Mending Horses by M. P. Barker

her husband.
    Stiffly, Chester started to rise, but his wife patted his forearm to make him sit back down. “I’ll get it, dear,” she said. She ruffled her husband’s dark, wavy hair and kissed him gently on the forehead before taking a candle and leaving the room. She returned with a bundle of papers.
    As he leafed through the papers, Jonathan let out a low whistle. Whatever had freed Daniel from his indenture must have been one step shy of a miracle. “So he’s free, then. And the mare belongs to him.”
    â€œIf those papers are real.” Eldad’s tone warned Jonathan not to get too hopeful.
    Mrs. Ainesworth clicked her tongue impatiently. “That boy’s only what? Fifteen? Sixteen? Would he know enough to write them, never mind forge half a dozen different hands?”
    â€œThe fella is who he claims, then,” Eldad said.
    â€œAnd no thief, either,” Mrs. Ainesworth added, a smug half-smile playing across her lips. She cut another strip of linen and went back to work on Chester’s right hand.
    â€œSo it seems. But it doesn’t mean he can’t be a murderer,” Chester said.
    â€œThat boy’s no more a murderer than I am,” Jonathan said. “I have a sense about him.”
    Chester raised an eyebrow. “So did Jacob Fairley.” He drew in a breath as his wife tightened the bandage around his finger a little too fiercely.
    â€œDo you really believe Mr. Fairley’s tales?” Mrs. Ainesworth’s voice was sharp-edged.
    Chester sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is the truth and the law. In a couple of days, we’ll know whether there’s any truth to all this talk of murder.” Chester started to runhis left hand through his unruly hair, then grimaced and thought better of it. “Then I’ll know what the law requires me to do. In the meantime, he might as well stay here.”
    â€œIf you lock that boy up in some dark hole, you’ll have yourself a corpse or a lunatic come morning,” Jonathan said.
    Chester shook his head. “I should have been less worried about keeping him locked in and more worried about keeping everyone else locked out,” he said. “I’ll sit watch on the boy, just in case anyone tries to follow Jacob’s example.” He tried to lift his mug, but his bandaged fingers were too fat and slippery to hold it. “I only hope,” he said, staring glumly into his rum, “that tomorrow morning Jacob Fairley feels as bad as I know I will.”
    Jonathan yawned so wide his jaw popped. He looked enviously at the bed Mrs. Ainesworth had made up for Daniel, then at his own mattress, a well-worn tick flattened with long use, which Chester had dragged down from the attic and laid on the floor. His aching joints regretted the impulse that had prompted him to sit watch over Daniel.
    â€œYou wouldn’t happen to mind changing places, would you, Dan’l?” Jonathan asked.
    The boy lay rigid on the bed, his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. He’d barely reacted when Jonathan and Chester had carried him upstairs into the Ainesworths’ spare bedroom.
    â€œDan’l?” Jonathan waved a hand in front of the boy’s face. “You wouldn’t happen to mind at least not looking quite so cadaveracious, would you?” No response. The peddler sighed and pulled the blanket up to the boy’s chin.
    A light footstep shuffled in the hallway, and the door creaked open. A pair of curious blue eyes stared up at him. “Billy! What the devil are you doing here?”
    â€œI heard Mr. Taylor say you was over here sitting watch on the murderer. So I come to see. Mrs. Constable told me you was in here.”
    â€œHow’d you figure out how to get here?”
    â€œI seen Mr. Taylor coming home, so I just followed that sameroad he’d been on. When I saw Phizzy in the yard here, I knew it was the right