by Oak, B. B.
The storekeeper leafed through a ledger on the counter. “December 25, 1835.”
“What an unwelcome Christmas present he must have been,” one of the stove lollygaggers commented.
“Five dollars a week!” another called out. “I would not take on the creature for less payment than that.”
“Why, that is ten times more than we struck him off for last time,” Phyfe said. “Either make a serious bid or risk a fine. Now who here will accept fifty cents per week for supporting this boy?” No one spoke up. “Come now, gentlemen, that is a most generous sum to get from the town. Just look at the lad. He will not eat much at all.”
“That’s right. More food will drop out of his mouth than get in it,” another loafer remarked. The others laughed.
I looked at Mrs. Swann in puzzlement for I could not understand what was so amusing.
“I’ll take sixty cents to keep him,” a gruff voice called out. It belonged to the master collier Skene.
I expected Phyfe to ignore him. Instead he started to bargain with him. “Will you not accept fifty-five cents, Mr. Skene?”
“I will not! A puny lad like that will likely fall into the pit and get incinerated to a crisp afore he earns me back a copper of his keep.”
“Very well then. If yours is the only bid, Mr. Skene, I shall have to let you have him for the payment of—”
“Justice Phyfe, you cannot place Noah with this man!” I interrupted. “You told us you would not let a child go to an unsuitable bidder.”
“Did you not hear his age stated, Julia? This boy will be twelve come Christmas, and that is no longer a child.” Phyfe turned away from me. “Noah Robinson has been bid of by Abner Skene at sixty cents a week. I will strike him off to Mr. Skene unless I hear a lower bid.”
Phyfe slammed his fist on the counter once, then twice, and then I cried out, “A penny! I will take on this boy and give him good care for a penny!”
“A penny a week?” Phyfe asked me, amazed.
“A penny a year!” I shouted back at him.
Phyfe stared at me a long moment. I thought he was going to deem my offer invalid because it came from a mere woman, but he did not. Instead, a sly smile lifted up his lips, and he nodded to Daggett. “Write up the purchase paper and have her sign it,” he said.
I went over to the boy. Seated as he was on the high counter, his head was level with mine. “Noah,” I said softly, “you are coming to live with me. Will that suit you, dear?” He lifted his head and looked me full in the face.
I just about fainted away. Indeed, I might well have if Mrs. Swann had not grabbed my upper arm and propped me up until I collected myself. I prayed the boy did not perceive my shock, but he was no doubt used to such a reaction at the first sight of him. His mouth was severely distorted into a snarl, with the upper lip split into two twisted sections that tugged upward into his left nostril. The resulting gap revealed his gum and teeth, and the effect was most disturbing. I now understood his nickname. He was called Jackrabbit because he was a harelip.
When I signed the purchase paper, assuring the town that I would pay all damages if I reneged on the deal struck, my hand was shaking. But I did not for a moment regret that I had taken on the boy.
Mrs. Daggett, who had emerged from the cellar, sadly shook her head at me, and then directed her attention to arranging in a basket the garlic bulbs she’d brought up from below. As her husband was packing my provisions she murmured something about adding some sweets for the boy free of charge. He did add a bag of candy ginger, but I believe he charged me for it. No matter. I paid for my purchases, hoisted up the wooden box that contained them, and directed Noah to follow me out of the store. We passed by Mrs. Daggett just as she’d completed writing something upon a pasteboard. She propped the board against the basket of garlic on the counter. REVENANT REPELLENTS, ONE FOR A DIME, TWELVE FOR A DOLLAR.
Outside the store Noah grabbed at the box I was carrying and made sounds I did not understand. But I perceived that he wished to carry the box for me, and I handed it over to him.
“Pray halt!” a voice called behind us, and I turned to see Mrs. Swann bustling forth. She took my hand and shook it hard. “You are a most admirable lady,” she declared.
I had to laugh. “You say that only because you do not know me.”
