ONCE THEY HAD MARTIN HOME safe in his bed—with Ricky Jones there to make sure he didn’t go anywhere—Adam headed straight for Town Creek. Even if the constable couldn’t do anything about Madame Endora poisoning him, inadvertently or not, he had a few choice words he wanted to say to her himself.
He was stunned to find as he headed north on Turner Street and then along the western edge of Town Creek that the camp was gone. All that was left were the leftover remnants of campfires and food scraps that animals had not yet scavenged. He guessed Stela had come back quickly on her horse and warned everyone of what he told her, and they, being experienced travelers, were able to pack up and move camp quickly. While he couldn’t be completely certain, he thought it was likely they had probably gone across the Newport River and were headed southward. Many of the more recent arrivals had come in boats, and they likely left the same way, but Stela and her immediate family had horses and wagons, so they would’ve needed to take the ferry. He would check as soon as he could with Mr. Austin, the ferry operator, to see if any of them had gone across on his vessel, but first he wanted to explore the campsite.
He parked the horse cart and walked around near where Madame Endora’s tent had been set up, along with the potions booth. There was nothing remarkable there—only some small holes in the ground where the tent stakes had been and some flattened grasses from objects resting on top of them, as well as foot traffic. He circled the original site where the first families had camped before they were joined by the river gypsies. He noticed something curious over by where the tents had been set up for the men in the company. There was an area of ground about a yard and a half in diameter that was bare of grass and that went down a few feet, as though it had been dug up. Adam considered the size of the hole and thought it made sense that the amount of dirt displaced from that hole could certainly have filled the space left by the barrel in the grave. It also seemed logical that the tall grass around the hole would explain the clumps of long grass he’d found in the grave.
Suddenly, he thought back to that first time he’d visited the camp. Martin had grabbed him and pulled him back between the two tents when he spotted Hardy Green, but Martin almost tripped backwards over some sacks full of what they assumed at the time were some kind of food stores, but Adam remembered thinking it was a bad idea to leave something like that out in the weather. Could those have been the sacks of dirt they’d brought to fill in the hole?
That was enough for Adam. He climbed back into the horse cart and went immediately to the landing on the east side of the Newport River. Unfortunately, the ferry operator was not there, but another man was sitting near the small shelter at the landing.
“Excuse me, sir,” Adam said as he approached the sour-faced man, who looked to be in his fifties. “I was wondering, do you happen to know if the folks who were camped out north of here left on the ferry today?”
The man gave a curious frown. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“I think they may have forgotten something. I wanted to try and catch up with them. Did they go this way?”
“Mr. Austin took one group of ’em late in the day yesterday. Then about an hour ago he took the last of ’em—three women and two horses. If you look right out there, you’ll prob’ly soon see his ferry coming around that island.”
“Do you know where they were headed?”
“It’s my understanding they’re headed down to Charleston, but I heard ’em say they were hopin to get down as far as Cedar Point by the day after tomorrow. The menfolks were going first to set up camp I think. I told ’em they had a right good long journey ahead of ’em, but it wasn’t more than about twenty-some miles.”
“Did they mention anywhere they might stop along the way?”
The man shook his head. “No, sir, but I reckon if they’re going down the Bridge Road, somewhere ’round Gales Creek or Broad Creek’d be a good place to do it. It’s a little more than halfway there, but I ’spect it’d be a good place to rest for the night.”
“He only took the women across today then?” asked Adam.
The man nodded. “That is correct. Like I said, the menfolks went on ahead to get the camps set up. I got the feelin’ those women like to keep their things separate.”
“They had their wagons with them, right?”
“Mm-hm. Well, one wagon went over yesterday, and the women took another one today. They were real loaded down. I was almost afraid he’d have trouble for the weight.”
Adam thought for a few seconds. Should he try to go on across after them now, or go talk to the constable first to see what he’d like to do?
AFTER HE LEFT THE FERRY landing, he went straight into town to look for Constable Squires. It would be unlikely that he’d still be at home now that it was late in the morning. He found him at the magistrate’s office.
“Adam Fletcher, what a nice surprise!” said Peter Robins, the magistrate who two years earlier had placed him into his apprenticeship to Emmanuel Rogers.
