by M. G. Meaney
"Of course, good morning, Mrs. Jenks," he said, nodding to her.
"Elena will be working for … with … me," Abigail said and explained the arrangement.
"That's extraordinary. I know nothing of ladies fashion, but I'm sure these frills will be very popular if you think so."
Elena smiled, then turned serious. "Reverend, I want to thank you for finding him who hurt my Zife, you and Abigail, even putting yourselves in very great danger. It does not bring back my husband, but it is comfort to know there is justice sometimes in America."
Haviland nodded. "It was the right thing to do. And I hope now we'll see you regularly here in Paulding, on business, maybe with your children."
"I expect so from time to time," Elena said.
"And how are the children, how is Thomas?" the rector inquired.
"They grow, make noise and go on as usual. I do not tell them about Janesch," Elena said.
"I see. If there's anything else I, we, can do, you will let us know?" Haviland said.
Elena appeared confused. She thought of everything it would take to give her children, living in a cramped, noisy, smelly tenement apartment and she barely piecing together enough to feed them, a life like the one these Americans took for granted in Paulding. She could not even begin to imagine what she might ask them to start with. Instead, she concluded the offer was an empty gesture and said: "Thank you, Reverend and Abigail. The work for Abigail will help us."
"And the fancy dress and blouse," Abigail added. "You will look the height of fashion. You'll be the envy of your, er, street."
"Yes, of course, the dress and blouse," said Elena, who was calculating how much she might sell them for in the city.
Abigail turned to Elena. "When I was … with Janesch, he mentioned a woman in Jaroslav, Kasia. He said they were in love and would have gotten married someday. But he did not know whatever became of her. Do you know?"
"Kasia, yes. I knew her. After the fire and after he ran away, she was in sort of shock for a long time. She could not look people in the eye, parents whose children had … She hadn't done it, but many could not separate her from Janesch and what he had done. She was more and more shunned in the village. She went around with strain showing in the face, head down around others. No young men in the village would take up with her. She was, as if, tainted.
"In the end, she moved to another village and married a shopkeeper there, and they had three children. She was very pretty, after all. But we heard she still never smiled or laughed any more as she did before. So, Janesch ruined her life as well."
* * *
An hour later, Will and Abigail sat on a bench at the gazebo in the square gazing at a boat pass by in the harbor.
"Paulding's ace detective duo solving the case and nursing our injuries," Abigail quipped, as both winced and struggled to get comfortable.
They sat a few moments, then Abigail grew serious.
"I keep wondering if it was worth it, Will," Abigail said above the clatter of horses, carts and shoppers hurrying through the square. Now wearing a forest green skirt and blouse and yellow hat, she idly twirled a yellow parasol. It was the first time they had recovered enough from the trauma to discuss this fundamental question. "Certainly, it was horrible what happened to Zife Jenks and the state it left Elena and the children in. And Theodore Hopfner, that was unforgivable by Thad, er, Janesch. He let it happen. But we are partly to blame for the murder of the Leatherman, aren't we? If we had stayed out of it, he would be alive still."
"I understand how you could feel that way," said Will, still in clerical gray. "I go over it in my mind every day. I thought at the start somehow that if I, we, found the real murderer it would make up for my bungling and stupidity and vanity that killed Hopfner."
"But the constable, the courts, the jury failed to see …," Abigail pointed out.
"But I started it off and the rest may have been inevitable. So, I thought, hoped, that I could redeem myself, find a sort of forgiveness."
"We did give some comfort to his parents by removing the stain on the family," Abigail said. "That at least was something, Will."
He shook his head slowly. "Not enough. I realize now that it was a mistake you cannot erase because you cannot erase the death. But the Leatherman, I do not think I, we, are as culpable there."
"But Thad killed him because we were investigating," Abigail pointed out.
"But the Leatherman inserted himself when he brought forth the order book, and everyone witnessed it, including Janesch. And the Leatherman kept pushing publicly and implying he knew who killed Zife Jenks. Janesch would have panicked and killed him eventually, I think."
