Abiding Peace (5 page)

Christine yanked away, and he chuckled.

“Think about it, now. If you tell that old woman—or anyone else—I’ll see that you regret it.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She threw back her shoulders, hoping he hadn’t caught the tremor in her voice.

“Oh, you’re not? Well then, I’ll have to see that you are. You need to respect me because I will act if you don’t do as I say.”

“What will you do?” She meant it to come out strong and sneering, but her dread was all too apparent in the low, shaky words.

He smiled again and held the knife up, trying the edge of its four-inch blade with his thumb. “Those pretty little girls what live yonder …” He jerked his head toward the Reverend Jewett’s home. “I’ll make one of them not so pretty. Y’hear?”

She jumped at his growl and stepped back. “Y–yes. I’ll bring you something.”

“That’s a good lass. Bring me some of that cake I smelt cooking earlier.”

“I don’t know about any cake. I’ve been gone all day.”

“Oh, I know, I know. But there was cake, and she won’t have eaten it all.”

A shiver snaked down Christine’s spine. How close had he ventured to where Goody Deane worked? Just beneath the window? And for how many days had he spied on them? She had no doubt that he would make good his threats if she did not do as he asked.

“Where shall I bring it?”

“Christine?” The widow’s quavering voice floated through the window and across the sultry air. “Is that you, Christine Hardin?”

“Answer,” the man hissed.

“I’m coming.”

“When she’s abed, you come,” he said. “Take it out back, near the necessary. I’ll be waiting.” He faded into the twilight.

Christine hurried to where she had left the bucket of water. She hefted it and bunched up a handful of her skirt, lifting the hem a couple of inches. She hobbled into the house as quickly as she could without spilling more water.

Goody Deane stood just inside the door, holding the poker in her hand.

“What kept you, child? I thought I heard a man’s voice.”

“Oh, a man did greet me in passing.” Christine turned away from her and hid her face while she poured water into the teakettle. She drew the muslin curtains, wondering if the stranger was watching and listening. She wished she dared put up the shutters, but Goody Deane would complain about the heat.

“What man?”

Christine froze for an instant. She couldn’t lie. But what could she say? She made her hands resume their labor. “Oh, it was … just a man passing by.”

“Did he want to call?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that.” How awful if Goody Deane had the mistaken impression that Christine had a suitor and tried to hide it from her. “Trust me, dear lady, I shall tell you if we have gentleman callers.”

Goody Deane smiled. “You never know. Now, what will it be? I baked a little honey cake today.”

“Lovely. But we must have some cheese first and a slice of bread.” Even as she spoke, she wondered if she could save the small portion of lamb for the stranger.

She sat down at the table a moment later with Tabitha Deane and managed to choke down her supper.

If only she could tell someone. But whom? The Reverend Jewett seemed most logical. His children were the ones threatened by this criminal. Did she dare? If she told anyone, the outlaw would retaliate. She mulled over his words, his tone, his manner, and decided she indeed believed he would carry out his threats.

When at last the widow was abed and snoring gently, Christine tiptoed to the tin box and removed the small amount of meat left there and two generous slices of bread. They had no fresh vegetables in the house, but she had no doubt the man was helping himself to those from her neighbors’ gardens as quickly as they ripened.

She lit a candle in a pierced tin lantern and carefully opened the door. She ought to have put some grease on those hinges.

Outside on the flat stone before the door, she waited half a minute, listening. She almost wished Tabitha would start up and call to her again, but all was silent within. The cricket choir chirped, and the warm breeze rustled the leaves of the maple trees.

She set out slowly along the path through the herb garden, around the side of the house. Each step seemed more difficult. Madness, meeting a violent man alone in the night.

Lord, give me safe passage there and back!

The little building stood just within the tree line, a discreet distance from the cottage, but too far for Christine’s liking. If she screamed for help, would her voice penetrate the widow’s slumber?

She stopped, eyeing the tiny shed. The door was off the latch. He wouldn’t be inside, would he?

“So, ye came.”

She jumped and whirled to face a black shape emerging from the trees.

“Y–yes. I said I would.”

