Wishful Seeing

by Janet Kellough

  He turned to Caroline. “Can you find a couple of buckets?”

  She nodded, and while she was getting them, Thaddeus and Small began tentatively to poke at the mound of soil in front of them. When Caroline returned, they started filling the buckets with dirt.

  “Take them outside and dump them,” Thaddeus said.

  She hesitated. “But Papa said not to leave any sign.”

  “Sign of what?”

  “Any sign that would tell somebody where the door is.”

  So Leland Gordon was right. Howell had been here all along. Elegant, bewhiskered, silk-hatted George Howell had become a cornered animal cowering in a sandpit.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to dump it outside,” Thaddeus said to the girl. “There’s nowhere else to put the dirt. The cave is pretty much discovered anyway, now that the railway men have broken through the top.”

  She blinked at him for a few moments, then without a word picked up a filled bucket and hauled it through the opening.

  “Papa?” Small said, “Does she mean George Howell?”

  “I guess so.” Thaddeus wasn’t sure what to do about Small. He could scarcely ask his assistant to hide the fact that a wanted man was lurking nearby. He wasn’t, in fact, sure what he was going to do himself. As Leland Gordon had pointed out, Howell’s apprehension would in no way help his wife. But failing to report Howell’s presence could open them all to charges of aiding and abetting. Get the dog out first, he decided. Worry about the rest of it later.

  As it turned out, Thaddeus was glad he had James with him. The young man worked steadily, and before long they had reached the section where the timbers had fallen. One of them swung loose at the bottom, its top still embedded in the hill.

  “Soon, now. But we’ll have to be careful. In fact, we might want to shore this up a bit before we go any farther.”

  No sooner had Thaddeus spoken when the dog wriggled through the remaining scree to its freedom. When it porpoised through the last inches, its back feet pushed against the bottom of the loose support, knocking it to one side. A pile of soil and gravel and lumber cascaded down on top of James Small.

  Thaddeus wielded his shovel frantically to clear the mess of debris away from Small’s head, so that at least he wouldn’t suffocate before they figured out how to extract him. To his surprise, Caroline grabbed the other shovel and she, too, began to dig, although her efforts had little effect. After a few moments, Thaddeus realized that shovelling was futile — the sand and fine gravel quickly spilled back into whatever hole they managed to make.

  “Put your shovel down,” he ordered the girl. “We’re going to have to pull.”

  “Is everything all right?” Martha could hear them from her perch at the edge of the hole.

  “No. Get over here.” And then he said to Caroline, “You take one leg and I’ll take the other and then we need to pull for all we’re worth.”

  He wasn’t at all certain that their combined strength would be enough, but to his surprise they shifted the inert body a few inches with the first pull.

  “Again!”

  This time Small moved a foot or so. Thaddeus leaped forward and used his arms as a scoop to remove the debris around his assistant’s head. To his surprise, a wad of paper was plastered over Small’s face, largely shielding his mouth and nose from the sandy soil. Thaddeus swept it aside. Small began to cough and sputter, inhaling great shuddering gasps of air in between spasms, but the cave was filled with a fine dust that stung the eyes and filled the lungs. Thaddeus knew he needed to get the young man into the fresh air as quickly as possible.

  Martha scrambled into the cave and together they scooped more soil away, until finally, with one last heave, they were able to pull Small entirely free. They dragged him over to the fresher air at the opening. Although he had by some miracle been saved from inhaling much sediment, he had a cut on the back of his head that was bleeding profusely. Thaddeus scrambled to retrieve the papers he had thrown to one side and jammed them against the wound.

  “Put your hand here,” he said to Martha. “Keep pressing down, as hard as you can. We need to get the bleeding stopped.”

  Suddenly Caroline crawled past them to paw through the fallen rubble. She scooped out several other bundles of paper, then she poked around until she uncovered a leather satchel. She pushed the papers inside it, climbed past them again, and disappeared.

  Thaddeus pulled Small to a sitting position, then helped him manoeuvre through the small opening. Finally free of the cloying dust, his breathing gradually became easier.

  “I thought we’d lost you there for a minute, James,” Thaddeus said.

  Small looked around, blinking. “Lost? I’m not lost. I just got tangled in the quilt, that’s all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I slept in. Couldn’t get out of bed. I was too rolled up in the bedclothes.”

  “Oh my,” Martha said. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Thaddeus knelt down beside him. “Do you know where you are, James?”

  “In my house, of course. In Cobourg.”

  “Look around you.” Thaddeus spoke in a gentle voice.

  Small did as he was told, and then a puzzled expression crossed his face.

  “Where am I? This isn’t Cobourg. I have to get home. I need to milk the cow.”

  This last statement was not as odd as it sounded. The Howells’ cow had started a mournful low that was audible from where they sat.

  “Listen to me, James,” Thaddeus said. “You were buried in a cave-in. You were struck on the head, and that’s why you don’t know where you are.”

  “What cave? How did I get here?” Small was still bewildered. “Why does my head hurt?”

  “You got a bump, I’m afraid. Martha is trying to stop the bleeding.”

