The Fiddler's Gun Page 10

  The sounds of a normal day at the orphanage greeted her. Kids running and yelling, animals lowing and braying, Sister Hilde off in the distance scolding someone, and the smells of the kitchen binding it all together. The place didn’t feel as confined as it had only a few days ago. Odd, that. Three days earlier, this had been the worst place she could imagine. Now she couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be. All that was missing was Peter. He’d be back at work with Mr. Hickory, no doubt.

  She stepped off the porch and made for the dining hall. Inside, Bartimaeus was sitting at the table whittling away at carrots.

  “Up and about already?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect you’d stay down long.”

  “I’ve had enough bed for a week,” she said.

  He motioned to the kitchen. “Go get you a knife and help me peelin’ these here carrots.”

  Fin retrieved a knife and pulled up a chair next to him. She had questions but didn’t know how to ask.

  “Hmm?” he said without looking up from his carrot. He knew her mind.

  “You killed that man,” she said with a wince.

  His creases deepened. “Reckon I did.”

  “I remember the other man yelling. But I don’t remember what happened to him,” she said and looked at Bartimaeus.

  Bartimaeus tended to his carrot in silence. He finished and placed it on the table. “I cut him. Didn’t kill him. He run off into the woods.” He fixed his eye on her. “Was more worried about seein’ to you than I was about seein’ to him.” He wiped the knife on his shirt and picked up another carrot. “So I let him go. Reckon these old legs too stiff to give much chase anyhow.”

  Fin thought about it as she peeled her carrot. “Will he come back?” she asked.

  Bartimaeus stopped and looked across the room at the wall. “Reckon he will. They was king’s soldiers. I expect they’ll want to find the man that killed one of them.”

  Blood rushed from her face.

  “What are you going to do?” she demanded. “You can’t just stay here and let them come!”

  Bartimaeus turned, looked at her. “If they come for me, then I’ll go. I told you, I been standin’ up twenty years now. All them years I wondered why the good Lord spared me the gallows. Most of old Bart’s friends swang for the hangman—but not me. Always wondered why. But the other night in the woods I learnt somethin’. Lord kept me back, just for that one night. Reverend Whitefield told me the Lord done chose us afore we was even born. I reckon I was chose to be in them woods.” He laid down his knife and smiled at her. “Now that’s done. Lived more years, and better, than I ever deserved, and it’s time for old Bart to pay for all the hurtin’ he made.”

  Fin’s shock turned to anger. His casual attitude infuriated her. He might be perfectly willing to go rot away in some jail, but it was a long way from acceptable as far as Fin was concerned. She slammed her knife down on the table and limped out of the room. Bartimaeus stared after her for a moment then resumed his carrot work.

  She stopped in the courtyard and leaned against the wall of the dining hall. The short exertion of hurrying out of the room had exhausted her. The soldiers would return. They’d take Bartimaeus away. She needed to do something, anything. Circumstances beyond her control were about to take away one of the only people in the world she loved and there was nothing she could see to do about it. Walls. Closing in again.

  She needed her bell tower. She needed to get above the walls and see the trees. But it was gone. The new chapel had locks on the doors. She limped out the gate and down to the river. She wished she had brought the fiddle, but she couldn’t stand to go back for it. If she saw Bartimaeus, she would yell at him, tell him to run, to get away. But she knew he wouldn’t listen. Stubborn man. How dare he sit there in his kitchen and wait for his own doom, a doom crafted by her foolishness. She dropped to the ground under a large cypress. It was the same spot where Bartimaeus had first showed her his fiddle, and Betsy. Her entire body ached, and she could feel dampness on the bandages; she’d torn the wounds open. They were bleeding. She pulled herself up against the tree and set her mind to finding a way to save Bartimaeus. Pain and helplessness were not options.

  After hours of trying and failing to think of a solution, she made her way back to the orphanage. The best she could come up with was to convince Bartimaeus to leave Ebenezer, if only for a while. Maybe whoever came for him could be persuaded that a traveler had killed the soldier, not a resident. It was the best plan she could muster.