They sat in silence. A ferry sounded its horn as it docked. A woman dropped a package in the road, retrieved it, brushed off the dirt and continued on her way. Abigail registered automatically that she had sold the woman the dress she wore, and that it looked well on her.
"Still," Will resumed, "The killing of the Leatherman shows, I think, that we may have saved several lives, perhaps many."
"Really? Why do you think so?"
He looked toward the ferry. "More immigrants are coming every day, and more from Jaroslav are already here. It was only a matter of time before someone else recognized Janesch. What would he have done if a fellow immigrant took over Zife's route, since he was so successful? And more may have chosen to sell here in Westchester."
"If he killed Zife Jenks, he would have killed another too," Abigail concluded. "And once he started, as we saw, he could not stop himself. I think you're right, Will. Elena herself might have been in danger if she'd come here."
"And others," Will said.
Abigail still saw a troubled look in Will's blue eyes as he looked toward the harbor. But he took her hand and his shoulders relaxed. He winced, then settled, content.
* * *
That evening, Will strolled to Abigail's house and found her on the porch. She wore a work smock, had her hair covered by a kerchief and was bent over the back of her rocker, a woodworker's knife in hand.
"Abigail, has something happened to your chair?"
"Will, no. It's fine. I'm just finishing it."
He looked over her shoulder. She was carving her own silhouette into the long-empty space next to Daniel Carhart's profile. The faces in the wood gazed at each other.
"The image, it's wonderful, Abigail."
She lay down the knife, turned and smiled at him. "Sit. We'll have tea." She took off the smock and kerchief, shook out her black ringlets and went inside to see to the tea.
Will looked at the silhouettes in the wood. With the image, had Abigail filled a hollow in her emotions, come to terms with her grief? Was she ready to turn toward the future?
"Here we are. Tea for Paulding's two best detectives," Abigail announced as she set down a tray with tea and cakes, then turned her rocker toward Will and sat.
"We do make a good team," Will said as he sipped the tea.
"Yes, the handsome, persistent, if out-of-the-gossip-loop, rector investigator …"
"And the stylish, chatty, in-the-know, if irreverent, clandestine operator."
"Irreverent? Are you implying that I'm not holy enough to grace the sanctuary of your church?"
"Sketching during sermons. I'm not sure how He feels about that."
"'He' would be pleased with shorter sermons, I'm sure. God has other things to do on a Sunday than hover around St. Paul's."
"Now, I will not be able to look at you during the service and keep a straight face," Will said, laughing.
Abigail crunched up her face and stuck out her tongue at him.
He set down his tea and took her hands.
"I love you," he whispered.
"And I you," she replied.
They gazed at each other. A carriage rattled past. The silence crept back and filled the evening again. It yielded a moment to the rustling of the leaves in the humid breeze, then reclaimed its hold.
<
br /> "What you and I did in finding out Janesch," Will began tentatively, "I realize I could not have done alone."
"I have to agree with you," she said, smiling.
Will said softly, "Abigail, we do make a great team. It would be a shame to have our collaboration end with this case."
"Absolutely," she replied enthusiastically.
"Why should we not join our efforts on other things?" he continued.
But she noticed the suddenly earnest look on his face and a glimmer of trepidation in his blue eyes.
"We are an insightful, resourceful couple," he went on.
"Again, I cannot disagree," she said with less enthusiasm. A realization was inching its way into her consciousness.
"We get along so well. We could accomplish great things," he said.
"Certainly," she said, faltering.
Now, Abigail noticed Will's hands were perspiring, clammy. Surely he would not be so nervous if he were just suggesting another campaign to undertake, a quest, even a quixotic one.
"In fact, I can see now how much more productive – and happy – I could be with someone close by my side, someone I love."
