered if it were true. And now, I’d best get out of your way. I hope Mr. Blezard hasn’t lost too much of his foot.”
The doctor continued to look at him suspiciously for a moment, then, remembering his urgent business, he galloped away.
Constable Woodcock was typical of his ilk, appointed to his position for a term or two as a reward for political loyalty. Although the job was considered a mark of favour, many found it irksome, and in some jurisdictions it was hard to find anyone who would agree to take it on. Local constables dealt mostly with tavern licensing and neighbours feuding over the control of livestock. There was more money to be made elsewhere for a man with ambition, and the irregular hours and the enmity of those who felt wronged by officialdom made policemen unpopular figures. Woodcock was a genial man, and well-meaning, but his pay as a constable was only a supplement to his living as a farmer. Lewis found him herding his cows into the barn for their afternoon milking.
“Preacher.” He nodded.
“What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Rachel Jessup. She had spoken to me on a few occasions about joining my church and I was most taken aback to learn that she’s died. I’ve heard only a few of the details. What exactly happened?”
He furrowed his brow. “Well, I’m not sure that I should be talking about any more details than is general knowledge.”
“Please, it’s not curiosity. The family has asked me to do the funeral, and I’d like to know what I’m dealing with, that’s all.” Lewis sincerely hoped the Lord would forgive him for yet another statement that was not quite true.
Woodcock ruminated for a few moments and then said, “Well, I suppose as a Man of God, you can be trusted with a confidence. I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t a lot. A man by the name of Seth Jessup, the deceased’s brother, had taken his wife to her parents.” Lewis nodded in encouragement. “He stayed there the weekend, until the babe was born, but was due to come back to work on Monday. When he got home Sunday night, he found his sister lying on the bed, dead.”
“Do you have any idea what happened?”
“There’s to be a Coroner’s inquest on Thursday, but the doctor said he wasn’t sure. She had some strange bruising on her neck. For some reason she had gone to bed fully clothed. She even had her boots on.
Yo, Bossy!”
One cow had broken loose from the herd and was headed toward the road. It took five minutes for Lewis to fully regain the Constable’s attention.
“I heard that she was holding a bible.”
“Nay, not a bible, or at least not in its entirety. It was one chapter of it. Maybe you can shed some light on that. It looked like a gift of some sort, because it had an inscription written on the flyleaf. It was one of those pocket editions, you know, the small ones, with a red cover.”
“I believe she was given that at one of our meetings,” Lewis replied. He didn’t add by whom. He needed time to think about the ramifications of this before he rushed in and implicated anyone.
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