Isabelle bade Prentiss goodbye.
“Ma’am,” Prentiss said, nodding. “Caleb.”
“Prentiss,” Caleb said.
“He’ll be in the county jail,” Hackstedde said. “No visitors.”
Prentiss looked up and wondered at the clouds, soft as feathers pinned to a harsh sky. There was a second tug and they started off down the lane.
CHAPTER 19
John Foster had built his home along the unnamed creek that wound its way through all of Old Ox. The stream met at a pinch, and the levels were so low that there was hardly a current to speak of; on quiet days, if one listened close from the rear portico, that infinite trickle of water could be heard upstream, so distant it sounded as though it was sourced from the pit of a seashell. Yet it went unheard almost always, as John’s children were hellions, and rained terror upon the home until his dying day, after which his wife, Mildred, brought discipline down upon the house with a force so swift that the water was often heard not only from the back of the home but by all those who passed before it. Even still, her sons, now grown, were not often on their best behavior, and Mildred was always eager to inform Isabelle of the ongoing trials of her parenting that sometimes failed—but the general accomplishment was still enough to bring a sense of satisfaction over Mildred, and although it was not the heroism one might read of in a novel, its place in the annals of domestic triumphs was secure as far as the women of Old Ox were concerned.
Isabelle had heard the creek quite well this early afternoon as she walked through the gate before the clapboard home. Mildred had set two chairs out upon the veranda, a serving table between them. A vase of sunflowers rested upon the railing, and the gleaming sunlight fell under the roof, glittering a yellow so bright it seemed to be drawn from the petals themselves. Mildred, a finger in the air to note some forgotten article, went back inside and returned with a bucket she dropped in front of the empty seat beside Isabelle. Against her chest she held a bowl of potatoes.
Isabelle apologized for her tardiness, explaining that she’d had to go to Selby to see Prentiss.
“They took him to the jail there, as I’m sure you know by now. That imbecile Hackstedde leading the charge.”
At first Mildred was silent, occupied with her peeling. The creek was audible again—like the hollow hiss of a snake. Ridley stood motionless before the road, as stoic as ever, the carriage at his rear.
“It was nearly the only topic of conversation at the wedding,” she said, finally. “Wade wasn’t shy on the matter, even when it pertained to the allegations against August. Horrific allegations, I should say. It was as though the whole thing was a joke to him.”
“I cringe contemplating another moment in that man’s presence. And it would only be reliving what took place yesterday.”
“I can only imagine,” Mildred said. “How was your journey?”
“Not entirely successful. Hackstedde said there would be no visitors, but I brought along some fruit, perhaps to entice him, however stupid that sounds.” She picked up a peach and dropped it back into the basket. “I argued with him about how long I’d traveled, and he backed his statement down to allowing family to visit, as those were the rules in general. It was hardly a concession. He knows full well what has happened to the only family Prentiss had.”
“A fine gesture to make the trip, at least,” Mildred said.
“Something had to be done. Far be it from George to go to Selby himself. He thinks nothing will be accomplished by paying a visit, but I believe it’s simply his fear of travel that holds him back. Yet he talks incessantly of Prentiss. It grew so exhausting I felt the urge to set aside the pair of socks I was knitting him and go and see the man myself.”
“So you did.” Mildred put the peeler down and rubbed her palm, kneading out the kinks. “And Caleb? How does he fare?”
“Where to begin? He eats crumbs and says nothing. This morning he appeared from the shadows like some ghoul. I don’t know if he’ll ever be the same.”
Isabelle removed her bonnet and placed it on the railing. She considered doing the same with her shoes but thought better of it.
“After what Wade described,” Mildred said, “well, if it’s all true, and I don’t doubt your son…”
She shook her head and picked up the peeler, holding it before an unscathed potato.
“He’s seen evil, Isabelle.”
Then she put the peeler down once more and stood up, suddenly charged by the conversation and raising her voice as if a tornado had gathered in her chest.