Steeplechase: A Homer Kelly Mystery Part 1

Steeplechase.

A Homer Kelly Mystery.

Jane Langton.

For Joe Gillson.

1868.

The Aeronauts.

Thank G.o.d, men cannot as yet fly, and lay waste the sky as well as the earth!

-Henry Th.o.r.eau, Journal, January 3, 1861.

The Brothers Spratt.

The wind was blowing gently west-southwest. Two church steeples in the town of Bedford veered away below the balloon as the Spratt brothers dropped their leaflets, and before long two more spires appeared above the trees in the town of Concord.

"Two churches apiece they got, Jack," said Jake.

"Right you are, Jake," said Jack. "Two apiece."

Looking down, they could see Hector. He was standing up in his wagon, whooping at his tired old horse as it galloped after them along the road.

Now the main street of Concord opened out below them. Pale Concord faces gazed up. Jake slid the lid halfway over the firebox, and the balloon drifted lower over the housetops so that everyone could read the painted words on the bag: J. & J. SPRATT.

PORTRAIT AND AERIAL.

PHOTOGRAPHY.

Jake picked up another bundle of pamphlets, dropped them over the side, and watched them flutter down on the street. Some lodged on rooftops, some disappeared in the leafy canopies of elm trees, some fell on the muddy road, and some were caught by eager hands reaching up.

"Whoopsie, Jake," said Jack, because the wind was s.h.i.+fting into another quarter.

"Going due west now, Jack," said Jake, and he opened the firebox again to lift the balloon high over the road to Nashoba. As it rose, he leaned out to look for Hector. Had he caught up? Yes, there was the wagon, a speck in the distance, with Hector's old horse pounding along at a gallop.

Jake made a huge pointing gesture-West, Hector, we're heading west-and Hector understood. He was waving his hat in the same direction.

"This here must be Nashoba, Jake," said Jack as the next town came in sight.

"Right you are, Jack," said Jake. "Hey, Jack, look at that there big tree."

"What tree, Jake?" said Jack.

"Down there in the graveyard, Jack. See there?"

"My goodness, Jake. I ain't never seen such a big old granddaddy tree."

"Whoopsie, Jack. I almost forgot." Nimbly, Jake untied another packet of pamphlets and dropped them over the side. Once again, hands reached up and children ran after fluttering sc.r.a.ps of paper. Looking back, Jack and Jake saw the main street of Nashoba drifting away behind them, until only the low dome of the church steeple was visible above the trees.

"Wind's died," said Jake. "We'd best go down."

"Where to, Jake? In that there field?"

"See if Hector's a-coming, Jack," said Jake, closing the firebox.

"Yep, Jake. I see his horse and wagon. That poor old nag, she's weaving all over the road."

"Poor thing must be wore-out," said Jake. "Whoopsie! Hang on, Jack."

The basket settled with a b.u.mp in the pasture, tipped, dragged, bounced, tipped, dragged, and at last came to a stop in the gra.s.sy stubble between two flabbergasted cows.

NOW.

Joy on the River.

"Why!" said I ... "the stones are happy, Concord River is happy, and I am happy too.... Do you think that Concord River would have continued to flow these millions of years by Clamsh.e.l.l Hill and round Hunt's Island ... if it had been miserable in its channel, tired of existence, and cursing its maker and the hour that it sprang?"

-Henry Th.o.r.eau, Journal, January 6, 1857.

Homer's Happy Day.

Something amazing was happening. Homer Kelly had become a star.

"I know it's ridiculous," said his editor. "I mean, it's like a meteor falling on your head. That book of yours is number one on the Times bestseller list for nonfiction."

"But Luther, it came out three years ago," crowed Homer happily. "This is just a reprint of a boring old scholarly work. There isn't a ripped bodice in it anywhere."

Luther chuckled. "Well, who knows the ways of Providence? Sometimes it casteth down; sometimes it raiseth up."

"Having often been casteth down," cried Homer, "I'm grateful to be raiseth up."

"Watch it," scolded Luther, who was a stickler for grammatical perfection. "Thou shouldest not mess around with tricky old verb forms like that."

They argued gaily for a while about eths and ests, thees and thous, and then Homer cackled a jolly good-bye. He wanted to jump up and down, but he was afraid the floorboards would snap under his six and a half feet of flab. Instead, he bounded out the door and hollered at his wife, "Number one, I'm number one."

Mary looked up from the shallows, where she was boot-deep in pickerelweed, and shouted back, "That's crazy. It's just ridiculous." But she, too, was laughing as she slopped out of the water.

Homer hurtled down the porch steps and hoisted her off the ground. "You know what a bestselling writer gotta have?" he chortled joyfully. "He gotta have champagne. We'll just make a little trip into town."

It was a happy day. "I deserve it," said Homer smugly, raising his gla.s.s. "I've been in the wilderness too long."

"You certainly have," said Mary.

"And the strangest thing has been happening in our department. Have you noticed that all the new grad students are mere babies? The other day, I swear I saw one of them sucking her thumb."

"It's not that they're younger, Homer dear; it's just that we're older. But honestly, this is such a wild stroke of luck. Whatever got into all those people, going into all those stores and buying a book about the spread of old New England churches?"

