Page 23 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

“What was most important about his position? What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Nothing. I misspoke.” He broke eye contact with me then.

I knew he hadn’t misspoken. He was lying about that part, at least. It made me wonder what else he might be lying about. Could I really trust what Jeremiah was saying to Emily and me? I didn’t know him. He claimed to be my brother’s closest friend, but Henry never spoke of him. I never once heard the name Jeremiah. How close could they really be if I had never heard of him? I couldn’t see any reason that Henry would hide him from me unless—unless they were involved in something illegal.

“Willa,” Emily said and pulled my mind away from my worries about Jeremiah and Henry. I looked at her.

She smiled. “We should go back to the house. Vinnie will have noticed that we have been gone far too long. She does tend to worry.” She turned to Jeremiah. “I’m sure we will speak again before this is all over.”

He swallowed as if he heard a threat in those words, not a promise.

Emily began down the path with Carlo without waiting for me. I glanced back at the stables one last time before I followed her.

“Willa,” Jeremiah said. “Before you go.” He reached into his barn coat and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper. He put it in my hand. “This is for you from Henry. He told me to give it to you if anything bad happened to him.”

“Why would he believe anything bad was going to happen to him? Was he in some kind of trouble?” I studied Jeremiah’s face.

“I can’t tell you. I’ve divulged too much already.” Behind his glasses, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. “Just know that Henry Noble was a good friend to me. His friendship was a gift I will always cherish.” With that, he turned and went back into the stables where my brother took his last breath.

Chapter Nine

I tucked the small package into my deep cloak pocket. I would open it, but not now. It would have to be done in the privacy of my own room back at the Dickinson home. Alone.

And to be completely truthful, I didn’t have the energy to open the brown paper–wrapped package at the moment. With everything that I had learned from Jeremiah, my brain was awash with information. I didn’t know what to believe, and I guessed that whatever was in the package in my pocket wasn’t going to help me on that point.

A large man in a suit and black wool coat glared at us as we walked down the path away from the stables. He had long sideburns that were full and dark and would be the envy of any young man who aspired to the fashion. His skin had a pasty quality to it like he spent even the summer months inside. He did not speak to us. Emily didn’t speak to him. She continued to walk with Carlo at her side.

Carlo, for his part, tensed and pressed his warm body against Emily as we walked by the man, to the point that he almost toppled her over. She placed a reassuring hand on his head.

When we were a good bit away from the stables, I asked, “Who was that man?”

She glanced at me. “Oh, I thought you knew. It was Mr.Elmer Johnson, of course. He is the owner of the livery of whom Jeremiah and Masters spoke.”

I swallowed. “He doesn’t look like a kind man. Why would my brother choose to work for him?”

“That’s a very interesting question. Do you typically pick an employer based on his kindness?” she asked archly.

It was a fair question. Not all my employers had been kind to me over the years, but I had not left, because my brother and I had to eat.

Before I could say anything more, she added, “Let’s walk to town before heading back home. It will give you time to gather your thoughts, and I have a letter to post at the post office.”

I walked quietly beside her. She was right—all of my thoughts were jumbled together in my head. I didn’t know what was happening. What was in the package? Could Jeremiah be trusted? He seemed like a kind young man, but I didn’t know him or the true nature of his relationship with my brother.

The walk into the village was pleasant. The snow stopped and the sun came out as if to remind us that it existed. The shops in the center of town were doing good business. The barber stood outside of his parlor and smoked a cigarette. Mrs.Cutter from the bakery next door squinted as smoke wafted in her direction and she swept snow from the front walk of her shop. Out of habit, I peered in the bakery window. Breads, cakes, and muffins filled the display. My stomach rumbled at the sight of them, especially when I saw the two-tier chocolate cake that sat proudly on a glass cake holder. The only times that I had ever had treats from the bakery had been when Henry and I had been much younger and he stole a few cakes for us to eat. Of course, he did not tell me that he took the cakes without paying for them. I hadn’t asked. I knew that he had because I was sure we would never be able to buy them. I had eaten them with a twinge of guilt, but I had eaten them all the same.

Mrs.Cutter gave me a kind smile and glared at the barber again.

Young women came out of the dress shop with the olive green awning showing one another the new ribbons that they had bought, and young men likely from Amherst College walked about the town as if they didn’t have a care in the world. I could not imagine what it must be like to go to college or to sit in classes inside the stately stone buildings that made up the campus. To me, it was such a grand place.

The college men weren’t much more than my brother’s age. I know that he would never have received the schooling that they had, but nor would he ever laugh and joke with his friends again. I had to look away.

The post office came into view. It was a brick building painted white with black-framed windows and black shutters. The front door, which seemed to always be open no matter the weather with so many people coming and going, was a colonial blue. “United States Postal Service” was hand painted above it.

Emily and I waited as a woman with a stack of packages shuffled out of the post office. She wore a burgundy velvet bonnet that matched her coat and gloves. Peering over the packages, she said, “Oh, Miss Dickinson. We have missed you at church services as of late. Have you been unwell?”

Emily cocked her head. “Did my father or mother tell you that I was unwell?”

“No,” the woman said. Her face turned a pink shade that clashed with the burgundy. “I just don’t understand why a young woman like you wouldn’t want to be involved with the church. There are many young men that attend with us, as you know. Many walk down from the college. You might be missing a golden opportunity. A young lady of your age and rank should be thinking of an attachment and the future.”

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