Thoreau in Phantom Bog by Oak B. B

Author:Oak, B. B. [Oak, B. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2015-07-16T16:00:00+00:00

JULIA

Saturday, May 20

Adam returned to the house with Henry, who told me he was staying at the Sun to keep his eye on a guest he suspects to be the Conductor assassin. He was eager to question Tansy about what she saw the night Tripp was murdered, but when he did she told him nothing more than she had already told me. And although Henry was most sympathetic when Tansy expressed how anxious she was to continue her journey to Canada, he agreed with Rusty that she should stay well hidden whilst Prouty was so close by.

Later in the day, when I went to the Sun to sketch Mrs. Ruggles, I found Henry and Rusty sitting together on the porch, which affords a fine view of the Green. I greeted Rusty warmly, for my opinion of him had greatly improved after hearing Tansy’s recounting of his brave deeds as an Underground Railroad Conductor. Indeed, I sorely regretted my initial prejudice against him just because he was a Southerner. He looked slightly different to me, but I could not pinpoint how. Perhaps it was only that I now viewed him differently. He told me he had decided to stay at the Sun for the rest of his time in Plumford. Business was so brisk, he said, that he could well afford it.

As Henry and Rusty chatted with me they kept glancing in the direction of another man seated at the opposite end of the long porch. He was wearing a Quaker hat, and his leg was propped up on a bench, so I knew that he must be Jerome Haven, the murder suspect. Frankly, he did not look much like a killer to me, but I am not the best judge of character. I had married Jacques Pelletier, after all.

The three of us did not talk long. Henry went back to his carpentry work, Rusty went back to his daguerreotype wagon, and I went to find Mrs. Ruggles. Her husband sent me up to their private suite on the second floor of the rambling old inn, where she awaited me arrayed in layers of lace and ruffles. She need not have bothered to dress up, for it was her countenance, not her clothes, that I would be concentrating upon, but I could see that she enjoyed having the opportunity to display her best finery. The sitting room proved to be most commodious and bright, well suited for my work. The only drawback was that Mrs. Ruggles’s parrot Roos considered it her territory and cawed at me most vociferously as she flapped over my head.

“Roos get used to you one time soon,” Mrs. Ruggles assured me.

“And I hope I get used to Roos,” I replied.

“You have no liking for birds?”

Not this particular one, thought I. Although Roos was a beauty, with velvety feathers of bright red and vivid violet, her black hooked beak looked sharp and cruel, her claws looked menacing, and her beady jet eyes, rimmed in blue, looked merciless.

“I have no familiarity with parrots,” I told Mrs.

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