Will envisioned them together side by side creating a transformed village, poverty overcome, villagers in harmony with immigrants, one people of God living in bliss.
He noticed – was that a sudden wariness in her expression?
She drew to mind a lifetime spent smiling weakly at church rummage sales, getting dusty and rumpled at village spruce-up days and feigning attention to sermons Sunday after Sunday. Having to curb her witty, occasionally cutting though accurate, observations. And someday having to leave the village for a big city church, for Will would surely make a reputation. Was he not famous already?
Abigail's smile had disappeared. Was that alarm in her green eyes?
Will paused.
Abigail thought, "I have too much the habit of independence. I have my home, I have my shop, I have my way. I go where I will when I will. It was a habit acquired but with difficulty." She glanced down at the chair, with the second silhouette not added until now.
"Yet, once acquired it is a habit I am most reluctant to surrender. And how could I put on a white dress and garland of orange blossoms and walk past Daniel's grave in the churchyard to marry someone else? How could I?"
She looked back up at Will, who seemed to be gathering strength for his declaration. Abigail briskly took his hands again, smiled broadly, then stood abruptly.
"If you are propos, er, asking if we should open a detective agency together, I would be delighted to post a sign above my shop: Ladies wear and Investigations." Now, let me freshen our teas.
She seized up the tray, whirled and all but ran into the house.
Will watched her go and sat back, shocked. He looked again at her rocker, which still creaked after her abrupt departure. I cannot take the place of a spirit in her heart, Will realized. Setting aside years of reluctance, caution and fear, he had almost blurted out a marriage proposal to Abigail, he, an intelligent, well-spoken minister, upright, honest. And she had panicked and run off, after all they had been through.
How had he thought, assumed even, that she would leap at the opportunity to become a rector's wife and at some point leave Paulding and her life here, and Daniel's spirit, for some distant unknown church? Had he not seen in her paintings and sketches her love for this village?
I have misread everything, he concluded, flushing and lowering his head and pulling back his hands.
He sat, gloomy, humiliated, more than a few minutes before Abigail finally returned with hot tea and more cakes and a nervously brisk manner.
They sipped, and ate in nervous silence. A carriage rumbled by and both turned to peer at it as if it were the most amazing thing.
Finally, Will asked solemnly, "Abigail, why did you decide to carve your cameo on the rocker after all these years?"
Abigail sensed that Will had hoped it represented the closing out of the past, a kind of acceptance for a future. She shook her head briskly and looked beyond Will. "If I had died in that carriage with Thad, Janesch, I realized that Daniel would have been forever alone here. I had been waiting for … I don't know what. Maybe that Daniel would somehow … So, I left the space there in case …I finally joined him so we would always be together."
Then, Abigail reached for his hands and held them fast. She smiled and her tone brightened. "I do love you. And I do want to embark on more adventures together, just not such dangerous ones. You have allowed me to extend myself, to see what I am capable of, and to do something immensely difficult, but of great value. And I am content and happy whenever I am with you. So, let us go on as we are." She leaned forward and kissed him.
Will smiled. "Definitely a cherries in chocolate kiss, I'd say."
Abigail nodded. "Cherries in chocolate."
* * *
Mayor Van Amringe beamed from the gazebo in the square at the 100 villagers gathered before him. "I am most pleased to announce that the Harris " Tucker Tool and Dye Manufactory of New York City has signed the final papers to take over our Disbrow " Purdy Nut and Bolt Works. Our factory will enable them to offer additional types of products, so they say they will keep our factory open and keep all our employees."
A lusty, and relieved, cheer rose from the crowd.
As the mayor moved on to other topics, Sam Merritt turned to Will in the crowd. "Well, Reverend, that's a load off your mind, I'm sure. Thad Acker's demise left no other ill effects on the village."
"Yes, it's good the factory will continue as is," said the reverend, in brown clerical dress today.
"Although, will they be able to keep up with the competition without Thad's tinkering and inventing new this and that?"
