Veritas

by Quinn Coleridge

  “Let the poor girl up for air, Craddock,” Kelly mutters.

  Tom releases me, but not immediately, not until Kelly grumbles a bit more. Something about Tom’s parents being unmarried at the time of his birth or some such thing.

  “Better go, Hester,” the doctor says, taking my elbow and turning me toward the house. “We’ve got big plans for tomorrow. We may even catch a killer.”

  13

  A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi.

  In front a precipice, behind, wolves.

  A large group of people stand at the back door of our kitchen. It’s free-dinner Monday. This culinary noblesse oblige has been a tradition since The Revels was built. It is my mother’s way of sharing her bounty with the deserving poor. Father wants nothing to do with it. He thinks that the words deserving and poor are mutually exclusive.

  Cook has made an enormous kettle of venison stew, and skillets of corn bread. The hungry come with bowls, tin coffee cups, and once, even a straw hat. Cook fills the containers to the brim until the food runs out. It’s fortunate for our visitors the snow has stopped. My mother said the clouds departed early this morning and that the sun had finally come out.

  Members of the Ladies Charitable Works Association have come to call on Mama, and Father is entertaining some of his cronies from the gentlemen’s club in his study. Listening to the grandfather clock chime, I realize that Kelly will be here soon, ostensibly to pick me up for lessons. My mother is quite happy about this. It must not have occurred to her to question that Cordelia is staying behind. Secretly, I think she’s hoping Kelly compromises me so he’ll be forced to ask for my hand and give me his name.

  It’s a sad day when a mother aspires for her child’s corruption in order to secure said child a hearth and home. I guess a simple dowry doesn’t suffice in my case.

  Cordelia pushes the tea trolley into the winter parlor where a fire crackles in the grate. The scent of burning juniper and imported perfume floats into the hall. I smile to myself and tip-toe past the parlor. It’s nice to hear Mama chatting with her friends. She must be feeling better.

  “Is that you, Hester?” Mama calls.

  I stop tip-toeing and put a hand on my hip. How did she know I was sneaking out? And why ask for me today, why now? She’s never brought me to the attention of visitors before. I go to the parlor doorway without entering the room.

  Leaving, I sign. Good afternoon, Mother.

  The women murmur among themselves after seeing this. The essence of their comments boils down to “What the devil was that?”

  “Hester is learning sign language,” Mama says. “It replaces speech. She works so hard at it and learns faster than anyone Dr. Kelly’s ever seen. He was just saying so the other day.”

  Feminine voices break out again. “Well I never heard the like… Can you imagine… The miracles of the modern age…”

  These same ladies gossiped about me when I went to tea at the hotel with Kelly. Now they are merely showing support for their rich friend Lenore Grayson. I could be a performing monkey for all they care.

  Our butler steps into the hall and announces the doctor’s arrival. Kelly joins me a few moments later. “Ready to go?” he inquires loudly enough for all my mother’s friends to hear.

  I turn to Mama and sign quickly, Nice-party-you. Me-home-soon.

  My mother insists on introducing Kelly to all of the Ladies Charitable Works Association. They praise his skill as a teacher and a few ask if he would privately tutor their daughters. Mama excuses us before Kelly can give them an answer. He leads me out of the house by the elbow.

  “That was interesting,” he says, sounding relieved to be outside. “I was afraid those invitations entailed more than just tutoring.”

  Probably marriage, I sign. Single daughters.

  “Really? In that case, my tutoring schedule is full.”

  I smile at Kelly as he leads me across the drive, toward the stables. Why are we going this way? Usually buggies wait in front of the house.

  We stop near the corral. It sounds as if some horses are tied to the fence. Kelly pushes me toward one of them. “We’re doing something different, Hester. You’ll ride alone today.”

  It takes a second for the words to sink in and then I give him a scowl. Oh, ha, ha. Tease the blind girl. Ride alone, indeed!

  But he’s dead serious.

  Despite my opposition, the doctor helps me onto the horse and gives me the reins. “You’re slipping a little to the left, minx. Move back. Good.” He walks around the animal, gives it a pat. “Your cloak is long enough to cover your legs, but a riding habit would be better.”