“But I would like to know you,” she said. “Indeed, I would like to work for you.”
“Work for me?” I eyed her fancy clothes and luxurious muff.
“I am not what I appear to be,” she said. “That is, my fine apparel belies my present situation. You take me to be a lady of means, and so I was before my husband died. I knew nothing about Mr. Swann’s business, and his nefarious partner managed to steal away all that was due me. Now I am almost destitute and must find a way to support myself. Other women in my situation might crumble, but I am made of sturdier stuff, as I suspect you too are, dearie.” She gave me a hearty pat on the back. “I am not afraid of hard work, and if you hire me on as your housekeeper you will not be sorry. I can provide you with sterling references.”
Already concerned as to how I could care for Noah and at the same time manage to earn a living as a portraitist, I made yet another spontaneous decision and engaged Mrs. Swann right there and then. She tried to take the box of food from Noah, he would not let go of it, and a tussle ensued. Mrs. Swann’s determination to win out rather surprised me, but I suppose she was just trying to demonstrate her own eagerness to be helpful. I suggested they carry the box between them, and so it was resolved. As the three of us marched across the Green we received many a curious glance. I reckon we made an odd enough trio, but the good people of Plumford will just have to get used to us.
When we arrived at the house I left Mrs. Swann and Noah in the kitchen to unpack the provisions and went down the hall, hoping to find Adam in the office. So I did. He was grinding medicine in a porcelain mortar, his back to me, and I noted how his auburn hair, always in need of a trimming, brushed his collar and curled around his ears just as it had when I’d last run my fingers through it. I called out his name, and he slowly put down his pestle and turned to look at me.
Oh! To gaze upon that face again! But it was not the amiable face I had so often conjured up over the past months. There was no humor or affection in his countenance now, only fatigue and distrust. My heart squeezed tight, and I froze at the threshold, waiting for him to make the first move. But he remained rigid as a statue, his wide mouth compressed and his blue eyes cold as ice. And thus we greeted each other after all this time apart—two ossified beings staring across a chasm of regret.
“Hello, cousin dear,” I finally said. I extended my arms out to him, but awkwardly dropped them to my sides when he made no move toward me.
“Your visit to Plumford is ill-timed, Julia,” he said. “We are in the midst of a Consumption epidemic.”
“So Henry told me.”
“You should not linger here.”
“I have nowhere else to go.”
“Go back to France!”
“I am sorry if you find my presence here so objectionable, Adam, but rest assured I will keep well out of your way. And I shall direct Mrs. Swann and Noah to stay away from your office too.”
“Who might they be?”
I recounted what had occurred at Daggett’s store. “And right after I assumed responsibility for the boy, Mrs. Swann kindly offered to help me keep house,” I concluded.
“So you have taken in two complete strangers,” Adam said.
“You disapprove?”
“I was simply making an observation. You may do whatever you wish. I have no interest in the matter. It’s your house now.”
His dismissive tone pained me, and I struck back. “Do you feel aggrieved that Grandfather left it to me instead of you?”
“Why should I? It is fitting and right that you have inherited the house of your Walker ancestors.”
“But they are your ancestors too, Adam.”
He looked away.
“I told Doc Silas I did not want him to leave his house to me.”
“Ah, now I understand why he left it to his female grandchild instead. What I do not understand is why you didn’t want it.”
My question seemed to vex him. “I will have enough property to worry about when I inherit Tuttle Farm someday. I harbor no resentment concerning your inheritance, I assure you.”
“Then why are you acting so unfriendly toward me, Adam?”
“How do you expect me to act? You left me!”
“And it broke my heart to do so.”
“Well, you have a very resilient heart, Mrs. Pelletier, for it mended with amazing speed. You married within a month of our parting.”
“But not for love.”
“For money then?”
I could not deny it so I said nothing.
