Dillard Beach Mystery – 24

Chapter Twenty-four

Mid-January 1680

In the weeks between the seasons of fall harvest and spring planting, Rebekah spent whatever time she could playing with Ezra, managing the household chores, and making salves, tinctures and tonics. Some she could use right away, others would need weeks to come to full potency.

“I need more room” she announced to John one evening in mid-November. Their evening meal was done, and the table cleared. She and John rested on the short bench in front of the hearth, Ezra in his cradle at their feet.

“You need more room?” John asked.

“The herbs I collect can dry from any of the rafters, but I need a larger table for my sorting and mixing.”

John lit his clay pipe and looked around, studying their living space. Jars and containers were spread all over the great room, sitting on every shelf and horizontal surface. The rustic table Rebekah used for preparing meals was crowded with small jars of odd-smelling leaves and stems. John’s bits and pieces of fishing tackle were strewn in between. Trying to clear enough space on the table before they sat down to eat a meal was becoming a problem.

“Perhaps it is time I opened the back of the shed and made space for a small workroom we both could use. We spoke of it before. I think it may be time to do it.”

“Is it not too late in the season to start such a project?” Rebekah asked, her face full of doubt.

“Perhaps. But it has to be done. And now that the weather has grown colder, I will have more time. Winter makes it difficult to fish the bay and islands, but the kettle ponds will soon be frozen over and I can start ice fishing. Boswell has agreed to sell whatever I catch at his market and with luck, I should have a few good months of ice fishing before I must go back to fish the bay. Enough time to build out the shed.

“You can do both at the same time? I do not understand.” Rebekah sounded doubtful.

“With ice fishing I can lay a dozen lines at once, leave them overnight and come back the next morning to pull in the fish. And when I am not setting lines and pulling fish off hooks, I will be knocking down the shed wall and building a small workshop.”

“When can you begin?”

“Once the ice is proved solid, I will go. I checked yesterday morning but the ponds and streams are still running more than is safe. We need a true five-day freeze for the ice to be thick enough to hold a man and a pull cart. Of course, my friend Jasper is eager to start, but I don’t trust the ice yet.”

“You know best, John. How thick does the ice need to be?” she asked.

“Clear, black ice needs to be at least three inches for fishing. I need to measure four or five before I step out.” He took a long draw on his pipe before continuing. “If he had his way, Jasper would be on the ice after the first frost in November, no matter the thickness of the ice.”

Rebekah looked worried. “I thank the good Lord, you are more careful than your friend.”

“I have to be now that I have both you and Ezra under my care.” He smiled, reached for his wife, and pulled her close. “I am truly lucky to have you and little Ezra in my life. Sometimes at night when all is quiet, and the only sound I hear is you or Ezra taking a breath and the embers in the hearth crackling beneath the wood. I pause and wonder at my good fortune.”

Rebekah shifted in her seat, moving closer to John. She kissed his cheek softly and whispered, “It is my good fortune as well.”

A few days later, John rose early from his warm bed. “I’m off to check the kettle pond ice,” he whispered. “Stay warm under the covers, I should be back in time for a bowl of your hot porridge.” He gave his wife a broad smile, turned, and walked out the door. Rebekah sighed, glanced down at Ezra, safe in his cradle by the bedside, and fell back to sleep. It was the sound of Ezra’s hunger cry that woke her an hour later.

She shook her head, and slowly opened her eyes. The grey light coming in through the frost-covered window pane revealed it was still early morning. Alone in her bed, she could hear the cry of seagulls in the distance and realized it was Ezra declaring his need for his mother’s breast. She reached for her husband, but his space in the bed was empty.

Rebekah struggled to remember. John had gone to check on the ice. Now, an hour later, the air in the cottage was full of frost. The fire must have gone out.

She threw off the bed covers and reached for Ezra. His little hands were chilled. How long had she been asleep?

Ashamed at her neglect, Rebekah wrapped her son into a fold of the bed quilt and gave him her breast. The babe’s cries were quickly silenced as he suckled. She stayed under the covers until Ezra was satisfied, then tossed back the quilts and sat up.

“I can’t stay in bed all morning,” she declared to the empty cottage. “More than time to get to work.”

She gently placed Ezra back in his cradle and started it rocking. Within moments the motion put Ezra to sleep. She then turned her attention to the hearth. She gathered the coals that still had a bit of fire within and pushed them together in the center of the fireplace. Carefully adding small dry twigs to the pile, she soon had a small fire growing.

She turned back towards Ezra. “Your papa would certainly be annoyed with me, if I let the fire go out,” she worried aloud. “I hope he drew enough water from the well last eve for this morning’s porridge.” She checked the wooden bucket and was pleased to see that her husband had, indeed done just that. She smiled to herself. No matter the hour or the cold, John was always prepared for the day ahead. “Plenty for our morning porridge and for bread making,” she smiled down at Ezra. The baby was awake now and smiled back. “See what a good provider your papa is?”