  A riding habit? My wardrobe is extensive but Mama never thought to get one of those.

  I rub the horse’s smooth coat and it whickers softly. Oats, dry hay. I love his smell. Kelly mounts his own horse.

  What’s happening? I ask, trying to sign and hold the reins simultaneously.

  “Hmm,” Kelly replies. “Are you referring to our riding arrangement?”

  Of course.

  “Let me introduce you to your noble steed. Jupiter meet Hester. Hester, Jupiter.”

  My mouth falls open. Jupiter? My steed?

  Kelly seems amused by the situation. “They were going to ship the beast to a glue factory in Colorado Springs, but I bought him for you instead. Just a few dollars, really. He’s been hitched to a wagon at the mill his whole life.”

  It bothers me that Kelly is so nonchalant. Jem died not long ago, and I still feel terrible about it. Besides, what would I do with the animal? No horse for me. Blind, remember? Crash, fall off, die.

  “I have created a monster,” Kelly says. “You can be quite sarcastic at times.”

  His mount takes a few steps and Jupiter follows, as though there is no other option for him but to show obedience. I am terrified initially and then I remember the reins in my hands. Leaning forward, I reach out and find a lead rope connected to my horse’s bridle.

  “Don’t worry, minx. I have the other end. You’re safe.”

  I feel better now. Kelly can be exasperating at times, but I trust he will keep me from harm. We use side streets—where there isn’t much traffic—and I sigh in relief once we are out of Stonehenge.

  The world smells clean and new. Sunlight warms my cheeks and the wind whirls about me, tossing tiny particles of ice into my face. I pat Jupiter, thankful he and I are both alive to enjoy this day.

  I hear Kelly turn in his saddle. “Would you like to gallop a bit?”

  Smiling in confirmation, I can barely contain my excitement. Our horses spring forward and their hooves churn up the slushy ground.

  Oh, it’s marvelous! My eyes water, my heart thumps. I’ve never felt so alive.

  “Too fast?” Kelly yells over the noise. “Shall we slow down?”

  I shake my head, and he laughs. “All right then. Loosen your hold on the reins, and let old Jupiter have his way.”

  We ride for another mile or so, nearly reaching our meeting point with Tom. He might even see us galloping along the road. Horrors! He does.

  What are you doing, Hettie? And why are you sitting on that pitiful nag?

  I refuse to honor Tom’s last comment with a response. Jupiter is not pitiful. Or a nag.

  Kelly groans, evidently at the distant sighting of my love, and brings his steed to a trot. I pat Jupiter and turn to the doctor. If I had any reservations about accepting this horse, they’ve since vanished. He isn’t Jem, but he’s a good old fellow.

  Thank you, I sign. Love him.

  “My pleasure,” Kelly says. “As they say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Who knows if Jupiter even has teeth?”

  As we draw closer to Tom, I register how displeased he will be that Kelly bought me such a gift. Don’t tell Tom, I ask surreptitiously.

  “It’ll be our secret,” Kelly answers, bringing our horses to a full stop. “Hello, Craddock.” His greeting to Tom is as bland as unsweetened porridge. “Your eye has a nice shiner from our bout la
st night.”

  “I’ve had worse,” my love replies with the same dull intonation and helps me down.

  They stake the horses nearby. “Is that one new?” Tom asks Kelly. “The animal Hester rode?”

  “Jupiter was a bargain.”

  “By bargain, I hope you mean free.”

  We climb to the top of the ridge. Tom remains at my side, telling me what he sees, and I get a vague idea of my surroundings. Our Lady of Sorrows chapel is nothing but a pile of charred timbers, except for one remaining wall. Tom says it is remarkably unscathed.

  “There’s still some stained-glass in the window,” Kelly observes.

  A strong wind blows from the north, pushing against us. See anything, Tom?

  Lots of trees yonder. Could be those from the vision. Are you tired yet? Do you need to rest?

  I grin, not the least bit tired. ‘Lay on, Macduff, and damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!’

  Tom laughs, shouldering a branch aside. Shakespeare this early in the hunt? Deo favente. What kind of day lies ahead?

  Passing through the conifers, I hear the wind shake the old giants. I marvel at the dance going on between the elements and the mighty forest until we’re out in the open once more.

