by Sara Donati
“. . . you think you know everything,” Jemima was saying. “About poor Nicholas Wilde. What a good husband he was to his sick wife, what a fine father. How he mourned his Dolly. Fools, all of you. It was Lily Bonner he was mourning all the winter, and if you doubt me, look at his face, he's gone the color of paste.”
“You bitch.” Nicholas strained forward.
“Call me what you like,” Jemima said. “I've been called worse.”
“Lily Bonner went to Montreal,” said Charlie LeBlanc, standing up suddenly. He pointed at the drawings that still hung on the walls. “To be a painter.”
“She went to Montreal before the truth came out and her reputation was ruined once and for all,” Jemima shot back. And: “Why are you looking at her father? Do you think he'd admit the truth about one of his own?”
They were looking, Elizabeth could not deny that, but more out of confusion than curiosity. Nathaniel met everybody's eye with his usual calm, almost weary now, as if Jemima were a ranting toddler who must eventually scream herself into a trembling quiet.
At the table where he was recording the proceedings, Ethan took the opportunity to trim his quill, and Elizabeth wished she had even a tenth of his calm spirit.
Jed McGarrity cleared his throat. “Get on with it, Mima. Even if that's true—and I ain't saying it is—it don't have anything to do with Cookie.”
“But it does,” Jemima said. She straightened her shoulders. “If you're smart enough to hear what I'm saying. So there was Claes Wilde, taking care of his imbecile of a wife and pining for Lily Bonner. Then Dolly did him a favor and died, and Cookie disappeared. Now who profited from that, I ask you, but Nicholas himself?”
Anna McGarrity called out. “If things are the way you say, Jemima, why didn't he send for Lily to come back from Canada?”
“Oh, he would have,” Jemima agreed. “Except that letter came from her brother, the one saying she had gone and got married.”
The noise in the room was such that Elizabeth couldn't hear Jennet and Curiosity, who had their heads bent together to talk. O'Brien was on his feet, pounding on the table, and even Jed's deep voice made no difference; the crowd must have its say. Then Nicholas stood up and turned, his eyes moving through the crowd until they settled on Nathaniel.
He said, “She lied to me about Lily being married. I didn't find out the truth until we got back from Johnstown.”
“Of course I lied,” Jemima said. “Your precious Lily was gone away and I was here, with a girl of my own to raise and never knowing if I'd be able to feed her the next day or the day after that. I needed a man to support us and put food on the table. I did what needed doing, and you never complained when you were lying on top of me, now did you?”
Zeke and Levi were big men and strong, but it took a lot for them to hold Nicholas Wilde back.
Jed said, “I don't want to take you out of here, Claes, but I will if you don't settle down.”
Jemima went on, her voice cold and hard now. “I would be cooking your supper this minute if whoever killed Cookie hadn't done such a piss-poor job of it. Now hang me if it will make you feel better about yourselves. That would suit Nicholas just fine too. It would save him the trouble of divorcing me so he can court Lily Bonner in the open instead of sneaking around barns in the dark of night.”
“I never touched her that way,” Nicholas shouted. “Never.”
“No, of course you wouldn't.” Jemima's expression had lost all of its fury, and she looked like nothing more than a weary young woman, beaten down and used up. She said, “You saved that for the likes of me, didn't you? When you couldn't stand it anymore you came to me to get your itch scratched, and now you've gone and married me for it. Fool that you are.”
The meetinghouse had gone very quiet.
Jemima blinked, finally. It looked as though she had been in the grip of a fever that had suddenly broken, for her neckerchief was sweated through and the muscles in her jaw were fluttering.
She said, “The day Cookie went missing and Dolly died I was home doing mending. My daughter can testify to that if you care to fetch her here and ask her before you hang me.”
It was Jed McGarrity himself who came to collect Martha, and with him Curiosity, to speak calm words to the girl and comfort her on the way back to the meetinghouse. When they were away, Hannah saw that something must be done to distract Callie Wilde, and so she set about teaching her to brew a fever tea.
