The dead man’s soles faced her. She lifted the blanket just a bit to reveal inexpensive canvas boots. Emily reached out and ran her fingertips over the soles. They were barely scuffed.
“New,” she said to herself.
His pants were workman’s pants, worn and dirty. They were too short for him; she could see his ankles. She folded back the blanket, noting the dampness, no doubt from the pond. He wore a cotton shirt, like any laborer in town might wear.
This man was a stranger to her, she was sure of it. Finally, just to be certain, she pulled the blanket away from his face.
She stumbled back and fell to the wooden floor.
“Mr. Nobody,” she whispered. She swallowed hard to settle her stomach and then rose and approached again, putting her hand to the table to steady herself.
Her hand hovered above his. After a long hesitation, she stroked his left hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said. The moist chill of his fingers made her shiver. She remembered the warmth of his skin when he had touched her hand in the stable. She began to weep. No amount of blinking would hold back the tears.
All the while, her mind was racing. Mr. Nobody had been hale and hearty two days earlier. And he had been dressed expensively. Why had he changed his clothes? When she saw him last, he was headed to her father’s law office. And the day before that, he had left her to go toward an unpleasant encounter. How had he ended up facedown in the Dickinsons’ pond? Was he trying to come to Emily? Might she have saved him if she had only known he was outside?
“Do you know him?” A voice startled her from her reverie. She jumped, and Mr. Nobody’s hand flopped to the side of the table. Reverend Colton stood in the doorway.
While she considered her answer, Emily carefully folded Mr. Nobody’s hands across his chest. His body was beginning to stiffen, and she had to use more strength than she expected. “I have no idea who he is,” she said scrupulously.
The reverend came closer and stared at her. “Have you been crying?”
“Perhaps.” Emily sniffed. “It’s very sad, isn’t it?”
He offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully. “I never thought of you as sentimental, particularly about someone you’ve never met.” He watched her carefully, as though he doubted her truthfulness.
She hurried to divert his attention. “Did he drown?”
“I assume so. Too many people don’t know how to swim; it was probably a tragic accident.”
“Even if he knew how to swim, would he go into a pond fully dressed?” she asked doubtfully. And in clothes that weren’t his own, she added silently.
“No one has recognized him,” he said. “We may never know what happened. Constable Chapman has his work cut out for him.”
Emily covered her involuntary snort with a muffled cough. In his mind, Constable Chapman had already closed the case.
“What will happen to him?” she asked.
“In another few days, we’ll have to bury him in the potter’s field.”
The potter’s field was the burial ground for strangers and the destitute. “That’s terrible,” Emily cried. “It would be a sin to bury him without a proper marker.”
“Yes, Emily.” A pious smile played upon the reverend’s lips. “Every soul deserves a proper accounting on earth and in heaven.”
“There’s power in a name,” she said slowly. Her thoughts were racing, but she considered her words carefully before speaking. “Reverend Colton, you said we are all responsible for him.”
“Indeed.”
“So it’s my duty to find out who he was?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said, looking startled. “But I didn’t mean you personally.”
“But if I can, I must?” Emily was implacable.
Staring down his long nose, he watched her closely. “I think your mother might disapprove.”
“She disapproves of many things I want to do,” Emily confided.
Reverend Colton considered. “Then perhaps it is better she doesn’t find out,” he said. “After all, a proper Christian burial is the important thing.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Emily breathed, feeling as topsy-turvy as if she were riding a wave of righteousness.
He patted her on the shoulder. “The Lord chooses mysterious vessels to do his will.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I’m due at the Hitchcocks’ for dinner. Why don’t you precede me, my dear?”
“Reverend, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit here for a moment with this poor man.”
He hesitated, then nodded with a gentle smile. “Be sure to lock the door when you leave.” He turned and walked away, leaving Emily alone with Mr. Nobody. A draught from the closing door threatened to extinguish the flickering candles.
Emily pulled out her notebook and silver pencil. “Well, then, Mr. Nobody. We have a mission. How can you help me to help you?
Looking more closely at his shirt, she noticed that the sleeves were far too long for his arms. The material was well-worn but clean. She had already noticed the pants were too short. Gingerly, she pulled at his collar. His head flopped to one side. Murmuring an apology, she peeked to see if there was a label.
The shirt was from Cutler’s dry goods store in the center of Amherst. That was surprising. Mr. Nobody was from out of town—why would he shop there? And of course, why would he buy a shirt that was the wrong size and so different from the dapper clothes he seemed to prefer?
She jotted down this first clue: Clothes alien to himself. Proportions distorted.
She saw a pale whiteness stuck to the fabric of the collar. Using the tips of her fingers, she pulled out a twisted white flower with a woody stem. She gently separated the petals and held it up to one of the candles illuminating the vestry. The blossom had a ghostly appearance. Emily frowned, trying to recall if she had seen a flower like that near the pond. She didn’t think so. She carefully placed it between two pages in the back of her notebook.
As she recalled only too well, Mr. Nobody’s hands had been callused. But now she noticed that his nails were trimmed and shaped.