“Good morning, sir,” said Adam. “Unfortunately, I’m not here under very pleasant circumstances.” He directed his attention to Constable Squires. “Sir, they’ve already left the camp. I found an area there where I believe they filled bags with dirt to fill in the hole.”
Mr. Robins looked back and forth between the two of them. “What’s this about?”
Constable Squires grimaced. “Looks like those damned gypsies stole a body right out of the graveyard.”
“The girl’s grave we’d heard about?” asked the magistrate.
“Yep. That’s the one.”
The magistrate was aghast. “Good Lord! What on earth for?”
“She was buried in rum,” said Adam, “supposedly to preserve the body in the ocean crossing. It’s anyone’s guess what they plan to do with it. Sell it to scientists maybe.”
Mr. Robins shook his head. “In Beaufort of all places? I might believe something like that of the larger towns—New York, Philadelphia, Boston—but here? There are no laboratories where such experiments are even conducted anywhere near here!”
Adam shrugged. “I have no idea. All I know is that I’m certain they’re the ones responsible for dragging that poor girl’s body out of the grave, and they’ve already crossed over the Newport River on the ferry. They’re headed to Charleston, and they’re hoping to make it to Cedar Point on the White Oak River by day after tomorrow.”
Constable Squires looked at the magistrate. “What would you like me to do, sir? There’ll be some expenses for this.”
Mr. Robins gave a quick nod. “Yes, I should think there would be, but do whatever is necessary to recover that girl’s casket and bring it back to Beaufort. Her family entrusted this town with their little daughter’s earthly remains, and we owe it to them to guard them just as we would those of any citizen of Beaufort.”
“Yes, sir,” said the constable. “We’ll go after ’em.”
The magistrate took out a piece of parchment from his drawer that had writing printed on it, then filled out a few lines with his quill. “Here’s a warrant to search their wagons, boats, whatever they’re using, for the stolen barrel.”
“Do you want me to arrest anyone?” asked the constable.
Mr. Robins contemplated the question for a moment before answering. “I don’t really know that you can unless the group of them gives up whoever is responsible, and I think that is unlikely. I’m not sure we’re equipped to determine the guilty party, or parties, given the circumstances. The best we can hope for is to recover the barrel and return the girl’s remains to their resting place.”
The constable nodded. “Understood, sir.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER CONSTABLE SQUIRES had recruited Adam and Ricky Jones to go with him to track down Madame Endora and company. It was uncertain which group of the gypsies had taken the barrel with the girl’s corpse. The men who’d gone ahead the previous day would be the most logical candidates. Even though Stela’s sister had probably been the one seen in the graveyard, it seemed unlikely that the women would be the ones responsible for carrying the barrel with a corpse in it ahead to the next camp.
There was some discussion as to whether or not they should take the ferry across the Newport River and then travel by land, or whether they should skip the ferry and head out by periauger towards Bogue Sound to try and get to the gypsies’ next camp. Sailing would mean they could likely get to Gales Creek faster to see if the gypsy men had already set up camp there, and if not, they could move on westward towards Broad Creek. On the other hand, going by land meant that they could come up close on the heels of Madame Endora and her daughters, and if need be, accompany them right into the larger camp to find the stolen grave.
They ultimately decided to take the land route. Jones had pointed out they could even act as though they were holding the women as security until the barrel was produced, if it came right down to that.
Circumstances were less than ideal. It was already close to noon. The most likely place for the gypsies to set up camp for the night would be five hours away—one hour for the ferry crossing, and four to travel the rest of the distance on land. Returning in the same night would be nearly impossible. It would be too much on the horses, especially in the heat that was still lingering in late September.
Adam and the others hurried to the ferry, hoping that it was not already in the middle of a crossing. They were relieved to find Mr. Austin was still there with his large ferry, ready to take passengers across. A little less than an hour after that—they were pleasantly surprised to have favorable currents speed them across—they were disembarking on the western bank of the Newport River.
Adam wasn’t very accustomed to the Bridge Road that ran along Bogue Sound, so he was grateful to be making this journey with men who knew the terrain. Adam and Jones went in the horse cart, while the constable rode ahead on horseback.