“I suppose I should prefer money rather than love to be your reason, although I never realized you were so mercenary.” Adam regarded me grimly. “When will your husband be joining you here?”
“He will never be joining me.”
Adam’s expression softened. “Are you so soon a widow?”
Happy thought! No, I strike that off. I wish no one dead, not even Jacques Pelletier. “My husband was alive and well when I left him. And I do not think a separation from me will much affect his health.”
“But you will return to him eventually,” Adam said.
“That is not my intention.”
“Intentions can change. Facts do not,” Adam said. “And the fact remains that you are a married woman, Julia. As soon as I can make other arrangements, I will remove myself from this office.”
“But why?”
“I do not wish to be in such close proximity to you.”
“You make me feel so unwelcome, Adam! We are blood relations, after all. For the sake of our dear grandfather’s memory, pray do not forsake his office just because I have taken up residence in his house. Here is where your patients expect to find you, and here is where you should remain. Such a needless relocation would be a wasteful expenditure of your time and energy, and you look exhausted enough as it is.”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered my reasoning. “You are right about one thing. I should not let my personal feelings interfere with my duties as a doctor. People desire constancy during times like this. The rampant spread of Consumption is alarming enough, and now I fear terror-filled rumors may start spreading along with the disease.”
“Indeed they already have,” I said. “They were saying at Daggett’s store that a young man’s life was sucked out of him by a vampyre. But surely most people in Plumford are too sensible to believe such a thing.”
“These are dark times, Julia. So many have died of late. And when people lose those most dear to them, they are apt to believe almost anything to explain their loss, even dead relatives returning as predatory bloodsuckers. And now, with this young man’s violent death, the idea of a vampyre striking down random, healthy people may take hold and bring about a panic.”
“The real culprit must be found out as soon as possible then.”
“Uncovering a murderer is no easy matter, Julia.”
“We have done it before—Henry, you, and I!”
Adam’s expression became most severe. “You must have no part of this horror. Promise me you will stay out of it.”
“Only if you promise me you will stay in Doc Silas’s office.”
“Very well. I am out on patient calls most of the time anyway, so we will have little contact with each other.”
“Do you truly find my company so unbearable, Adam?”
“Yes,” he said softly and turned back to his work with mortar and pestle.
I left him without another word. Yet so much remains unspoken between us! And always shall remain so. Never again can we indulge in the familiarity and intimacy we once shared. It would only lead us down the path of temptation once again. Even so, I cannot prevent the waves of yearning that sweep over me whenever I think of Adam, much less see him in the flesh.
All this afternoon I busied myself making ready bedchambers for Noah and Mrs. Swann. I have given the boy the room next to mine, and Mrs. Swann the master chamber across the hall. Upon entering it, I felt Grandfather’s presence envelop me. How vividly I could picture him in the four-poster bed, looking about with the bright impatience of a squirrel. Good thing I’d come from New York to tend to him or I am sure he would have hobbled around on his broken leg before it healed properly. I had kept him entertained by reading aloud bizarre tales authored by a young writer named Poe. And by singing to him. How Grandfather did laugh at my pathetic attempts to carry a tune! I did not mind for I allow that I am absurdly tone deaf. As was he. Adam too. Must be a Walker trait.
I recalled too the quiet pleasure of sitting by Grandfather’s bed and sketching his likeness in preparation for the oil painting I did of him. As much as he had welcomed my presence, he did not much like being the object of such attention, another trait he shared with Adam. They shared few facial features, however. Grandfather claimed Adam inherited his good looks from his father. Although Owen Walker had been lost at sea shortly after Adam was born, Grandfather had told me a day never went by that he did not mourn the loss of his only son.
Grandfather had shared much that was in his heart with me when I came back to Plumford to nurse him. No matter that we’d been apart for a decade whilst I resided in Europe. The warm relationship I’d had with him as a child had been easily resumed. As was my warm relationship with Adam, but that warmth soon turned to heat. How difficult it must have been for Grandfather to watch us falling in love that summer. I shall never forget how forlorn he looked when he explained to me why being Walker cousins prevented Adam and me from ever marrying.
