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The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection

Page 63

by Jennifer Lynn Cary


  An absolute abject failure.

  How could he help Maybe when he couldn’t even help himself?

  He wiped away another tear.

  * * *

  It was futile. Joseph had repeatedly asked, only to have people irritated by his interruptions. Still, he must find Willie. He could not go back to Sarah and tell her that her boy was gone to sea.

  There was a moment he thought he’d seen him, a flash of that curly red mane peeking up over the rail of a ship pulling out from the harbor, but then it was gone. Surely it was his imagination. Surely, he’d still find him here.

  But he knew better.

  With a sigh of resignation, he turned and started the long walk back to his home to his Sarah. He would hold her and remind her they had placed all their children in God’s hands. His hands were huge enough to span the ocean. And all the teaching they had poured into their lad would guide him back in God’s hands.

  He rehearsed the words in his brain, praying they would make it to his heart too.

  * * *

  Eleazar Ferguson was not a man with whom to trifle. He had money, he had power, and he would use it however he desired. That some ignorant drunk and a slip of a girl could thwart him left a sensation to which he was not accustomed. Nor did he care to become accustomed. This must be rectified. Another person might get ideas.

  He’d sent his men to make discrete inquires after the girl and her habits. Sadly, the O’Malleys had not lived in Beaufort long. However, if an offer of money didn’t help with recall, the threat of physical violence jogged the memory.

  Taking a seat in his parlor, Eleazar rang for his maid. A timid thing, she scurried in and curtsied.

  “Tea, Aphra. Now.”

  “Aye, Master.” She curtsied and flew to do his bidding. He liked that about her.

  He was growing weary of her terror of him, though. A little fear added to the excitement, but it was becoming a bit of a chore to deal with it all. Besides, there was no surprise left. He knew exactly how she would behave. It was time for his new girl. And he wanted her. Now.

  * * *

  Beth walked the path to the bluff. Most days she stayed closer to home, but this afternoon she had an urge to visit her brother’s favorite spot. She’d known when she’d met him by their parents’ room that he was about to leave. She didn’t know where, but something told her he was leaving.

  Shade beneath the old sweet gum tree called to her, and she sat. Should she have told her mother? What would Beth say? She had a feeling? She shook her head. No, without proof, she couldn’t say a word.

  She picked up a twig and began scratching at the dirt. It was hard feeling so locked inside, so afraid of one’s own shadow. Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth. It wasn’t her shadow that she feared. What terrified her was making a mistake. What if she said the wrong thing? Did the wrong thing? Caused another pain or worse? Given the time to put everything in order in her brain, she could sort it out, give a thoughtful reply, and hope she had gotten it right. Willie, though, seemed to process everything aloud, like arranging all the words and thoughts in front of his face while the world gazed on.

  That was something she could never do.

  A robin lighted on the ground a few paces beyond her reach, pecking at the dirt and then flying off with something stringy and long in its beak. Busy bird. It didn’t allow the cares of the world to dictate its purpose. It just did what a robin should and kept to its business. What must it be like to be a bird? What cares filled its mind? Building the right nest? Laying the correct number of eggs? Protecting its babies from cats and winds and storms? Beth imagined the freedom to fly away from the weight of worry and care. Fly and not worry about perfection again.

  The robin returned to the same spot.

  “So, Master Robin Redbreast, what is on your little mind today? What worldly cares plague you?”

  The robin cocked his head as if he understood her words. He blinked twice, then pecked up more stringy stuff from the ground and flew away.

  Beth’s curiosity got the better of her. She stood and walked to where the bird had pecked, stooping to examine the spot. Strands of what appeared to be black hair lay windblown over the grass. She scanned beyond to larger clumps. Someone cut his hair, though the strands appeared long enough to be a woman‘s.

  “Beth! What are you staring at?”

  Janie, with Martha behind her, ran up the hill.

  “Something I saw in the grass. What are you doing here?”

