Moses, Me, and Murder Read online

  This book is for

  Katherine and Megan

  and

  all the other Cariboo children past, present, and future.

  Contents

  The Stranger

  Moses and Me

  He Returns

  Moses’s Story: The Face of Luck

  A Dilemma

  News!

  Captured!

  The Clue

  Murderer on the Loose!

  The Journey

  At the Bridge

  We Return

  Interlude

  The Trial

  The Other Side of the Story

  The Verdict

  A Life for a Life

  It Ends — Perhaps

  Acknowledgements

  Historical Notes

  Characters

  Blessing’s Grave

  1

  The Stranger

  The door to the barbershop flew open so hard that it banged back against the wall. Standing in the entrance, scowling, was a tall, heavily bearded man. He made me nervous, although he was just standing there, staring at Moses. I consider myself as brave as any other twelve-year-old boy, but this man looked — threatening — somehow. I sat down quietly on a bench and pretended I wasn’t there.

  “Moses!” the stranger said, “I hear tell you’ve been looking for me.”

  “No, suh, Mistuh Barry, suh! I been looking for my chum, Mr. Charles Blessing. As I recall, suh, you and I weren’t so friendly that I’d go out of my way looking for you!”

  I knew that Moses was upset. He always uses that slow, southern drawl with lots of “suh’s” when he is angry or worried. Moses comes from Victoria, and he usually speaks as well as any other man in Barkerville. Better than most of the miners.

  “I heard tell that you was looking for me, Moses!” The tall stranger slammed the door and strode into the shop. “Well, here I am. What do you want?”

  Moses is a small man, not much over five feet, and very slightly built. Almost skinny. He didn’t move away, but stood still, looking up at the stranger, his face empty of expression.

  “I asked if anyone seen Mr. Blessing, suh, not you. Now that you’re here maybe you can tell me where he is. I’m remembering the two of you left Quesnel together. Now you’re here in Barkerville, and he can’t be found. Do you know where he is, suh?”

  The stranger took a step backwards, his big, rough hands pulling at his beard. “Why — why I left Blessing behind me on the road. He had sore feet; couldn’t keep up. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since Quesnel.”

  Moses turned his back, and became very busy rearranging bottles of hair tonic, the special hair invigorator that he alone knows how to make. “He didn’t say anything to me about having sore feet,” he said quietly.

  “Well, he did,” Barry snarled. “And I ain’t seen him, so quit your nosing around and asking questions. I ain’t seen him since I left him behind me on the road. I’m not the man’s keeper.”

  He turned and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Moses? Who was that?”

  Moses stopped fussing with the bottles of hair restorer. “That was James Barry,” he said. “I met him in Quesnel, on my way back from Victoria in May.”

  “Why was he so upset?” I don’t normally ask a lot of questions, especially not of adults. They give you such strange answers if they don’t like what you’re asking. But Moses was different. He was my friend. So, I went on. “What was Mr. Barry so mad for? And who is this Mr. Blessing that you were talking about?”

  “He’s someone I met on the journey back to Barkerville, long before I met Barry. Charles Blessing and I travelled together for a while, sharing grub and campfires.”

  “But, Moses …” I began.

  He interrupted, “It wasn’t until Quesnel that we met Barry. I had to stay on to see about some money owed me and couldn’t leave for a while. But Charles didn’t want to wait for me to finish my business. He decided to travel on the next day with his new companion — Barry.”

  He paused. “You know, Ted, it’s a funny thing. Charles Blessing said that he wasn’t sure he should go on with Barry. Didn’t trust him, somehow. But he was in a hurry. Wanted to get to Williams Creek and strike rich before his money ran out.

  “Charles didn’t care much for Barry, though. He told me to remember that his full name was Charles Morgan Blessing, and that he came from Ohio. He said he felt sort of uneasy, and if anything happened to him, I at least, would know who he was.”

  “Where is Mr. Blessing, Moses?”