  When she got to the gate she looked down the road and what she saw made her heart drop into her stomach. There were red-coated soldiers at Mr. Hickory’s house. One was on horseback, an officer, and he was talking to a group of townsfolk in the street. Fin couldn’t believe it was happening so soon. She opened the gate and ran to the dining hall. Bartimaeus was there setting lunch on the table. Her body screamed with pain from running.

  “Soldiers. Bartimaeus, you have to hide!”

  Bartimaeus stopped what he was doing and looked at her calmly. “I’m done hidin’, missy. When they get here I’ll be goin’.”

  “No! You have to hide or run or leave! You can’t let them take you!”

  Bartimaeus looked at her and smiled. “It’s all right, missy. This place don’t need me no more.”

  “What about me? I need you! You can’t just let them come. Do something! DO SOMETHING!” she shouted at him.

  Bartimaeus came around the table and took her by the shoulders. “See here, you and Peter goin’ to do just fine. This is my choice, missy. It’s my choice. If I run, then what? Old man hidin’ in the woods and folks’ barns? Waitin’ around for the man to come knockin’? And when he does, what am I to do? Fight? Run some more? No, missy.”

  Fin beat on his chest. “Do something! Please, Bartimaeus, do something!” she cried at him. Bartimaeus didn’t try to stop her. Her fists hit him again and again and again. He closed his eyes and accepted the blows like kisses.

  Outside a man’s voice shouted for the gate to be opened. The soldiers were here. Fin heard Sister Carmaline bustling out of her quarters, shooing off children and demanding to know the meaning of the order.

  “If you don’t do something, I will,” said Fin. She clenched her jaw and looked him straight in the eye. “I won’t let them. I’ll stop them.”

  Bartimaeus turned deadly serious. “You’ll do no such thing. You got to stay out of this.” He grabbed her firmly. “Look at me!” She looked up at him with a face set in stone. “You stay out of sight, you hear?”

  “I won’t let them take you,” she said coldly. She had to do something.

  Bartimaeus’s eyes flashed with fear or anger, she couldn’t tell which. He looked around the room then gritted his teeth. Fin was too startled to resist when he pushed her into the kitchen. He slammed the door and turned the lock before she could realize what he was doing.

  Fin rattled the door threatening to rip it off its hinges. “BARTIMAEUS!” she screamed.

  Bartimaeus walked out of the hall.

  “BARTIMAEUS, NO!” she bellowed.

  The soldiers were at the front gate. The officer had dismounted and was speaking with Sister Carmaline. Bartimaeus walked straight to him.

  “I’m the man you’re lookin’ for,” he said.

  The officer looked back toward his men. A soldier with a bandage covering his face stepped forward. There was a slotted opening in the dressing so that one eye could peer out. The eye glared at Bartimaeus and the man nodded. “That’s him.”

  “Shackle him,” said the officer, and two men came forward with chains. Bartimaeus held out his wrists and they clasped the manacles around them. Sister Carmaline covered her mouth with her hands and wept. In the background, the muffled screams and banging from the dining hall went ignored. Fin was trying to tear the door apart.

  Carmaline and Hilde watched in tearful silence as the soldiers reformed their detail and, with Bartimaeus stumbling along in tow, began their march back toward
Savannah. When they passed out of sight, Hilde turned to investigate the commotion coming from the dining hall. She threw open the door to the kitchen and stormed in.

  “What in the name of heaven!” she swore.

  Fin pushed her aside and ran through the door. She could catch them. She could stop them. If she didn’t get him back now, she’d never see him again. She ran through the gate, ignoring shouts of protest from Hilde and Carmaline. Her foot felt like it was on fire. The wounds on her back were bleeding freely, but it didn’t matter. The troop of soldiers was already on the edge of town. Bartimaeus was stumbling behind them in chains. He fell and they kicked him, jerked him to his feet, struck him. She opened her mouth and tried to scream, but her lungs hadn’t the will. Arms reached from behind and pulled her off the road. She struggled against them, furious, wailing a silent cry.

