Fury

by Bill Bright

  The lamp flame danced beside him as though to cheer him up. He would keep the lamp lit all night. As he had done last night.

  Hugging the recorder to his bosom, Daniel repositioned himself on his side, his knees drawn up.

  His uncle had browbeat him into agreeing to return to work tomorrow. At first Daniel had resisted. Then, the more he thought about it, it made sense for him to go to work. If he didn’t show up, Cyrus Gregg would want to know why. By showing up for work, no questions would be asked.

  The way Daniel figured it, he was safe as long as Cyrus Gregg didn’t know he was in the alley the night Braxton was murdered.

  What’shedoing here ?

  Familiar voices snatched Daniel’s attention away from his pile of wood shavings. More specifically, his uncle’s voice. The man had a staccato laugh that sounded like a woodpecker doing serious damage to a tree. It echoed through the shop.

  Daniel glanced around, worried that someone had heard it. Icky was outside, so it was just him. Everyone else had gone home for the day.

  His uncle and Cyrus Gregg emerged from the office. Talking. Laughing.

  All of a sudden Daniel found it hard to swallow.

  What was his uncle doing here?

  It could be nothing. But a twisting pain in Daniel’s gut seemed to think this visit was trouble.

  Daniel tried to convince his gut otherwise.

  He could be here to thank Cyrus Gregg for the invitation to the Christmas party.

  His gut was unconvinced.

  He could be here to gather ammunition for a later attempt to change my mind about working for Cyrus Gregg.

  Daniel’s gut dared to hope.

  His uncle motioned for him to join them.

  Daniel’s grip tightened on his broom.

  He closed his eyes and wished he could be someplace—anyplace—else. He took a deep breath. But even before he opened his eyes, he knew his wish had not been granted. He smelled wood shavings.

  “Daniel!” his uncle called, motioning to him with increased urgency.

  Daniel set his broom aside. As he approached them, he tried to read their faces.

  His uncle wore the same expression he always wore—that of a stern headmaster. Cyrus Gregg underwent a transformation as Daniel drew near, as though he was afraid to face Daniel.

  The Cyrus Gregg that stood before him was unlike the Gregg Daniel had seen before. He appeared smaller. Vulnerable. He stared at his own feet. The change was unnerving.

  Either Daniel had slowed, or he wasn’t moving fast enough. His uncle came to him, taking him by the shoulder. It was a harness of flesh by which his uncle steered his boys at school, often against their will.

  “I was just telling Mr. Gregg about our little excursion last night,” his uncle said.

  A panic bomb exploded inside Daniel. He stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze jumped to Cyrus Gregg, not knowing what to expect.

  Gregg kept his head down and didn’t look at Daniel.

  “You told him about last night?” Daniel mumbled.

  “And the night before,” his uncle said. “What you told me you saw.”

  Daniel must have backed away, because his uncle’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You…you…told him?”

  “Matters such as this are best handled directly and forthrightly,” his uncle said.

  “E-e-mil Braxton was…murdered?” Cyrus Gregg’s voice trembled. His eyes were red and wide with disbelief. He didn’t look up.

  “I saw it happen,” Daniel said.

  “Please believe me. I-I…didn’t know,” Cyrus Gregg said.

  Daniel stared in disbelief.

  “And…and…you say it was his cousin who killed him? The man we helped bury Emil yesterday?”

  “Yes,” Daniel said.

  “He told me Emil had drowned,” Cyrus Gregg insisted. “That he’d slipped on a rock, fell into the stream, and drowned. I didn’t question him. I had no reason to believe he would lie to me.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Uncle Asa said.

  Encouraged by the affirmation, Cyrus Gregg turned to Uncle Asa. “Emil’s cousin—maybe deep down I knew. I’ve never liked men like him. A man without roots. A frontiersman. You know the kind…stays one step ahead of civilization. Has no use for God’s laws.”

  “In your profession, you have to work with all kinds of men, Cyrus. That’s what has made you a good businessman. Let me ask you something. Is the boy’s cousin still at the cabin?”

  “I don’t know,” Cyrus said. “He was very secretive about his personal affairs.”

