We Hear the Dead by Dianne K. Salerni

was not alone. A carriage that belonged to the Hydes was pulled up alongside, but it was not Mr. Hyde who had driven it. When I realized that Mr. E. E. Lewis was speaking with my father, I nearly broke out into a run, with Father’s lunch rocking in its basket on my arm.
    The daybook was out, and my father was gesturing with his hands, indicating his frustration and helplessness in a way I knew quite well. Mr. Lewis was nodding, slipping his pencil inside his coat, closing his book. I slowed my footsteps as they became audible to the men, and when they turned, I was walking at a demure pace, breathing deeply to conceal my breathlessness and smiling in what I hoped was a fetching manner.
    â€œMargaretta,” my father acknowledged me with a nod and quickly relieved me of the basket.
    â€œMiss Fox,” Mr. Lewis smiled at me, bowing deeply. “You bring the sunshine with you, I think, for there have been nothing but clouds all morning, and now that you are here, everything is brighter.”
    â€œI see you have finally captured my father,” I said, still a little breathless and doing my best to conceal it.
    â€œI was finding him a bit difficult to reach, but then someone told me, ‘Why, he’s out every day laboring at his new house. I can’t think why you are unable to find him.’ And didn’t I feel like a fool when I found him exactly where everyone in town knew he would be?” Mr. Lewis was looking as fashionable as ever, in his spotless cutaway coat and vest. I found my eyes fixed upon the askew loops of his rakishly tied cravat, and my fingers itched to reach out and straighten them.
    Father was digging in his lunch basket and paying no attention to us. I turned my shoulders slightly away from him, and Mr. Lewis turned in tandem with me, so that Father was left behind in spirit, if not in distance. “I am rather glad that I have encountered you today,” I said, “for I wanted to tell you that I had fathomed your Christian names at last and assure you that your secret was safe with me.”
    â€œMy very soul quakes at the thought of exposure. Do tell me how you discovered them.”
    I tipped my head and looked up at him through my lashes. “With your dark hair and complexion, it is obvious that your mother was a red-skinned Indian, probably with the power to tell the future. And envisioning your career as a reporter of mysterious events, she named you Eagle Eye.”
    He threw back his head and laughed so good-naturedly that my father actually raised his head from his meal and looked at us curiously. “Miss Margaretta,” Mr. Lewis exclaimed, “you have made this visit every bit as interesting as that old murdered peddler has. Sometimes even more so, since I understand the peddler was quite silent last night.”
    â€œThat is what I heard. Was Mr. Bell very angry?”
    â€œI wasn’t there, but I was told he was more self-righteous than angry. Look here. This was delivered to me this morning.”
    He removed a paper that was folded inside his daybook and smoothed it out so that I could read it. It was a petition, stating that the signers knew Mr. John Bell and believed him to be of sound character and completely incapable of criminal activity. It was signed by about thirty people, including almost the entire Hyde family and a few other Hydesville residents.
    â€œLand sakes!” I exclaimed. “There’s Mrs. Jewell’s name!”
    â€œDoes that surprise you?”
    â€œNot especially. Just the other day, she was telling Mrs. Redfield that it was a wonder Mr. Bell hadn’t murdered them all in their beds. But Mrs. Jewell’s head is stuffed with feathers, so she has trouble keeping track of her opinions from one day to the next.”
    Mr. Lewis tried to stifle his snickers as he folded the paper and put it back in his book. “Miss Margaretta, you are a caution! If you were a few years older, I would be