There were so many unknowns in the search. How would the gypsies react upon being pursued like this? Would they understand that the constable and the others weren’t desiring to attack them or harm them in any way, but rather were only interested in getting the barrel with the girl’s body back? And what would the constable do when they found them? How far was he willing to go to bring that body back to Beaufort if the gypsies resisted?
Even if he had been able to foretell future events, Adam doubted he could’ve predicted the good fortune that he, Jones, and the constable had just an hour past the ferry landing on the western side of the Newport.
Madame Endora’s wagon was moving along at a slow and steady pace, while Stela rode just ahead. It appeared Stela’s sister, Aurora, was riding in the wagon with their mother.
“Thank God,” said Adam. “It’s the women. Maybe we can find out what we need to know from them without too much trouble.”
“Don’t be so sure, mate,” said Jones. “Women can be right dangerous in their own way.”
The constable turned and looked at them, then motioned for Adam and Jones to be ready in case the situation turned into a chase.
As his horse trotted closer to the wagon—close enough that the constable felt confident he could be heard—he shouted, “Halt! You there! In the name of the law!”
Madame Endora turned to look at him, and best Adam could tell, she wrinkled her brow. She made some kind of whistle sound to Stela, and then she stopped the wagon. As she waited for the constable to approach, she suspiciously motioned for her daughter Aurora to cover something in the wagon.
Adam and Jones were close behind in the horse cart. As soon as they thought it wise, they stopped and jumped out and went around to the back of the wagon.
“What is all of this about?” the old woman asked with a wounded expression in that heavy accent.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to stop you like this, but we have reason to believe either you, or your companions who left earlier, may have taken something that belongs in the town of Beaufort.”
Adam made a whistle sound to get the constable’s attention. When the constable looked back at him, Adam pointed to the back of the wagon and mouthed the words, “I think we should search this.”
“Do you mind if we search your wagon?” the constable asked.
“Mama, what is all of this?” Stela asked, her horse dancing back and forth along the other side of her mother’s wagon.
Her mother responded, “This man says we are carrying something that belongs to that little town.”
Stela wrinkled her brow. She looked over at Adam. “You are behind this?” she asked.
Her hurt expression made Adam think he understood what Jones had meant about women being dangerous in their own way. Something about seeing her in such a vulnerable state immediately made Adam, who had been raised to treat women with gentleness and respect, have some hesitation about dealing with her abruptly, even though he knew these women had committed a gruesome crime.
“Stela,” said Adam, “I’m sorry we have to startle you like this, but y’all have done something very, very wrong.”
The constable looked again at Madame Endora. “Ma’am, you haven’t answered my question. Do you mind if we search your wagon?”
She made a confused face at him. “What is it that you seek? What do you say we have taken that belongs to your little town?”
“Listen here, you foul old trot,” said Jones, “you know what we’re here for, so no need to play games. We’re gettin the barrel with the dead girl in it, and we’re takin it back to Beaufort. And if you don’t have it with you, we’ll just follow you to wherever your companions are waiting.”
Adam rolled his eyes at Jones’s lack of subtlety, but then nodded. “He’s right. That’s all we want. Do you have it? Or will we have to follow you to your next camp?”
“I do not understand,” Madame Endora protested. She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “A barrel with a dead girl inside? What would make you say something like this?”
“Listen, ma’am,” said Constable Squires, “those fellas are gonna look in the back of your wagon now.” He motioned for Adam and Jones to go ahead and open the back to search. “I’ve asked you as graciously as I know how to let us proceed with this, but the plain truth is, this document right here”—he held up the warrant the magistrate had issued—“this is a warrant. It gives us permission to search your wagon and anything else belonging to you all, whether you give us your permission or not. And I can tell you, if you want to make a fuss about it, I’ll put you in irons and stick you in the back of these fellas’ horse cart, and we’ll haul you back to town and handle it there.”
Madame Endora waved her hand. “Go. Search all you like. There is no barrel with a dead girl here.”
