Free Where the Dead Talk by Ken Davis Page B

against the wall. On other occasions, he crawled around the edges of the room, speaking to the walls, cursing the demons that dwelt in the slats. During the rest of his hours, he was often no less strange. He complained that mice inserted their droppings into his Bible, and accused Elizabeth of baking lye into their bread. He was obsessed with an Indian whom he claimed lived below the stairs leading to the second floor. When he was in the throes of a spell, he forgot about her entirely. A misplaced item here, a carefully planted mouse turd there, a set of muddy prints made with his own boots in the night – over time, Elizabeth learned the value of feeding these obsessions: some measure of peace.
    This evening, it had taken no effort on her part to divert the Reverend’s attention. As the light had fallen, he’d started making his way around the house, tapping on the walls with his walking stick, his face scrunched up in irritation. When she’d asked him if he wanted supper, he’d looked at her as though a statue had spoken, and then continued his tapping, not saying a word.
     
    Elizabeth hurried down the path that led back through the orchard against the Boston Road. The trees were blossoming early this year and air was fragrant. In another minute, she came out behind the tavern. A pair of candles burned in the kitchen. She caught a glimpse of Jude, passing by the window. She bit the inside of her cheek, then went to the door and gave three quick knocks. Jude opened the door. The tavern's kitchen was warm. Fresh loaves of bread sat cooling on the table.
    "Elizabeth," he said, "I didn’t know what – he hit you?"
    All day, she’d worried about what he would do when he saw. Her composure cracked, just a bit.
    "It’s nothing," she said. As though she had no choice in the matter, her hand went up and grazed the swollen bruise around her eye, now fading from a mean red to a patchwork of purple, blue, and yellow.
    "He found out," Jude said.
    Elizabeth reached over and grabbed his hand, large between his own.
    "He doesn’t know," she insisted, "he didn’t even know that I was gone yesterday. He was in his study the whole time – he didn’t hear me come back in. I brought him a plate and he started in on his nonsense about putting lye in his meals. Knocked the plate from my hands and struck me. Began yelling at me for bringing the devil into his home –"
    "If he starts talking – accusing me – " Jude said.
    "Adonijah accuses most of the community of being adulterers," she said.
    "That doesn’t mean that folks aren’t going to believe it, especially here. I’m the tavernkeep, remember?" he said. "This village hasn’t been kind to tavernkeeps, not when they’re accused of adultery – and no one knows that better than I do."
    "People trust you."
    "Don’t be so sure. Most folks here already think I’m craven for not going off to Boston. And besides – we’re not innocent of it, are we?"
    "Adonija is a hard man, with a bitter, cold heart. Some will listen, because they want the world to be like that. Forget what they think," Elizabeth said.
    "Didn’t help Daniel Turner, forgetting what they thought."
    "Then we’ll leave. Start somewhere else."
    The words hung there.
    "I can’t walk away from this."
    "But you could sell it, buy another."
    He shook his head.
    "Not so simple. Most towns, I just couldn’t afford a place like this. Salem, Andover, Ipswich – those places are different. Not a lot of folks find themselves out here, not on purpose, anyway. But even so, I scratch by here. And it’s mine."
    Elizabeth walked around the kitchen, looking at the crockery, iron pots and pans, rows of tallow candles.
    "Then what about us?" she said. She looked up at him.
    "I don’t know," he said.
    That hurt more than Adonijah’s fist had. Jude saw.
    "I – this is so fast."
    "It’s been there for a long time," she said, "at least, for me."
    "I never thought that –"
    "But we did. We are."
    She moved closer to