LITMIR.BIZ

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to express it in words, except that it had something to do with the relationship between madness and mayhem. But he couldn’t catch it, and it remained just a dancing mote.

      “What do you make of the pins?” he said finally.

      “A grisly thing to do with them,” the doctor said. “As to their meaning, I have no idea. Unless …”

      “What?”

      “It’s almost as if he’s leaving them as a signature, a trademark, so that there will be no confusion about who has committed the deed. Why else stab something so inconsequential into a body that’s already dead?”

      Lewis had no answer to this. “We need to find him before he does it again.”

      But how? They agreed they would talk to the chief constable, and hope for the best from that quarter, but Lewis vowed to somehow narrow his list of suspects and keep his ear firmly to the ground.

      III

      By the end of the year, Lewis had had enough of school teaching. Although several of his students were quite bright and a joy to instruct, more were either too dull or too hungry to grasp much beyond the basics or failed to attend enough classes to have even those facts stick. Physically he felt fit and rested, and he longed to return to what he felt was his true calling.

      He broached the topic with Betsy one evening after supper. Meals in his household tended to be riotous affairs, Martha bubbling with her adventures of the day. She was a talented mimic, and could produce a passable imitation of everyone she met, from the cobbler, who started every sentence with a throat clearing “harrumph,” to the widow who lived next door — a woman Martha had quite charmed and who could be counted on for a cracker or a pickle every time the little girl wandered across into her yard. When she had finally settled enough to give thanks for their food, Lewis privately added a small personal thank-you for this little being that was brightening their lives so much. She was amusing, yes, but a real help to Betsy, too, and was eager to perform whatever tasks her grandmother deemed she could manage — and even some that she couldn’t though she tried anyway. She was an easy child to fall in love with and he enjoyed her presence immensely, yet there was something in him that held back, that didn’t return affection quite as freely as it was given. He knew it was because of Sarah. He often wondered, if he had been less prone to let her have her way, would his daughter still be alive?

      “Nonsense,” said Betsy firmly the one time he voiced this opinion to her. “There’s no question that you were always easier on your daughter than your sons, but Sarah was Sarah and she would have lived her life the way she did no matter what you had done. And Martha is Martha and she’s not her mother. Stop taking so much on yourself, Thaddeus, and leave it to God to sort things out.”

      As usual, it was good advice, and he prayed for wisdom in dealing with his children.

      “What do you think?” he asked Betsy, after Martha’s face and hands had been washed, her hair combed into braids, and she was tucked down into her little bed upstairs. “I’ve got a hankering again.”

      She knew exactly what he meant. She looked at him with her clear grey eyes, the eyes she had passed on to both her daughter and her granddaughter. “I’ll say to you the same thing I said the first time you talked to me about your ‘hankering.’ Do what you need to do, and I’ll stand by you.”

      He felt a rush of love and gratitude to this woman who had stood by his side for so many years.

      “There’s only one thing I’ll ask of you,” she went on. “Don’t expect me to live with Will and Nabby. And if you’re going to leave me on my own again, I’d as soon find one place and stay there. It would be better for Martha, too.”

      “Agreed.” He sighed. “Speaking of which, I suppose I should check on Will. The year is up.”

      “Don’t get your hopes up, Thaddeus. I doubt there’s been much change there.”

      There wasn’t. Or rather, things had changed in detail but not in substance. Nabby’s baby, a boy, was a mewling little thing who was more or less ignored by his mother except when it was necessary to feed him — a task that she complained about bitterly. “It takes so much out of me,” she said. “I’m tired all the time.”

      Will had hired a neighbour to help her, and as far as Lewis could see it was this girl who kept the household running, for Nabby still refused to have anything to do with the chickens or the kitchen garden — or the cooking or the cleaning either as far as he could see. The kitchen, which had been scrubbed and tidy when Betsy was there, was now muddy and cluttered with unwashed pots, muddy boots, and pieces of harness. It wasn’t the hired girl’s fault, he knew, because though she worked hard enough, she was trying to do the work of three.

      The farm itself was in similar straits, for without the two younger boys, it was more than Will could manage, and there was not enough money for help in the fields and help in the house as well.

      He stood, his hands thrust in his pockets and a scowl on his face as his father went over his accounts. Lewis tried not to let his anger show, but the figures in front of him didn’t lie; he was now in debt to the tune of £100, an enormous sum that would take him years to repay.

      “This can’t go on, son.”

      Will scuffed his boot against the floor and his scowl deepened. “I know,” he said. “I’ve a mind to take Nabby and the boy and try my hand somewhere over west. They say the land is still cheap enough.”

      “What makes you think you could make a success there? You’ve taken a working farm and run it into the ground. Starting a farm from scratch would be even harder.”

      He shrugged.

      “And what about the money?”

      “I can’t pay it.”

      “What? You’re going to just walk away and leave me with this?”

      He shrugged again. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

      “I thought I raised you better than that. When you have a debt, you have to repay it.”

      Will looked at his father defiantly. “Actually, no I don’t. The farm’s leased in your name, not mine.”

      Lewis gave full vent to his anger then. “Listen, young man, if you’d taken a firm hand with that flibbertigibbet you married you wouldn’t be in this state. You’ve spent money like a lord and never a thought as to who will have to make good on it all. You want to go west — then go. Pack up your wife and child and just go. But don’t expect help from me, or from your mother either. From now on you can take responsibility for your own affairs and we’ll see how well you do!”

      “Don’t you go blaming Nabby for all this.”

      “I’m not blaming Nabby, I’m blaming you. You’re the head of the household. Start acting like one.”

      “I didn’t ask you for this. It was all your idea. ‘Will, go be a farmer. Will, look after your mother. Will, support the whole family.’ All I wanted to do was marry Nabby and I got burdened with everything else. I’ll live up to my responsibilities, don’t worry, but they’ll be mine, not yours.”

      With that he stormed out of the room, and Lewis could hear the wails from Nabby as he reported the conversation to her. For a brief moment he almost felt sorry for the poor spoiled thing, but then he looked down at the account book again and hardened his heart.

      Betsy wept a little when he told her what had been decided. “That poor wee baby,” she said. “What’s going to become of it?”

      “Now don’t go all broody,” he replied. “It’s Will and Nabby’s babe and they’re going to have to learn how to raise it. You can’t bring it here.” He knew his wife too well. Given half an opportunity she would scoop the child up and rear it herself. “You can’t abide another baby, Bess. It would be the end of you.”

      In fact,

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