Adam climbed up into the back of the wagon. There was so much clutter that it was hard to see all that was in there. He shifted over a table that was probably the one the woman had used for her fortune-telling. Just beside that there was the sign that had been propped up outside the tent. Next he found some long pieces of fabric that were wrapped around something that felt like a small box. He recognized the fabric as the dark, gauzy curtains that were hanging up inside the tent, so he guessed that the small box might have her fortune-telling tools of the trade inside, such as her crystal ball, stones, and tarot cards, but it obviously wasn’t what they were looking for, so he didn’t bother opening it. There were cooking implements, including a Dutch oven and pan, along with bowls and eating and serving utensils.
“What you are doing? This is very wrong. Do you know this? You are doing a terrible thing to us.” Madame Endora appeared exasperated with Adam going through her things. “You unclean boy! You are defiling all of my possessions!”
Ricky Jones patted the side of the wagon. “We wouldn’t be havin to do this if you lot hadn’t gone grave robbin in our cemetery, now would we, old bird? You want to make things easier and tell us where it is?”
As Adam worked his way almost to the very front of the wagon, just behind where Madame Endora was sitting, he found what at first glance looked like a pile of quilts, but when he pulled them back he saw the head of a barrel.
“I think this is it!” he called out.
Jones quickly began removing items from the wagon so that he could help Adam get to it better.
When Adam tried to get a grip on the barrel, his face fell. “Wait… this might not be it!”
“What do you mean?” asked Constable Squires.
“Let’s just get this thing out of here, mate. Then we can know for sure,” said Jones.
The barrel didn’t weigh nearly as much as it should have, given its contents.
Once they were able to set it on the ground beside the wagon, they were immediately able to observe that the barrel appeared to at some point have been buried. The staves looked somewhat clean on the surface, but in between the rings and the wood there was a great deal of dirt. Also, the rings were starting to rust.
The name Smith had been crudely burned into one of the boards on the head—not as a stamp to show the origin of the barrel, but rather as an effort to indicate ownership.
“Come back around here and explain this,” Adam demanded to Madame Endora. “Where’s the girl?” He was referring to the fact that the barrel felt like it was nearly empty.
As the woman climbed down from the driver’s seat of the wagon, Adam was examining the barrel. He couldn’t detect anything to suggest that the barrel had been opened at either end.
Madame Endora smirked. “What girl?”
“This barrel was dug up from our burying ground back in town. A girl’s body was in it. What have you done with it?”
“You stupid man,” said the gypsy woman. “There never was a girl in that barrel.”
“I’ve spoken to the men who helped bury this two years ago,” said Adam. “I want to know what you’ve done.”
“Ma’am,” the constable said, approaching the woman, “you best start talkin, or I’m puttin you in these and we’re takin you right back to town.” He held out a set of irons.
Madame Endora glared at him and inhaled sharply but would not speak.
“Woman,” said the constable, “I’m warnin you for the last time.”
With a heave of her shoulders, she sighed, then waved her hand in surrender.
“Two years ago,” said the woman, “my sister and her children came to America. They brought valuable things and did not want those things to being stolen, so they put them in that barrel. When some men on the first ship started asking her about it, she feared they would steal from her, so she invented the story that she was carrying her dead daughter in there to be buried in America. So when she and her children arrived in Madeira, the sailors from the first ship pitied her, and the barrel was placed on the second ship with the same story. When the storm forced them to come into your port of Beaufort instead of Charleston, where they had intended to go, they had no choice but to have the barrel buried, because she had no money to pay another fare for her and her sons to travel with the barrel by sea, and it would be impossible to find a coach to carry all of them and the barrel overland.”
“Well, something has surely changed about this barrel,” said Adam, tipping it from one side to the other, “because it is far lighter than it would have to be to fool anyone into thinking a girl’s body is inside.”
“Of course it is!” She laughed. “I would not burden my horse to carry more than is necessary. There was rum in this barrel, but it is now all gone.” She dusted her hands together, as if to demonstrate that fact.
“You poured it out?” asked the constable.
Madame Endora whipped around and said to him, “Would you pour out twenty gallons of rum?”
“Twenty gallons?” Adam turned his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “This is a tierce. It holds nearly forty gallons.”
The gypsy woman glared at him. “You think you are so clever.” She said nothing else.
Adam closely inspected the barrel. “Wait a minute.” He squatted down, then tipped the barrel slightly. “Move out of the way. You’re blocking the sun,” he said to Jones.