He gave a snort of a laugh. “So ye did. Ye can be sure I was watching to see if you went out again tonight. If you’d gone anywhere but here, I’d have known.”

She shivered, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. “Here.” She held out the tin plate with the food on it. “It’s all I could get. It’s not much, and the widow might question me about it even so.”

He took the plate and shoved a piece of the meat into his mouth. “You’ve saved a man’s life, miss.” She could barely make out the words, garbled as they were with his chewing.

“I doubt that,” she said. “You’d have found sustenance somewhere. I only made it easier for you and less likely you’d be caught.”

“That’s right. This ain’t stealin’, now, is it? You gave me these vittles.”

She didn’t deign to reply.

“I’m not so bad. Truly, I’m not. I’m innocent, you know?”

“Of what?” She wished she hadn’t responded, but he’d piqued her curiosity.

“They run me out of Haverhill, they did. Said I done something terrible, but I was innocent. I went to trial, and they couldn’t prove anything on me, but they still made me leave. The magistrate banished me from the township. I went to Portsmouth, but they heard about me from folks in Haverhill, and they said the same. ‘Go peaceful, or we’ll lock you up for vagrancy.’ But I’m innocent of the charges, I tell you.”

She wanted to ask what the charges were but decided she might be better off not knowing. She turned away.

“Wait!” he called, his mouth full again.

She paused and turned back unwillingly.

“You’ll need the plate.”

“Leave it on the step. I’ll get it in the morning.”

“Oh, I can do better than that. The old woman might go out early and step on it there. Nay, I’ll set it up on the window ledge, behind those pretty white curtains. When you get up, you can reach out and get it ever so easy. And bring me a blanket. Sure, it’s warm tonight, but it might turn cool tomorrow.”

She eyed his dark silhouette for a moment. He picked up a slice of bread and folded it, sticking half of it in his mouth. She left him, walking quickly down the path without looking back.

In the morning Christine found the plate, as promised, on the window ledge. She took it in, washed it, and used it in setting the breakfast table before Goody Deane was finished dressing. The old woman’s gnarled hands made it difficult for her to button and tie her clothing, but she didn’t want to give up trying. Usually she managed, albeit slowly.

“I believe I’ll go over to the Jewetts’ with you today,” the widow said.

“You’ll be welcome. I plan to do a wash and begin weaving that wool. If there’s anything ready in the garden, you and the children can pick it.”

“Aye, and pluck a few weeds.” Tabitha eyed her hands. “As long as God allows, I’ll keep on being useful.”

Christine was thankful that Tabitha had decided to go. Otherwise, she probably would have fretted all day, wondering if the stranger hung about and Tabitha were in danger. Of course, with the cottage empty, he might go in and help himself to whatever he could find. She refused to dwell on the unwelcome thought.

By the time the two women arrived at the parsonage, Pastor Jewett had already left with John to take Christine’s linen to the Heard garrison and visit his patients at the Chapman and Otis houses. Christine set to work with a sense of relief. His absence settled the nagging question of whether or not to tell him about her encounter with the outlaw.

“You should have fetched me last night,” she said, when Ben told her about Chapman’s call for his father the evening before. “I could have come back.”

“Nay, we were fine. Except Connie cried because there was no more mince pie.”

“What? I thought half a pie was left.”

“So we thought, but when John went to get it down, there was only one small piece left.” Ben shrugged. “Of course, we had to leave it for Father.”

“Of course.” Christine walked to the pie safe on the shelf and opened it. The tin box was now empty.

“Father said when he came home that mayhap you—” Ben stopped and looked away.

“What?”

He winced. “He said mayhap you took it home for you and Goody Deane.”

“I did no such thing.”

“We had a cake of our own yesterday, and no mince pies,” the widow chimed in, glaring at Ben.

“I didn’t really think it.” Ben kicked at a piece of bark on the hearth. “Do you want the fire built up?”

“I think we’d better,” Christine said.

Goody Deane nodded, her eyes snapping. “Aye, it sounds as though we’d best make some mincemeat pies for this rabble.”