“You pampered yourself when you had the chance,” she murmured. “But what’s this?” The skin underneath his tidy nails was blue.
Fingernails protect flesh blued with death.
She carefully replaced the blanket over his body and walked upstairs and out into the fresh evening air.
“I could have known his name if I had only asked a second time,” she muttered, kicking a stone hard against the wooden church steps. Not one stranger in a thousand would have understood why she wanted a bee to land on her nose. Or would see the humor in her ridiculous parents. Or agree that one could worship God anywhere.
Mr. Nobody had met the real Emily Dickinson, with all her unconventionality, and he had liked her for it. It was up to her to find out his name, and how he came to be floating facedown in her pond.
Drowning is not so pitiful
As the attempt to rise.
CHAPTER 5
The next morning a crow’s caw woke Emily. She slid out of bed gingerly, careful not to wake her sister. Vinnie groaned a little and rolled onto her back, her fists flung against the pillow. The day was young, but it looked to be warm. Emily pulled open the window sash and saw a large crow on the path below. Its sleek black feathers ruffled across its back and glistened in the sun.
“How handsome,” she whispered. Crows were one of her favorite birds.
With a sharp crack of its ebony beak, the crow viciously split a worm in half, threw it into the air, caught it, and swallowed it in one smooth motion. Emily smiled and tapped on the window. The bird looked up at her with beady eyes. With an angry squawk and flapping of its wings, it flew away toward the graveyard behind the house.
“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” she whispered. “There’s a lesson for me in how you get your breakfast.
I have to be as fearless as you if I’m to get what I’m after.”
Peering over at the bed, Emily reassured herself that Vinnie still slept. Quickly, she pulled out her notebook and scribbled a few lines.
A bird came down the Walk
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw
Satisfied for the moment, she put away the notebook and made her way downstairs while the rest of the household slept.
Early morning was a favorite time to think, without the press of other minds and idle chatter. Today, with a mysterious death to investigate, she missed her older brother, Austin, who was away at school. Without him, her confidences lacked a receptive ear. Vinnie was willing, but she was younger and too lighthearted. She couldn’t be trusted with something as solemn as this.
Emily stoked the stove to boil water for her tea and pondered her next step. Should she start with the beginning or the end? The beginning was her odd meeting with Mr. Nobody four days ago. His death must be the result of something in his life. She had to remember everything he had said. Or she could begin with the ending: The body lying in the church had a tale to tell. Surely both stories would join in the middle. But what to do first.
The kettle whistled, and she poured the steaming water into the pot.
The stairs behind her creaked and Vinnie appeared, wrapped in a thin dressing gown. Not meeting Emily’s eye, she said, “I’m going to feed the chickens.”
“Say good morning to the kittens for me,” Emily said, staring fixedly into the teapot as she measured the loose tea.
A giggle, and Vinnie was out the door.
Once the family was awake, the opportunity for hard thinking was over. Emily turned her attention to the morning’s tasks. Their mother planned on preserving tomatoes from the garden. That was to be followed by yet another long afternoon of baking. The weather was already uncomfortably warm. Emily sighed; it was going to be a tedious day.
“Emily, come and see!” Vinnie appeared at the door, her face flushed, eyes dancing. “Mama Tabby is on the hunt!.
Although Emily much preferred birds to cats, Vinnie’s enthusiasm was irresistible. Emily followed her sister into the orchard, where the drama was unfolding.
The fat tabby was stalking a huge cardinal that was tugging at a piece of straw for its nest, seemingly oblivious to the impending danger. The cat’s stomach brushed the ground as she ran toward her prey, never taking her eyes off its red feathers. All the while she made a stuttering sound in her throat, as though she were already thinking of the juicy morsel the bird would be.
“So help me, Vinnie, if your cat kills that beautiful bird . . .”
With a knowing air, Vinnie interrupted, “The bird isn’t in any danger.”
Just as Mama Tabby sprang, the cardinal suddenly took flight. The cat sat back on her haunches and started to lick her belly as though nothing had happened.
Emily and Vinnie burst out laughing.
“She never does catch anything!” Vinnie said.
“It’s just as well for her kittens that we feed her so well,” Emily agreed. “Otherwise they would starve.” She glanced about the yard. “Where are they?”
“Down by the water.”
“You were at the pond?” Emily asked, surprised.
“I thought it was important the kittens don’t get morbid about the pond.”
“You mean you don’t want to become morbid,” Emily said.
The sisters looked over to the kittens, who were frolicking where the grass ended in a steep bank at the muddy pond. Suddenly, the largest and boldest one, a black kitten with a white chest, began to slip down the bank. It clawed frantically, but its paws found no purchase in the mud. There was a wicked splash.
Emily and Vinnie rushed to the pond’s edge. Vinnie threw herself down on the mud bank to try and reach the cat. “Emily! Help her! She’s drowning!” she called frantically.
The kitten thrashed in the water, and Emily could hear its frantic mews. For a moment, she froze.
“Emily!.