Callie was by nature a quick student and a willing one, but today she was distracted and even clumsy. When she came close to scalding herself for the second time Hannah took the kettle from her and set it back on its trivet. Then she put her hands on the girl's shoulders.
“It might be best to say what is on your mind.”
Callie couldn't meet her eye, which worried Hannah even more. The girl said, “I should be at the meetinghouse with Martha.”
Hannah kept her peace, neither agreeing nor arguing, and settled the girl in one rocker while she took the other. One of Curiosity's cats immediately jumped into the girl's lap and began to purr loudly.
The kitchen was warm and quiet and smelled of new bread and baking apples. Apples that had come from the orchards that Callie's father had planted and tended so carefully. The orchard that he could return to now, to take up his life. Except of course he couldn't, not after the things that had been said yesterday in front of the whole village. Hannah had read Ethan's transcript, and knew the whole of it.
Callie and Martha had only heard those things that the women thought must be said and that the girls could bear to hear. They still had not decided how or when to tell Martha about the revelations in Isaiah Kuick's letter, though that must clearly be done. If they did not tell her, someone else in the village would, and in a way that did not bear long thought. Children used words like cudgels and delighted in drawing blood.
In the evening, the girls had sought Ethan to ask more questions. He had told them a little more, enough to keep both the girls awake most of the night, whispering together.
In the morning Callie came to Hannah and Curiosity with Martha at her side.
“My father isn't going to gaol,” she said. “And I'm glad. But I don't want to go back to the orchard house.”
“You can stay here as long as you like,” Hannah had answered her, and that had seemed to be enough for both the girls. Neither of them had thought of the law, or what a child might be compelled to do against her wishes. But Hannah was not so worried about that; she had the idea that Nicholas Wilde would not argue. He was at war with his new wife, and when men turned their minds to battle they put children out of their minds and hearts. To survive; to come home to them, when the fighting was done.
Chapter 20
Statement of Mrs. Elizabeth Bonner,
Schoolteacher
I had thought to keep my silence during these proceedings, but find now that I cannot, in good conscience. What I have to say has nothing to do with the death of Mrs. Fiddler or even of the first Mrs. Wilde, but with the well-being of a young girl who faces an uncertain future. In just a few minutes she will come into this meetinghouse and answer questions put to her about her mother.
You all know Martha Kuick to be a good-hearted child, friendly and kind and helpful. Mrs. Ratz, I have seen Martha carrying firewood for you. Mrs. Parker, I know that you have called on her more than once to card wool and churn butter for you and found her to be a hard and dependable worker, as young as she is. Though she often came to my classroom hungry I have never heard a word of complaint from her, and I would guess that no one in this room has ever had a cross word out of Martha's mouth, though she may have had cause.
Judge O'Brien found it necessary to read a letter that reveals some facts that are exceedingly personal in nature, and none of our concern. Now we know what we only suspected about Martha's parentage, but I stand here today to ask you to keep the contents of that letter to yourselves until I or someone else close to Martha may have the chance to talk to her pr
ivately. I do not ask for secrecy, for I know that is simply beyond the bounds of human nature. Instead I ask for compassion, for charity, and most of all for each of you to think before you cause more pain for a young girl who has suffered much and may suffer more, depending on the outcome of this hearing. No matter what she might say here under questioning, I beg you to remember that she is only a young girl.
Interview with Miss Martha Kuick, Aged 8 1/2 years
Conducted by Constable McGarrity
Q: Martha, we have just a few questions for you now and we can all go home to our dinners. Is that your mother sitting there?
A: Yes, sir. You know her yourself, Jed. I mean, Constable McGarrity.
Q: Jed'll do just fine. Now, tell me this, do you remember the day the blizzard started that Mrs. Wilde got lost in?
