The Body In The Bog Part 14

He nodded. "I'll put the kids to bed. You can tell me about it later."

She completely forgot her dinner was still in the oven.

118.

Fix and her husband, Sam, were sitting in the kitchen when Faith arrived. Fix had a baby quilt in her lap she was not working on, although there was a threaded needle in her hand. The door had been open, as was the custom in Aleford, and Faith had come straight in. She locked it behind her.

"I suppose we'll have to start doing this sort of thing now," Fix said mournfully.

"For the time being." Sam was trying very hard to resist the impulse to move his entire family to a new, undisclosed location.

"Why don't I make some coffee?" Faith offered, and hearing no refusals, she went ahead. She'd grabbed a tin of the cookies she'd made with the kids as she was leaving the parsonage. Even if they didn't want them now, they would later.

"I can't believe it's Joey Madsen-or any of the Deanes. He's mad about what we're doing, but he'd be more apt to lose his temper the way Gus did and let us have it at one of the meetings," Fix said.

Faith agreed-in part. The fact that Joey had not been heard from had been troubling her. It was his habit to rant and rave. So why wasn't he doing it now? With so much money at stake, maybe Joey was trying another tactic and keeping his natural impulses in check. Or, to be fair, his lawyer could be advising him that flying off the handle wouldn't move the project along and could have the opposite effect.

"Were they written the same way? Cutout letters, ballpoint block letters on the envelope?''

"Exactly the same. The police have mine, otherwise, you could see for yourself."

So much for a possible copycat theory, Faith thought. But that wouldn't have made much sense, anyway. It was difficult enough to believe that someone had sent one set. That there would be another poison pen aimed at these same people was beyond all imagining. The only difference was in the omission of the signature, and it was an omission 119.

that alarmed her. If the others were ostensibly sent in a friendly manner, dropping it underscored the seriousness of the threat. She took a cookie, bit into it, and realized she was hungry.

Sam was proposing that they leave town on Patriots' Day and go someplace safe-Faith suggested Manhattan-when there was a noise at the back door. All three of them jumped.

"Get down on the floor and don't move," Sam ordered. "I'll call the police."

But it was the police. Seeing Chief Maclsaac's puzzled face through the gla.s.s, Sam immediately opened the door.

"Forgot you'd be bolting things up and thought it was open as usual," Charley said.

Fix stood up and dusted herself off.

"This is getting ridiculous. I refuse to be a prisoner in my own house or scared to walk around in my own town. I haven't missed Patriots' Day once. Mother says they started taking us as soon as we were born, and I'm not going to miss this one."

Pix also had her Sunday school pin with a cascade of bars for perfect attendance hanging from it. Faith had seen it. Pix's family, the Rowes, were known for showing up.

Faith handed Charley a mug of coffee.

"I understand how you feel and I'd probably do the same, but wouldn't it be more sensible to skip the celebrations just this once? Or you could go to Concord for theirs."

"Concord!" From the tone of Pix's voice, Faith might have been suggesting London, England, for Patriots' Day.

"I agree with Faith," Sam said firmly.

"No." Pix folded her arms across her chest. She could be very stubborn, and the set of her mouth and the gesture told the a.s.sembled company that this was going to be one of those times. "Our forefathers and foremothers didn't run on April nineteenth and neither will I."

Charley had been silent. He'd already heard the same basic speech from Millicent Revere McKinley and Louise 120.

Scott. Ted wasn't home. He hadn't talked to Nelson or Brad yet, but he expected more repet.i.tion. Both men were members of the minutemen and partic.i.p.ants in the reenactment. As for Millicent, there was no question that she believed Patriots' Day would be canceled if she wasn't there.

"The state police have been notified. We're taking this very seriously. They'll provide extra coverage and someone will be with you at all times. Now, don't say anything." He held up his hand as Fix began to protest. "No choice here. Nothing's going to happen and we want to make sure it doesn't."

Faith was relieved by the illogic of the statement. She planned to be at her friend's side every waking minute of the day, too-no matter how early that minute was.

"What about the kids? I haven't told them. I don't want them upset." Having given in on one thing, Fix was taking a stand on another.

She was going to lose this one, too.

"We don't know anything, so we have to a.s.sume all of you are targets. If you don't tell your children, they're not going to be able to look after themselves-or accept our looking after them."

Faith remembered that Samantha, a cla.s.s officer, would be riding in one of the cla.s.sic convertibles. Charley had used the word and it had stuck in Faith's mind: Target. Sitting duck.

