Page 22 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

I looked up at Jeremiah. “Why do you think my brother was murdered?” I could hardly choke out the words, and I wrapped my cloak more tightly around myself like a cocoon.

“Yes, Terror killed Henry in the fact that he delivered the fatal blow to Henry’s head, but it was not his fault. And... you would think I was out of my mind if I said it.”

“Sometimes the most outlandish things are the most truthful,” Emily said.

Jeremiah glanced at me and then focused back on Emily. “I think Terror was brokenhearted over what happened. Before I ran and got Mr.Johnson, I moved Terror from the stall. He—he was lying down next to Henry’s body like he was trying to keep him warm. He was protecting him. Horses rarely lie down. Maybe no more than an hour or two when they are in a deep sleep. Terror was awake. Wide awake. He was guarding Henry’s body.”

I began to shiver and wrapped my arms around myself. The wool of my black cloak felt scratchy again the palms of my dry hands. I focused on that feeling, because the picture that Jeremiah had painted in my mind was too painful to imagine.

“I have no doubt that Terror kicked that hole in the wall,” Jeremiah said. “But I think he wasn’t kicking at Henry. He was kicking at someone else.”

“And he kicked and killed Henry by accident?” Emily asked.

Jeremiah nodded. “Yes, this is what I believe. The horse was defending him. It was an accident.”

“Did you tell the police any of this?” Emily wanted to know.

“They did not talk to me. They spoke to Masters and Mr.Johnson, but I don’t believe they spoke to anyone else at the stables.”

“Why not?” I asked. “You are the one who spent the most time with Henry.”

He glanced at me. “Mr.Johnson didn’t want me speaking to the police.”

“But you were the one who found Henry and Terror. I would think the police would want you to speak to them,” Emily said.

“He said the police wouldn’t listen to a—they wouldn’t listen to a person like me.”

“Because you are Black,” Emily said in her blunt way. There was no emotion in her voice as to the fairness of this pronouncement. Like many things that she said, it came out as fact. This was the way of the world.

“Yes, and to be honest, Miss Dickinson, I was not keen on speaking to the police. If they determined that it was not the horse that killed Henry, then in their minds, who is the next most logical person?”

“They wouldn’t think that you were the killer,” I protested. “You said you weren’t even here when it happened.”

“I wasn’t, but would I be believed?” He looked at me. “Trust me when I say, Willa, I wish that I was here. I wish that I had been here with my whole heart. Then I might have saved Henry.” His voice caught. “He was a good man. I wish I could tell you all the good he did, but I cannot.”

I wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but Emily spoke up. “You can still tell them what you know. The police may listen if you have the Dickinson family support.”

“You said may listen. Not even you are confident that they would take my word as truth—even with your family name as backing.” He dropped his gaze and looked out over the grounds.

It snowed in earnest now. It was the time in winter when there were hints that spring might someday arrive but it was impossible to believe it. Any hope that spring was just around the corner would be dashed by the next blizzard to blow off the coast.

“I don’t blame you for your fear,” Emily said. “It is valid.”

“Can’t you just tell them that you weren’t there when it happened?” I asked. “Surely, there is someone who can speak for where you were.”

“There is not,” he said with an air of finality. “There is not.”

“But—”

He cut me off. “I can’t tell them where I was when Henry died.”

“Why not?” I asked.

He wouldn’t look at me. “I can’t. There are more important things to be concerned with.”

“More important than finding out what really happened to my brother?” My voice was pained.

“Yes,” Jeremiah said. “And I know that Henry would agree with me on this. He knew what was most important about his position.”

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