“Oh, you don’t need to—”

“Hush, Ben,” Christine said with a smile. “She’s only teasing you. Fetch some good, dry wood and get a new crock of mincemeat from the root cellar.”

“There be only one left.”

“Ah, well, soon we’ll have apples to make more, won’t we?”

“Not for a good month,” Goody Deane said.

“I know where there be blackberries,” Abby piped up from the corner where she sat with her sampler. “May we go and pick some, Miss Christine?”

The thought of the outlaw crossed her mind. “Oh, I think not.”

“They’re only out behind the church,” Ben said. “I’ll take the girls, if you like.”

She turned that over in her mind. They would be easily visible from the common, and easily heard if Ben called for help. Still, she had no doubt the thief had been inside the parsonage while the family was at the Dudleys’ the previous day. “Very well, but leave Ruth here with me. “Ben, you must watch the girls, and beware of strangers, won’t you?”

He cocked his head to one side in a gesture that imitated his father exactly. “Aye.”

She helped them get ready, wondering if she were making a costly mistake. She tied Constance’s bonnet strings firmly and put a small pail in her hands.

“You will be careful of them, Ben?”

“You can be sure of it, Miss Christine.”

She leaned toward him and whispered, “All this pilfering, you know. There may be someone lurking about.”

His eyes widened. “You mean—the pie?”

“Well, we don’t know, do we?”

He nodded gravely and hustled the two girls out the door.

While they were gone, Christine went through the parsonage larder. She thought there were fewer raisins than there had been, but John was known to sneak a handful now and then. The height of the beechnuts in their jar seemed lower, but she couldn’t be sure. She simply couldn’t tell if the outlaw had stolen more than two or three pieces of pie, but she had no doubt in her mind that he had rifled the Jewetts’ stores while they were gone. He had certainly had more to eat than that loaf of Goody Deane’s bread on Monday.

She looked about the main room. He knew the arrangement of the house now and where the children slept. It made her skin crawl. “I shouldn’t have let them go.”

“What?” Tabitha Deane asked.

“The children. I should have made them wait until their father returned.”

“It’s only behind the meetinghouse.”

“I know.”

“Go with them, then. They’ll pick their berries quicker and be home in half an hour. I’ll watch Ruth and start preparing the crust.”

Christine untied her apron and hung it up. “You think I’m silly, don’t you?” She grabbed an iron kettle with a bail handle.

“Nay. You speak as a mother would.”

She dashed out the door and through the knee-high grass between the parsonage and the meetinghouse. Rounding the corner of the stark building, she slowed and made herself calm down. There were the children, picking around the edge of the berry patch that had sprung up where the men had felled trees several years earlier. They were fine. They laughed together in the sunshine, and the smell of the leaves and the warm, plump berries encouraged her. She walked onward, swinging the kettle.

“Miss Christine!” Constance let out a squeal and ran to greet her.

“I thought I’d help you, and we’d finish picking sooner.” Christine gently pulled up the bonnet Constance had let fall back on her shoulders. “You must shade yourself from the sun, dear.”

Ben looked askance at her but kept picking without comment, and soon they had more than enough fruit for two pies.

“We could pick more and make jam,” Abby suggested.

“Why not?” Christine also gathered blackberry leaves to dry for tea.

As they headed home at last, John and his father came ambling along the village street.

“Hello,” the pastor called. “I see you are all out foraging.”

“Aye, sir,” said Christine. “You shall have fresh blackberry pie when you sit down to dinner.”

“I look forward to it with pleasure.” He handed her a small leather pouch. “Your share of the linen money.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Christine felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She tucked the pouch quickly away, in the pocket tied about her waist beneath her overskirt.

“Mrs. Heard was most pleased, and she says if you have time to make more, she’d be delighted to get it.”

“My next project is already begun. Dark gray woolen for the boys’ new trousers.”

He nodded. “Well, I appreciate that, but I don’t begrudge you to earn more if you can.”

“Thank you.”

Ben and John carried the bundles the pastor had purchased at the trading post, and the minister left them to enter the meetinghouse and study for his Sunday sermon.

Christine headed for home with the children. She wished she could unburden her heart to the pastor. But if she did, what evil would come to the family?