“Because that was the last time I was happy.”
Ben looked at the glass in his hand for a moment. He thought about it, then threw his arm back and launched it against the wall. The glass shattered; diamond fragments of it skidded across the floor with the rattle of falling hail. The wine punctuated the wall with the arc and drip of crime-scene evidence.
He left the room. He wondered if the couch was made of a kind of fabric that got stained by water. He wondered if her tears would ruin the cushions just as his wine had ruined the wall. A matching pair.
He got a flashlight, put on his coat, and headed back into the night. He made for the lake, to look for Hudson in the parts of the forest that came up against the mountains.
In the dark, he spoke to his missing dog.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Just come home.” The freezing air seared his throat and burned his eyes. “You’re going to be okay.”
December 14, 1777
Dear Kathy,
Mother will not leave her bed. Only after coaxing will she take even the smallest bite of flour. Father still does not leave his study. Sometimes, I listen at the door and hear him talking, but I do not know with whom he thinks he speaks.
The other men have pulled their watch away from the forest. After hearing William Lowell’s account, I cannot blame them for being afraid. Without Jack, our spirits have grown black. Emmett has taken to sleeping in my room. He is fearful, and I try to be brave for him, but the truth is that I am as thankful for his company as he is for mine.
It is strange how one gets used to things. In Boston, such effort was spent considering the London fashions and the list of households to call upon through the day. Now it is different, but it is also the same. Instead of dresses, we speak of food. How little is left, and how it should be apportioned. In place of soirees and society connections, we track the noises in the night. Sometimes sounds come from the trees, and sometimes they come from somewhere nearer. And the hunger, Kathy. You cannot imagine the terrible hunger.
More of the tenant families have moved into the Crofts. Few of them leave here, even the men, even during the day. None but little James ventures into the dark of the forest, though this has been forbidden. I’ve seen him go there when he thinks no one watches. The wind wipes aside his footprints as soon as he leaves them. He is like Jack in so many ways, but he, too, has grown quiet.
I know it is selfish, but I wish you were here. You would know better than I what to do. I do not know how to comfort James and Emmett. I do not know what hope I can give them, when I have none for myself.
Pray for us.
Your Bess
33
Ben woke to an empty bed: another night of broken sleep. He shuffled down to the kitchen and poured himself coffee from the cooling pot. He already dreaded the day. Hudson was gone, there was no more avoiding the fact. Hudson was gone and Ben did not know what to expect from the Wolf.
Outside, the slamming of a car door. Caroline entered the kitchen, carrying a bag from Home Depot. It was Saturday, Ben realized.
“Where were you?” Ben had wanted to punish Caroline for the night before. He’d wanted her to feel what it was like to be made to suffer at the hands of someone you loved. But holding on to anger was not one of his talents.
“Had to pick something up,” she said.
“I wish you’d told me. I didn’t know where you were.”
“Well, you might remember that we’re planning to have a dinner party now that the house is coming together and we finally have some furniture. Just one problem: A deranged individual threw a glass of red wine at one of our walls last night, and we didn’t have enough spare paint in that color to redo the entire wall. So I bought some.”
“What else do we need to do today?” Ben had been up for ten minutes and he was already exhausted. It was easier to capitulate. It was easier, but it also made him loathe himself. For the first time, he realized that he and Caroline could not go on like this forever.
But he asked all the right questions about how he could help Caroline realize her vision for Friday’s dinner party.
“You firm up the guest list and I’ll work on the menu,” she said. “I might want to do a dry run on some of the dishes before the event.”
He was going to say something about not going overboard with elaborate dishes but knew it would only enrage her. Ben realized that he didn’t care anyway.
Creaking came from the floor above, which meant Charlie was up there. Ben looked at the clock. Usually, Charlie would have been in the forest for hours by this time.
The front bell rang, and Ben went to answer it. It was UPS, with a package unwieldy enough that it was difficult to maneuver through the door.
Ben slit the tape along the edges and yanked out the Styrofoam packing material. It was a picture frame. With some difficulty, he pulled it out of the box. He removed the thin padded sheet that protected the glass.
It was the quilt of his grandmother’s family tree. Framed and handsomely mounted. He searched for a note but couldn’t find one. It didn’t matter, because he knew who had sent it.
“Ted sent it back,” Caroline said from the hallway. She appraised the quilt through the glass. “We can definitely find a place for this.”
“It’ll mean something to the villagers, too,” Ben said. “It means that we’re supposed to be up here.” He ran his eyes down the length of the tree and felt a sudden wrenching sadness.
He set aside the frame and looked at his wife, who was still looking at him. He tried, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
34