  “Let me go!” she begged.

  It was Peter. “Fin, let him go. There’s nothing you can do. Let him go.”

  She tried to hit him but his arms held her fast.

  “Let him go. There will be a trial. He’ll be back, Fin,” Peter assured her.

  That seemed to calm her. It at least give her a reason to stop fighting. She went limp and Peter lowered her to the ground. She didn’t have tears left. She stared down the road. Peter picked her up to carry her back to the orphanage, and she lost consciousness in his arms.

  When she awoke, she found herself back in her own bed in the orphan house. The thought of Bartimaeus’s case going to trial comforted her. At least he wasn’t just going to disappear. A judge would have to hear about the way the soldiers treated her, what they planned to do with her, and how Bartimaeus had rescued her. The court would acquit him. It was as simple as that.

  Fin had no idea what day or even what time of day it was. She lay helpless, without the energy or will to move. Sister Carmaline came in several times to check on her, and Fin simply rolled away and ignored any inquisition. Her dreams were of red coats and cruel intentions, and her waking thoughts tormented her with the hundred ways she could have prevented it all from happening.

  In the evening, Carmaline came in with food and refused to leave until Fin had eaten. Fin sat up and took the tray Carmaline offered her. The food looked grey and tasteless. All she could do was pick at it.

  “Miss Button, I am going to talk,” said Sister Carmaline. “Whether you are listening or not is up to you, but I will not leave until I have finished.”

  Fin ignored her and continued nudging her food, eating the odd bite.

  “You have been through an horrific amount of misfortune these past days and we all feel deeply for you, dear.” She paused to determine if she was having any effect on Fin, there was none at all. “However, this is a home with rules and order, and I must insist that we’ve seen the end of your screaming and running about. Many of the children are positively terrified of you, and I cannot say that I blame them. Now, I fully expect you’ll require a few days to mend. When you are feeling up to it, we are greatly in need of you. Sister Hilde has been doing the cooking of late, and the travesty on your plate is evidence enough of her lack of . . . finesse. In Bartimaeus’s absence, I hope you will be able to fill in . . . until he returns.” Once again, she paused, and once again, Fin ignored her.

  “Now, about Bartimaeus.” This time Fin did show a flicker of interest but promptly covered it up by taking another bite of her food. “I plan to ride into Savannah tomorrow to visit the courthouse. I expect at the very least to return with a date for the trial so that we may all attend to show our support. I also intend to secure the services of a lawyer.”

  “I’m going with you,” said Fin.

  “My dear, I know you and Bartimaeus are close, but you must leave this to me. You are in no condition to travel.”

  Fin wanted to protest but she lacked the will. She set the food tray aside, rolled toward the wall, and pulled the blankets up over her head.

  Fin rose before dawn and solemnly slid into her hated blue dress. She washed her face, tied back her hair, and capped it with a bonnet. She stared into the mirror wondering who the person staring back at her was. Bonnet and dress, prim and proper. Most of her face was marbled with the green and blue of bruises born and dying, but there was no mistaking the flared outlines of a properly attired young woman. It was the person Carmaline and Hilde always tried to wedge her into—a total stranger. But stranger or no, she determined to abide it for the sake of her intentions. She made a last scowl at the mirror, then turned and walked down to the stables.

  She manhandled the wagon out of its berth in the barn and fetched the horses to tack and hitch. When Sister Carmaline bobbled out of her chambers just as the sun was peeking into the world, Fin was sitting patiently atop the wagon waiting for her. Fin didn’t look at her, she just sat there, back straight, hands folded in her lap, looking out the gate and down the road to Savannah. Sister Carmaline stopped at the bottom of her steps and considered the situation. There would be no removing Fin from the wagon without a great deal of grief and noise. Shaking her head back and forth, Carmaline waddled across the courtyard and clambered up into the wagon seat. She busied herself adjusting her girth into as comfortable a position as the seat would allow then took the reins in her hands.

