who would look after her interests. It was she who sent me to Boston, away from Magdalene and the boy, to begin my study of the law. For that, at least, I have always been grateful. Had Magdalene and I married against John Fisher's wishes, or even later, against Catherine's, Magdalene would surely have been given nothing. Her family in Philadelphia, too, would have shunned her, I was convinced. And for long years, I could have given her little more.”
“Ned knew of this?”
“Exactly when he learned he was her son, I'm not sure. And I don't wish to know! No more than I want to believe Catherine Knowles was pushed, as she claimed.”
Had Reed learned the truth about that, too? Charlotte could not bring herself to ask him more. One day, perhaps. But not this one.
He suggested again that they keep to themselves what Mrs. Knowles had insisted on her deathbed. Would it really make a difference? If it came to a trial, he assured her, an unclear mind would provide some defense, especially after years of torment.
Charlotte decided she would need to think further, before she could decide for herself whether to keep silent about Catherine's death. Ned, however, was no longer among them. In his case, at least, vengeance might be left to the Lord.
“And Jonah Bigelow?” she asked finally.
“Not even he knew for sure that I was the father. I sent him small yearly sums in Catherine's name, to help him raise the boy. That's another reason I came back to Bracebridge—to see if I might do more for them both, with Ned approaching manhood. Though I was ashamed to let him know why. As it turned out, I gave the boy a note good for more than enough to travel far to the south, where he said he'd long hoped to go. And I promised I would send more, if he would only write to me.”
“What will happen to Magdalene?”
“She has no wish to go back to Philadelphia, and has asked me to continue to manage her small trust. And yet, Mrs. Willett, I would do a great deal more,” he said, his voice breaking. “I would gladly marry her, if she would accept me. My feelings on seeing her again were rekindled; in my eyes, she has hardly changed. But it seems she no longer feels she's worthy of love. It is Catherine's damnable influence, I'm sure! One day, perhaps, I may be able to convince Magdalene of the truth…”
A clamor rose outside. The men who had left returned, four of them carrying Jonah Bigelow in the chair Charlotte had seen at the old man's fireside. Its occupant was much changed. Jonah seemed terrified—for himself, perhaps, and doubtless for his grandson.
“Ned's not there,” reported one of the farmers, “nor any of his things, that we can tell. Jonah says he doesn't know where the boy's got to, but that he couldn't have done murder. Yet it looks as though Ned feared we'd find out, and ran away.”
“What happened, Jonah?” asked Richard Longfellow, who had risen immediately. He stood watching as more misery etched itself into a face raised to accept further punishment.
“I don't know, and that's the truth, sir!” Jonah cried. He bent as one deep cough followed another. It took some time for them to cease.
“Ned carried me out earlier, to sit with the cobbler,” Jonah began again. “As I do on a Saturday morning. Amos takes his cart out later, and sees me home. But this time when I returned, Ned wasn't waiting—nor were some of the things that should have been in the cupboard, I admit…”
Watching this poor soul about to break into tears, Charlotte felt her heart touched by his tragedy, truly that of an entire family. “What is it, Mr. Reed?” she then asked, for she had seen the attorney's face darken.
“I can give no sympathy to a man with so much to answer for! He might have seen Ned properly apprenticed, and learning a trade, instead of involved in this business on the island! How I wish it were Jonah, instead, who—” His voice sank dramatically. “And yet I know it must be my own fault, too—my own burden. For I came back too late, far too late—”
His head now in his hands, Moses Reed wept.
Longfellow came to them at that point, and sat down.
“He told you?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said simply. He reached out and clasped her hands.
“I know, Carlotta. A terrible waste. At least we've formed a plan to