Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Janet Kellough
little in the newspaper about Spicer’s testimony, although they had given over the entire front page to the trial. Apparently he had described his efforts to apprehend the accused in a factual and low-key way, and it was reported in the same manner. A great deal of the space was again given to a gruesome description of the dead body and the bravery of the constables who had attended the scene. There were also a couple of paragraphs about the accused, and an account of the way in which he seemed to sit quietly one moment, his head down, as if he weren’t listening; the next he would be slavering at the mouth, his eyes rolling, his whole body shaking. It was obvious that he was criminally insane, the editor of the paper wrote, but he had taken the life of an innocent woman, and so must pay the price.
The court agreed and the magistrate set the date of execution for a month’s time.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Spicer said as they rode the circuit together. “If everyone agrees that he’s insane, then how can he be held accountable for his crime? I find this very troubling.”
“As do I,” Lewis replied. “All I can say in response is that now you’re beginning to understand that life is never straightforward. Often there is no clear right or wrong, and our duty is to think hard and long before we pronounce any kind of definitive judgment.”
“With the Bible as our authority?”
Lewis hesitated. “I prefer to think that my conscience is the final arbiter.”
“I wish it were easier.”
“If it was easier, we wouldn’t have to think so hard, would we?”
It was an excellent point that emerged, and Lewis decided to use it as the basis for his next sermon. He was a little disappointed when his words seemed to go over the congregation’s heads somewhat, for he could see the puzzled looks on their faces. This was not what they wanted from a preacher, this measured approach that put the onus on their own judgment and called upon self-discipline and reason to guide their days. They wanted fire and brimstone, the threat that if they trespassed they would burn in eternal hell, but that if they followed the rules of their faith, they would go to their reward in a heavenly paradise. Suddenly, Lewis felt very old, and very tired.
At the end of the service he stood by the door to say a word to each of the congregation, and for a moment he was taken aback when a girl stopped before him to speak. It was not the reaction that had so long plagued him when he saw someone who looked like Sarah. This girl did not have chestnut hair or grey eyes; her hair was a dull yellow paired with eyes of a washed-out blue; she did not carry herself in a sprightly way, but rather slouched as she walked along. What she did have was a little green book that was leaching dye onto her palms.
“May I see this?” he asked, and she handed it to him. This one was the Book of Acts, not Proverbs, but the size and the binding were the same. He leafed through it, paying special attention to the front fly-leaf, but there was no sloping inscription written there.
“Read it well, and understand,” was all he said when he handed it back to her. It reminded him that he had one still-unanswered question.
“Morgan, do you remember the meeting at Gatrey’s farm? The day you found the Lord?”
“Of course I do. It was the most momentous day of my life.”
“Just after the first hymn was sung, you asked me if I had seen Rachel Jessup. Do you remember? You wanted to give her one of those books.”
“Yes. The Proverbs. I gave it to her.”
“You did?” He looked at the boy with astonishment.
“Yes. What’s the matter?”
“Then how did Simms’s handwriting get into it?”
Spicer blushed. “I asked him to write the inscription for me. I didn’t write well enough to do it myself. I still don’t, but I’m getting better. He threw in a Lord’s Prayer pin as a bonus. Why are you asking all this now?”
“Because I couldn’t figure out why Simms would have written in the book. He didn’t write anything in any of the others. Just that one. It’s been puzzling me.”
“He didn’t know. Who I was giving it to, I mean.”
“Of course.” And yet the handwriting was the thing that had finally convinced him that Simms was the murderer. How odd, he thought. He had missed so many clues, yet the one that had led him to the culprit had turned out to be no clue at all.
IV
The roads were dry, the weather sunny and bright, and Moses and Nancy were ready to head west.
Minta had been delighted that they were to be married at her house, or at least in one side of it, and although it was a quiet affair as weddings go, she and Betsy spent long hours preparing the breakfast. Betsy kept trying to shoo her away, as it was by now evident that Minta had another child on the way. This one seemed not to be taking the same toll on her as Henry had, and she was cheerful and full of energy, her face aglow from the new life inside her.
Lewis chose to speak of the bond between man and wife, and the partnership that comes with a strong marriage, and he made Betsy blush when he praised her for her support and faithfulness over the years. He thought Moses had chosen well, and said so. Nancy seemed a very sensible girl, her parents both hard-working people who in turn appeared pleased with their daughter’s choice. Already he could see that the young couple were acting as a team, their eyes firmly fixed on the goal of owning their own farm.
“You hate to see them go off so far away,” Nancy’s father said. “But I can understand it. It’s a new country they’re building. The future is in their hands, not ours anymore. I just hope they do a better job of it than we did.”
Nancy’s cheeks coloured prettily when he pronounced Moses and she united, then Martha made everyone laugh by applauding loudly. It was a propitious way to start a marriage, he thought.
And then, too soon, it was the next day and the new couple was making ready to leave. Moses had acquired an old wagon and mended the wheels on it. He had built a frame over part of it and covered it with a piece of canvas.
“That should keep things dry if it starts raining again,” he said. Lewis could see that Moses had been planning this move for some time, and had slowly accumulated the things he figured he would need: tools, lengths of rope and chain, and several iron pots. As a wedding present, Nancy’s parents had given them an old draught horse to pull the wagon. Lewis hoped the beast could make the journey, for it was sway-backed and tired-looking.
“I just want him to get us there,” Moses said. “If he’s still in decent shape, I’ll keep him for ploughing. Otherwise, I’ll sell both the horse and the wagon and use the money toward stock.”
Nancy’s trousseau chest was full of bolts of cloth and seeds for the kitchen garden, and Betsy had made up a sewing kit for her: thread, needles, scissors, lengths of lace and trim and a paper of pins— none of which had the Lord’s Prayer on them.
Luke was beside himself with anticipation and excitement. This was an adventure he had scarcely dared hope for and he scurried around helping Moses load up the wagon as if he were afraid that some event might intervene that would keep them from setting off after all. Martha was excited, too, mostly because everyone else was, and made a nuisance of herself, getting in the way until Minta swooped down and took her off to play with Henry.
“I’m sorry to see you go,” Lewis said to his youngest son, echoing the words said by Nancy’s father, and Luke had a moment when the anxiety of leaving his family warred with his desire to follow his brother. “You’re a good lad, and I’m sure you’ll make a great success of this enterprise.” The boy reddened at this unexpected praise, and Lewis wished he had given it out more freely in the past. He had spent too much time mourning his girls; he should have looked up and noticed that his boys were becoming men. “There is one thing I want to say before you go.”
He could see that Luke was expecting