“Just one other quick question and then I’ll let you be on your way. I’ve heard that it was the Book of Proverbs that she had. You don’t happen to recall what chapter it was open to?”
“No, not off-hand. But the pin was left to mark the place, so it would be easy enough to find out. Either the Constable took it for evidence, or the family still has it. But tell me, how do you know about it?”
“I just heard a rumour, that’s all, and I wondered if it were true. And now, I’d best get out of your way. I hope Mr. Blezard hasn’t lost too much of his foot.”
The doctor continued to look at him suspiciously for a moment, then, remembering his urgent business, he galloped away.
Constable Woodcock was typical of his ilk, appointed to his position for a term or two as a reward for political loyalty. Although the job was considered a mark of favour, many found it irksome, and in some jurisdictions it was hard to find anyone who would agree to take it on. Local constables dealt mostly with tavern licensing and neighbours feuding over the control of livestock. There was more money to be made elsewhere for a man with ambition, and the irregular hours and the enmity of those who felt wronged by officialdom made policemen unpopular figures. Woodcock was a genial man, and well-meaning, but his pay as a constable was only a supplement to his living as a farmer. Lewis found him herding his cows into the barn for their afternoon milking.
“Preacher.” He nodded. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Rachel Jessup. She had spoken to me on a few occasions about joining my church and I was most taken aback to learn that she’s died. I’ve heard only a few of the details. What exactly happened?”
He furrowed his brow. “Well, I’m not sure that I should be talking about any more details than is general knowledge.”
“Please, it’s not curiosity. The family has asked me to do the funeral, and I’d like to know what I’m dealing with, that’s all.” Lewis sincerely hoped the Lord would forgive him for yet another statement that was not quite true.
Woodcock ruminated for a few moments and then said, “Well, I suppose as a Man of God, you can be trusted with a confidence. I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t a lot. A man by the name of Seth Jessup, the deceased’s brother, had taken his wife to her parents.” Lewis nodded in encouragement. “He stayed there the weekend, until the babe was born, but was due to come back to work on Monday. When he got home Sunday night, he found his sister lying on the bed, dead.”
“Do you have any idea what happened?”
“There’s to be a Coroner’s inquest on Thursday, but the doctor said he wasn’t sure. She had some strange bruising on her neck. For some reason she had gone to bed fully clothed. She even had her boots on.
Yo, Bossy!”
One cow had broken loose from the herd and was headed toward the road. It took five minutes for Lewis to fully regain the Constable’s attention.
“I heard that she was holding a bible.”
“Nay, not a bible, or at least not in its entirety. It was one chapter of it. Maybe you can shed some light on that. It looked like a gift of some sort, because it had an inscription written on the flyleaf. It was one of those pocket editions, you know, the small ones, with a red cover.”
“I believe she was given that at one of our meetings,” Lewis replied. He didn’t add by whom. He needed time to think about the ramifications of this before he rushed in and implicated anyone.
“She must have been studying on it at the time.” Woodcock’s broad forehead wrinkled up in perplexity. “It was the strangest thing, though. She wasn’t exactly holding it. It had fallen open in her lap, I guess, so it was, you know …” he reddened, “down between her legs like.”
“Was she … interfered with in any way?” He already knew the answer was no, the doctor had told him that, but he was curious as to what theory, if any, the Constable might hold.
“No, no, nothing like that. Just her petticoats flung up and the book lying open. Oh, and the marks on her neck.”
“Has the book been retained as evidence?”
He looked surprised at the question. “Well, no. There was no reason to, was there? What would that have to do with anything?”
“Do you know what happened to it?”
“I expect it’s still there in the house. You’d have to ask the family, wouldn’t you?”
“Thank you for your time, Constable. You’ve been most helpful.” He wasn’t sure the man heard him, for Bossy had broken away again and he left Woodcock in hot pursuit of her.
X
It was an odd group that gathered at the graveside. Seth was there of course, and the Varneys, who came because Minta and Rachel had been more or less of the same church, and because it would have been too much for Mrs. Varney’s curiosity to miss it. But Minta was not yet allowed up and not even Rachel’s parents could be there for a last farewell. They were apparently down with fever, as were her two sisters. She had another brother as well, but he had moved to try his luck on the Huron Tract far to the west. He couldn’t be expected to travel so far, not even to bury his sister, nor would he have arrived in time.
The lack of family members was made up for in part by the crowd of young men. Both Caddick brothers were there, and for once they were not attempting to sell pins or portraits. They both looked shaken, Willet in particular. Another young man, the Quaker boy who had been at the church, attended as well, but he stood away from the others, off to the side, emphasizing the fact that he was an outsider, not conversant with the Methodist ritual of death. To Lewis’s surprise, Isaac Simms was also there, but he loitered by his wagon just outside the graveyard gate.
Not so Morgan Spicer, who rushed forward to stand by the Varneys and looked as though he was perfectly willing to complete the service should Lewis falter in any way.
Lewis had thought long about what he would say, and in the end decided that he could find no comfort better than the verse in I Corinthians:
But someone will ask, “How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?” Fool! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. And as for what you sow, you do not sow the body that is to be, but a bare seed, perhaps of wheat or of some other grain. But God gives it a body as he has chosen, and to each kind of seed its own body.
So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body.
“Amen,” Spicer intoned loudly.
For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?
Another loud “Amen” from Spicer. Lewis found the interjections most annoying.
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labour is not in vain.
“Would anyone like to say a few words?” Lewis asked at the end of the reading. He didn’t expect anyone to say anything — it was a mere formality on his part — so he was astounded when Spicer cleared his throat.
“This is a sad occasion for the