Page 155 of The Frozen River

“No. I don’t think you had anything to do with what happened to Rebecca. But I do believe that you killed Burgess. I just can’t figure out why. It’s to do with that lace, though. I am certain of it.”

I wait for Sam, having long since learned that a man who does not want to speak, won’t. But I can see it there, this urge in him, bubbling up, to explain himself. He curls his fingers into fists. Releases them. Grinds his teeth together. Snorts in frustration. And still, I wait as Sam Dawin wrestles with himself.

“It was May,” he says, finally. “Burgess caught her alone at the Frolic last November. She’d gone out to the privy to relieve herself. Just a few minutes before he caused that scene with Hannah. I didn’t notice. I was so caught up in the fight. I had no idea she’d slipped away. But she was out there when we pitched Burgess into the snow. And he was furious. Poor May. Oh God. She had no idea what had happened. But he caught her coming back to the dance. Dragged her into the barn. He…”

Sam clears his throat. Shakes his head. Baffled, he blinks back hot, furious tears.

“It was so loud inside—you know how it is. No one heard her crying. But when she didn’t come back, I went looking for her. And I found him, standing above her, lacing his trousers.”

The look on Sam Dawin’s face is nothing less than tormented.

“She was right there, weeping in the hay, pushing down her skirt. I should have noticed she was gone. I should have gone out looking for her. I should have…” Sam plunges his hand into his pocket and pulls out the slender piece of lace. “He took it from her. Like some kind of damned trophy. Took the time to tie his hair back so it wouldn’t get in the way while he raped her.”

“So you beat him then?”

“No. He bolted. And I had to decide whether to help May or chase him. But once I got her inside the house, safe and settled, I went after him.” He continues, fast and frantic now. “I’d seen what happened to Mistress Foster when she came forward. How people whispered and took sides. How they blamed it on her even though she’d been at home, minding her business when they came. The law did nothing. It still hasn’t. North was acquitted for God’s sake. I wasn’t as patient as Isaac Foster to see justice done. Or as naïve. I had no interest in letting it play out in a court of law.”

“So you killed him?”

“Wasn’t hard.” He shrugs, defiant. “He’d gone through the woods on foot. We found him easy enough, what with the tracks he left behind. I’m not sorry, Mistress Ballard. And you’ll never hear me claim to be.”

“I’ll never ask that of you, Sam.”

“But are you going to tell the law?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Then why do you care?”

I think of Cyrus. Of his bruised knuckles and split lip. Of his weeks in the jail yard and the charges that have just been dropped. I need to know if my son had anything to do with that death.

“Because it matters.”

“If you ever speak a word of this, I’ll call you a liar. And that’s a word I never want to use against you, Mistress Ballard. Please don’t make me.”

“I won’t.” I set a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I am curious about what you did with the rope, though.”

“I burned it.”

“Good.”

All the evidence is gone.

He exhales then, as though it’s settled. “An old farmer once told me that a wolf—once it’s gotten a taste for human blood—must be killed because it will never stop hunting people from that point forward. I think it’s the same with men—or at least some of them—and rape. I had a duty to kill Burgess. It would have been someone else’s wife or daughter next. Yours, perhaps. Hannah most likely. He’d already set his sights on her. What if she had gone out to use the privy instead? What would you have done? Or Ephraim?”

I know exactly what my husband would do. Because I’ve seen him do it.

“Ephraim is the last man on earth who would ever think less of you, Sam. You don’t have to fear him either. But go on, finish your story.”

“We caught him,” Sam continues. “Beat him, and strung him from a tree.”

“But you kept the lace. Why?”

He swallows, hard. “It’s a reminder that May is mine to protect. I’ll never fail her again. I won’t.”

“Does that mean May’s baby is…”

“Possibly mine. I won’t lie about that. We were… we did… go to bed last fall.” By the casual way he says it, I assume it was more of a regular habit, than an isolated incident. “We were already betrothed. But when she turned up pregnant…”