"Can we move the senior cla.s.s officers to a closed car?" she suggested.

Fix winced. They were right. These were her kids.

Charley nodded and took out his scruffy spiral memo pad. "Okay, let's get it all down. They're in the youth parade and the big parade, right? And what about Danny, is he marching with anything?"

"DARE, but that's just the big parade. He'll want to ring the bell at the belfry in the morning, though. He always does. And we all go to Millicent's pancake breakfast. I'm in the kitchen and Sam pa.s.ses out the food. The kids help 121.

clear and set up." The Millers' Patriots' Day routine was unvarying-and exhausting.

"Well, at least when he's marching with the DARE group, he'll be surrounded by cops," Faith observed. DARE was the drug education program the police ran for the upper elementary and middle school kids.

Charley took some more notes. Fix appeared to feel better. She was quilting. Chief Maclsaac stood up to leave and Fix had a sudden thought.

"I can see how you'll be able to cover us, but how on earth are you going to keep track of Millicent?''

It was just what Charley had been thinking, too.

Faith sat in church the next morning wondering if they would ever get back to normal. Once again, the peace of the sanctuary was gone, replaced instead by a tension so palpable, you could taste it. A kind of a morning mouth taste, a taste even a good toothbrushing couldn't entirely dissolve. Last Sunday, it had been the first letters. Today, Margaret's death-and more letters. Plus the undercurrents-Lora's calls, the brick through her window, and Lora herself. Faith tried to find a spot on the pew cushion that still had some stuffing.

She planned to spend the afternoon with Pix. They were going to take all the kids up to Crane Beach in Ipswich to fly kites. Tom had calls to make, but Sam was coming. Faith had already packed a picnic. They needed to get away, and the idea of sitting and watching a large expanse of water appealed to her. Pix had agreed.

Faith stood up for the last hymn. Yes, it would be good to spend the day outside-and away from Aleford. Ale-ford-overnight it had become a place of danger. They'd be away, but they'd be marking time. As they sang "Amen," the bells rang in the steeple. It was noon.

In twelve more hours, Patriots' Day would begin.

122.

Six.

The sky was pitch-dark when Faith woke. Unlike other Patriots' Days, this morning she had no trouble getting out of bed. The trouble had been getting to sleep at all. She felt muzzy. She needed some coffee, a lot of coffee.

"Tom, Tom, wake up." She leaned over her husband. He smiled and reached for her, then remembered the day and what it might bring. The smile faded and he kissed Faith hurriedly.

"I'll get Ben dressed while you get ready. Mrs. Hart should be here soon," Tom said.

Amy was at the age where any change in routine produced disastrous results. Eloise Hart was a parishioner who'd agreed to stay with the toddler until a more reasonable hour.

When Faith returned from brushing her teeth, she found a gleeful Ben bouncing on their bed in his Minutechild garb.

"Did you remember his thermal underwear-and yours?" she asked Tom. "It's freezing out, as usual." Faith most enjoyed Patriots' Day after the sun rose and her toes thawed.

Tom was struggling into his homespun frock coat and Faith took his mumbled reply as a yes. She looked at her own costume and pitied those poor women who had had to 123.

struggle through their onerous ch.o.r.es weighted down by layers of heavy petticoats and coa.r.s.e woolen hose. Normally, Tom delighted in his role as the Reverend Samuel Pennypacker. Aleford tradition more or less demanded that whoever Samuel's modern-day counterpart was at First Parish join the Aleford Minutemen Company and partic.i.p.ate in the reenactment. Star of several college productions and George in Norwell High's staging of Our Town, Tom hadn't needed any urging, and he read Samuel's diaries in the Aleford Room at the library each year to get into the role.

Faith played his wife, Patience. Patience didn't leave any diaries, nor did she figure in her husband's except for an occasional reference, "Patience with child again." Faith had seen both their headstones in the cemetery and noted that Mistress Pennypacker had outlived her husband by fifteen years. Maybe Patience was a virtue. Patience didn't have to do much at the reenactment except rush onto the green when the smoke cleared and tend the wounded. Faith didn't do anything to prepare. This was Ben's first reenactment. He was little Elijah Pennypacker. Faith reminded him that children in those days were extremely obedient and that he must stay by her side at all times.

