A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,102
make the rest something less of a problem. Edmund and I have—”
Before Longfellow could go on, a hush fell over the house. There in the doorway stood Captain Montagu, his wife on his arm. Though not dressed in their Boston best, both wore austere expressions that might have accompanied such finery, while they accepted the stares of those who watched as their due. Not a man or woman dared to speak; all waited while the couple looked over the house, seeming to see no one. The silence appeared to satisfy them, proving their authority if it did not exactly give welcome.
They walked slowly to the front where Christian Rowe waited, his hands folded as if in prayer. Upon reaching him, Edmund and Diana turned to face the village. Now they examined certain faces before them, willing guilty eyes to look away. Some admitted later that while the Montagus could be warm enough when they chose, they were no doubt made of sterner stuff than most in the small world of Bracebridge.
“I heard, sir,” the captain said to the minister hovering at his side, “that you would hold a meeting today, to look into the death of Alexander Godwin.”
“That is what we are about, sir, yes,” said Rowe.
“But that is not all you're discussing today, is it, Mr. Rowe?”
“You may hear accusations, Captain, concerning a certain scheme. They are unproven,” Christian Rowe answered carefully.
“Men too often accuse one another, it seems, without proper proof. That is how our courts of law are always full, yet accomplish little. When, indeed, they are allowed to open at all.”
The captain paused for whispers that came in response to this hopeful sign. Did he agree with them, after all, that the Crown had been unfair?
“You are aware, I believe, that my wife and I have come to Bracebridge to visit her brother?” he continued.
“Yes, sir,” said Rowe.
“And that I have not come on the King's business?”
“Why, yes, sir. That is what I would say, if asked.”
“However, were I to decide to make what I begin to see here the King's business—”
Montagu gave another look about the room. He could almost hear new fears rising over the illegal business still unmentioned. It was enough, he decided. “Were I to see the result of criminal activity about me, I would be sorry, sir. For then, it would be my duty to make someone suffer for it. I hope—I sincerely hope—that this will not be necessary.”
The captain reached into a pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a silver shilling. If the room had been quiet before, it now seemed full of dead men. No one dared to breath as he flipped the coin into the air, sending it to Richard Longfellow. The move was anticipated, the shilling handily caught.
“Do as I do,” said Edmund Montagu, “and you'll have nothing to fear. At least for now.” With that he looked to his wife. Diana smiled back serenely.
It seemed to Charlotte that Diana played a role she had been born to, standing at the arm of a powerful husband, who was also blessed with good sense and understanding. If he could be masterful, so might she; together they could regard a painful past, an uncertain future. This joining, and not the lonely role of Nemesis, would be Diana's strength. Charlotte only hoped that in future her friend would trust a sympathetic husband, and would not run from him again.
The captain led his lady out amidst the hushed crowd, and Charlotte wondered what sort of finale he and her neighbor had decided on. She saw Longfellow stand and hold the shilling high for all to see.
“For the good of my conscience, and quite possibly my soul,” he told the assembly, “I am going to take this symbol of corruption from our place of worship. For the sake of your own, I would suggest that every man here do the same. What has lately occurred in Bracebridge has brought discord among us; worse, it has led to a loss of life, and the ruin of happiness.”
No one seemed to disagree.
“Ned Bigelow is gone,” he continued. “Whatever else he may have done, he took good care of his grandfather, who now has no one to help him face his final years. This shilling will be the first contribution to a charitable fund for Jonah's benefit. I know a silversmith in Boston who will melt down what I bring him, without question, and make it pure again. I will be glad if others