A: I do. It was a Monday. I know because we was just getting ready to start the washing when the wind come up smart. That was about mid-morning. So we couldn't wash after all, nor go out neither though we was short of firewood.
Q: And what time did your mother wake you that day?
A: Why, she didn't. It was me who woke her, like always. At sunrise I did the milking, and when that was done, I went to shake her awake. And she got out of bed and made the porridge.
Q: Was there any time that day, that first day of the blizzard, when you didn't know where your mother was?
A: No, sir. In the morning she was busy with mending stockings and then the blizzard came up. It was a hard blizzard. Nobody went nowhere for two whole days, except early to bed to save the firewood and the candles.
Q: Now, Martha, tell me this. You understand about telling the truth, about right and wrong?
A: Yes, sir, I understand.
Q: And you swear here today that you were with your mother that whole day that Mrs. Wilde went missing. That she never left the house from dawn when you woke her, not that whole day nor the next.
A: Yes, sir, that's right. I swear it.
Q: You know that your mother has been charged with the murder of Cookie Fiddler?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: Do you think your ma did Cookie some harm that day, Martha?
A: No, sir, I don't.
Q: So your testimony is that you were with your mother the whole day in question, and that you never saw Cookie Fiddler or Mrs. Wilde, and know nothing about what happened to either of them.
A: I can't say that. Not exactly.
Q: Well, what can you say exactly then?
A: I saw Mrs. Wilde. She was walking upmountain through the woods behind the mill. I saw her from the porch when I went out to fetch water.
[Recorder's note: The questioning of this witness was interrupted for the half hour it took to calm her, quiet the room, and remove some of the spectators.]
Q: Martha, are you telling us that you saw Mrs. Wilde that morning she disappeared? Walking in the woods behind the millhouse?
A: Yes, I did. She was headed upmountain.
Q: And what time was that?
A: Mid-morning, sir, I'd guess. Ma sold the mantel clock so I couldn't say exactly.
Q: But before the blizzard started?
A: A little while before. The sky was already lowering, and the wind was up.
Q: And she was alone?
A: Yes, sir, nobody anywhere near. Not even Cookie, which was odd, I remember thinking it right off.
Q: How was she dressed?
A: Why, normal. A cloak and boots and a hat, and mittens.
Q: You knew, didn't you, that Mrs. Wilde was ill? That she wasn't to be left unsupervised?
A: Yes, sir. I knew that. I saw how much trouble they took to keep her from wandering. Callie told me about it, and everybody talked about it in the village too.
Q: Martha, you're a brave girl. Don't look at your mother now, just at me. Do I understand right? A blizzard was coming on and you saw Mrs. Wilde walking up the mountain by herself, and you didn't call an alarm? Didn't go after her to help her find her way back home?
A: No, sir.
Q: Why on earth not?
[Recorder's note: Judge O'Brien directed the witness to answer the question put to her.]
A: Because Mama said I was to mind my own business. She came to the window and looked and said, never you mind, Martha Kuick, that's her trouble and none of ours.
Callie got up to put more wood on the fire, spilling the cat, who arched her back and then went back to her kittens in their basket. There was the sound of pattens at the back step, the scraping of snowy heels and a hand on the door.
“Curiosity's come home,” Callie said, blanching. “The hearing must be done.”
“It is,” Curiosity said as she came into the kitchen. “Done once and for all, I hope.”
And at that moment it occurred to Hannah, looking from Callie's frightened expression to Curiosity's sober one, that something had happened in the meetinghouse when Martha was called to testify, something that Callie had known might come to pass.
Curiosity unwound her shawl and managed a small smile.
“Set down again, child,” she said mildly. “I got some things to say.”
When Curiosity had finished telling them the whole of it in her calm way, her hands folded in her lap, Callie was silent for a long moment and then she looked up, her face drained of color.
“They aren't taking Jemima to Johnstown?” she asked for the second time. “She won't be hanged?”