  Daniel was finding it difficult to digest Cyrus Gregg’s testimony. “But I saw—”

  “Me in the alley?” Cyrus Gregg lifted his gaze pleadingly to heaven, then to Daniel. Tears filled his eyes. “As I told your uncle, the night before last—is that correct?”

  Uncle Asa nodded.

  “That night I did not venture out of the house. I can’t explain what you saw, only that it wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”

  In his mind Daniel clung desperately to what he knew to be true. He was certain it was Cyrus Gregg in the alley that night. Certain. Certain. Almost certain.

  “How difficult these last two days must have been for you,” Cyrus Gregg said to him. “First, seeing what you saw. And then, all day yesterday, riding next to me, believing you were sitting next to a man who had a hand in murdering your friend.” Tears fell to his cheeks.

  Uncle Asa rubbed his friend’s back reassuringly.

  Images from the night of the murder flashed into Daniel’s mind.

  The alley, cut in half by moonlight. Moans interrupting his music. Braxton appearing, stumbling, clawing at the cobblestones.

  The killer. Standing at the mouth of the alley. Featureless. The light behind him. The knife. The taunting voice.

  Braxton’s eyes. Fearful.

  The flash of a blade.

  Braxton’s eyes. Lifeless.

  The arrival of a carriage.

  Cyrus Gregg?

  Daniel strained his memory, searching for some detail that would conclusively condemn or exonerate Cyrus Gregg. But the harder he tried, the murkier the memory became.

  “I wish there was something I could do to convince you that the man you saw that night wasn’t me,” Cyrus Gregg said. “Failing that, I understand your reluctance to continue working for me.”

  None of this was making any sense.

  “I will give you a letter of recommendation with which to secure a new position. I only regret we will not be working together.” Cyrus Gregg chanced a smile. “Yesterday, talking with you about inventions and the future…well, it was as though I’d discovered a long-lost son.”

  Daniel felt as though it was he who should feel guilty.

  “Show him your drawing,” Uncle Asa said.

  Daniel shook his head. “No, it’s—”

  “Drawing?” Cyrus Gregg asked.

  “For that machine of yours that washes clothes,” Uncle Asa said.

  Cyrus Gregg turned to Daniel. “You designed the agitation ribs for the cylinder?”

  Daniel shrugged, admitting that he had.

  “May I see it?”

  Fishing the sketch out of his back pocket, Daniel handed it to Gregg, who glanced excitedly at Asa as he unfolded it.

  Cyrus Gregg began nodding immediately as he studied the drawing. “Yes…yes…”

  Daniel couldn’t help himself. He smiled when he saw the effect the drawing had on Cyrus Gregg.

  “May I show this to a woodcarver?” Cyrus Gregg asked. “Of course, I’ll pay you for your design.”

  “Would it help if Daniel went with you when you spoke to the woodcarver?” Uncle Asa offered.

  “I wouldn’t want to force Daniel,” Cyrus Gregg said.

  “I think it would be good for both of you,” said the man who never hesitated to force Daniel to do things. “What do you say, Daniel?”

  Daniel fidgeted. He didn’t want to go. But more than that, he didn’t want to t
ell his uncle he didn’t want to go. “I guess I could go with you.”

  “Are you certain, son?” Cyrus Gregg asked. “I would very much like a chance to redeem myself in your eyes.”

  Uncle Asa glared at Daniel. “Cyrus, I apologize for my nephew’s insolence.”

  “Think nothing of it, Asa,” Cyrus Gregg replied. “Given the circumstances, it’s understandable.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Cyrus, but there’s no excuse for Daniel’s rude behavior.”

  “Daniel,” Cyrus Gregg said, “would it be convenient for you to accompany me tonight? You could finish sweeping, and I’ll take you home afterward.”

  “Splendid idea!” Uncle Asa cried. “Have dinner with us, Cyrus. Camilla would be so pleased to see you.”

  “Any other time and it would be my pleasure,” Cyrus Gregg replied. “However, with the Christmas party tomorrow evening, there are a multitude of details demanding my attention. Please offer my regrets to your lovely wife.”

