Simply Dead

by Eleanor Kuhns

  ‘I won’t,’ Jerusha said.

  Lydia leaned forward and took Hortense’s hands in hers. ‘What happened, child? Why were you out in the weather without shoes or a cloak?’ She paused but Hortense did not speak. ‘You’re safe now, with us. Tell me, who frightened you?’

  ‘There was blood,’ Hortense said almost inaudibly. ‘So much blood.’

  ‘At the birth?’ Lydia sounded confused. ‘But your mother said Mr Bennett told her his wife and baby were doing fine.’

  ‘You saw my mother?’

  ‘Yes. She’ll be returning tomorrow morning to bring you home.’ Lydia paused while Jerusha, walking very carefully with the bowl held tightly in a towel, entered the room. ‘Your uncle and my husband, and several others, searched for you. It was my husband who brought you here.’ With a smile of thanks at Jerusha, Lydia took the bowl and began spooning stew into Hortense’s mouth. As the girl swallowed, Lydia asked in a soft voice, ‘Where were you, Hortense?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. Another spoonful.

  ‘Were you on a farm?’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ Her voice rose.

  ‘Shh, shh. It’s all right.’ Lydia’s voice was soothing enough to put a man to sleep.

  As silence reigned for the next few bites, the children drifted away to another part of the kitchen. Nancy was rocking her rag doll in a cradle while Judah galloped a wooden horse with a loud clopping around and around on the wooden floor.

  ‘Were you on Gray Hill?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘Yes. Far up. It was so cold. But I don’t know where.’

  Since Hortense seemed about to begin crying again, Lydia delivered the next two spoonfuls without speaking. She might have continued questioning the girl, at least Rees hoped she would have, but Sharon chose that moment to break into a piercing wail. It was so sudden and so loud Lydia jumped. The stew slopped on her apron. Rees started as well. As Lydia rose to her feet, he held up a hand to stop her and turned. Sharon, screaming all the while, was trying to wrest the wooden horse from Judah.

  ‘That’s Judah’s toy,’ Rees said, taking possession of the horse and returning it to the little boy. Sharon let out a shriek that made her father’s ears ring.

  ‘Maybe she’s hungry,’ Jerusha suggested. Nodding, Rees smiled at her. Although he and Lydia had adopted Jerusha and her siblings only the past spring, he loved them as much as though they were his own. Until quite recently, Jerusha had been a comfort and a help to Lydia.

  ‘Hortense wants to see Sharon,’ Lydia said, stripping off her stained apron as she entered the kitchen.’ Rees felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. ‘I think Sharon’s crying is calming her.’ She reached out for Sharon’s hand.

  ‘I’ll follow you,’ Rees said as he swung his daughter up into his arms. ‘I want Hortense to get used to me.’ Sharon cried out and reached for her mother.

  ‘Stop fussing,’ Lydia said firmly, patting the toddler’s cheek. ‘Let’s go.’ Turning, she preceded her husband into the front room.

  When Hortense saw him she began breathing quickly but, more alert than she had been, she did not scream. ‘Oh, may I hold her?’ she asked, staring at Sharon. ‘Oh please.’

  Rees put the toddler into Hortense’s arms and stepped back. Sharon stiffened but as Hortense cooed and tickled the child under the chin she relaxed and began to giggle. Lydia pulled her chair nearer to the sofa until her knees almost touched Hortense’s, her arms draped loosely in her lap, just in case her little girl needed her.

  Rees withdrew to the doorway. Although he stared fixedly at his wife, trying to convey the importance of continuing the questioning, she ignored him, her entire focus upon her baby.

  ‘Jerusha,’ Lydia said without removing her attention from Hortense and Sharon, ‘will you feed your brothers and sisters please.’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ the girl said. She threw a look at Hortense and turned with a sigh.

  Rees looked at the other children. Joseph was beginning to yawn and had stretched out on Sharon’s blanket. He was just over three-and-a-half years old, at least that was what Rees and Lydia guessed. A foundling, Joseph had been assigned to Jerusha’s mother for wet nursing. Upon her murder, Rees and Lydia had adopted the unwanted foundling as well as the victim’s four children. His age was just a guess.