  His face dissolved into a sappy grin. “Ah, Martha,” he said. “Is Martha looking after me? That’s wonderful.”

  “We need to get him to a doctor,” Thaddeus said. “Perhaps the best thing to do is to take him back to the Gordons.” Then he turned to Small. “Do you think you can walk, James?”

  Small nodded, and together Thaddeus and Martha hauled him to his feet. He could walk only a few paces before he had to stop for a moment to rest, but the downward slope helped and they made good progress until they reached the bottom of the hill, where he sank to the ground again.

  “We’ll rest for a bit, James,” Thaddeus said, “then we’ll try the climb.”

  He seemed to gain a little strength after that, and although the going was slow, Thaddeus and Martha managed to push and pull him up to the top of the hill overlooking the Howells’ barn. After another rest, Small insisted that he could manage the descent without help. Thaddeus followed close behind, one hand clutching his coattails, just in case he fell.

  Digger barked at them hysterically the whole time they were climbing down, adding his protests to the pleadings of the uncomfortable cow.

  “Not very grateful at being rescued, is he?” Martha remarked.

  Caroline came out of the house and called for the dog, which obediently ran back to her.

  It was only then that Thaddeus realized that James’s horse was missing. He pointed this out to Martha.

  “Major Howell?” she asked. “If he got clear of the cave-in, he may have come back here.”

  “It’s the most likely explanation.” Thaddeus had no doubt that Caroline had been genuinely concerned about her dog, but its predicament had made a convenient diversion all the same. And if Howell had taken the horse, he could be a long way away by now. Thaddeus could only hope that his assistant wouldn’t remember that he’d had a horse in the first place.

  “Let’s get James over to the cart, then see if we can borrow a blanket or something from the house,” Thaddeus said to Martha when they reached the Howells’ dooryard. “He can lie in t
he back.”

  “I’m fine,” Small protested. “Really.” And in fact, he was able to climb up into the back of the rig by himself, a relief for Thaddeus, who hadn’t been sure how they were going to manage it otherwise.

  Martha went to the house and knocked on the door. “Caroline,” she called.

  Silence.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Go away.”

  “Do you have a blanket we can use? Mr. Small is hurt and he needs to lie down in the wagon.”

  There was no answer, but a few moments later the door opened and Caroline threw two old quilts onto the stoop. Martha took them back to the cart and helped Thaddeus arrange a cushion for Small’s head with one of them. She covered him with the other. Then Thaddeus pulled her aside.

  “We need to take the girl with us. Maybe it would be better if you talked to her.”

  “I’ll try,” Martha said, “but I don’t know if I can get her to come.”

  She walked up to the door again, while Thaddeus waited at the cart. “Caroline?”

  There was no answer.

  “Can you come out and talk to me?”

  “No. Papa said don’t talk to anybody.”

  “Your Papa’s gone now. He took our horse and rode away.”

  “He’ll come back.”

  “No, Caroline, he won’t. Too many people know he was here. He’ll ride a long way away and he won’t dare come back. You don’t really want to be here all by yourself, do you?” There was no reply to this. “I’d be scared to be here all alone,” Martha went on. “You never know who might turn up.”

  “The man’s dead. He won’t come back.”

  “Which man? The man who fell in the hole?”

  “No. The other man.”

  “Do you mean the man who’s hurt? That’s a friend of my grandfather’s. My grandfather’s been trying to help your mother. She’s in Cobourg. You could go see her. You could ask her what you should do.”

  “Papa told me what to do.”

  “Yes, but things are different now. Your Papa’s gone and he’s not coming back.”

  Suddenly the dog burst through the door. He made a beeline for Martha, barking and snapping. She turned her body away to try to deflect the attack.

  “Digger, sit!” Thaddeus commanded, in a voice that was as stern as he could muster.

  To his surprise, the dog aborted its attack. It obediently sat, but continued a low growl.

  Thaddeus walked over to Martha, ignoring the dog. “Do you feel like you’re getting anywhere?” he asked.

  “Not really.” He could see that she was shaking a little. Thaddeus knew he needed to resolve the situation one way or the other in short order. He was worried about Small’s condition, and he was afraid that the dog might yet bite one of them. It was also getting late, and he didn’t like the notion of trying to navigate the hilly road to Cobourg in the dark. It was frustrating to have found the girl and then be stymied by something so insubstantial as a cabin door and a scrappy dog. He didn’t want to leave her behind, but he would if he had to.

  “Caroline!” he called suddenly in a harsh voice. “I don’t know what you have in that satchel, but you can’t keep it safe all by yourself. Open the door now!” It was much the same voice he had used with the dog. It had much the same effect. The door opened a crack.

  “Do you know who I am?” Thaddeus asked.

  “You’re the preacher who talked the most and won,” she said.

  It was an unflattering summation of his performance at The Great Debate, but at least she remembered him. “That’s right,” he said. “Your mother sent me to get you. Come on.”

  He turned and walked back to the buggy, as if there were no question that Caroline would do exactly as she was told. He motioned Martha to follow. He climbed up and took the reins, but before Martha could claim her seat, Caroline emerged from the cabin, clutching the leather satchel she had rescued.