  “Phinea Button, you are a stubborn wonder,” said Carmaline without looking at Fin, and then she snapped the reins and they rolled out the gate.

  They didn’t speak during the ride. Carmaline hummed hymns and Fin sat stone-faced, thinking about Bartimaeus. Surely, they wouldn’t have beaten him. What did they feed a man in jail? Did they let him wash or attend his faculties in private? She had no idea what he was going through and was terrified to find out. How long would it take him to come to trial? How long would the trial last? How long until he was back at the orphanage and her world returned to normal? Questions and fears galloped through her mind as the horses plodded slowly toward Savannah where answers lay waiting.

  By late morning, they were trundling into the city and Fin’s wringing hands belied her anticipation. The streets were choked with folk on foot, coming and going like ants. The crowd grew thicker as they neared the city center, and several times Fin considered jumping clear of the wagon to carry on by foot. The wagon made such slow progress in the narrow streets that, at last, Carmaline determined to livery the horse and wagon and walk the final distance.

  But even walking, they made difficult headway. The crowd all streamed in the same direction. Something was happening, and many onlookers were anxious to find good ground from which to eye the spectacle.

  Carmaline found a man standing still long enough to accost him and inquire about the bustle and stir.

  “Pardon sir, could you kindly tell me what all the commotion is about? We are making for the courthouse and never have I seen so much business in the streets,” she asked sweetly.

  “Hanging today. Been a long while since the last one. Folks come out to see him dangle,” said the man. “Good day, ma’am.” He hurried away.

  “Thank you,” said Carmaline to the man’s back as he walked away. “Come on, Phinea. Let’s be done and home, away from this dreadful business.” She grabbed Fin’s hand and pulled her along behind.

  When they reached the city square, Carmaline bumped people out of the way with a barrage of pardon-me’s. Fin could just see the top of a gallows pole erected in the center of the square, but there wasn’t any victim yet to mount it. As she climbed the steps to the door of the courthouse, Fin craned her neck around to get a better look at the gallows. It was a wooden platform about six feet high with a small stair leading up the right side. On top stood the fearful pole with a cruel arm hooked over to swing the noose. The platform was surrounded at the base by a score of red-coated soldiers holding the crowd at bay. Sister Carmaline pulled Fin through the doorway, and the din of the crowd muffled to a low rumble.

  The anteroom of the courthouse was a large chamber with a high ceiling and was trafficked to and fro by men in black coats and white wig
s. Two soldiers flanked the door with muskets held at the order. Sister Carmaline looked about for some idea of who to speak with, finally approaching a tall, willowy man topped with a powdered wig and begging his pardon.

  “Good sir, could you assist me?” asked Carmaline.

  The man gave her an agitated appraisal and replied, “How may I help you, ma’am?”

  “A friend of ours was taken into custody by soldiers, and we’ve come to learn of his whereabouts and charges,” explained Carmaline.

  “Very good, ma’am. You will need to speak with the clerk in the room right over there.” He motioned to a door at the far end of the hall, then bid good day and continued through another door at the opposite end of the room. Fin followed Carmaline in the direction of the clerk’s office.

  The office was much smaller than the entry room and held three desks set against the walls and piled high with paper, books, and ledgers of various sorts. Behind each desk sat a man, hunched over and scratching furiously with a quill. None looked up at the entry of the two women. The scritch-scratch of the quilling and the smell of ink filled the room.

  “Excuse me,” ventured Carmaline, and the man nearest popped his head up and peered at them through spectacles. He said nothing as he looked them over and scratched at his cheek with an inky finger.

  “We are here looking for a friend of ours. He was taken prisoner by soldiers in Ebenezer two days past—” said Carmaline.

  “Name?” ordered the inky-fingered man.

  “Bartimaeus Gann.”

  “Gann . . .” he muttered and began rummaging through the papers stacked on his desk murmuring the name to himself, then stopped suddenly and fixed his eyes back on Carmaline.

  “Gann?” he asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Bart Gann?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a friend of Bart Gann, you say?”

  “Yes sir, he is our cook at—”