  Janie appeared about to cry. “I miss Willie. This is where he helped me with my arithmetic.” She rubbed her arm under her nose.

  “And you, Martha?”

  “I am just watching out for Janie.” Martha walked to the sweet gum and peered up into the branches. “This is a good climbing tree.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.” Beth watched as Martha circled the trunk, continuing to stare at the leaves. “You aren’t going to climb it now, are you?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because—” But Beth was too late. Martha grabbed the lowest limb and hoisted herself up. “Martha! I think you should come down.”

  “Willie would have climbed with me. Why don’t you come up, Beth? This is fun.”

  Why indeed! “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Beth, Janie, there’s something up here.”

  “A little robin is building a nest. Someone cut his hair and Master Robin is taking advantage of the nest-building supplies.”

  A bundle dropped, nearly hitting Beth on the head. “I don’t think it was a he. I think it was a she. Look!”

  Beth stooped to investigate. A dress, an apron, a mob cap, undergarments. A complete outfit for a young lady. Someone about Martha’s size, maybe a tad bigger, though Beth doubted she herself could fit into the clothing.

  Martha dropped from the tree. “This is strange. I know this is Willie’s special place. No one comes up here except him, unless Mama sends one of us to fetch him. Why would there be girl clothes here? And why would she cut her hair?”

  Martha asked all the questions that popped into Beth’s mind except the biggest one. What did this have to do with Willie?

  * * *

  Sarah’s tears would not stop. She cried when Willie and Jamie left for college, but that was planned, and she knew it was what they should do. She prepared herself for that. But this? Nothing could prepare her. This was wrong, all wrong.

  Joseph assured her it would work out for good. He said that God needed to get her boy where he would hear Him, and that they needed to trust God to do what He needed to do. Her head agreed. Her spirit understood. But her heart would not be consoled.

  “Mama, someone has been in my things.”

  “Oh, Jason, now is not the time. Please.” Sometimes he could be just petty, and she was hurting too much to help him find his way.

  “Son, your mother can’t deal with that right now.” Joseph understood. He hadn’t left her side since returning with the awful news.

  “But I think it was Willie. I think he took my waistcoat and some breeches.”

  “Why must ye always blame Willie! He’s not even here to defend himself. Canna ye find one piece of sadness in your heart for our family’s loss? We may never see him again, and here yer blaming him for things ye probably misplaced.”

  Her son’s face grew red, and his eyes grew wide. She had not meant to be so blunt, but her pain ate at her patience.

  Just then, Janie and Martha burst into the room, followed by Beth. “Mama, look what we found in Willie’s tree!”

  “Willie’s tree?” Sarah shook her head, trying to make sense.

  “There is a big old tree up near the bluff where he loves to go.” Martha filled in the gaps. “He sits under it when he helps Janie with her sums. Well, when Beth got there, she found lots of black hair on the ground. Long like a woman’s. Then I went up in the tree—”

  “Ye were climbing the tree?” Why was she not surprised? “Go on.”

  “Aye,
Mama, I climbed the tree, and this bundle was up there. I sent it down to Bethy, and when we opened it we found all these girl clothes inside.”

  “Girl clothes? What are you talking about?” Sarah stared at each face. Pieces of a puzzle stared back. Cut hair, girl clothes all at Willie’s tree. Then Jason’s missing clothes. Somehow, she knew this was all connected. And it had to do with Willie. But what?

  * * *

  Joseph walked the half mile to the home of Thomas Miller, the Constable for Beaufort. Despite the assurance in his brain that it was futile, he still felt compelled to make someone in authority aware what his girls found. He’d probably be laughed at, or at least he would’ve been had he not previously held the office of Justice of the Peace. Most who held that office used it as a stepping-stone to higher political aspirations. However, Joseph saw it as an opportunity to serve, which he did before returning to his ordinary life once his term completed. That aside, the information was flimsy, with no conclusion of a crime. But if something had happened, and this information helped find the guilty party, then he was duty bound to share.