  “Wait,” she said. Then she walked over to them, a scowl on her face. “What about Digger?”

  “He can come, too.”

  She whistled, and the dog leaped into the back of the cart, with only a growl or two directed at the recumbent James Small.

  “Digger, go sit,” Thaddeus said. The dog subsided and Caroline climbed in beside him.

  “How do you do that?” Martha asked.

  “It’s just a matter of using the right tone of voice,” Thaddeus said as he flicked the reins. “Maybe you should practise on James.”

  VII

  Small refused to be taken into Sully and insisted that he was recovered enough to ride all the way to Cobourg. Thaddeus wasn’t so sure, since his assistant hadn’t noticed yet that his horse was missing, but then he decided that Small was a grown man and could make his own choices. Besides, returning to Cobourg was infinitely more convenient for everyone else. And having managed to get Caroline Howell into the cart, Thaddeus was determined not to let her out of it until Ashby had a chance to talk to her. Unfortunately, they were now badly overloaded, and Thaddeus could only hope that the horse was up to the challenge of pulling them such a distance.

  The dog growled and barked as they reached the end of the laneway, but fell silent again when they were hailed by the same old man Thaddeus had encountered on his first visit to the Howell farm.

  “Why, it’s the preacher!” the old man said. “You travel this road nearly as much as I do.”

  “You go by often?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Near every day.”

  “I wonder if you could do something for me? There’s a poor old bossy at the Howells’ that’s been left on its own. Could you or one of the neighbours see to her? I’d do it myself, but I’ve got an injured man to get home.”

  He turned to gesture at James Small, and realized that Caroline was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t have jumped out, he decided, or the dog would have gone with her.

  “I’d be happy to look after it,” the old man said, his eyes flicking over the dog. “There’s no one at the farm? To look after the livestock, I mean?”

  “There’s not much livestock — only the cow and a few chickens,” Thaddeus said. “I don’t know whether there’s anybody there or not. I just know that the cow needs to be milked and I didn’t have time to do it.”

  The man nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you. What’s your name, sir, in case we meet again?”

  The man hesitated for a moment before he replied. “Dafoe. Albert Dafoe.”

  Palmers and Plews and Dafoes. That family always was thick as thieves, according to Patience Gordon. Someone had been watching the Howell farm after all.

  Thaddeus nodded at the man and drove on.

  As soon as they left him behind, Martha said, “You can come out now, Caroline.”

  Thaddeus glanced back to see the girl emerge from under the seat of the buggy. She had crawled in behind Small and pulled the satchel after her, dragging one of the quilts over her so she couldn’t be seen. She offered no explanation, just plunked the satchel down beside the dog and sat on it again.

  It was a long, slow drive home. Small, in spite of his bravado, moaned loudly whenever the wheels went over a nasty rut in the road, which was often. On the steeper slopes, everyone but Small had to climb out of the cart and walk while Thaddeus led the horse to the top. Once or twice Martha ventured a remark in Caroline’s general direction, but there was never a response other than a nod of the head, and after a while she gave up. That was fine with Thaddeus. He didn’t want to discuss what had happened when he didn’t know how closely Small was listening.

  The sun had already set when they turned into the manse laneway. Martha jumped down and ran next door to the Smalls to get some help in getting James to his own house. She returned with his mother and two of his brothers, the boys lifting James bodily out o
f the cart while his mother clucked and fussed around him. Caroline had still not moved from her place on the satchel.

  Martha held out her hand. “Are you hungry? I am. Let’s go find something to eat.”

  Caroline ignored the outstretched hand, but she stood up and grabbed the satchel, whistled for Digger, then climbed down to follow Martha into the kitchen. Thaddeus was hungry, too, but his meal would have to wait. He had still to return the horse and cart to the stable, and he needed to find Ashby to bring him up to date on the events of the day. He took the tired horse back to the livery, then walked to the Globe Hotel. The smell of spirits and strong tobacco struck him as soon as he walked in. Every head turned in his direction and he was suddenly aware of his rumpled coat and the mud on his boots.

  He found Ashby settled in a comfortable chair, with a glass of brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other, chatting with two similarly supplied gentlemen. Ashby, ever polite, rose as soon as he saw Thaddeus and gestured toward the chair.

  “Mr. Lewis! What a pleasure. Do sit down.”

  “Thank you, no. It’s been an interesting day.”

  “Our little pigeon has flown into the net?”

  “Yes,” Thaddeus said, “but she could fly right out again at a moment’s notice. You should come first thing in the morning.”

  “I can come right now if you like.”

  “No. It’s been a long day. She’s tired and hungry. A good night’s sleep will do her a world of good. Tomorrow will be better. I promised you’d take her to see her mother.”

  Ashby’s eyes slid sideways to the two men he had been sitting with. He downed his drink and stubbed out his cigar. “Gentlemen.” He nodded at them. “Come, Mr. Lewis, I’ll walk you to the door.”

  They stepped out into the night. As quickly as he could, Thaddeus related what had happened at the Howell farm.

  “I’m sure George Howell was there,” he said at the end of it.

  “I see. And are you planning to do anything with that information?”