Chapter Twenty-Six
The funeral had no sooner taken place than Christmas was upon them. The village observed the holiday in many different ways. The Catholic fathers held a special mass at the small church that had been built behind Tara Hall. The Anglicans, as well, gathered for a Christmas service. The Presbyterians and the Quakers did nothing special at all.
The Methodists met for a Christmas Eve Love Feast. This ritual, with its emphasis on strengthening the spirit of harmony and goodwill, had been borrowed from the Moravians in New York and Pennsylvania, and had made its way north with many of the Methodist denominations.
It was one of Lewis’s favourite services. There was mellowness to the gathering, a peace that seemed to descend on the congregation — the reading of the Christmas story, the lighting of the candles, the singing of the hymns, always led by a child. One sweet voice would start the first lines and one by one other voices would mingle with it. Martha would not be selected for this honour, which was a profound disappointment to her. Lewis was secretly relieved by this decision. His granddaughter had many talents; music did not appear to be one of them.
Christmas Day itself was a quiet time for almost everyone, a day of reflection and meditation. Boxing Day was generally the time for more secular observances. Most people planned large meals and parties, although the Presbyterians preferred to do their feasting on New Year’s Eve.
As was traditional for the head of the family, it fell to Lewis to provide a small Christmas gift for Martha. He had not much money to do it with, but he fished out a few pennies from the crock that Betsy kept their coins in, and that would be enough for a hair ribbon.
As he walked along the street to Scully’s dry goods store, he reflected that his attitude toward this annual gift-giving had changed considerably since Martha had come to live with them. His own children had been given utilitarian offerings — bibles, prayer books, leather bookmarks so they could easily find their favourite bible passages. Occasionally they had been given china mugs with their names on them, or if times were good, an orange from faraway tropical climes.
Since moving to Wellington, he had become far more aware of the emphasis that females placed on their appearances. Part of it stemmed from Clementine’s arrival, of course, but part of it was just that Canada was falling more into step with the rest of the world. What had once sufficed for a woman living in a log shanty in the backwoods was in no way appropriate for the wife of a respected town man. Even the Quakers, who frowned on ornamentation of any sort, wore clothing that, though plain, was made of the finest materials. He wasn’t sure that he should approve of this worldlier attitude, and he could think of any number of reasons to call it foolish, but it was the norm, and he thought that a single hair ribbon was unlikely to turn Martha into a shallow flibbertigibbet who thought of nothing but her clothes. Besides, and in all conscience he had to admit it to be true, he had been just a little jealous at her delight with the necklace her father had given her.
“Why it’s Mr. Lewis,” Scully called when he entered the store. “And what could I do for you today, sir?”
When he explained his errand, he was steered toward a rack of coloured ribbon, “any one of which would be suitable,” he was told. It did not take him long to choose — the emerald green would go nicely with Martha’s dark hair.
“How much do I need?” he asked. “I have no experience with these things.”
“Take an arm’s length,” Scully advised. “That way there’s enough for however she wants to do her hair. I’ll cut it for you.”
While the shopkeeper scurried away to find the scissors, Lewis went to the table in the corner to say hello to the little humpbacked dressmaker, and to thank her for recommending Sophie.
“Sophie’s worked out then, has she?” Meribeth Scully asked, although Lewis knew that she was perfectly aware that she had. “And I hear that she has quite captivated your son-in-law. I expect she’ll be calling on me for a new dress one of these days.”
“I don’t really know,” Lewis returned bluntly. This gossipy creature would get no scuttlebutt from him, but he was surprised that the budding relationship between Francis and Sophie was already the subject of speculation around town. The couple had known each other for only a few weeks, after all.
“Mrs. Elliott seems to think a wedding might be in the offing.”
So it might not be common knowledge after all. Meribeth was probably fishing on the basis of a chance remark of Clementine’s.
Meribeth didn’t seem to expect him to answer in any detail, for she went on. “How is poor Mrs. Elliott holding up? My, my, she has had a time recently, hasn’t she? Poor thing. And now all that legal business ahead of her, as well.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “I expect she’ll just go back to wherever she came from, won’t she?”
“Oh no, I don’t think so. Old Mr. Elliott’s will has made that unlikely.”
“What do you mean?”
Meribeth’s eyes glittered with the pleasure of imparting the latest news. “Apparently, if Nathan Elliott hadn’t come home before his father died, his barrister had instructions to sell the farm and give the proceeds to the Church of England. If he did return in time, the estate was to be left jointly to the two brothers. As you know, there’s some question of what exactly happened to Nate Elliott …” She stopped for a moment to peer closely at Lewis, as if he were withholding some intelligence on the matter. When he didn’t reply, she went on. “So now no one is sure what should happen. In any event, Mrs. Elliott intends to claim her husband’s share. On behalf of the little boy, of course,” she said hurriedly.
“Where did you hear all this?” Lewis asked.
“The will’s been filed at the courthouse. It’s public knowledge now. Of course, the case could take many years to sort out, but Mrs. Elliott says the value of the property makes it a worthwhile proposition, and in the meantime she’ll apply to the courts to uphold her dower rights. I think we’ll have the pleasure of her company for quite some time.”