“No,” Curiosity said. “Not after what Martha had to say. Baldy O'Brien was surely disappointed, but without more evidence he cain't bind Jemima over for trial. What she done might be a sin in the eyes of God, but there ain't no law that say she got to raise a hand to help a woman in need.”
Callie held herself very still. She reminded Hannah of a child who knows that even the slightest movement might bring on a beating.
“Callie,” Hannah said calmly. “You knew, didn't you? Martha told you what happened that day that your mother disappeared on the mountain.”
The girl raised her head to look at them, shadowed and far older than her years, and nodded. “Yes. Martha told me.”
“You were afraid to speak up,” Curiosity prompted gently.
Callie nodded again, and for a while Hannah thought that she would have nothing more to say. Then a tremor moved through her and a single tear ran down her face. She said, “We talked it through, me and Martha. We talked it through and it seemed to us that if we told, they'd take Jemima away and hang her. We thought it would be better if at least one of us had a ma, even if—” She broke off to swallow and wipe her face with a trembling hand. “Then my pa started up with her and we didn't know what to do. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't think how.”
“That's a heavy burden for a young girl to be dragging around for so long.” Curiosity reached out as if to touch Callie, but the girl pulled back, almost alarmed.
She said, “We didn't mean harm. And we didn't lie either. We made a promise that if anybody asked the question straight-out that we'd tell the truth. But nobody did ask, not until today. Oh, poor Martha. I should have been there.”
It was a terrible thing to see her weep tears so long held at bay, tears far older than her years.
“Sometimes a hurt is so bad and so deep that tears is the only thing to wash it away,” Curiosity said. “You go on and let it out, child. We know what it is to weep.”
Jed McGarrity and Jennet brought Martha back not an hour later. The girl was pale and shaking as if she had taken a fever. Hannah put a hand on her brow, cool and damp, fed her a bowl of soup, and then sent her to bed with Callie to sit beside her.
“Let them work it out between them,” Curiosity said. “They come this far together, they'll come a little farther.”
Curiosity made tea and they sat around the table, Jed with his big hands wrapped around the cup and resting on his long silky brown beard. He said, “I seen and heard some things in my day, but what happened in that meetinghouse—that beats all.”
“It was a
ye shocking,” Jennet agreed. “To have let the poor woman wander off into a storm like that.”
“What do you think will happen now?” Hannah asked, and Jed shot her a surprised look.
“Why, cain't you guess? As soon as O'Brien set Jemima free Nicholas set out lickety-split for Johnstown. Looking for a lawyer to plead him a divorce. Not that it'll do him much good, I fear.” He cast a sidelong glance at Jennet and cleared his throat.
“Jemima claims to be with child,” Jennet explained, looking over her shoulder to be sure the girls were not within hearing. “She called it out to Nicholas when he left the meetinghouse. Everybody heard it.”
They were silent for a moment, thinking of that. Jemima had bound Nicholas Wilde to her with a child. She was not the first woman to take such a step, nor would she be the last. More ammunition in this new war she must fight to claim her place as Nicholas Wilde's wife.
“Come on then, and tell us the rest,” Curiosity said, thumping her cup a little. “Spit it out.”
“There's naught to tell,” said Jennet. “Jemima marched off like a soldier, straight of back. Gave nobody any quarter. Were it not for the wicked things she's done I should almost have to admire her for it.”
At that Curiosity laughed out loud. “I suppose it might look that way to you. You ain't knowed her long enough, is all.”
“Do you think she'll come here to fetch Martha?” Hannah asked.
“No chance of that,” Jed said. “I warned her away.”
“But will she pay you any mind?” Jennet asked. “That's the question.”
Jed grunted. “Oh, she'll mind. It's not Martha she's worried about, anyway. It's keeping her place at the orchard house.”
“If Claes throws her out she'll just go back to the mill,” Curiosity said. “Unless there's something else you got to tell. I can see it on your face as plain as pimples.”
“She sold the house,” Jennet and Jed said together.