  “Careful, Doctor,” Tom says. “The ravine’s up ahead.”

  We walk another ten yards, and skirt around a few boulders. “How can you be sure this is the one?” Kelly asks.

  “Call it intuition.”

  Tom goes to the edge of the ravine and looks down. “I should be able to make it. There are plenty of outcroppings and shelves for climbing.”

  Kelly joins him on the rim. “All yours, Craddock. I’d help if it weren’t for my broken fingers. You might tie your rope around that stone pillar over there. Seems sturdy enough.”

  The doctor gets his pack and takes something out of it. The object clacks together, like a handful of metal parts. Kelly tells me they are stakes. He gives them to Tom and asks him to pound the stakes into the earth near any evidence he comes across, to mark his findings. Evidently there’s also identification tags involved and twine to outline the area so the police know where to look for further clues. If this practice of staking and tagging seems strange to Tom, he doesn’t mention it to Kelly. Even though my Interpreter had qualms initially about having outside help, he seems rather intrigued at the idea of applying scientific methods to our supernatural investigations.

  After securing the rope, Tom tosses it over the side. It bounces several times against the hard mountain face, and his boots grind into the shale as he takes hold and begins his descent.

  Sitting on a nearby boulder, I listen to his journey into the ravine. How are you holding up?

  He grunts from exertion as he climbs. I’ll pass on the pie next time the sewing circle offers it.

  Please eat the pie, I answer. Skip the climbing instead.

  “A fine effort, Craddock,” Kelly says.

  Gravel pelts Tom a moment later and he curses softly. “Is the strain of watching too much for you?”

  The doctor laughs. “For a lesser man, maybe, but I could do this all day. Don’t hurry on my account.”

  It takes a while, but Tom makes it to the canyon floor. “Safe and sound,” he yells.

  Tom searches for Freckles for hours. To pass the time, we argue telepathically about politics, quote poetry, and discuss things of interest in the canyon. He tells me the creek has chunks of ice floating in it, the rocks by the water frosted and shining. Leaning back, I close my eyes and listen to his movements.

  Kelly sits across from me, sorting his pack of medical wonders. He explains each item: the magnifying glass, tweezers, envelopes and linen sheets, glass specimen jars, scraping tools, thin cotton gloves and several chemical compounds. Is such a collection typical of most doctors? I admire individuals who prepare for all possibilities, but this is a little unsettling.

  “We have bones down here, Kelly,” Tom suddenly shouts. “Bits of an arm or leg, I’d say. I’ve put a stake nearby. Don’t see any other parts as yet, but I’ll keep looking.”

  Kelly hustles to the edge of the ravine. He and Tom call back and forth as more discoveries are made. Quite a few bones, a ring, and scraps of gingham.

  In spite of the wind, I hear a sly, cunning presence creeping through the cedars. I rise to my feet, facing west. Not alone, Tom. Bad feeling…

  He immediately disconnects from me. “Watch your back, Kelly,” he calls. “Protect Hester.”

  But Tom isn’t fast enough with his warning. Footsteps rush up behind Kelly and the doctor cries out in surprise, as though he has been pushed toward the ravine. I cover my mouth in terror and wait for the crash of bone and muscle striking rocky earth. It doesn’t happen. Rather, Kelly makes a guttural sound, like he’s holding on to something for all he’s worth.

  Tom? What do I do? How can I help him?

  “Forget Kelly,” he yells. “Run!”

  I reach for my cane, but I am grabbed from behind and spun around. The strong fingers are swathed in wool, and my attacker clamps them around my throat, almost lifting me from the ground. I claw at his face. But my gloves are soft and slide over his flesh, allowing me no purchase. He swings me to the side and squeezes harder. My eyes stream with tears.

  Help me. Can’t breathe…

  Fight, love—buy yourself time. We’re coming.

  In desperation, I pound on my attacker—his sternum, throat, and nose. Then I kick him hard with the pointy tip of my boot. He flinches and his fingers go slack. My topaz necklace catches on something—his wool mitten, perhaps?—and breaks just before the man throws me to the ground. I fall flat on my back, and immediately reach for the knife under my skirt. The blade flies straight and true, finding its target.