Lewis’s purchase was ready for him, and as much as he wanted to continue the conversation with Meribeth, he could think of no excuse to do so without looking as though he was as bad a gossip as she was. He thanked Scully and left the store.
Lewis mulled the conversation over in his mind as he walked back toward the Temperance House. He wondered how Reuben would react to Clementine’s intentions. Not well, he expected. He must have found the whole thing galling from the start. He had dedicated his life to the farm and his father, but in order to see the reward of this, he had been forced to retrieve a long-lost brother who would claim a share that some might argue he was not rightfully entitled to.
Certainly, it appeared that the first stipulation in Hiram Elliott’s will had been met — Reuben had returned his brother to Wellington prior to his father’s death. But what was likely to happen now, with Nate Elliott occupying a strange legal twilight between living and dead?
Lewis had puzzled over the letter of conveyance in the leather folder that he had found in the Holey Man’s shack, but now the significance of it finally struck him. Nate’s “return” had probably been nothing more than an arrangement between the brothers. He’d had a private detective trailing him and needed to disappear in a hurry. How much of his inheritance had he been willing to forego in order to do so? Rather a lot, Lewis suspected, and Reuben would be happy enough to help him if it meant he wouldn’t have to share the farm.
Lewis also suspected that the legalities of the transfer would have been far more cut and dried if Nate had waited until after his father’s death to disappear again, but unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a place he hated, he needed to shake not only Gilmour, but any other bounty hunters who were after the reward. And he needed the distraction of the accident in the woods to do it. Was it just Reuben’s bad luck that Nate had somehow stumbled into a real accident before he’d had a chance to sign the necessary papers?
And what
of Clementine and Horatio? If no legal transfer of property had taken place, where did they stand? From what Meribeth Scully said, it sounded as though Clementine intended to insist on whatever rights she might have.
He wished, not for the first time, that there was a reading room in Wellington; somewhere he could easily consult the statute books, for he knew little of the ins and outs of the law. He wondered if he could somehow justify another trip to Picton. Once again he felt the suffocating narrowness of his current situation. When he had been riding the circuits, he seldom needed an excuse to go anywhere. The rumour of someone in need of a prayer or two was enough to send him galloping off, and he could easily conduct any other business along the way, without having to explain it to anyone.
He was so occupied with his thoughts that he wasn’t watching where he was going and jostled against a gentleman who was equally deep in thought, but going the other way.
Lewis apologized before he recognized who he had bumped into.
“Why, it’s the preacher.” It was his newfound acquaintance, Archibald McFaul. “And how are you getting on, sir?”
“Splendidly,” Lewis replied, “except for a bit of puzzlement, which would explain my lack of concentration.”
“Oh, puzzlement,” McFaul said. “I’m in a state of puzzlement most days. Is it anything I can help you with?”
Lewis hesitated for a moment. McFaul was a man who owned a great deal of property. Surely, he would know something about this. Furthermore, he could probably be counted on not to broadcast the conversation up and down the street. He’d ask, and see where the asking led him.
“I’ve just heard that Hiram Elliott’s will seems to be rife with complications.”
“I did hear something to that effect myself,” McFaul said. “All I can say is that Hiram himself was rife with complications, so it’s not surprising that his estate is equally so.”
“Apparently, Mrs. Nate Elliott intends to stay in Wellington until Hiram’s estate is settled, and I’ve just realized that I don’t really know what that means. How long exactly does it take a court to declare someone dead? I’m not asking out of curiosity,” Lewis hastened to add. “Mrs. Elliott is a guest at our inn, and we are, of course, concerned with her welfare.” He didn’t want McFaul to think that he was engaging in idle speculation, although he was fairly certain that the whole village was buzzing with the news by now.
“Yes, of course, you would be. Well …” McFaul considered the question for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure, but my understanding is that if a person has not been heard from or sighted for a period of seven years, a judge can clear the way for remarriages, or any other arrangements of that nature.”
“That long?” Lewis said. “And what will happen to the estate in the meantime?”
“In some respects that’s an entirely separate question. Under the terms of Hiram’s will, the property was to be left jointly. Unfortunately, of course, Nate predeceased his father. The issue will be whether or not his share devolves to his son.”
“Wouldn’t that happen automatically?”
“Not necessarily,” McFaul said. “At the time of his death, Nate had not actually inherited anything, you see. I expect a clever lawyer could argue that Reuben became sole heir the moment his brother died.”
“And what about Mrs. Elliott? Apparently, she’s asking to have her dower rights upheld. What does that entail?”
“Under normal circumstances a widow in Canada West is entitled to thirty percent of the income from the estate regardless of the terms of the will. Again, it could be argued that those rights died with her husband. I understand your puzzlement. It’s a knotty question all right and in the end the courts may well set the will aside entirely.”
“What would happen then?”
“We operate under the law of primogeniture in this province. In that case, the entirety of the estate would go to the eldest son. And since Hiram’s wife has been gone these many years, there would be no dower rights to consider. The courts tend to look for solutions that will leave a farm fully intact, you see. A judge could well be inclined to rule that way.”