Within the hour she had a pot of porridge bubbling in the caldron and a loaf of bread rising in the large dough bowl on the sidebar. She glanced out the window. The sky above was now bright with daylight.
“I wonder where your papa has got to, Ezra?” she asked aloud. The babe looked at her and cooed. “I wager he probably met with one of the fishermen from the dock and got waylaid talking best fishing holes for a winter catch,” she thought.

Two hours later, Emma Ballard arrived to work for the afternoon. Rebekah still wondered at her husband’s absence.

“Did you see John coming back from the direction of the kettle pond as you crossed the fields this morning?”

Emma shook her head. “I caught sight of his friend, Jasper Atkins, but he was coming from the opposite direction and was heading towards the village.”

“Those two have a plan for ice fishing this winter. If all goes well we should keep well-fed with trout and bass through the season. And what we can’t eat they will salt and sell.”

Emma agreed. “Mr. Boswell is offering barrels of salt pork in his market. John’s fish will be a good addition and sure to be well received.”

“Come along, Emma, time we got started on these tinctures.” The two friends put their heads together and for the next few hours they worked at sorting and mixing, only stopping for Rebekah to nurse little Ezra.

“He is a hungry little boy.” Emma commented. “Eager for his mother’s milk.”

“That he is, and I am happy for it.” She hugged her child close and smiled.

“How old is the boy, Rebekah?”

“Nearly seven months. Born in late July and growing fast. He’ll be as tall as his father before he sees a dozen years.”

At the mention of her husband, Emma looked about. “And where is John? Is he still fishing on the bay? ” Emma asked.

At her question, Rebekah paused. John had left the cottage that morning just after dawn to check on the thickness of the ice and had not yet returned. She opened the cottage door and studied the sky. She looked over the gardens and fields hoping to see her husband walking up the road. The sun was now setting and the day near done. John had been gone a full twelve hours: a long time for him to be away, especially on such a cold winter day.

“Emma, you said you saw Jasper Atkins walking across the fields earlier today? Can you remember at what hour?”

“It must have been near to noon when I came by.”

More than five hours had passed since then. And still no sign of John. Rebekah was not one to needlessly imagine tragedy, but she was beginning to worry. The wind was picking up and the cold beginning to settle in for the night. A storm was coming. If John had fallen? If he was lost or without shelter?

She refused to harbor such thoughts but knew she had to satisfy her curiosity.

“Emma, do you pass the Atkins house on your way home? Would you stop in and ask if John is there, or has dropped by today?”

“Of course. I’ll leave now and send word back with one of the boys if anything is amiss. But do not worry. I am certain all is well.”

Rebekah kept herself busy preparing stew for supper. She sliced off several pieces of salted pork and tossed them into the kettle with a bit of potato and carrot from the garden. The pot was boiling within the hour, but still, John did not return, and no word from Emma.

She waited to eat her own meal and fed Ezra each time he fussed which seemed to be every hour. He ate, burped, and then required a change of nappy. With her attention on Ezra, she did not notice the horse-drawn wagon approach the cottage and was startled when there were three sharp knocks on the front door.

She slowly opened the door and was surprised to see Farmer Birch standing there, lantern in hand. Jasper Atkins stood at his side.

“Sorry to disturb you miss,” said the farmer. “But I’ve come with very sorry news.”

“What is it at this late hour?” She glanced at the horse and wagon standing in the road. “Is someone ill or injured?” she asked.

“I fear it is much darker news I bring you, miss.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I believe it is your husband, found in the kettle pond this very night.”

She looked from one man to the next. “What did you say? My husband? You must be mistaken.”

Jasper Atkins spoke up. “No mistake, Miss. It’s John. I was supposed to meet him this morning at the kettle pond. We were going to check on the thickness of the ice for ice fishing.”

“I know all about your plan,” Rebekah interrupted.

“John never showed up.” Jasper continued. “He must have come earlier than we had arranged. I know how eager he was to get started and I warned him to wait until I could join him. But I had to go to the village first, and arrived at the pond, later than I had expected.” He waited, nervously twisting his woolen cap.

Stunned, she walked towards the back of the wagon.

“Show me.” She demanded.

Farmer Birch followed her to the back of the wagon and lifted his lantern high enough to shine a light on what was inside. A large piece of rough fabric had been thrown across a human form lying in the wagon. Frozen rain had puddled and the fabric was stiff as Farmer Birch lifted one corner to reveal the face of John Rand. His eyelids were shut and his skin was turning a light shade of blue.