  As he drew near, he noticed several people milling about, including the current Justice of the Peace, Henry Waddington. The cacophony of voices announced their presence before Joseph came in sight of the property. Something big was afoot.

  Joseph slowed his steps, trying to make sense of what the crowd said. He caught phrases, here and there. “Drunken lout” and “had it coming” and “terrible fright.” Then, he heard what made his heart stop mid-beat. “Murdered.”

  Murdered? Who? What happened? He spotted Henry Waddington speaking to someone over at the side and caught the man’s attention.

  “Ho, Master Crockett. So, you’ve heard of our great mystery.”

  “No, only snippets. Made me wonder about the to-do.”

  Waddington cleared his throat. “Since it is you, I’ll tell you what we’ve found. The Widow Attwater came home to a ruckus behind her home and asked her neighbor, Master Freely, to see to the problem. He found some wild dogs tearing at what used to be Daniel O’Malley, or what was left of him. Most grizzly sight I’ve ever seen, I can tell you. Can’t say if he fell down drunk, and the dogs got him, or if he met with foul play and was left for the animals. Some call it murder, but until we have facts, who can know? The thing is, they say he has a daughter, and no one has seen her. Just a wee slip of a girl, they say. I haven’t had the pleasure. But that is what we have. Care to help with the investigation?”

  No, he didn’t care to help with the investigation. However, if this somehow involved Willie, even remotely, anything he might learn might help him help his son. Joseph paused before finally answering. “If you need my assistance, I am available. I doubt it is something anyone would relish.”

  “You speak the truth, sir, on that score. I will not sleep well tonight after seeing those remains. Ghastly.”

  “What would you have me do?” The sooner it was over, the better.

  “I still need statements from the Widow Attwater and Master Freely. With all the neighbors clamoring about, I haven’t been able to get them alone to make a record of anything. Then we must question those at the places frequented by the deceased, to determine when he was last seen, and anyone with whom he might have spoken.”

  “Shall I invite them to your house, or shall I make a place in Thomas Miller’s home?”

  Master Waddington waved Thomas Miller over, explaining that Joseph was to use a room in his house to interview the witnesses. Joseph almost corrected him—there were no witnesses--but he kept that to himself and followed the constable into his home.

  “I don’t suppose you have paper and ink, do you? I didn’t come prepared to do this.” Joseph felt bad for the man whose home was now the center stage of this macabre circus. The job of constable was thankless and many times dangerous. Now the one place he found solace was overrun by higher authorities dictating what went on there.

  “Aye, I suppose you didn’t. Sure, I have paper and ink. You’ll have to sharpen your quill, though. I haven’t one at the ready.”

  Joseph nodded, and pulled the knife from his boot, putting it on the table until all the implements could be brought. Minutes later he was ready and summoned the widow.

  A stout woman of about forty years, the Widow Attwater still shook from the grizzly news. “I was coming home from my sister’s house. She just had a baby boy, bless him. The sweetest little baby ever, too. Lots of hair and you know what that means.” She nodded as if they shared a secret.

  “Yes, Widow Attwater, I understand. Might you start with how you came upon Master O’Malley?”

  “The drunken lout. It isn’t kind to speak ill of the dead, and him having died so horribly, but he was not a nice person, if you understand my meaning. He was loud and rude, swearing and yelling. I don’t know how that daughter of his tolerated him. I think she feared him. I know I did.” She nodded emphatically at that.

  “But how did you find his remains?”

  “Oh, I didn’t! I was coming home from my sister’s when I noticed the ruckus. It was monstrous and frightening. Well, I wanted someone to check to see what the problem was, and I wasn’t about to stop at Master O’Malley’s for fear of what he might do. He was more frightening than the noise behind the houses, I tell you!”

  Joseph’s patience was ebbing fast. He took a breath and nodded, hoping she’d get to where he could start writing facts.

