A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,33
over the compacted snow. They reached the main road, and the village grew larger before them, while the wind continued to rise in cold, biting gusts. It was with intense relief that they came to the trees that marked the beginning of the small, close houses, and then the graveyard.
They turned off the road and wound through several stone markers; moments later, the little party reached the cellar where Alexander might be left alone. They opened its slanting doors, setting them down on either side. Though her companion claimed he needed no assistance, Charlotte helped by lifting the front of the sled, while Longfellow took up the rear. Working in tandem, they prevented the boy's body from bumping down the steps as they lowered it into the ground.
The earthen room and the timbers with which it was lined gave off an aroma of cedar, earth, and mold. In dim light, they set the sled onto a pair of saw horses, but there seemed no need to remove the tarpaulin, nor to light the candle left in a cracked saucer on the dirt floor. Yet feeling that decency required something, they stood a little longer in the quiet gloom. “Shall you come with me to see Rowe?” Longfellow eventually asked. Her eyes, he saw, defied any objection. And so he helped her to climb the first of several steps; once the doors were shut they proceeded past the meeting house to the minister's stone manse, over which hung a web of withered ivy.
Though village women came to help with the upkeep of the house, Christian Rowe was usually alone when one called. But this time, moments after they knocked, they saw the door opened by another.
“Good morning!” Moses Reed cried, immediately extending a hand as if to pull them in out of the harsh weather. Charlotte and Longfellow returned his greeting.
“Is Mr. Rowe here?” Longfellow asked, unwinding his long woolen scarf.
“He's in the kitchen, finishing his breakfast. I'd already moved on, so I leaped up to see who it was. Anything that keeps the blood moving!” the lawyer added with a grin that spread his beard. “But go in to the study fire. I'll see if I can find you some tea. I'll let our host know you're here,” were his last words, as he left them.
They soon found chairs, and sat to stare at one another. Each then tried to imagine exactly what Rowe should be told—and how he might take the solemn news.
“Longfellow?” came a query. “And Mrs. Willett! How glad I am to see you here, as well. Now, I can thank you again for the sweets you were kind enough to offer me yesterday. A successful day, I think?” the minister asked Longfellow. He received a nod, but nothing more to alter his cheerful mood.
“Do you come on some other business?” Rowe craned his neck toward Longfellow's bundle of cloth, now resting on the hearth. “Have you brought me something?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Longfellow admitted. Then, again, he fell silent.
“I've offered my home to a visitor, as you see. An act of charity, to benefit an old resident.” Rowe rubbed his hands together, thinking, Longfellow imagined, of his pockets.
“Business of a sort has brought us. Bad business, I'm afraid, which will benefit no one. An old business with us, too, unfortunately.” The selectman stopped, sensing that the preacher had already begun to fear the worst.
“No!” Christian Rowe cried abruptly. “Not again! Not—murder?”
Longfellow gave no reply, but watched Rowe stagger back, his arms reaching until he found a sturdy chair to cling to. “What name, sir?” he demanded.
“Alexander Godwin. He was found this morning, at the edge of my ice pond.”
“Your ice pond? Was he really?…” This information suddenly seemed to restore the preacher. “Was he, indeed?” Absently, he allowed a finger to explore an ear, while he considered further. “Not a member of our church, if he did sometimes attend—but wasn't he the youth who fought only yesterday with young Wainwright?” With something solid to ponder, Rowe pulled a chair next to Mrs. Willett's, and sat.
“Yes,” Longfellow admitted.
“Yes, we spoke of it ourselves, didn't we? And I suggested further guidance… although you seemed to disregard my concerns.”
“Their argument was a brief one,” Charlotte assured him. Rowe took her hand in his, and held it.
“I'm very glad you were not upset by their behavior,” he told her. “But I have already discovered the cause of the altercation. It seems it was due to a young woman.”