Jones shifted to the side.
“Huh! I see.” Adam turned the barrel completely over onto its side, bung hole up.
“I’ve heard of these before,” he said, “but I’ve never seen one with my own eyes. I wouldn’t have even noticed it if I weren’t looking so closely. French coopers are supposedly experts at making these.”
Jones and Constable Squires both stepped over to look at what Adam was pointing at.
“What is it?” asked the constable.
“Look here,” said Adam. He fumbled with a stave just between the quarter hoop and the bilge hoop—that is to say, the second and third rings at one end of the barrel. He picked at it with his thumbs and tried to clear some dirt out of the stave joints before revealing a small panel. It was a piece of the stave that had been cut out to serve as the opening of a little compartment. It was barely noticeable, since it was the same width as the whole stave, and the wood grain matched up with what was there. If he hadn’t been looking closely, it’s unlikely he would’ve noticed it.
He looked up at Madame Endora. “How do you open this?”
She raised her eyebrows and lifted her chin, then turned her head away, showing her unwillingness to answer his question.
Adam reached into his pocket and took out his pocketknife. He opened the blade, then began to pry at the edges of the panel. Finally, he was able to get the piece of wood to shift a bit. Apparently, the trick was to push it forward up under the quarter hoop. It moved less than half an inch, but doing that freed the panel from some sort of tongue-and-groove-type arrangement that allowed the piece to lock closely with the lower part of the stave. At the other end of the panel, he saw that it was attached with a couple of lengths of cord under the hoop. When it was disconnected from the stave to which it had been attached, he was able to lift it up and fold it back.
He peered inside but could barely see what was in there. He rolled the barrel just enough for the light of the sun to shine in. First, he pulled out a long scarf, which was apparently buffering the contents inside. That revealed an assortment of items, from expensive-looking jewelry and trinkets to more ordinary items, like a couple of small books, a doll, something that looked as if it could be a sewing kit, and more.
“What is all this about?” asked Adam.
He replaced the panel, then started to examine the other end of the barrel to find the stave that would have the panel. Usually casks like this would have one at each end, with dividers inside that went at a forty-five-degree angle, so that when the customs men plunged their canes into the barrel to ensure its contents were what they were said to be, they would find nothing but whatever liquid was supposedly inside, usually water or sometimes wine, which had a lower duty.
The woman still refused to speak. Stela was standing nearby now and looked nervously at Adam and then her mother.
“Why do you not just tell him? We have done nothing wrong here.”
“Let him see for himself,” said Madame Endora. “He will not be satisfied until he does.”
Just then Adam located the panel at the other end of the barrel. He again used his pocketknife to clean out the stave joints and free up the edges so that he could shift it. When he opened this end, all he could see was a large leather object that seemed to be stretched across the entire opening. When he tried to pull the object out, he realized it was actually some sort of bag. He tugged and pulled, trying to remove it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What is this?” he asked.
Madame Endora would say nothing. She stood stiff-necked with her arms folded across her chest.
“Fine,” said Adam.
He positioned his knife above the bag and was about to thrust it into the leather to learn its contents.
“Wait!” said Stela. “It’s just cards, dice, things like that.”
“Cards and dice?”
Adam looked at her skeptically. He doubted her answer after her strong reaction. Nevertheless, he then looked at Jones and the constable to gauge their expressions.
“The summer of ’65 was when they got to Beaufort,” said the constable. “That Stamp Act had passed in March. I reckon Madame Endora’s sister was just an ol’ bootlegger hoping to profit when the Act went into effect that autumn.”
Stela nodded. “My aunt had thought she would come back to reclaim this barrel before the end of the year, but she died not long after they made it to Charleston.”
“Yes, she died,” Madame Endora said, disgusted. “Of a broken heart. And it was no surprise to me after she married that horrible, lying man. I warned her.”
Adam sighed in frustration. He wasn’t going to get involved with their family squabbles. Instead, he had another observation to make.
“These items in here—they aren’t just for bootlegging. What is the story behind the things in the top compartment? Some of them seem like they could be valuable, but the others… I don’t reckon they would be.”
“Those are personal items from her family—our family. They were treasures to her. She put them there for safekeeping.”