  Missing eight-year-old Simon once again, Rees examined the other three kids. Five-year-old Judah’s eyes were heavy, and even six-year-old Nancy’s – almost seven as she was quick to remind everyone – were beginning to droop. ‘Supper and then bed,’ Rees said, motioning his family to the table. Jerusha had already fetched bowls and ladled stew into them. She brought them to the table, stirring and blowing upon the hot soup to cool it.

  When the children finished their suppers, Jerusha helped them clean their teeth and stood over them while they washed their faces and hands. Then she accompanied them upstairs. Jerusha put Nancy to bed in the room the girls shared, although the older sister would not go to bed yet for a little while. One of her chores was cleaning up the kitchen and washing the dishes. Rees followed Judah and Joseph into the boys’ room. The sight of the empty space in the boys’ bed where Simon used to sleep made Rees shake his head in regret.

  He put both boys into their nightclothes. The dresses they’d worn throughout the day were filthy, although clean that morning, and Judah had ripped the pleat that went up the center. Again. Lydia had mended it so many times the cloth itself was worn thin. Rees shook his head. Judah was hard on his clothes, and Joseph wasn’t much better. Rees sometimes felt he could spend all his time weaving just for his family and those boys.

  He hurried downstairs to take up his position by the door, listening in the hopes Hortense would drop some piece of information.

  Rees sat up in bed, gasping. Lydia slept on beside him, her breathing regular and even. Rees looked down at her, her body dimly seen in the faint moonlight leaking into the room. He did not want to risk waking her and he knew he wouldn’t sleep again, not after the familiar nightmare that had left his heart pounding in his chest. Just when he thought he’d recovered from his experiences last year in Dugard – Lydia’s almost hanging and Rees’s own desperate flight for his life – his mind betrayed him. The memories flooded back as sharp and clear as though everything had happened yesterday. And sometimes he dreamed Lydia had been hung. Or he had been caught.

  Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. These dreams were less frequent now than they had been but no less terrifying when they occurred. With another glance at his sleeping wife, he crept out of bed. He slid his feet into his shoes and wrapped a quilt around his shoulders. The cold seemed to bite through his very bones.

  He went around the bed. Sharon, asleep in the cradle next to Lydia, sighed and rolled over. Rees paused and bent over, peering at his little daughter through the gloom. At fourteen – almost fifteen – months she was too large for the cradle but Lydia wasn’t ready to release her. He touched her head, the knitted cap covering her silky hair warm to his touch, and continued out to the hall.

  Everything was silent. He walked as quietly as he could to his weaving room. If possible, the air felt even colder in here. The moonlight shone sharp and white upon his loom and Rees considered sitting down and weaving a few rows. He could light a fire – but he’d left his tinderbox downstairs and it was so cold he was shivering underneath the padded covering wrapped around him. Not for the first time, he considered bringing the loom downstairs where it was warmer. The last time he had done so, however, Joseph had walked around and around touching everything including the finished cloth. Judah had taken the shuttle, Rees still wasn’t sure why, and it had taken him almost an hour to find it. The thread around the bobbin had been unrolled and touched so often that, dirty and frayed, it had had to be discarded. As usual, Rees decided to leave the loom exactly where it was now.

  He went downstairs and stirred up the banked fire. The flickering yellow light spread through the kitchen. R
ees lit several candles and by their light began grinding coffee beans for coffee. As he measured out the grounds, a sudden thump outside made him jump and coffee went all over the table. Swearing, Rees went to the window and peered outside. He could see nothing. The barn was a big black shadow against the lightening sky. Rees saw nothing, no movement at all. The cow – Daisy – mooed and he knew he would soon have to go outside to the barn to milk her.

  After spending several minutes peering through the window, and seeing nothing, he returned to the table and finished preparing the coffee. He put it over the fire to brew and returned to the window. Hortense’s experience and the after-effects of Rees’s dream had left him uneasy. But he saw nothing, no movement at all.

  The fragrance of coffee spread through the kitchen.

  ‘May I have a cup of that?’

