Page 39 of The Frozen River

A man has driven his wagon up to the garden gate and dismounted. He is young and agile, of average height, and I recognize him immediately.

“That is Barnabas Lambard.”

“I’ve never heard the name.”

“He’s an officer of the court from Vassalboro.”

Dolly finishes dipping her candles, sets the branch on the hardening rack, then moves to the window for a better look. She fists her hands on her hips and gives the man a curious stare, head cocked to the side, lips pursed. “Why would an officer of the court come here?”

“An excellent question,” I say. “You keep working on the candles. I’ll find out.”

“My tallow has gone thick,” she says, and I know she wants to come along. By the faint smile tugging at the edge of her mouth, I suspect that Dolly might find the young man attractive.

“Then melt it again. I’ll be back shortly.”

I keep my apron on and the scarf around my head when I go to greet Mr. Lambard. I pull the front door open before he has made it through the garden gate.

He tips his hat. “Good morning, Mistress…?”

“Ballard.”

“Good morning, Mistress Ballard, I’m—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Lambard.”

He stops on the path, chin tilted to the side, an expression on his face that suggests he’s trying to remember if we have met. “You do?”

“I saw you apprehend James Wall in the Hook yesterday.”

He takes off the wide-brimmed felt cap and whacks it against his leg twice even though it isn’t dusty. “Ah. Then you won’t be surprised to hear that I’ve come to arrest someone else.”

I like James and still think it unfair that a measly debt could land him in jail, so I can’t keep the snide tone out of my voice when I reply, “Someone forget to pay their taxes? Or perhaps you’re after a gossip?”

There, I’ve almost made him smile, but it doesn’t quite reach the surface.

“A bit more serious than that, I’m afraid. I’m here to arrest a man accused of rape.”

“You’ve come for Joseph North?”

He shakes his head, and a single curl flops onto his forehead and falls across his eye. It makes him look younger somehow, less serious. He shoves it away with the back of his hand. “No. I’m here for Joshua Burgess.”

He doesn’t know. How is that possible?

“Well, Joshua Burgess doesn’t live here,” I hedge.

“So I gathered. But now I’m known in town, after what happened yesterday. And it’s always best to have the element of surprise when coming to arrest a man. I halfway expect him to have fled anyway. I thought I’d stop and ask the neighbors first.”

“And you just happened upon us?”

“You are the first drive off the main road into town.” He hooks one thumb over his shoulder and points north. “At least coming from Vassalboro.”

“Well,” I say, taking comfort in the coincidence, “I know for a fact that Burgess hasn’t fled.”

“But are you willing to tell me where he is?”

I pull the corner of my bottom lip into my mouth, thinking. “If you’ll tell me something in exchange.”

“And what would that be?”