River Queen Rose. Shirley KennedyЧитать онлайн книгу.
felt hat, and twill pants held up with suspenders. The other, a small, white-haired lady with a hunched-over walk, spectacles, and a deeply wrinkled face, could well be his mother, or maybe his grandmother. As they approached, the man called, “Are you the Petersons?”
Ben answered with a nod. “This is Emmet Peterson’s farm, isn’t it?”
Close up, Rose could see the man had a strange look on his face. He was not smiling as he extended his hand to Ben. “Hello, sir, I expect you’re Emmet’s father. I’m Tom Murphy, his neighbor from next door.” He glanced toward his companion. “This is Dulcee Bidwell, my mother.” He cast an affectionate glance her way. “She looks fragile, but you don’t want to mess with her.”
“Yes, I’m Ben Peterson.” Ben shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Not one to mince words, he asked, “Where is Emmet?”
Tom Murphy’s brows drew together in an agonized expression, as if he had something terrible to say and dreaded saying it. What was wrong? Rose got a sick feeling in her stomach, watching the man struggle for words.
Her father-in-law broke the heavy silence. “Out with it, sir. If you have something to say, then say it.”
Dulcee Bidwell jabbed her son with an elbow. “Wait, Tom.” She nodded toward Lucy and addressed Ben. “I believe I’ll take the little girl inside. Do you mind?”
Ben shot an inquiring look at Rose. Sick at heart, she nodded. She was beginning to guess what Murphy was going to say.
They watched in silence as the old lady led Lucy into the house. When they were gone, Murphy gave a decisive nod, as if recognizing he had an unpleasant task to perform and no way out of it. His gaze swept over them, eyes full of sympathy. “I can’t tell you how excited Emmet was, waiting for his family to arrive. That’s all he talked about. But now? We were all shocked. Such a tragedy. I’m sure sorry to have to tell you this, but we buried him this morning.”
* * * *
Afterward, Rose had only a vague memory of those terrible moments after they learned her husband was dead. Drucilla breaking into rare tears. Coralee’s piercing scream and near collapse, and Ben and Raymond holding her up. Rose couldn’t remember how she acted, other than she stood frozen in shock, staring in stunned disbelief.
Ben was the first to speak. “Tell us what happened.”
“There’s something you must see.” Murphy turned, motioning them to follow. Along with the rest of her stricken family, Rose trailed him around the side of the porch where a row of tall Eucalyptus trees shaded the house. A grave lay under one of the trees. Plainly, it was newly dug with its mound of dirt on top, strewn with fresh bouquets of flowers. Rose drew close. On a small, roughly constructed cross at the head, someone had neatly printed, EMMET PETERSON.
In stunned silence, the family gathered around the grave as the neighbor continued to speak. “A fine man if ever there was one. If we’d known you were coming so soon, we would have waited, but we didn’t know, so we held the service this morning. Quite a few came. Neighbors. People from town. Reverend Walters was in charge. You can rest assured, Emmet got as fine a sendoff as his friends could give him.”
Ben’s face had turned a sickly white. His arm around Coralee, who was quietly sobbing, he asked, “My God, what happened? Far as I know, my son was in good health.”
Murphy shook his head. “He didn’t get sick, Mr. Peterson. Health had nothing to do with it.”
“Was it an accident?”
“No.”
“Then…?” Ben could hardly get the words out. “You mean he was murdered?”
“Not exactly. You could say he was and he wasn’t.”
Through gritted teeth, Ben exploded, “For God’s sake! Tell us what happened.”
Murphy heaved a regretful sigh. “I wish it had been his health, a stroke maybe, or his heart. Or some kind of accident, but the truth is, Emmet was killed in a duel with a fellow named Mason Talbot. He’s a big man in these parts. Owns a brewery as well as the Egyptian Hotel. He keeps a collection of paintings there and fancies himself an art connoisseur. The thing is, I reckon you can’t call him a murderer, being as Emmet started the whole thing. He’s the one who did the challenging.”
Ben’s jaw dropped open. “Emmet never held a sword in his hand in his life.”
“Oh, it wasn’t swords, Mr. Peterson. It was dueling pistols. I don’t know if he ever held a gun in his hand either, but a bullet to the head is what killed him.”
Chapter 2
My husband is dead. Rose kept repeating the words, but they had yet to sink in. Thank goodness, that nice lady had taken Lucy into the house so she hadn’t witnessed the family’s outpouring of grief when they heard the news. Of course her daughter must be told, but she’d find a way to break the news as gently as possible. The family didn’t stay long at the grave. Coralee would have collapsed if Ben wasn’t holding her up. Drucilla had turned white and looked as if she might faint at any moment. Both should be lying down. Being the men of the family, Ben and Raymond struggled to show a brave front, but clearly they, too, were shocked and torn with grief.
As they headed back to the house, Tom Murphy gave them some useful advice. “Emmet had a cook named Bridgett who already took off. You’re going to need a new one. Then you’ve got the farm to think of. There’s the chickens to take care of, stock to feed and the like, but at least the hired help is still here. Deke Fleming. Comes from Australia. He’s crippled, so he can’t do much, but he’s a good man. Like as not, you’ll find him in the barn.”
Rose was about to follow her family into the house when she noticed the two wagons and their teams of oxen left neglected in the driveway. Ordinarily the men saw to the animals, but this wasn’t an ordinary day, so at the moment, the poor beasts stood thirsty, hungry, and forgotten after long hours on the road. She wasn’t sure she knew what to do, but one thing she did know—she couldn’t let the animals suffer. “I’ll be right in,” she called. She grabbed the reins of one of the teams. Tears kept filling her eyes as she led the four oxen, still hitched to the wagon, toward the large barn in the back. Once she stumbled, so blinded with tears she hadn’t seen where she was going. All right, no more crying; not now anyway. This chore had to be done right now so she could get back to Lucy. She couldn’t unyoke the oxen by herself, or at least she’d never tried, but hadn’t Mr. Murphy mentioned the hired man from Australia? Surely he could help. When she reached the barn, she halted the team and was about to go inside when a man appeared in the doorway. Tall, lean, and sinewy, he had straight brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders. He was dressed in a workman’s clothes. “Are you the hired man?” she called.
“That I am,” he answered in a friendly voice. His face lit in recognition. “Blimey, you must be the family.”
“We just arrived. We had no idea.” More tears welled. With an effort, she forced them back. “Emmet told you we were coming?”
The man came closer, slowly because he was hobbling on crutches. “It was all he talked about. He could hardly wait.”
He’s crippled. She dropped her gaze. His right pant leg was split to the knee, a cast visible beneath. But staring was impolite. She quickly looked up. “I’m Rose Peterson, his wife. This is all so sudden, and I…” A lump rose in her throat and she couldn’t go on.
“It was sudden, all right. I’m Decatur Fleming. Call me Deke.” He regarded her with warm, grey eyes. “Looks like you got the bad news.”
“Mr. Murphy just told us. I can’t quite believe it yet.”
“Of course you can’t.” His voice held an infinitely compassionate tone. “Everyone’s shocked. Emmet Peterson was fair dinkum. Shouldn’t have happened. Do you want to sit down? Can I get you some water?”
“No, no. I’m fine, thank you.” Strange, the way he talked. Fair