  Rees jumped and turned. Hortense stood in the doorway from the front room, clinging to the jamb for support. Although still pale and limping on her blistered feet, she regarded Rees with a cautious smile.

  SIX

  Hortense sat down at the table and wrapped the quilt tightly around her, despite the heat emanating from the fire blazing on the hearth. Rees leaned across the table to put the cup in front of her. She flinched away from him so violently the chair shuddered on the floor.

  He stepped back. The girl was still terrified, that was clear, despite the tremulous smile she offered him. He pushed the milk and the sugar nippers toward her and sat down on the opposite side of the table. He regarded her in silence as she lifted the cup to her mouth, using both trembling hands to steady it. The rooster’s sudden loud crow made her jump and coffee flew across the table in a brown arc. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she gasped.

  ‘Your mother will come for you today,’ Rees said, his voice loud in the quiet room. ‘Along with your uncle.’

  ‘I’ll go home?’ she asked, sounding almost as though she couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You are not a prisoner here.’ He saw the faint jerk of her body as she twitched in surprise. How could he tiptoe into the questions he wanted to ask her? ‘You were free to leave yesterday but your mother—’

  ‘I know. I had the good cart,’ Hortense interjected with a nod. ‘Did you find it?’

  ‘I believe your uncle Simon recovered it,’ Rees said. ‘It looked as though you were driven off the road.’ She nodded, tears glittering in her eyes. She put the cup down with exaggerated care and folded her hands, holding them tightly together. ‘Two men. They took you captive?’

  Although she did not agree she did not refute his guess either. ‘You escaped,’ he went on. ‘That’s why you were running through a snowstorm with no boots or cloak.’

  ‘They took my boots so I wouldn’t run,’ Hortense said.

  ‘Who? Who took your shoes?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Hortense’s voice broke. ‘I mean I don’t know their names.’ She gulped and closed her eyes as though she refused to see. ‘There was so much blood.’

  ‘Blood?’ Rees repeated. ‘What blood? What happened?’ And when she did not respond, he repeated, ‘What happened, Hortense?’

  ‘He came after me.’ She began to shake, a deep bone-shaking shudder that set the cup rattling on the table.

  ‘Who came after you?’ Rees leaned forward and put his hand over her clasped fist. She reared back like a skittish horse, her eyes rolling in her head, and uttered a breathless scream.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, drawing back and quickly removing his hand from hers. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.’ He stared at her in frustration, wishing he knew how to penetrate Hortense’s terror. ‘I know you’re frightened,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘I know about fear. More than a year ago I was accused of murder. Far away from here,’ he added quickly when he saw her recoil. ‘And it was a false accusation besides. I spent a week as a fugitive, running for my life, hiding in the woods …’ Remembered terror roughened his voice and he stopped. But he had caught Hortense’s attention.

  ‘What happened then?’ she asked, leaning forward slightly.

  ‘I found the killer,’ he said. Even now the shock and pain of that betrayal felt like a knife to the gut. Closing his eyes, he tried to shake off the memory. ‘So I know about fear. But sometimes you have to look it in the face and beat it back.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, folding her hands over her belly. Rees decided not to press her just yet about the event that was so terrifying her.

  ‘Was there anyone else there?’ he asked, keeping his voice soft and gentle. ‘In the place where you were taken?’

  ‘Jem and Jake.’ Her voice changed slightly on the final name. Affection as well as guilt and shame if Rees was any judge. He knew all about guilt and shame as well as fear. He still blamed himself for the accusation of witchcraft against Lydia that had not only put her life, but the life of his as-then unborn daughter Sharon, in danger.

  ‘Were Jem and Jake the ones who took you?’

  She nodded, her clasped hands twitching. Her sudden movement sent the cup next to her flying off the table to the floor and the china cup shattered into pieces.

  ‘What is going on here?’ Lydia asked from the door. She held Sharon by the hand.

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ Hortense said. She jumped to her feet and fled to the front room. Lydia turned a look of inquiry on Rees as she entered the kitchen. He rose and went to fetch the broom.