  “I don’t know, Ted. I was only one day behind them out of Quesnel and I should have caught up with them somewhere in Barkerville by now. But I haven’t seen Charles since the end of May, the day before he and Barry were to leave for the gold fields. Now it’s almost August.

  “I’ve asked all around, too. No one in town has seen a newcomer named Charles Blessing.”

  “What made Mr. Barry so angry? All you were doing was asking about your friend.”

  “I don’t know, Ted. I just don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out one of these days.”

  We did find out — but I wish we hadn’t.

  2

  Moses and Me

  As I walked home that afternoon through the busy streets of Barkerville, I thought about Moses and me. We’d become friends over a year ago, shortly after my family had come to the Williams Creek area. My hair needed cutting and Ma had heard that Moses was the best barber around. One afternoon she hustled me off to see him.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t feel that I needed a haircut, and I guess I was complaining a lot because, as I sat down in the barber’s chair, Ma suddenly exploded. “Theodore Percival MacIntosh! Close your mouth and mind your manners. I’ll see you later, young man, and Mr. Moses better have a good report on your behaviour!” She stormed out to do some shopping at Mason and Daly’s general store, just up the street.

  “Theodore, eh?” said Moses as he went to work with the scissors.

  “Um,” I agreed, hardly opening my mouth.

  “Percival, eh?” said Moses.

  “Um,” I said again, beginning to squirm. I hate my name. It’s too long and fancy. At school, back in New Westminster, they used to call me Percy, just to make me mad. It did.

  “Theodore — Percival — MacIntosh, eh?” repeated Moses. “Well, I could have guessed the MacIntosh part. This red hair, all those freckles, and your green eyes show a Scottish ancestor somewhere behind you. But you don’t look much like a Theodore Percival!” Then he began to laugh.

  I swirled around in the chair. “It’s not funny! How would you like to go through life with the longest, stupidest name anyone ever had?”

  “Oh, a touch of a fine Scots temper, too, I see!” Moses laughed softly, as he went back to cutting my hair. “The point is, son, that I have gone through life with the longest, stupidest name anyone ever had. Or at least for fifty years. My full name is Wellington Delaney Moses! Mighty big name for the little fellow I turned out to be, don’t you think?”

  “Wellington Delaney Moses?” I said slowly. Then I grinned. “Nope. I think my name is dumber.”

  “Nonsense, young man! Mine is longer.”

  We looked at each other in the mirror and smiled. That was the beginning of the friendship. When Ma came back for me, I was perched on a bench in one corner of the shop with Moses beside me, listening as he told me stories of my new town. The barbershop is right across the street from Barnard’s Express Company, and when he isn’t busy, Moses sits and watches the stagecoaches arrive and leave. He knew who came into town and who left, whether they were happy or sad, and often just why they were travelling. There wasn’t much going on in Barkerville in 1866 that Moses didn’t know, or couldn�
��t make a good guess about. He saw the hurdies, the dancing girls, arrive, welcomed by a cheering crowd of miners; he saw Judge Begbie, the Hanging Judge, leave after the trials had ended. He watched the hopeful newcomers, their faces glowing with the thought of the gold waiting for them on the banks of Williams Creek, step wonderingly off the stage. Often he saw those same men, their money exhausted and their hopes dashed, climb back onto the stage a few months later, heading for home and their old lives. Williams Creek did not smile favourably on everyone who came to seek her gold. Only one man in a hundred ever struck it rich. The rest — well, Moses knew the sad stories as well as the happier ones. He knew of Billy Barker who found his mother lode fifty-two feet down; a claim so rich that the town was named for him. He had met Cariboo Cameron, who found his wealth but lost his wife to “mountain fever,” sometimes called typhoid, one of the deadliest of the illnesses that flourishes in the gold fields.

  Rich or poor, success or failure, happy, sad, drunk, destitute, or content — Moses knew them all.

  Ma could hardly drag me away from the barbershop that first day. Moses invited me to come back and visit. I did. The very next day, and almost every day since.

