Angus
paused at the top of the rise that overlooked Anna’s house. Its setting
was framed by the distant blue of the Northumberland Strait. The
whitewashed house, trimmed in red, nestled in the hollow, flanked by the
two barns and the workshop, also whitewashed. A long row of tall fir
trees grew close behind, protecting the little farmhouse and its
outbuildings from the vicious winter winds that could sweep across
Prince Edward Island burying small houses, such as this, in drifts up to
the eaves, and freezing a person to his very marrow. Angus shivered and
hastened down the track.
I
helped Ian build the big barn, and my father and my grandfather helped
his father build this house, he thought. Anna planted those chestnut
trees by the front door the day they were married. They’ve grown tall
since then, but they’ve never produced nuts. A strange thing. He rounded
the corner of the house and knocked on the door.
“Are you home, Ian?” He pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe.
“I am.” Ian’s voice sounded tired and far away.
Angus
stepped into the sunlit kitchen, the bloody axe forgotten in his hands.
His friend looked ill, weary-faced and worn, his eyes were red-rimmed
and blood shot. His thick grey beard was still streaked with black and
the hair on his head was grey too, except for the cowlick of black
springing up from the front above his right eyebrow. He seemed rumpled
and unkempt, and a little wild. He hunched his broad shoulders as if to
ward off a blow.
“Where’s Donald?” asked Angus.
“Finishing
the chores.” Ian was standing by the unlit stove, his hands busy
shaving kindling off a stick of wood with the kitchen knife. “Have you
found her, then?” He stared hard at the axe in Angus’ hands.
“We
found her. Neil found her. They’re bringing her soon.” Angus followed
Ian’s gaze, for the first time realizing that he still held the weapon.
He almost dropped it in his haste to conceal it behind his back. “I’m
sorry, I forgot to set this down.” His ruddy cheeks turned a darker
shade of red.
“She’s dead, is she?” Ian stopped making kindling and stood waiting for the answer.
“She’s been murdered.”
Ian stood silently taking in the words. “It was bound to happen,” he said at last.
“Now why would you say that?”
Ian
looked back at his friend, his blue eyes filled with tears. He blinked
hard. “I knew about her from the very first time, and every time after
that.”
“You didn’t…?”
“I
suppose that’s what they’ll all be saying when the word gets around.”
He sighed. “No, it wasn’t I, though I have more reason than anyone. Is
that the weapon?”
“It would seem so.” Angus drew the axe out from behind his back.
“Whose is it?”
“I
don’t know. I’ve never seen it before. I suppose we’ll have to notify
the constable. This thing’s too big for us. Though what good he’ll be, I
don’t know.”
Ian
stood in silence for some seconds, then said, “I was just making Donald
and me a bite of breakfast. Will you have some?” He turned toward the
stove.
“I wouldn’t trouble you at a time like this. I should be making you breakfast.”
Ian shrugged. “We must go on, and to do that we must eat.” He began preparing the meal.
Anna
Gillis, the midwife and neighbour in Mattie’s Story, has been found
killed. The close-knit community is deeply shaken by this eruption of
violence, and neighbours come together to help one another and to
discover the perpetrator. But the answer lies Anna’s secret, long
guarded by Old Annie, the last of the original Selkirk Settlers, and the
protagonist of An Irregular Marriage. Join the community! Read Anna’s
Secret and other novels by Margaret A. Westlie.
Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords
Genre – Fiction, mystery, historical
Rating – G
More details about the author
Website http://www.margaretwestlie.com
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