  ‘Something terrible happened,’ he said in a low voice as he approached Lydia. ‘She saw it and she’s terrified.’ As well as ashamed and guilty. ‘But she told me some names.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll eventually feel comfortable confiding the whole,’ Lydia said, her brows drawing together. ‘But there’s no more time to press her. Not now. Here comes Jerusha. The others will be rising soon.’

  ‘And it’s past time to milk,’ Rees said. He couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips. Farm work frequently felt like a cage, confining him, not only to this property, but to a rigorous schedule of daily chores. Lydia looked at him in sympathy and stretched out her hand for the broom.

  ‘I’ll sweep up the broken cup,’ she said. ‘You have milking to do.’

  So he put on his boots and his tattered old coat. As he moved toward the door, Jerusha ran into the kitchen. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I have to fetch water. I’ll go with you.’ And Rees understood she was still apprehensive after her scare last night.

  So he waited by the door while his daughter put on her boots and her old faded cloak. Then he held the door open so she could precede him into the darkness.

  Dawn was creeping into the sky and he could see without a lantern. Although a light snow fell Rees thought it would end soon. The air felt warmer too and he hoped some of the snow already on the ground would melt.

  As Jerusha disappeared up the slope he continued on to the barn. Daisy lowed plaintively. He patted her warm hide. ‘It’s all right, girl,’ he told her. He brought up the stool and sat down, leaning his head against her flank. As his hands worked Daisy’s teats, the milk began hissing into the pail.

  David would have finished the milking an hour ago. He would probably have negotiated with Brother Jonathan for additional cattle too, Rees thought. David loved farm work and cows were his favorite. Although Rees had visited his oldest son only a month ago, he couldn’t help wondering how David was faring. Their relationship had been a rocky one for many years. When Rees went on the road, weaving from farm to farm to earn the money necessary to support his son and the farm in Dugard, David viewed it as abandonment. But he had grown up and after Rees had been unjustly accused of murder, father and son had found a new closeness.

  Rees missed David more than he had ever thought possible.

  ‘Father. Father.’ Jerusha’s shrill scream broke into Rees’s reverie. He quickly lifted the bucket out of the stall, moving it to safety, and ran through the barn door. Surely Jerusha could not imagine she’d seen wolves, not now. The s
un was rising and the gray light of dawn was shot with gold.

  But when Rees exited the barn and ran over the slope he saw she was not screaming because she was afraid of wolves. She was sprawled on the ground under a man. Another man, little more than a boy Rees thought now, was crouched over the two figures lying in the snow.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ Rees shouted, running forward. ‘What are you doing?’ Why had he forgotten his rifle? ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  The young man crouched over Jerusha scrambled to his feet. Rees had a brief but sharply clear view of an angular face under a coonskin cap. Eyes the color of black coffee, black hair and a shaggy unkempt beard faced Rees. Still, despite the beard, this fellow looked to be little more than a boy himself.

  Both young men were dressed in buckskin and Rees saw with angry clarity the moccasins on their feet. The younger boy, still beardless, incongruously wore a knitted light-colored scarf tied around his neck.

  The two lads turned and sprinted across the stream, their feet sliding on the icy surface. Once on the other side they fled toward the trees and soon disappeared within them.

  Rees ran to Jerusha and dropped to his knees by her in the snow. He gathered the sobbing girl into his arms.

  SEVEN

  By the time he carried his daughter up the steps toward the kitchen door, Lydia had come out on the porch. She held the door open for Rees as he carried the girl inside. Trembling and white-faced, Jerusha clung to Rees when he tried to put her down.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ he told her, speaking calmly although his heart was galloping in his chest. ‘Go to your mother. I want to speak to Hortense.’ Lydia held out her arms and after a moment’s hesitation Jerusha allowed Rees to put her down. Lydia drew the child into her arms.

  Still in his old cloak and the boots he wore in the farmyard, he stamped into the front room. Clutching the quilt to her chest, Hortense turned. Her eyes widened. ‘Just now,’ he said in a low fierce voice, ‘two men came into the yard and attacked Jerusha. They wore coonskin caps and buckskin with moccasins on their feet. You had better start talking now and tell me who took you and why and what happened.’