  Moses remembers everything that goes on, partly because he keeps a diary telling who arrives or leaves on the stage. He also writes about the weather, so if anyone in town has a dispute about when the first snow fell last year, or which winter was the coldest, Moses can bring out his journals and settle the argument.

  On my way home that day, the day I first saw James Barry in the barbershop, I stuck my head into my pa’s carpentry shop to see if he was finished and wanted to walk home with me. He still had work to do, however, as he had promised one of Madame Bendixen’s dancing girls that her new commode would be ready by morning. I went on alone.

  Although Pa’s shop is almost in the centre of Barkerville, right on the main street, we don’t live near it. Our home is about a half mile from Barkerville, on the road to Richfield. Ma didn’t want to live right in town. There were so many saloons, so many drunken miners and so much noise that, after only two nights in the Nicol Hotel, she started pressuring Pa to find a quieter place to live.

  “Theodore needs a home where quiet and dignity have a place,” she said. “I will not have him listening to that rough language on the street night after night!”

  As soon as we could, we moved away from the busy town. Our home was about halfway between Barkerville and Richfield. Prices and rents are cheaper up there, but the road is uphill all the way — and steep! Then, of course, it’s downhill all the way coming back to Barkerville, so I guess I can’t complain.

  I suppose Ma found her quiet and dignity. She sure makes me be quiet enough when I’m doing my lessons. There isn’t a school in Barkerville, or anywhere near the Creek. There aren’t enough children for one. I kicked up my heels and whooped a bit when I found that out, but Ma had other ideas. “Three hours a day with your nose in the books, Theodore. Three hours a day!” Unfortunately, there is a library in Barkerville, so she never runs out of books.

  And she found a music teacher! So, on top of all the studying, I have to spend an hour a day practicing the violin. It’s almost worse than regular school, even though Mr. Malanion is very understanding. He used to play the violin in the Paris Opera, and sometimes, if I’m having trouble with a piece, he’ll tell me to put my violin away while he takes his out. Then he plays some of the most wonderful music I have ever heard. It almost makes me want to cry; other times the music is so cheerful that I want to laugh.

  “You’ll see, Ted, you’ll see,” he’ll say as he puts his violin away. “It will be worth it in the end. Believe me.”

  On those days I go home feeling very ambitious, and practice until my fingers ache. I guess I still don’t sound much like Mr. Malanion, though.

  Well, I’d had no music lesson today. Only a visit with Moses and a meeting with that strange James Barry. I was beginning to feel hungry as I reached Barkerville’s Chinatown. Unfamiliar aromas drifted out of the stores and cabins, mixing with the smell of dust and manure from the road.

  I went by Sing Kee’s store. Mr. Kee sells herbs — all kinds of herbs to cure you or make you feel good. His store is a dark, mysterious looking place with bunches of dried plants and roots and other things hanging from the ceiling, and lots of tiny, coloured bottles all around. I want to go in someday and see if he has something that will take my wart away, but Ma has absolutely forbidden it.

  At last I was out of Barkerville; the fancier houses, hotels and saloons had given way first to Chinatown and now to simple miner’s shacks. Our house isn’t exactly a shack, but it isn’t anything like the big home we had on the coast. I don’t mind because I can hear the creek running nearby all summer. The little jays we call whiskey jacks and the squirrels come and beg for crumbs. Our new home has things you could never get in New Westminster.

  I was getting tired. The road was steep, and the sky had become dark. By the looks of things, another sudden thunderstorm was on its way. I knew how heavy those August rains could be, so I began to hurry.

  Suddenly I shivered, and it wasn’t just because of the drop in temperature that the clouds had brought. I had the feeling that someone was watching me, someone I couldn’t see but who could see me very well. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and goosebumps stood on my arms.

  I whirled around. No one was on the road behind me. There was no one under the trees that lined the road beside me, either. I shrugged my shoulders, beginning to whistle as I increased my speed. I could have sworn that someone was looking at me, someone who meant me no good. The feeling was so strong that, again, I looked behind me. Nothing.