Such were the memories that tugged at my heart as I cleared the wardrobe and the many drawers of Grandfather’s bonnet-top highboy for Mrs. Swann’s use. I do not know what luxuries she is used to, but surely she will be comfortable in the master chamber, with its large fireplace and soft bed. Why, she will even have her own hip bath.
ADAM’S JOURNAL
Saturday, December 4
Julia and I spoke this morning. I cannot remember half of what was said, but I remember every expression upon her mobile countenance, every intonation of her compelling contralto voice. Her face is thinner. She now arranges her hair so severely that nary a wayward curl can escape, and this loss of freedom seems to have diminished the burnished gold sheen of it. Her complexion too has lost its golden glow. And her wide-set eyes, which I used to find so endlessly fascinating as they changed from gold to green, have dulled into a settled shade of light brown. Even so, I still desire her to the depths of my soul. I had hoped this would no longer be true if ever again I saw her. But to my continued damnation it is. Cursed be a man who is in love with a married woman.
Mood bleak, I left the office immediately thereafter to meet Henry and the Concord undertaker, Mr. Mudge, at the ice house. Jackson came out of his saw mill to unlock the door for us, and the moment we went inside a shiver ran up my spine. This was not a reaction to the freezing temperature but to the sight of Chauncey Bidwell’s body lying on the stone floor. Fresh blood smeared Bidwell’s face and pooled in his open mouth.
Undertaker Mudge frowned at Undertaker Jackson. “You might have cleaned him up a bit.”
“So help me God, I did!” Jackson protested. “There was no blood upon his face when I laid him out over there yesterday.” He waved a hand that had but three fingers toward a couple of ice blocks. The layer of sawdust that covered them bore the indentation made by Bidwell’s body. “I have seen much in my day, Mr. Mudge. As a sawyer I have seen body parts lost in the whirring blades. As an undertaker I have seen heads stove in by kicking hooves. But I never did see a dead man move before.”
“He did not move himself,” Henry said in a voice far calmer than one I could have mustered.
“I made sure to lock the door when I left him. And I have the only ke
y.”
“Well, somebody managed to break in here somehow,” I said. “Better go alert the constable, Mr. Jackson. If he’s not at his shoe shop he will most likely be at the Sun.”
Off Jackson went, leaving us with Mr. Mudge.
“This does not set well with me,” he muttered. “It does not set well at all. I have a mind to drive away right now without the body.”
“That body, Mr. Mudge, was only yesterday a vital young man,” Henry said. “Chauncey Bidwell had a mother and sisters who loved him, and when I informed them of his death last evening, I assured them that he would be brought back to Concord this morning. How will you explain to them your empty wagon?”
“I will tell them that I did not wish to get mixed up in whatever skullduggery is taking place here.”
“You will tell them nothing of the sort,” Henry said sternly. “They need not know his body was defiled like this.”
“Well, you can talk to them then. Tell them whatever you please. It is none of my affair.” Mudge turned to go.
Henry forestalled him by taking a firm grip of his shoulder. “Consider this, Mr. Mudge. If you leave the body behind, it will raise questions in Concord. Do you wish to make the Bidwell ladies suffer even more by instigating dark rumors concerning Chauncey’s death?”
Mudge looked at the corpse and back at Henry. “I knew his father. Not well, but well enough to respect him. The Bidwell hallmark upon the guns he crafted assured their quality, and it would be a shame if rumors concerning his son tarnished his fine name.”
“Then you must not abandon this body. We will take it home for proper burial as soon as I sort all this out,” Henry said. “And I shall do so in short order, I assure you.”
I was relieved when Mudge agreed to stay, but wondered how Henry would be able to keep his promise to him. Things seemed a long way from being sorted out.