A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,57

difficulty. Once he and his horse had pulled themselves through the interwoven branches, he found they acted as a lee, slowing the wind. He paused to rest and think.

It looked familiar. But could it be? Hope made him almost joyful. Holding up his lantern, he examined branches that had scratched at him, catching his long cape with cruel spines. It was, indeed, a hawthorn!

At last he knew where he was, though he should have been at one end of the line, rather than somewhere in the middle. This was better than he could have hoped! For it was the same hedge he'd examined during the past summer, when a traveler had been found dead on the ground nearby. Now, he suspected this need not be his own fate, after all.

The line ran north and south, abutting the main road. For this reason, the captain turned to his left. He soon came upon the ditch he'd expected. Calling out to the horse, he continued to pull at its reins, encouraging a faster pace, staying in the frozen ditch so that there would be little to fear for the last two miles.

Soon he would reach his wife, and then he would cover her with kisses. A few hours after that, he imagined he would be glad to fall asleep, finally, in her arms.

Chapter 20

RICHARD LONGFELLOW STOOD with his back to a snow-splashed window, his eyes playing over those who sat in his study, close to the blazing fire. Each had in hand a glass of brandy to further ward off the effects of the cold. John Dudley had already been given another; Moses Reed nursed his first, appreciating its bouquet.

Upstairs, Diana refreshed herself by a fire Cicero had kept burning while awaiting her return from Mrs. Willett's farmhouse. He and Lem were now creating some sort of supper in the kitchen. Happily, Reverend Rowe had stayed only briefly, to complain that he'd learned nothing helpful from his foolish flock. Then he'd hurried home.

Longfellow asked himself what he had accomplished that afternoon. For one thing, he'd been able to persuade the constable that a close watch on Lem, rather than an arrest, would be sufficient. This had been easier than he'd imagined. But it seemed Dudley was incapable of deciding more. Hardly surprising—though another occurrence was. Returning to the study after seeing the minister out, Longfellow found Dudley and Lem close together, speaking quietly to keep Moses Reed from hearing whatever it was they discussed. The constable stepped back abruptly, his expression of innocence seeming highly improbable. Neither offered a word of explanation; both, Longfellow suspected, shared some secret. His frustration increased as he recalled other times he'd come upon similar scenes in recent months.

Lem had been eager enough to ask how things were with Martha Sloan. He'd eased the boy's mind on that account, at least. She was anxious enough to fear what the future might hold for her prospective mate. Godwin, she swore, had been nothing to her at all, and both young men knew it. Why they'd decided to fight on the day of Alex's death, she had no idea.

Later, while John Dudley did little more than play with his boil, Longfellow had questioned Frances Bowers. Again, he'd been disappointed. She'd rarely spoken to Alex of anything important, it seemed, and never at length. Apparently, he always ate quickly and in silence, well before she sat down to her own supper, so that Miss Bowers had not even shared a table with the young man— an arrangement that had suited them both for nearly a year!

Leaving the lady, Longfellow had suggested they inquire about the missing canvas bag and the found hatchet, starting with a visit to the Bigelows. Dudley rejected the idea, insisting instead that they go immediately up the hill to speak with Lem—though they could easily have seen Jonah and Ned on the way. In fact the constable had left them to go into the inn, no doubt for a bumper of courage. Some time later, before he'd left Charlotte with Magdalene Knowles, she'd told him quietly that the seed bag had been sent back to her—and, that it had been taken off accidentally by none other than Dudley himself! No doubt the constable had been in his cups the day before. But why, today, had he neglected to mention what he'd done? Longfellow asked himself if something else might have taken place by the bonfire.

And then, he recalled that when Moses Reed came down to inform