A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,46
wind she'd forgotten— felt it, too, as the door swung open and Ned Bigelow came inside. He glimpsed two figures out of the corner of his eye and gave a start, peering into the gloom to see who sat next to his grandfather.
“Mrs. Willett?” he asked, before he was entirely sure.
“That's right,” Jonah said quickly, “come to see you, and ask a question. I warned her you might be gone a while, looking for a bird for our dinner.”
Ned took off his hat and slipped out of his coat. While still wearing a mitten on his right hand, he reached down to unbuckle his leather overshoes. He cast these aside as well, and took a small crock from a shelf. Then he came to sit easily on the edge of the brick hearth, his back against the wall. Charlotte again noticed his intelligent eyes, unkempt hair, and barely bearded cheeks that glowed from the wind. Imagining that at this moment he did look something like a grasshopper, she smiled.
“Anything you would like to know, you've only to ask,” he told her. For a moment, he appeared to admire the colored yarn of his mitten. He took it off, and revealed what seemed to be a burn on his sooty hand.
“What's that, son?” asked his grandfather, leaning forward.
“Nothing much. The cock of the fowler slipped while I was adding powder, and the flash caught me.”
“That ointment will soothe it,” Jonah assured him, sitting back again as he watched Ned apply what looked like green grease to the webbed area between his left thumb and forefinger.
“But please, Mrs. Willett, go on,” Ned requested, making light of his injury. “You came with a question for me?”
“I've come to ask about a canvas bag. Lem left it near your feet yesterday. Do you remember?”
“Yes, of course. Has he lost it? Maybe at day's end someone picked it up by mistake.”
“Someone took something from it, at least. An ice hatchet.” The young man waited. Seeing his lack of surprise, Charlotte decided that Ned knew nothing of the news the rest of the village hummed with. Out on the marshes, he would not have heard.
“You don't know about Alex Godwin?” she asked.
“What of him?” The young man's tone was suddenly cool.
“He's dead, I'm afraid.”
Ned looked swiftly to his grandfather.
Yet again, Charlotte began to relate how Lem had found the body, while looking for what had already been stolen by a murderer. She mentioned that Lem and Alex had earlier been seen arguing, hoping Ned would know the reason. By the time she finished, the young man had regained his feet.
“I suppose he was angry with Godwin, Mrs. Willett, and probably for good reason. Alex enjoyed irritating people— he even told stories that weren't true, just to make others as angry as he often was. If he said something malicious about Mattie, then Lem had a right, it seems to me, to try and stop him. Yet it must have been someone else who killed him.”
“Have you someone in mind?” she asked.
“Not I! But it wasn't Lem. If anyone thinks that… then I suppose I might come up with a name or two. The ‘Little Lord’ insulted most of us, and tempers wear thin, once things have been traded back and forth. But I find it hard to think anyone we know would have murdered him.”
“Mr. Longfellow, Dudley, and the preacher are investigating Godwin's death,” said Jonah. “With the Boston lawyer, Moses Reed,” he added.
“Where do they plan to start?” asked Ned.
“When I left the constable and Mr. Longfellow, they were going off to visit Frances Bowers, and then the Sloans,” Charlotte answered.
“I suppose we can expect them to visit us soon after,” said Ned.
“I have no right to ask anything else… but if you remember something more—?”
“I've long been Lem's friend,” Ned replied firmly. “That won't change. I'll do whatever I can. Where is he now?”
“He's probably still on Boar Island, where he went this morning.”
Once more, Ned looked to his grandfather.
“No doubt he went to see if the women there need any help,” said Jonah. “For they'll be alone, now.”
“Of course. But there's good reason to stay away from the place, Mrs. Willett.”
“So I hear! I was there only two days ago—”
“You've been to the island? Did you find anything unusual?” Ned asked with interest.
“Only a spoon.” She had spoken without thinking. The two men waited for her to say more. “A lost spoon, which I've returned to its owner,” she added. “No ghosts or