Page 64 of The Frozen River

Barnabas Lambard—shaved and dressed in his Sunday best—leans against the doorframe with the kind of precocious grin best suited to a twelve-year-old boy. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says.

“That makes two of us,” Ephraim mutters, as he gently lifts me from his lap so that he can stand.

“That is Barnabas Lambard,” I remind him.

Ephraim squints. “You are the officer of the court from Vassal-boro.”

“Yes.”

I am pleased to see him and not afraid to show it, so I grace him with a smile. Ephraim notes this act of rare approval, takes the man in curiously.

“My wife says you’re the one who told Obadiah Wood that Burgess was murdered.”

Barnabas looks at me with an expression that falls somewhere between intrigue and annoyance. “I am. Though she could have warned me up front that the man was dead. Came as a shock. As she intended, I’m sure.”

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask.

“There are two reasons, actually, and that’s one of them.” He crosses the floor and extends his hand to Ephraim, introducing himself formally. “Barnabas Lambard. I am pleased to officially meet you, sir.”

Oh.

I look him over again. There’s a fresh shaving nick on his jaw, and his shirt collar has been pressed. The look that passes between Ephraim and me is so quick Barnabas shouldn’t catch it, but he does, then his eyes narrow as his own gaze shifts between us.

Clever boy.

“Why would a dead man bring you back to Hallowell?” Ephraim asks.

“Because an inquiry has been opened into his cause of death. Judge Wood has questions regarding the circumstances and the manner of his demise and has instructed the Sessions to take up the matter on the twenty-ninth when they convene here in the Hook.” He turns back to me. “I thought you might want to know that there is growing interest among the other two judges about the accusation made against Mr. Foster.”

“The kind of questions that would behoove him to secure a lawyer?”

“Perhaps.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“Now that the two of you have made amends…” Ephraim’s voice is dry as toast. He looks young Barnabas over with renewed interest. “You must have ridden half the night to arrive so early?”

“I came in yesterday. Stayed at the tavern.” His next words are chosen carefully, and he isn’t afraid to meet Ephraim’s eyes when he says them. “I didn’t want to arrive smelling like the road.”

“And why is that?”

They stand a foot apart, eyes locked on each other. Ephraim has him beat in height, but I think the boy might be a near match in terms of nerve. Without looking away, he takes off his hat and holds it in front of him. He grins, big and wide. Not the least embarrassed.

“That would bring me to the second reason. I thought I might say hello to your daughter.”

Ephraim has guessed this purpose, of course. I did tell him about Barnabas’s first visit and the interest Dolly took in him. But no man is ever really prepared when a boy comes knocking, and Ephraim—good father though he is—cannot keep the growl out of his voice when he answers.

“Hello? That’s all you want to say?”

“I’ve heard it’s a good place to start on a first meeting.”

There’s a bit of triumph in Ephraim’s eyes. “First meeting? And do you even know her name, given that you’ve never spoken to her?”

“Dolly. Short for Dorothy, or so I’ve been told. A family name, I’d guess?” He looks to me in question.

“After my mother,” I tell him.

“She is too young for courting,” Ephraim says.