  “Of course,” Uncle Asa said. “It was thoughtless of me to ask. We’re very much looking forward to tomorrow night, aren’t we, Daniel?”

  “Yes sir,” Daniel muttered obediently, though he hadn’t agreed yet to go. “I’ll just finish sweeping.” He motioned to his broom.

  Since there were no objections, he walked away. His uncle and boss carried the conversation into the office. The door closed.

  Icky blustered into the shop, stomping off snow and cold. He’d been outside unloading wood. “That all the sweeping you got done?” he wailed. “You’ve just been leaning on that broom the whole time, haven’t you? Waiting for me to come back and do all the work. Well, I’m not going to do it. And if you run to Mr. Gregg, I’ll tell him to his face that you—”

  “Shut up, Icky.”

  “Shut up? Shut up? You can’t tell me to—”

  “Shut up and go home.”

  Icky stared at him suspiciously. “Oh no you don’t! Mr. Gregg’s coming through here, isn’t he? And you know it. You want him to see only you sweeping. He’ll say, ‘Where’s Icky?’ and you’ll say—”

  “Go home, Icky!”

  Icky looked at him, looked at the office door, then back at him.

  “Go!”

  Icky wasn’t entirely convinced it was safe, but it was clear he wanted to leave.

  Seconds later Daniel was alone. To the rhythmicwhoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the broom, he tried to make sense of Cyrus Gregg.

  Could it be he was wrong about Gregg being in the alley? Could it have been another man who looked like Gregg?

  The man in the alley got sick when he saw Braxton’s body. But Cyrus Gregg wasn’t the only man to be sickened by blood…only the most joked about.

  Had he mistaken the man in the alley for Cyrus Gregg simply because it was something Cyrus Gregg would do?

  Daniel’s head was swimming. He worked faster, hoping the exertion would clear his mind.

  The night of the murder seemed so distant. At the time, the only thing he knew of Cyrus Gregg was the no-nonsense way he ran the shop.

  And look how quickly Uncle Asa and Aunt Camilla rose to his defense. They’d known him for years.

  One other thing. Daniel had to admit that the man he rode with yesterday—the man who at times acted as giddy as a boy, the man who could see the future of transportation—was not the man he thought he was.

  Despite what he had seen in the alley, Daniel found it increasingly difficult to believe that Cyrus Gregg was capable of murder.

  Chapter 10

  The ride out to the woodcarver was a repeat of yesterday, only colder. Daniel drove the wagon while Cyrus Gregg talked about how he was going to test the washing machine’s cleaning abilities before installing the agitation ribs and again after installation. Having listened to Icky whine incessantly all day, intelligent conversation was a balm to Daniel’s ears.

  Every now and then, Cyrus Gregg would look over at Daniel and fall silent, and Daniel would feel guilty. Then Gregg would start talking again. Before long the man was once again at a full gallop, and Daniel would find himself smiling.

  He was reluctant to admit it, but maybe his Uncle Asa was right—

  Right about accompanying Cyrus Gregg to see the woodcarver.

  Right about Cyrus Gregg.

  Right about the opportunity to work with Cyrus Gregg.

  It wasn’t easy for Daniel to admit that his uncle was right. Perhaps his pride had kept him from seeing the truth about Cyrus Gregg.

  No longer.

  Daniel smiled to himself. Beside him, Cyrus Gregg rattled on about applying for a patent for the agitator wings, which he was now calling them, unaware that Daniel had just made a momentous decision.

  “Mr. Gregg, about what happened earlier—”

  “Down this road, Daniel.” Cyrus Gregg pointed to a narrow road guarded by twin elm trees.

  From the accumulation of snow, the road had not been recently traveled. Daniel had passed it on a number of occasions but had never gone down it.

  Passing between the trees, Daniel tried again. “Mr. Gregg, about our previous conversation—”

  “No need to apologize, Daniel. You saw what you saw.”

  “Yes. About that—”

  A hail from a man emerging from a heavy patch of woods cut him off. Cyrus Gregg returned the hail. Daniel pulled back on the reins.

  “No, keep going,” Cyrus Gregg instructed. “He’ll meet us at the workshop.”

