The Devil's Cold Dish by Eleanor Kuhns Page A

harnessed to it.
    â€œAt Wheeler’s Livery,” Rees said, turning back to the church.
    â€œI’ll tell David where you’ve gone.” Potter managed a lopsided smile. “He probably doesn’t know what happened. He was at the far end, with the livestock…”
    Rees nodded sharply and hurried inside. Although very pale, Lydia had sat up again and opened her eyes. Father Stephen was walking rapidly down the aisle with a beaker of water.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said when he glanced at her.
    â€œI’ll fetch your wagon for you,” Potter said from the door. “Don’t worry. Just take Lydia home. I’ll tell David to follow you.”
    â€œVery well,” Rees said. He joined his wife on the bench, eyeing her in alarm. Blood had run down the left side of her face and onto the white skin of her shoulder, revealed by her torn dress. Lydia forced a smile.
    â€œI fear my gown is ruined. I’ll soak it in cold water at home, but I expect the stains will have dried and set by the time we reach the farm.”
    â€œDon’t worry about that now,” Rees said. “What happened?” He leaned forward to examine the cut. It was so long it would probably leave a scar when it healed. And every time he looked at it, he would remember where that scar came from. “Who tore your dress?”
    â€œI have such a headache,” she said. “Oh, I didn’t really see them. I heard shouting and suddenly there were eggs flying all about me. Then the stones…” She gulped. “The man in the stall next to me ran over and pulled me down, under the table, else I should have been more badly hurt. I don’t know what happened next. I heard Caldwell’s voice shouting and someone discharged a gun.”
    â€œWhat were they shouting?” Rees asked.
    â€œOh, just general epithets.” She did not want to answer and her eyes shifted away from him.
    â€œLydia, Lydia Jane,” Rees said, shaking her gently. “Don’t lie to me.”
    â€œWitch,” she said. “They called me a witch.” Tears filled her eyes. “Someone shouted, ‘Where’s your broom? Have you killed any babies today?’ The man who tore my dress—he said he was looking for a witch’s mark. And then, when they started throwing rocks, I heard someone say, ‘Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.’” She frowned and put her fingers on the handkerchief-covered wound. “He sounded older though. And more serious.”
    â€œFarley,” Rees muttered.
    â€œHe accused you of murder,” Lydia said, holding her torn dress closed as she sat up. “I heard him. He said you killed Zadoc Ward.” Rees blew out a breath. So Ward’s murder, and the implications against Rees, were connected to the accusations against Lydia. Who was doing this?
    â€œWhy would I kill Ward? My fights with him were trivial.” Although his voice was shaking, he tried to sound nonchalant. He didn’t want to frighten Lydia any further.
    â€œMr. Farley accused you of killing—or rather sacrificing—Ward for some foul rite.”
    â€œFarley is nothing but a superstitious lout,” Rees said, trying to smile at his wife.
    â€œMaybe so,” Lydia said, looking at her husband anxiously. “But now his death and the accusations against me are connected.”
    â€œThis is directed at me,” Rees said. He paused, thinking. “Ward and Farley were not friends so…” He stopped. Farley was using Ward’s murder to go after Rees and his wife. He needed to solve Ward’s murder and find the architect of these attacks.
    â€œI thought this was—I don’t know—not serious. Just a pattern of the general distrust directed at the Shakers and Mother Ann Lee. But it is much more dangerous than I thought. I…” She swallowed convulsively, tears welling in her eyes.
    â€œMrs. Lee and her