Emily’s arms weren’t long enough to rescue the cat
either. She pulled off her slippers and slid into the pond. Spring-fed, the water was always chilled. Her feet sank into the cold muck. The water came to her waist, weighing down her housedress. She tried to move toward the kitten thrashing in the water, but her feet were trapped in the slime.
“Emily, hurry!”
“I am,” she cried, lifting one foot and then the other. She scooped up the kitten and placed him in Vinnie’s waiting hands on shore.
“He’s going to die,” Vinnie sobbed. Emily couldn’t bear the sound of her sister’s grief. She pulled herself out of the water, her feet scrabbling against the mud. She slipped, and her heavy skirt dragged her under for a brief moment. She tried to breathe and inhaled water.
For a moment, she let herself float, not trying to rescue herself. The sensation of drowning was new. Her chest began to ache; in spite of herself she struggled to the surface and made her way to the pond’s edge.
She spit up water and coughed. Vinnie, still kneeling over the kitten, hadn’t even noticed her sister’s predicament. More carefully this time, Emily clambered onto shore, grasping at the long grass for support. She lay on the bank, breathing hard, while Vinnie fussed over the tiny cat.
“Emily, he’s not breathing!”
“Let me try something,” Emily said wearily. She took a corner of Vinnie’s dressing gown and wrapped the kitten in it, rubbing it dry. She had once seen a farmer revive a newborn piglet that wasn’t breathing by massaging its heart.
Still nothing.
“Emily!”
She rubbed some more. “Wait.”
The kitten’s thin body convulsed and it coughed, spraying water on Vinnie’s dressing gown.
“You saved him!.
After a moment, the kitten mewed and began twisting in Emily’s hands to escape. “Ungrateful little beast,” Emily laughed. “Next time, be more careful.”
Vinnie took the kitten in her arms. “Thank you, Emily.” She stared at Emily’s sopping white housedress, flapping against her bare legs. “You must go inside and get dry.”
Emily walked back to the house, trailing behind her sister. She wrung her long braid free of cold water, reliving the moment when the pond closed over her head. Invading her mind’s eye came a vivid image of the dashing Mr. Nobody flailing in the murky pond, his lungs filling with water instead of life-giving air. Unlike with Vinnie’s kit-ten, no one had been there to rescue him. Did he slip quietly into oblivion or did he call for help? Why didn’t the Dickinsons hear him?
Her ruminations were interrupted by the familiar sight of Dr. Gridley coming down the road, just outside their garden. Every day, while she prepared breakfast, she saw him setting off toward the fields north of town. It was like a secret meeting between them, although they never spoke.
But today she would alter that comfortable pattern. The doctor was certain to have the answers she needed. Despite her sodden skirts, she rushed out to the gate and hailed him.
Surprised, Dr. Gridley’s long stride faltered. “Hello, Miss Dickinson.”
She moved to the fence between them. “Dr. Gridley,” she began without ceremony. “You examined the stranger we found in the pond.”
Taken aback, he nodded. His expression grew even more puzzled when he saw Emily’s wet condition. “Miss Emily, are you well?”
“I am perfectly well,” Emily said, trying to hide her impatience. “Just tell me, did he drown?
“I assume he drowned. He was found in your pond, after all.” He stared at her, speculation in his eyes. “Did you fall in yourself?”
Emily ignored his question. “Are you certain that he drowned?
“I’d have to examine his lungs . . . ”
“To see whether there is water in them?” she finished, remembering how the kitten had coughed up pond water. As had she.
“Well, yes.” His forehead gleamed with a sheen of perspiration.
Emily thought for a moment. “Tell me, would his fingernails turn blue if he had drowned?”
Dr. Gridley’s eyes widened. “A peculiar question to hear on a country lane before breakfast.”
“I noticed his fingernails had a bluish tinge, like an iris.” She made her observation almost a question.
“You saw the body?” he asked, incredulous.
“Of course,” Emily said. “He was found on my family’s property. My father is worried that he might be a client. He wants me to gather all the information I can.” She felt guilty misrepresenting her father, but it was a necessary lie if she were to enlist Dr. Gridley’s help. “So, the fingernails?”
“I don’t normally associate blueness with drowning . . . but, really, he was found in a pond! Of course he drowned. You can tell your father that I’ve already informed Constable Chapman of the cause of death.”
“Dr. Gridley.” She reached over and touched his hand. “My father wouldn’t want you to take anything for granted.”
Almost as if against his will, he said slowly, “I could examine him again. I may see more today.”
“The dead can change?” Emily asked dubiously.
“Sometimes I’ll see bruises the next day that aren’t apparent immediately after death.”
“Like a flower that blooms at night to startle you in the morning?” Emily suggested.
Dr. Gridley waggled his finger at her. “An original mind, indeed, Emily Dickinson.”
Emily shrugged off the compliment, if a compliment it was, and asked simply, “Will you help me?”
He tugged on the point of his white beard. “I’ll look at the body again.”
“And check his lungs for water,” she reminded him.
He nodded. “But if I find anything, I have to let the authorities know.”
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