"Sam, I'm sure there are villagers who have ideas of their own who can step forward."
"I hope you're right, Reverend. But this is certainly good news for you, as well as them," Sam said. "You can be the hero for catching out Thad and not costing anyone else, besides a few reputations and ruffled feelings along the way. Oh, and Burnside and Bolter hurt."
"Yes, but the horses are recovering, I hear?"
"Yep, Reverend. Burnside is still a bit jittery at loud noises but his wound is healing nicely. And Dan White has taken charge of Bolter, and the scrapes and bruises from the fall are clearing up. Bolter should do fine on Dan's farm." Sam noticed someone in the crowd. "I need a word with David Seaman, so I'll bid you good day, Reverend."
As Sam moved away and the mayor continued holding forth, Adolphus Bronk greeted Will.
Will shook his hand vigorously. "Mr. Bronk, my new parishioner, I'm happy to see you, both here today and in church on Sundays."
"Reverend, I and some others new to the country and village joined your church because we wanted to show how much we appreciate you finding out the murderer of Zife Jenks and Theodore Hopfner. We love this country and this village, but some, they look down on us and suspect us. You didn't. You, and Mrs. Carhart, put yourselves in danger when you questioned what had happened. We are all grateful."
"It was the right thing to do," Will told him. "I hope that your presence in church now will help overcome the prejudices that you have run into."
"It may not be so easy, Reverend, since we sit in the back, away from the others," Bronk said.
"Er, well, the families have reserved those other pews for many years. It would be, uh, awkward to move them around. But I shall see if there is something that can be done," Will said, trailing off.
"I would happily give up my seat," Abigail chirped as she arrived on the scene. "In fact, I'd be happy to skip the sermons, er, services, altogether if it would serve the greater good."
"Oh, Mrs. Carhart," Bronk said, tipping his brown workman's cap, "you joke."
"Do I?" she replied mischievously.
"I was just telling Reverend how we are grateful for your investigating. It was horrible you and the Reverend being shot. But w
e from Poland and Germany feel safer now here."
"I'm so glad. And your wife, and the other families, may be interested to learn that I will be selling Polish-style dresses and collars made by Mrs. Jenks. We have just made an arrangement."
"This I am happy to hear," Bronk said. "I will tell my wife and our friends." But he wondered how much Abigail would charge. The Polish community generally made their own clothes or had bought from the peddler because Abigail's wares were too expensive.
Bronk again expressed his gratitude to both Abigail and Will and threaded his way toward another acquaintance.
Abigail smiled at Will. "You seem well pleased today. Are you collecting enough congratulations from the village now that our efforts didn't close down the factory?"
"I'm just happy that it turned out well for the village," he said.
"And it turned out well for yourself. Plaudits from the villagers, at least those whose lives we didn't turn upside down. Fame in the newspapers. Invitations to speak in the city. And a new flock of villagers filling the church to listen to your sermons. You can sit on your laurels now for a while and enjoy. We can enjoy."
"No, Abigail. In fact, I have something new in mind."
The mayor finished his lengthy remarks and was calling Will to the podium.
Will limped up the steps from his Civil War wound and winced from his shoulder injury. Most in the crowd applauded vigorously the reverend whose clever trickery had dramatically exposed a murderer in their midst. More important, it had given them a breathtaking story to chatter about and one that put little Paulding in the national news and impressed villagers' relations elsewhere.
"Good morning," he greeted them. "And it is a good morning because of the mayor's news about the factory." The crowd cheered again. "I must say that I am happy to return to my normal duties as rector and set aside my detective cap, so to speak. The evil that cost three men their lives had to be rooted out, though at a cost." He gritted his teeth in pain as he extended his arm to accent his remark.
"Many of you paid a cost as well, in disturbing questions, unwarranted but unavoidable suspicion of you or your neighbors, secrets revealed, and even physical injury." He glanced at Abigail, Sam, and Amelia Theall in the crowd.