The bell rang and Faith went to answer the door, nearly tumbling down the stairs, enc.u.mbered by skirts as she was. It was Mrs. Hart. As Faith let her in, the lights in the Millers' kitchen went on. None of the Millers were partic.i.p.ants in the reenactment, but they all took turns ringing the alarm bell in the old belfry and would join the spectators lining the green. Faith wondered if they had company for breakfast, company who might be packing something more modern than a musket. Charley had promised protection, and if there wasn't anyone there yet, Faith herself resolved to stay by Pix's side. Patience might miss the battle this year.

Each year, the Aleford Minutemen met for breakfast before the event, gathering at the parish hall of the Catholic church. This third Monday in April was always a very ec.u.menical day. Besides the DAR pancake breakfast, the 124.

Baptists and the Episcopalians hosted them. Faith made coffee for Mrs. Hart and put out some apple crumb cake, bagels, cream cheese, and lox. Let her choose from these ail-American favorites. Hastily drinking some coffee herself, Faith went into the living room and called softly up the stairs, "Tom, Ben, we have to be going." They came immediately, Tom's heavy boots clumping noisily.

"Sssh, you'll wake Amy!"

Ben was so excited, he was hopping from foot to foot.

"Go pee, Ben. One more time," Tom instructed.

"I don't have to," he protested-one more time.

Fakh was anxious to get over to the Millers'. She needed to see Fix.

"Come on. They have bathrooms at the church. And it's getting late."

They said good-bye to Mrs. Hart and put on their woolen cloaks. Tom draped a plaid blanket over his shoulders. He'd seen a print of a New England minister of the time so attired and had adopted the garb himself. It meant he was the warmest person on the Common, too.

They stepped outside. The moon, full two days earlier, was still large and bright. The cold early-morning air seeped through their clothes. Faith was chilled. It was 4:15.

The Millers were ready to leave, too. You had to get in line early if you wanted a turn at pulling the bell rope. Faith was relieved to see Patrolman Dale Warren was with them. As she did every year, Fix was urging her family to pretend that they actually were on their way to sound the alarm.

"It was cool, maybe not as cool as today, but definitely not warm. Everyone who lived close to the green, the way we do, would have been gathering at the tavern, waiting for information about the British troops. Keyed up-something was finally happening-but scared, too."

Faith had heard it all before, yet this year she thought Fix's voice held real fear. They left them at the bottom of Belfry Hill and walked briskly toward St. Theresa's. It was still pitch-dark, but Aleford was filled with activity. Cars 125.

were parked on the side streets; Main Street was blocked off. Figures, some in period dress, pa.s.sed by, flashlights illuminating them for an instant. Despite the numbers of people about, the town was quiet-lying in wait, as Fix had said. Inside St. Theresa's hall, the contrast was immediate. All the lights were on. It was warm and noisy. The Minutemen kept up a steady stream of conversation as they ate. Faith blinked at the sudden change and grabbed at Ben's cloak as he started to race off.

The Aleford Militia had been founded in 1773 and was still going strong, an uninterrupted history doc.u.mented by their meeting records. It was open to any U.S. citizen over the age of eighteen and, unlike other Aleford inst.i.tutions, a number of its members actually lived out of town. Just as there had been several generations from the same family on the green over two hundred years ago, there were several generations of various families represented in the Minute-men. In 1775, Aleford had, strictly speaking, not organized a company of Minutemen, members of the militia who would be ready to fight at a moment's notice, but it kept the militia as such. The mists of time and prejudices encouraged by myth had obscured this fact long ago and Minutemen they were.

The first person Faith saw was Gus Deane devouring a large mound of scrambled eggs and sausage, using his toast to help. It looked delicious. Faith got her own plate, parked Ben and his at a table with some other children, then went over to chat with Gus, who was Capt. Ebenezer Sewall, the head of the militia today. He was regaling a small group with reminiscences of Patriots' Days past.

"Remember the year George came round the bend at the tavern during the rehearsal, riding his daughter's little hobbyhorse instead of a real one? I thought I'd die laughing. Don't know how we made it through the actual thing without cracking up. When he came riding up to the tavern shouting, 'The Regulars are coming!' everyone kept picturing him on the d.a.m.ned toy!"

Faith looked at the men around her, who had joined in 126.