  “So, I hurried to the Freely home and Mistress Freely—she is such a lovely woman! So warm and kind. Wonderful neighbors, just wonderful. Well, she asked me in and said she would send her husband out to see.”

  “And did she?”

  “Why, yes, that is how we found him.”

  “So you saw the remains?”

  “Of course not. Do you think a lovely gentleman like Master Freely would allow a lone woman like me to see such a sight? He told us to remain in the house, and he fetched the constable.” She sat back in her chair, putting the punctuation on her narrative.

  Joseph finished writing her words, thanked her for her time, and escorted her to the door where he asked Master Freely to join him.

  Jonathan Freely was a tall, thin man who appeared to be paler than usual. Joseph was sure that chasing off the dogs and finding the body had left images in his mind he’d rather forget. The man sat and wept.

  “I cannot unlook. This will ever be in my mind.”

  “I am sorry, sir, especially when I must ask you to recount it all again.”

  Master Freely closed his eyes. “I investigated behind the houses on our row. As soon as I opened the door of the house, I witnessed the commotion. The dogs were snarling and fighting each other for him. They had already torn open his belly and his intestines were a bloody mess. His face, what was left, was disfigured. I only knew it was he because of his clothing. He always wore the same waistcoat with patches on the sides. My dinner did not remain in place, I confess. When I could again breathe, I demanded the ladies stay in the house and tracked down the constable. After I took him there, he sent me for Justice Waddington.”

  Joseph recorded the man’s account before asking for more. “I understand there was a daughter. Where might we find her?”

  Master Freely shook his head. “I am sorry. I understand he shamefully yelled and screamed at her. I am sure there was worse that happened, but I cannot attest to that.”

  “Did O’Malley have friends or known associates? Were there places he spent time away from home?”

  “Any place with disreputable air, I imagine.” The man shivered.

  “I thank you for your help, Master Freely. This was distasteful but very necessary. We appreciate your service.” Joseph stood and escorted the man to the door before coming back and putting his pages in order.

  Nothing pointed to Willie as being involved. Both mentioned the deceased had a daughter. If she were small enough to fit into Jason’s clothes, then perhaps it was her hair and clothing the girls found.

  Yet
he still had not one shred of proof. How was he to help his boy if he couldn’t learn anything? Or was it better not knowing? Was this a coincidence? Or had Willie gotten himself mixed up in a murder?

  Chapter Five

  Where’ve ye been?” Maybe pushed from the rail. Something was different, he wasn’t his normal self. But then, she only met him yesterday. Perhaps this was his normal self.

  “I needed to think.” He didn’t or wouldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he faced the wind, letting it whip his curly mop straight back.

  “About what?”

  “Things.”

  Her ire rose. She’d put herself in his hands, trusted him, and now he closed himself off like she was a perfect stranger. She shook her head—she was a perfect stranger to him and he was to her. How could she become attached to him so fast?

  “Good, you are both together.”

  The boatswain had come up behind them, making her jump. “Oh, I dinna see ye there, sir.”

  “Shall we walk? I will show you the living area and go over the work.” He motioned and Maybe and Willie followed, taking a tour of the ship. It differed from what brought Maybe and her mother. Not as large, with nowhere for paying passengers. There was barely space for the crew to sleep. That part caused Maybe’s pulse to increase, hoping the close quarters wouldn’t give away her secret.

  Once back on deck, Boatswain Johnson took them to the wheelhouse. “Mr. Stewart, you will take your turn at the wheel when Mr. Brighton goes off. You will work for four bells and then be relieved. I will take the helm with you, to make sure you understand. Maybe, I do not have you on this schedule as you will be taking your turn on top. The master was impressed with your agility. You will take your turn at first light. Questions?”

  The questions dancing through Maybe’s brain were ones that would give her away. She’d just have to hope Willie would be more talkative with her and help. She shook her head.

 

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