“I don’t know,” said Jones. “Seems an awful lot of trouble to go to for just a few pounds.”
Adam closed the compartments on the barrel and stood facing the women. “Mostly I’m just horrified she’d lie about having a dead child. What kind of a person does that?”
“What do you know?” said Madame Endora bitterly. “She did have a dead child. A baby girl—with that horrible Smith man. She did not carry the child in the barrel, but she carried her memory there. The doll in the top of that barrel was made as a—how do you say it?—a memento of her.”
At that, Adam felt some sympathy for the woman who had brought this barrel to Beaufort. He couldn’t judge her for smuggling in the cards and dice. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a hand in occasionally smuggling items duty-free through his work at his grandfather’s shipping company. And the sentimental items? He could understand that, too. In truth, he suspected there was something more valuable in that leather bag. He’d felt the weight of it and was nearly certain what Stela had said was only a half truth, but he wasn’t going to push the matter.
“I have a question,” asked the constable. “If your sister died shortly after they made it to Charleston, and the rest of y’all have been up north, how is it that you came to learn of the barrel?”
“When my sister died, her sons came north to find us. Our people, we know how to find each other. They told us of what had happened, and we agreed that we would come help them recover my sister’s—their mother’s—things.”
“Why did she go to Charleston in the first place?” asked Jones. “They ain’t exactly known for havin a bunch of gypsies down there.”
“My sister fell in love with a gadjo.” She said it with such anger, if words could kill, Madame Endora would have been a murderer. “She knew better, but she could not resist his charms. He went to Charleston and sent for her when he got there. She came to America with her sons—they were from her first husband. He was a good man. He was one of us.” She took a deep breath before finishing her story. “When she arrived, she learned that gadjo had gone away with another woman and left her there all alone to care for her sons. She was so upset, she grieved herself to death.”
“And this gadjo, his name was Smith?” asked Adam.
Madame Endora gave a sharp nod and spat on the ground.
“You understand now, right?” said Stela. “Will you let us go, please? We have not stolen any dead girl. It was all a misunderstanding.”
Adam, Jones, and the constable all exchanged glances. The constable sighed and was about to speak when Adam said, “Wait, taking the barrel out of the graveyard was only half of the problem.” He walked over and stood directly in front of Madame Endora. “You poisoned my friend. And if it weren’t for your daughter, he might’ve died.”
The old gypsy woman fumed at her daughter and called her a name in a foreign language.
Stela wrinkled her brow and had a hurt expression. “I am sorry, Mama! But Amy told me of the bottle you gave this man. He does not know what it is. It could have killed him.”
“Only if he is a glutton!” she countered. “Only if he is a drunkard! He would have killed himself if he was such a fool as to drink it all! And then it would serve him right for defiling my daughter!”
“Mama! We only talked and danced! That does not make me defiled.” Stela was in tears.
“That is already too much,” said the old woman. “One Smith caused my sister to die. I will not give another Smith man a chance to do the same to my daughter.”
Constable Squires chuckled. “I can almost understand you wantin to poison Martin Smith. I reckon there are right many mothers and fathers around Carteret County who might like to do the same thing, but he’ll get his one day ’less he straightens up. You ought to know, though, that not all Smith men are bad. Martin’s daddy was a good man.”
“Wait a minute,” said Adam. He turned his attention to Stela. “Who was the man you told me about at the warehouse? The one you said had spoken to your mother about Martin?”
Stela looked nervously at her mother, then shrugged.
“What’s he talking about?” the constable asked Madame Endora.
The woman shook her head. “No. No! This has nothing to do with me. This is a problem for your people.”
“But he came to see you, though, Mama,” Stela countered. “You should tell them.”
Madame Endora rolled her eyes and huffed. “Fine!” She turned her attention to the constable. “A man from your town—a big man, very tall, very strong—came to my tent last weekend.”
Adam immediately knew she was talking about Hardy Green. He was about six foot four inches tall and very muscular.
She continued. “He did not understand how we do things. He asked me if he could pay me to put a curse on this Martin Smith so that he would have no trouble with him anymore. I think he wanted me to curse him to death. This man, he said Martin Smith was involved with his wife and this could not be. I have no power to put curses on anybody, but this man, he did not know that.”