  I kept walking, even faster now. Suddenly a dark figure stepped out from behind a tree on the path ahead of me. I jumped, but kept whistling and walking. Then, as I got closer, I recognized him. It was the man who had been in Moses’s shop that afternoon — James Barry!

  The whistle died away. My throat was dry and I couldn’t purse my lips properly. Barry stood, waiting and watching, as I drew closer to him. Taking a deep breath and lifting my hat, carelessly I hoped, I bid him a good evening.

  “Master Theodore MacIntosh, eh?” He stepped out in front of me, blocking the trail. “Or is it Master Percy? What were you doing in Moses’s shop? What’s he to you, anyway?”

  I was startled. How did he know who I was? Why was he asking about Moses? And where did he learn my name, even my middle name?

  I didn’t want to speak to him at all, but Ma has very strict rules about being polite to adults. I couldn’t just ignore his questions, even though he made me feel very uneasy.

  “Moses is my friend, sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. What was wrong with me? Why should I be afraid of this stranger, someone I had only just met?

  “I often visit with Moses,” I went on, “and now, if you’ll excuse me, I seem to be late for dinner.”

  With that my courage deserted me. I pushed past him and ran up the trail as fast as I could. It wasn’t very dignified, but I didn’t feel very dignified. I felt scared for no particular reason, but scared just the same.

  Behind me I could hear James Barry laughing. It was a deep laugh, a most unpleasant one, and it carried clearly up the trail.

  “Well, Master Percy,” he called after me. “We’ll have to see what we can do about you!”

  3

  He Returns

  The weeks went by. August slipped into September and the leaves became golden and brown. Williams Creek seemed to be running more strongly now, as if it knew that thick ice would soon lock it away for the winter. I hadn’t seen any robins for weeks; they and the swallows had left for some warmer place. At night you could see your breath in the moonlight, and in the morning the sun burnt off a thin glaze of frost. Winter comes early to the gold fields.

  I was in Moses’s shop when that man, James Barry, came in again. I hadn’t seen him since the day on the road to Richfield when he had frightened
me so much. Hadn’t bothered to ask where he was, either!

  “Well, Moses. How about a haircut and a trim?”

  “Certainly, suh. Regular rates, you understand.”

  As Moses settled Barry in the barber’s chair, I looked around me. Maybe I could sneak out the door …

  Too late. Barry had seen me. “If it isn’t my friend, Master MacIntosh,” he said, his strong teeth flashing beneath his dark beard. “I haven’t seen you for a while, young man. Not since you took your abrupt departure from me on the Richfield road.” He threw back his head and laughed.

  “Not thinking of taking your departure again, are you Master Theodore? Or is it Master Percy?”

  “I have errands to do for my mother,” I lied, standing up and heading for the door.

  “Sit down Master Percy. Stay a while.” He laughed again. He had the meanest sounding laugh I’d ever heard.

  I sank back onto the bench. I could think of a dozen places I’d rather be — in the woodshed waiting for a licking, at school, anywhere — but I saw no way of leaving without offending Mr. Barry. And that was something I didn’t want to do.

  Moses was busy cutting Barry’s hair now. By the look on his face I guessed it was none too clean.

  “You’ve been doing all right by yourself, suh,” he commented. “Judging by the fancy clothes you’re wearing, I’d say you must have hit pay dirt somewhere. As I recollect, you didn’t have any money coming into Barkerville, so I guess the town has been good to you.”

  “I look after myself, Moses, I look after myself. And I keep my ears open, too. Hear all kinds of interesting things if you keep your ears open, you know. Like certain young whippersnapper’s middle names.” He laughed again. “You might say that Barkerville’s been good to me, real good.”

  Barry was well dressed. His clothes, unlike his hair, looked clean and fresh. A gold watch fob hung along his vest, and a brand new hat lay where he had placed it on a table. His boots, too, were not the boots of a hard-working miner, but seemed more like the boots of a gambler — or a man who had struck it rich. They also looked new, the leather gleaming in the dim light of the store. In his coat lapel he wore a large stickpin. The pin had been made from a gold nugget, a very large nugget!