MAM REMINDS ME IT IS Tuesday morning, and there’s school. Despite my broken arm and despite the upset in our house, she insists that John, Will, Annie, and I will not miss another day of learning. She gets no argument from me. I have my own reasons for making the trek into Nooksack, but they have naught to do with Miss Carmichael making me recite the sonnets of Mr. Shakespeare for the umpteenth time. I have not forgotten that at the moment I laid eyes on Father outside the Nooksack Hotel yesterday morning, I was on my way to see Mr. Clark, the detective sent by the Dominion Government to investigate the hanging of Louie Sam. I make a vow to myself that I will find him this morning to tell him what I know.
But I’m afraid of how Mr. Osterman might get back at Father and me if I tell Mr. Clark what happened that night, knowing as I now do what a villain Mr. Osterman is. He tricked the men of Nooksack into executing an innocent boy. I wish I’d listened to my niggling feeling the night Louie Sam died. I wish I’d spoken up about the suspenders. Maybe some of those men would have listened. But all I can do for Louie Sam is speak up now.
AS WE WALK PAST Mr. Bell’s burnt-out place on our way to the schoolhouse in town, Will says we should hurry up or Mr. Bell’s ghost will grab hold of us by the ankles and pull us into the swamp to drown us.
“Stop talking nonsense,” says John.
“It’s true!” claims Will. “Arthur Breckenridge says Tom was walking Mary Hecht home past here after the dance at Moultray’s on Friday night, when all of a sudden she starts getting pulled into the swamp and he has to save her.”
“More likely Tom and Mary got caught smooching in the bushes and had to make up a story,” replies John.
“You boys mind your tongues around Annie,” says I, mindful of preserving my sister’s innocence.
“I know what smooching is!” Annie declares, all miffed.
John gets a smirk.
“Then maybe you should tell George what smooching is, Annie. Abigail Stevens would thank you for it.”
If I had a good arm and a hand that wasn’t burnt, I’d wallop John so hard he wouldn’t know what hit him. But I don’t, so instead I hook his left leg with my right foot and send him sprawling into the muddy track. He springs to his feet again.
“Damn you, George,” he cusses, causing Annie to cover up her ears. “If you weren’t crippled, I’d settle this right here and now.”
“Shut your gob, John,” says I. “I have no time for such childishness.”
John spews damnation at me for calling him a child. I quicken my pace and walk ahead on my own with John still yelling at me. I have no patience this morning. I’m thinking about exactly what I’m going to say to Mr. Clark when I find him. I know what he wants—the names of those who led the Nooksack Vigilance Committee up the Whatcom Trail to Canada. I have no hesitation naming Mr. Osterman, sure as I am now that he set this whole tragedy in motion. I have my suspicions about Dave Harkness being in on it, too. But what about Mr. Moultray and Mr. Breckenridge and Mr. Hopkins? Weren’t they misled by Mr. Osterman, just as much as the rest of us were?
My head is so full up with thinking that I am not aware that Abigail is waiting for me at the gate to Stevens’s sawmill up ahead until I am almost upon her.
“George, what happened to your arm?”
I think about telling her that I suffered an injury while doing important work on the telegraph line, but instead I find myself stating plain and simple, “I fell out of a tree.”
“Well, that was a stupid thing to do,” says she.
I am coming to admire Abigail’s way with the unvarnished truth—despite the fact that her unvarnished truths usually have something to do with one failing of mine or another. We fall in walking together toward school, Abigail holding her school books up against her front like she might need them for protection.
“How was the dance?” I ask her.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Mr. Pratt started up his fiddle, Mrs. Bell and Pete’s pa were the first ones on the dance floor. My ma took one look at that floozy showing herself off like the belle of Whatcom County and made Pa take me and my little sisters directly home.”
“From the way Mrs. Bell parades around town, seems like she and a few others think they run the place,” I remark.
“You’re talking about Mr. Osterman, aren’t you?” she says.
That throws me a little. What does Abigail know about Mr. Osterman?
“What makes you say that?”
“Everybody knows what the Indians are saying about him killing Mr. Bell.”
“Do people believe it?”
“’Course not. Who’s going to believe a bunch of Indians against the word of a white man?”
“Do you believe them?”
A rare occurrence happens. For several moments, Abigail says nothing at all. When she finally speaks, it’s without her usual spit and fire.
“If I tell you something, you promise to keep it secret?” she says.
“I promise.”
“The morning that Mr. Bell was murdered, Pa saw Mr. Osterman with the Indian boy. They were walking out of town, toward Mr. Bell’s place.”
I can’t believe Mr. Stevens has kept this to himself all this time.
“What were they doing? Were they talking? Were they arguing?”
“They weren’t fighting or talking. They were just walking. But here’s the thing.”
“What?”
“Louie Sam wasn’t carrying a rifle, at least not that Pa could see. So how did he shoot Mr. Bell?”
I’m staggered by this news. It’s exactly the way the Sumas say it happened—Mr. Osterman got Louie Sam to walk with him as far as Mr. Bell’s place to make it look like Louie Sam was the murderer.
“Why didn’t your pa tell anybody about it?” I ask.
“Same reason nobody says anything out loud. Because they’re afraid of what might happen to them as a result.”
“Somebody’s got to stand up,” I say.
“George Gillies, you just got finished promising me you wouldn’t say a word!”
She’s got me in a corner. It’s one thing to work up my own courage to do the right thing and tell what I know, but a promise is a promise.
“I won’t say anything,” I tell her.
Abigail looks me in the eye. For once she isn’t mocking me or teasing me. She’s dead serious.
“The only reason I told you is because I know I can trust you, George.”
I’m amazed by how a few nice words from Abigail can make me feel so warm all over. I say, “I gave you my word, and I mean it.”
We’ve reached the point in town where the trail widens out to become Nooksack Avenue. Abigail starts down the path toward the schoolhouse. I have another destination in mind.
“I’ll see you at school, Abigail.”
“Where might you be going?” she asks, all sassy once more.
“Never you mind. Tell Miss Carmichael I’ll be along directly.”
“I’ll be sure to give her the message,” she says.
She’s being sarcastic. I can see we’re back to normal, she and I.
“Thank you kindly,” I answer back without batting an eye, pleased with myself that I’m learning to hold my own with her.
Abigail gives me a smile as we part ways. With that I set out down Nooksack Avenue, heading for the Nooksack Hotel—wondering how I’m going to tell Carrot Top about what Mr. Stevens saw, without breaking my promise to Abigail.