Mending Horses Read Free

Fairley’s?”
    â€œOh, no, sir.” But Sally’s heart doubled its pace. It would be exciting if there was a killing, something to talk about for weeks and weeks. “But there is a killer. He killed his master and who knows how many others, and Mr. Fairley is keeping him there, waiting for Walter to fetch the constable.”
    â€œA foreigner, you say?”
    â€œOh, yes. Speaks nothing but gibberish. Probably a Papist on top of it.”
    Mr. Wolcott hefted his ax. “And Jake all alone with him? Good God!”
    The excited flutter in Sally’s heart landed in her stomach and turned into a lump of granite. Mr. Wolcott was a slight, even-tempered man. Sally couldn’t see him standing against a murderer. Another lump of granite lodged in Sally’s throat as Mr. Wolcott kissed the top of Beulah’s head. “Tell your mother I’m going to Mr. Fairley’s. But don’t tell her why,” he said. His fingers brushed his daughter’s cheek, as if he feared he might not see her again.
    Beulah’s chin quivered as her father walked away. “What do we do?” Beulah’s whisper rose to a mousy squeak.
    To the west, Sally saw Mr. Gilbert and his sons digging potatoes. To the south, Mr. Finch gathered windfall apples. When Sally turned back to her friend, Beulah met her eyes and nodded. “We have to hurry.”
    â€œKilled them all, and they never had a chance, and now Papa’s gone to help catch him.” Beulah’s voice faded into a series of hiccuping sobs.
    Seth Gilbert gave the girl his handkerchief. Poor thing, practically in hysterics, and no wonder, too. “There, dear. We’ll go, won’t we?” He wondered if there was time to go home for his musket. The only weapons he and his sons, Levi and Noah, had to hand were their shovels and pocketknives, but there was safety in numbers, and with Jacob Fairley and Enos Wolcott, they’d be five—no, four. Best to go now and not waste any time. He frowned at Noah, his youngest. “You’re not coming,” Seth said abruptly.
    Noah opened his mouth to protest, but Seth continued. “Find whoever you can and tell them to join us.”
    â€œBut I want to go, too,” Noah said.
    Seth grabbed the boy’s shoulder and shook him. “This is important, son.”
    â€œYou can be like William Dawes and Paul Revere,” Levi added.
    Seth threw Levi a grateful glance. “Yes, just like them.”
    Noah puffed out his chest and nodded. “Yes, sir,” the boy said, and was gone.

Chapter Two

    Constable Chester Ainesworth was having a very bad day. A weasel had gotten into the henhouse during the night and ravaged the flock, leaving only a trio of tough, scrawny hens behind. Of the prized chickens Amelia had fattened and primped for next month’s agricultural fair, not a one was left. Cleaning up the blood, feathers, and torn bodies with their stench of tainted meat had been a joy compared to facing Amelia’s distress over her lost flock.
    After a scorched and dismal breakfast, Chester had discovered a leak in the barn roof that had ruined a good quantity of hay. In the process of mending the damage, he’d spilled a box of nails and hammered his thumb.
    In the afternoon, he’d found the cattle placidly grazing among his pumpkins, having broken down their pasture fence and forsaken the tough August grass for the cornstalks standing sentry over the pumpkins. It seemed that everything he wanted to keep in was bound and determined to get out, and everything he wanted to keep out was equally set on getting in.
    He returned to the house to find a babble of frantic women, excited children, and agitated men blocking his front door, all of them vexed because Chester had been out when they thought he should have been in. He caught snatches of conversation that made him wish he’d stayed out.
    â€œ. . . he killed them in their beds, the whole