"I've become chic, that's it," bragged Homer, pouring Mary another gla.s.s. "Everybody's got to have my Hen and Chicks."

"They won't read it, of course," said Mary, laughing. "It isn't exactly a page-turner."

"Well, who the h.e.l.l cares?"

After lunch, Homer hauled the battered aluminum canoe down to the water's edge for a celebratory paddle, but his phone buzzed as he shoved off. He put it to his ear, yelled, "Just a sec," and stuck it in his pocket while he poled the canoe away from the sh.o.r.e. Afloat at last, he pulled out the phone. "Okay, here I am."

It was Luther again, more excited than ever. "Listen, Homer, we've got to follow this up; we've got to strike while the iron is hot. How's the new book coming along?"

The breeze was mild, the river placid. Homer was appalled. "The new book? Christ, Luther, it isn't anywhere near ready. I haven't done the work. I've got to go to all those churches and talk to people."

"I seem to remember it's got a cute t.i.tle. What is it? I forget."

"Oh G.o.d," groaned Homer, seeing the heavy labor of the next few months appear before him like a cloud over the river. "I'm going to call it Steeplechase."

"Oh, right, that's great. Steeplechase, meaning chasing around after churches. Really catchy. Well, get to work, Homer. Throw it together. Like I said, we've got to strike while the iron is hot. People will gobble it up, a peek through the keyhole at all the dirty linen hidden away under all those pious steeples. You know what I mean, Homer, an overview."

"An overview?" Homer's voice was hollow.

"The t.i.tle alone will do the trick. Think of the book clubs; think of the advance sales. An overview, that's all we want, Homer, a G.o.dlike view from above." Luther laughed and shouted, "Get to work, Homer. Steeplechase! Tarantara!"

1868.

A G.o.dlike View from Above.

Jack and Jacob Spratt Aerial and Portrait Photographers.

Cartes de visite, cabinet photographs Men, women, children, and babes.

Mortuarie images a specialty Our mobile studio will be at your service on the green in Concord.

10 o'clock, Sat'y, May 16.

Satisfaction garanteed.

Eben.

A storm of paper drifted down over Concord's Milldam, flapping all over the road. One pamphlet slapped the nose bag of a horse tied up at the Middles.e.x Hotel. Startled, it reared and plunged. An astonished deacon plucked another from the front of his coat.

When one of the flying pamphlets drifted lazily back and forth over the head of Eben Flint, he reached up, smiling, and took it out of the air. It wasn't every day that messages fell from the sky. Was this an angelic announcement?

But, of course, it was only a broadside dropped from the hot-air balloon that was majestically disappearing behind the elm trees on Main Street. Eben read the message as he headed for the bank.

"Eben, Eben," called Ella Viles. From across the street, she waved a pamphlet.

Eben waited, watching her dart in front of a team hauling a wagonload of empty barrels. The driver shouted, "Whoa," the heads of the horses jerked back, and the hollow barrels thumped and rattled. Angrily, the driver shouted, "What's your hurry, miss?"

Ella only giggled and bolted to the other side, skipping over puddles in a flurry of swaying skirts. Breathlessly, she held up the pamphlet. "Oh, Eben, we must both be taken."

Against the background of the dull mercantile street, she was a lovely object. Behind her, two ladies in drab shawls were gossiping in front of Cutler's Dry and Fancy Goods, a hired girl hurried past with a basket of eggs, one of the Hosmers shook hands with one of the Wheelers as they agreed to trade two bushels of turnips for one of winter-stored apples, and the fish cart rattled past the town pump, the driver blowing his horn.

Did Eben mind the way Ella teased him about their names being so much alike? Did he mind her inference that it was the hand of Fate? Did he object to the way she kept saying, "Eben and I," "Me and Eben?" No, he didn't mind. Not when it came so sweetly from such a pretty creature as Ella Viles.

As the wagon rumbled away down the Milldam with its wobbling cargo of barrels, Eben smiled at Ella and shook his head. "I don't need another likeness. I've already been taken."

"Oh, that one. I've seen that one. Oh, Eben, you were just a little boy. The war is over, and now that you're back home, you're so much more grown-up and good-looking." Ella blushed and dropped her eyes. "And, oh, Eben, I hope you'll like to have my picture?" t.i.ttering, she said, "My gracious, I'll have to order a whole set, I have so many admirers."

This was said in jest, but it had the desired effect. Eben gazed at her without speaking, and she told herself how delightful it was to be so pretty and to be standing so close to Eben Flint, right here on the Milldam. How that old spinster Betsy Hubble must envy Ella Viles! And surely the other ladies on the street were saying to one another, "There they are again. You always see them together, Ella Viles and Eben Flint."

But then Ella remembered that she had sensational news, and her face turned solemn. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, "Oh, Eben, have you heard about James?"

"James?"

"James Shaw." Ella's eyes shone with the excitement of being the first to tell the horrid story. "He was your teacher, wasn't he, Eben? Your old friend? Oh, Eben, do you mean you haven't heard the dreadful news?"

Eben stiffened and said sharply, "Tell me."