Gus's merriment. The room was at a fever pitch of excitement, as if they really were preparing to defend their rights, their village. Besides the talk, there was a continuous bustle in the adjoining rooms. The women and older children were managing the breakfast things. Miss Lora, dressed as a servant girl, a long checkered kerchief crisscrossed over her bodice, came by with a platter of piping-hot sausages, the steam curling up to her face. She paused to say h.e.l.lo. Ben was in heaven. Others were putting the finishing touches to their costumes, adjusting hats, garments. One man was handing out the muskets from the small stage at one end of the hall.

"The British are coming!" Bonnie Madsen called from the door, and the company from Boston that a.s.sumed this role each year filed in. They were impressive. Bright silver b.u.t.tons gleamed on their red coats, silver gorgets at their throats. Their wigs were elaborately coiffed. Anything that was supposed to shine did. Tom had told her each outfit cost upward of a thousand dollars, all made by hand. In contrast, the farmers and artisans who made up Aletbrd's force got away cheap-fringed homespun shirts, rough jackets and vests. Some wore the tricorne hat. The only gleaming metals aside from a buckle were a few pewter flasks slung from their shoulders on leather thongs. Others had canteens, homemade wooden ones. Many of the men had full beards. Faith's own son was sporting a red mustache from the fruit punch put out with the orange juice. She went over to the table to get a napkin.

Ben's eyes grew wide as he watched one British major pour himself some coffee and select a doughnut. The drummer boy came up next to him and grabbed two. "Don't sneeze on the doughnuts, Nathan," the major bellowed as the young man reached for a pocket handkerchief. Ben ducked behind his mother's voluminous skirts.

"Is it time?"

"Almost," she answered, and looked about the room for Tom.

He was talking to Nelson, who was dressed like the oth- 127.

ers, except he wore a black armband. Millicent, already at the green, might fuss that it wasn't authentic, but even she wouldn't say he couldn't wear it. Last year, Margaret had been here, too, helping with serving. A man Faith didn't recognize stood beside Nelson. Though he was dressed for the reenactment, she was willing to bet this would be his first and only one. His chest, with a noticeable bulge, was covered with straps; he was carrying a powder horn and shot pouch. Tom's pouch held his Bible and a hunk of bread-he'd read that was what Samuel had carried-in addition to his ammunition. Faith thought it more likely this Minuteman was toting some kind of cellular phone. Nelson left the room, his flask clanking against his powder horn, and the unknown Minuteman followed him out.

As dawn approached, tension mounted. Her first year, Faith had been amused to note that the British and Colonial troops did not fraternize. Tom said it was because they didn't know one another, since they only got together for rare events like today's. She'd watched every year-the same people, the same place-and decided he was wrong. It might be a reenactment, but soon these men would be facing one another on the field of battle. Captain Sewall hadn't taken a cup of tea, or noggin of rum, with his British counterpart that morning and he didn't now. There were nods and greetings, yet that was all.

"It's almost five, time to get to the tavern, and those of you who are on the green better hurry," Gus commanded. Joey Madsen came into the room and grabbed his musket.

"Ramrods out!" shouted Gus. "Ramrods out!" This reminder was made each time a group left. There had been a reenactment, not in Aleford, of course, where one of the partic.i.p.ants had forgotten to remove the ramrod from his gun; when he fired, it shot into the crowd with deadly force. Miraculously, no one had been injured.

"Let's go, Mom. Everyone's leaving." Ben was pulling on Faith's hand. She had been postponing the moment- the hall was so nice and warm.

"Go to the bathroom first," she bargained. He ran off 128.

and she decided she'd better do the same. They'd be on the green for a long time.

Outside the kitchen, she found Brad Hallowell, next to his drum, wolfing down his breakfast.

"Overslept," he said between bites. "d.a.m.n alarm didn't go off and my mother didn't want to wake me up. Thought I needed my sleep."

Faith reminded herself that Mrs. Hallowell was a relative newcomer to Aleford and Patriots' Day activities. In some households, her behavior would have caused her to be la-beld a Tory spy. She certainly doted on her son, her only child, Faith thought as she waited to get into the bathroom. Several of her homespun sisters had had the same idea. Mrs. Hallowell had been extremely put out with Lora Deane for breaking up with her darling boy. Put out enough to make the calls? Lora had said it was a man's voice, but it wouldn't be hard to imitate one for those few words. Some mothers would do anything for their sons.

Her own was approaching, annoyance shadowing his little face. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Ladies take longer, and I don't care for the way you're speaking to me."

"Sorry, Mom."

She gave him a quick hug. It was her turn. "I'll hurry. We won't miss anything. I promise."

Anything for their sons.