  A low whimper, and seconds later, the knife drops to the ground, clattering between some rocks. My enemy steps toward the fallen blade, no doubt with the intent of retrieving the weapon and using it against me. Fearful, I scoot back, trying to put some distance between us. This fellow hates me. His emotions smell like a sea of blood. I reach under my skirt again, take out the second knife, and hold it between my fingers, tracking the villain by the sound of his breath. It smells faintly of food, some kind of meat.

  He pauses, and I feel him watching me, as though he’s weighing his options. Then he turns and flees toward the forest, breaking through the trees. Suddenly exhausted, I lie back on a patch of stony earth and wipe the mucous from my nose.

  Alive, Tom. Alive.

  While I was being attacked, he climbed desperately. I heard him in my mind, bartering with the universe for a pardon. Spare Hester. Take me instead. Kelly, on the other hand, muttered obscene phrases that I never dreamed existed. The man is a cursing wordsmith. Had Willard been there, he would have erected a bronze bust in Kelly’s honor.

  The doctor hoists himself over the ledge. He examines my throat, and checks for other wounds. “Hester Grayson,” Kelly says, breathing heavily. “One day you’ll give me a heart attack. Followed by a stroke. A nervous tic. Gout—”

  Tom clears the rim, scrambles to my side, and interrupts Kelly’s list of grievances. He hugs my quaking body for a few minutes, stroking my hair—I’ll be back, my brave, bonny lass. Keep a knife in your hand and wait here—then leaves with the doctor to search for my attacker.

  I worry for what seems like an age and then they return, discussing the would-be killer’s footprints. “Average size,” Tom says. “Common brand of boots. No distinguishable markings.”

  “Wish I’d seen the bastard, but he was so quiet. Didn’t hear a thing until he shoved me over the side.”

  I share what I remember of the assailant with Tom. Strong build but slim. Tall, though not quite your height. Smelled of meat, like he’d recently eaten it. And his hands had the same odor. As if he’d made food and failed to wash afterward. Pungent emotions, too. Lots of rage.

  Tom shows my knife to Kelly.

  “The depth of the bloodstain on the blade is shallow,
” the doctor points out. “I think you winged him, Hester, and he panicked.”

  Kelly wipes the dagger clean and hands it back. Slipping it into the sheath on my leg, I remember the loss of my necklace.

  Tom, your grandmother’s topaz—the attacker broke the chain. He may have taken it. I didn’t hear the necklace fall to the ground.

  He tells the doctor about the topaz, and they search the immediate area. Despite their efforts, the heirloom remains unfound. I feel awful for losing something so dear.

  Me paenitet. So sorry.

  You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.

  Sitting down beside me, Tom squeezes my hand, and then reaches for his pack. “Kelly, take a look at these. I should have left them in the canyon like I did the rest, for the police to document, but the bones were on the creek bank. The soil was crumbling into the water, and I was afraid we’d lose them in the drink.”

  “Did you stake the location of your discovery?”

  “As close as I could get to the bank, Doc, and tagged it as well. Just like the other remains I found down there.”

  “Show me your treasure, Aladdin.”

  A quarter hour passes as Kelly deliberates over Tom’s findings. Waiting for the doctor to share his theories, I feel cold, hungry, and bruised—not a combination to encourage patience, especially when I lack that quality on a good day.

  What? I finally sign. Tell now!

  “Sorry, Hester. Tom brought us an incomplete hand—partial carpal and metacarpal as well as proximal and intermediate phalanges. Lucky the mud by the creek kept them together. I assume the whole appendage was separated from the body and dropped there, stuck, and decomposed. Some of the hand might have indeed fallen into the creek, as Tom surmised. Though small, the bones are not immature or childlike. They belong to a woman.”

  I huff out some air and turn telepathic. Is Kelly going to tell us something we don’t already know, Tom?

  He nudges me. Be quiet. I’m trying to listen.

  “She’s delicate,” Kelly observes. “Like you.” He lowers my palm to the bone puzzle, comparing my frame with that of the dead woman. A flash of supernatural heat and truth vibrates between the victim and me. This is Freckles all right.