“But you told him you could,” said Stela, “and you took his money.”
“Of course I did. The fool!” She waved her hand dismissively. “He should have known better.”
“What does she mean?” Adam asked Stela.
“She means she tricked him because he came seeking something he should have never sought. She gave him what he wanted—or so he thought—a spell to curse your friend, but that is not what he got from her.”
“What did he get then?” asked Jones.
“Just some words. But he did not know this.”
“And he paid you for this spell?” Adam asked Madame Endora.
“Yes he did, and he was happy about it.” She flipped out her palms as she responded emphatically.
“So you tricked him out of his money,” said Adam, “and made him think you were helping him to kill my friend?”
“Yes. I took his money. I’m glad of it. Serves him right! He should not have been devising such evil—even against your womanizing friend.”
Adam laughed out loud. “You say that, and yet you poisoned him yourself!”
The old woman shook her head. “I tell you this potion I gave him would not have killed him unless he took too much. Any of your gadje medicines could have done the same, could they not? Maybe this experience will teach him a lesson about leaving alone nice girls like my Stela.”
“Teach him a lesson? We found him half-naked up a tree near Taylor Creek. He could’ve fallen out onto the ground and broken his neck, or even hurt someone else if we hadn’t found him.”
“Then just be glad that you did find him,” Madame Endora countered. “As long as he doesn’t keep drinking the medicine, what he has taken will leave him, and he will eventually be fine. Now may we please go? Or do you plan to take us to your gaol?”
Adam, Jones, and the constable all looked at each other, apparently unsure of what course they should take, given the circumstances.
Finally, the constable spoke up. “Listen, your sister violated laws of trade by smuggling in the items she had in that barrel, and not to mention her method for smuggling has to be the most gruesome thing I’ve ever heard of, but as you said, she’s dead now herself. It would have been better for you to notify someone in the town about what had happened and request that the barrel be unearthed rather than doing it yourself.”
“And the authorities in your fine town would have listened to some gypsy woman asking to dig up a grave, would they?” she responded.
Constable Squires sighed, then shrugged. “Well, maybe not. Nevertheless, considering you were not the one who created the deception about the girl in the barrel, and because you didn’t actually rob a grave but just recovered some items your sister had deceptively buried, there is no real punishable crime there.”
Madame Endora gave a deep nod and a smile, as if to say, Thank you.
“Now, let’s talk about this business with that spell you sold Hardy Green, and then we can talk about that dangerous concoction you gave to Martin Smith. In the first case, that spell sounds to me like it’s some kind of fraud, but I reckon he was near ’bout tryin to hire you to murder ol’ Martin, so you just lied to him so you could take his money, and I ain’t gonna arrest you for that—there ain’t a jury that’d convict you. Now in the second case, if Martin Smith had died, or if he’d hurt someone else in his stupor, we’d be dealin with manslaughter. I’d say you’re real lucky neither of those things happened. If they had, I reckon it still might be hard to get a jury to convict you. Hell, they’d probably pin a medal on you, since that fella’s gotten so many folks riled up with his whorin around, but I’m gon’ tell you right now that I don’t take kindly—not one little bit—to some outsider comin in and messin with our folks from town. No, I ain’t gonna arrest you, but I am gonna tell you that if y’all come to Beaufort again, you ain’t gon’ be able to make a ha’penny, ’cause I’ll make sure of it. In fact, I’ll cite you for every single thing I can come up with to fine you till you never want to come back. You hear?”
Madame Endora rolled her eyes and nodded. “Fine. We do not even want to come back to your little town, so it is of no consequence to us.”
They all stood around looking at each other in silence for a moment before the old woman asked, “Will you at least help us put the barrel back in our wagon so we can be on our way?”
The constable nodded. “I reckon we’ll do that.”
Adam and Jones quickly hoisted the heavy barrel and returned it to its place. Even though there was nobody inside, and it wasn’t it full of rum, the sheer weight of the solid oak cask was impressive. Adam couldn’t help but wonder if it would be reused for future smuggling schemes.
Soon the gypsy women were riding on down the Bridge Road along Bogue Sound. Adam, Jones, and Constable Squires stood by and allowed them to get a head start.