  A modest house appeared just ahead. Cyrus Gregg directed Daniel toward the back where there were two additional structures—one no more than a shed.

  Cyrus Gregg jumped out of the wagon while it was still moving and hurried into the larger building, throwing open the door as though he owned it. Daniel secured the horse and followed him.

  The familiar scent of cut wood greeted him. The interior was similar to the shop he worked in, with some of the same equipment and a few other pieces Daniel didn’t recognize.

  From the looks of it, the floor hadn’t been swept in over a week. Stacks of lumber were covered with dust and wood chips. Two caskets were propped upright against a wall. The top of one lay on a workbench with a partially completed design carved into it.

  While Cyrus Gregg warmed himself at the fire, Daniel took a closer look at the coffin’s craftsmanship. It was incredibly detailed. A rose-and-leaf pattern.

  “Excellent work, wouldn’t you agree?” Cyrus Gregg said, turning his backside to the fire. “Noland does special jobs for me. He’s the most skilled woodcarver this side of Philadelphia.”

  Daniel traced a wood-carved rose with a light finger. “It seems a waste to use such talent to fashion a few agitators.”

  “Lesson number one: never waste your time with mediocre or questionable talent. Always employ the best available talent and reward them well for their work.”

  Daniel looked up. It was almost as though Cyrus Gregg had read his mind earlier. As though he knew Daniel had had a change of heart.

  Cyrus Gregg dispelled that assumption. “I’m sorry,” he said, his face downcast. “For a moment, I forgot myself. You must understand. I’d gotten my hopes up and—”

  “Mr. Gregg, about that…”

  The door banged open.

  A tall, dark figure filled the door frame.

  Daniel gasped. He took a step back.

  For an instant, the figure in the door looked like the killer. Only for an instant, but that’s all it took for Daniel’s heart to seize.

  Instead of a knife, the man in the door wielded an ax. He pointed it at Daniel. “Watch out behind—”

  Daniel bumped into one of the upright caskets. It slid against the wall. He turned to catch it but couldn’t.

  It landed with a crash and a cloud of dust.

  “What are you doing in my shop?” the man bellowed. Then, to Cyrus Gregg, “What’s this boy doing in my shop?”

  Without waiting for an explanation, the man tossed his ax aside and examined the fallen casket. He began to lift
it.

  “Let me help you,” Daniel offered.

  “Stand aside!” the man shouted.

  Daniel moved out of his way.

  Close to him now, Daniel could see that the man looked nothing like the killer. His forehead was huge and his nose bulbous. His face was clean-shaven. His size made him appear better suited to being a logger than the woodcarver who fashioned such delicate designs.

  With titan hands the man gripped the sides of the casket and lifted it back in place.

  Now that everything was in order, Daniel dared to take a breath.

  Cyrus Gregg got right down to business. He approached the man and handed him Daniel’s drawing. “This is what I want you to make for me.”

  Without an introduction, until now Daniel wasn’t certain this man was Noland, the woodcarver. The man removed any shred of doubt by the way his expert eyes studied the sketch.

  “Who drew this?” Noland asked.

  A head motion from Cyrus Gregg indicated Daniel.

  “You drew this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who gave you the idea?”

  “No one! It’s my idea, my drawing.”

  Noland looked skeptical.

  “I was with him when he came up with the idea,” Cyrus Gregg said. “Can you make them?”

  “Of course I can make them,” Noland scoffed. “When do you want them?”

  “A week.”

  “Impossible. It’ll take a week to soak the wood.”

  “Soak the wood?” Daniel asked.

  Cyrus Gregg’s eyes lit up. “It’s a fascinating process. By soaking the wood in vats, he…may I?” he asked, pointing to the back door.

  Noland’s attention was still on the drawing. He looked up and shrugged with indifference.

  Cyrus Gregg took the shrug as assent. He led Daniel to the back door.

  “Prepare yourself,” Cyrus Gregg said. “You’re about to see wood twisted into shapes you never thought possible.”

  He opened the door. A blast of wind staggered them. Lowering his head, Cyrus Gregg met force with force. “He soaks the wood in this shed,” he shouted over the gale.