“Which is the eldest son?”
McFaul looked at him in surprise. “Oh, yes, I forgot, you’re not from here, are you? Reuben is the eldest.”
Lewis thanked McFaul for his time and resumed his homeward course with a great deal to think about.
Lewis went round and round the facts he had at hand, trying to fit the pieces together in a way that made sense. It quite spoiled his enjoyment of the Christmas Eve service. Instead of settling into a peaceful repose as the prophetic words of Isaiah washed over him, Lewis fidgeted as he considered each aspect of what he had learned.
He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so. His primary concern had been the fraudulent nature of Clementine’s so-called contact with the dead, but events had taken a sinister turn and now it seemed that far more than a little fraud was involved. And now that Gilmour was gone, Lewis was the only one who realized it.
It seemed clear to him that Nate had returned to Wellington only so that Reuben could help him evade retribution for his chicanery in New York. In exchange for fulfilling the condition in the will, Reuben had probably agreed to furnish him with some funds, as well, witness the transfer documents that had been in the folder, but in all probability this would have been considerably less than half the value of the estate. Nothing more than travelling money, perhaps; at the most, enough to set Nate up in a new location.
Come, Thou long-expected Jesus; born to set Thy people free …
The hymn was led by Charlie Carpenter, who had a fine, high voice. Lewis knew that Martha was still a little upset that she had not been asked to take this role and she squirmed beside him. He reached out and touched her elbow — a signal to settle down — and she subsided, although she still looked a little unhappy. She would never be asked to perform this ceremony, he knew. Grow used to it, little mite, you can’t have everything you want.
Born thy people to deliver; born a child and yet a King …
One by one the others had joined in the words written so long ago by Charles Wesley. Lewis’s was amongst them, but even as he sang, one part of his mind returned to the Elliotts.
Nate had never been near the woodlot. If he had waited for cover of darkness, he could probably have left the Elliott farmhouse and walked along the road without a soul seeing him, but there was always the possibility that some late-to-bed might notice him and report the fact after he had supposedly disappeared. He must have chosen to cross the marsh to a deserted section of the mainland at the other end of the lake. Gilmour seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Lewis had seen him searching there on the way back from Picton. It was but a short way across to the peninsula that jutted into the lake. What the plan had been from there was anyone’s guess — Nate might well have intended to find a hidey hole in the cedar forest as Lewis had originally thought — or he might have simply kept going until he was well away from Prince Edward. As Lewis mulled this over, he decided that the latter was the most likely course.
He attempted to put these thoughts aside and direct his attention to the service. The old, familiar words of the Christmas story rang out, but they did little to divert him.
By claiming that Nate had been injured while cutting wood, Reuben had gained him travelling time. With all those people searching for him, any questions that Gilmour might have had about the incident would have looked foolish indeed. The fact that Nate had genuinely disappeared served only to reinforce Reuben’s story.
He didn’t know what to make of Clementine’s arrival in Wellington. No one here had been aware of her existence. There had been no need for her to satisfy propriety by attending her father-in-law’s funeral. Perhaps she had been the go-between. The transfer agreement had been unsigned. Had Nate arranged to meet her somewhere, at which point he would sign the document? She would return it to Reuben, and the money would change hands. Apparently the brothers didn’t trust each other
, and the document would have served as insurance for both. Lewis could think of only one reason for Clementine’s announcement that she was prepared to wait for however long it took to see the estate settled in her favour — Reuben had reneged on the contract. With Nate truly dead, and in all probability this was the case, there was no chance that he could return at some later date and claim his inheritance. And if what McFaul had told Lewis was true, Reuben had every chance of walking away with everything. He no longer needed the surety of the agreement.
The lighting of the candles had begun. One by one the flames flickered and then burned brightly. Soon the room was bathed in their soft glow.
Hark the Herald Angels sing, glory to the newborn King!
The triumphant words signalled the end of the service, but not of the celebration. Soon hot cups of coffee and rolls would be passed to the worshippers, and Lewis would need to bring his mind to the present in order to convey his greetings to his neighbours. Beside him, Martha was singing loudly and flatly and this was finally enough to put a temporary end to his speculation.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Temperance House was nearly cleared of guests, everyone having gone home to their families for Christmas. The only two remaining in residence were Clementine and Horatio, who indicated that they would not, as had been expected, spend the day with Reuben. Even Sophie had deserted them — she would spend the day with her family, but would return the next morning to cook a Boxing Day feast.
Martha was delighted with the ribbon Lewis gave her, and demanded that her grandmother fix it into her hair immediately. Betsy unwound the braids the little girl normally wore and let the soft curls spill down her back, held back by a length of the green ribbon. Francis complimented her on her new style when they trooped into the dining room for breakfast — Daniel had decided that the Elliotts would feel less lonely if everyone ate their meals together — and then he brought out his present. Lewis realized with a start that it was no longer his place to provide the Christmas gift — that was up to Martha’s father now.
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