Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

They were watching in silence, their faces grim.

How had it started?

A few steps toward home, she was stopped by a loud shout. It was one of the firemen from Byford. He was directing his hose into one of the windows on the first floor. Faith paused. He shouted again.

“Jesus Christ! There’s somebody in here!”

Four

Nelson Batcheldor did not find out he was a widower until 4:30 A.M. It had taken that long for the fire to be extinguished enough to recover the body. There had never been any hope of survival. And the only reason a positive identification was made so quickly was that Margaret had died as she’d lived—binoculars in place.

Chief MacIsaac appeared at the parsonage, where the Fairchilds were waiting. As soon as Faith heard that someone had been trapped inside, she’d hurried home and the two of them sat together, waiting to hear who the victim was. At one point, Tom had walked down to the fire, but soon returned. There was little he could do there, he’d told Faith, except get in the way.

She remembered her own first moments of fascination at the sight of the fire and felt sick.

Charley was wearing a heavy firemen’s raincoat and his face was streaked with grime. He refused Faith’s offer of coffee. He’d been drinking it for hours.

“It was Margaret Batcheldor, and we have to tell Nelson.” Charley seemed to break down for a moment. He cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and went on. “Damn nice woman, even though she did go over-board with the birds. What the hell could she have been doing in the house? No birds there. Unless she thought one was trapped or something. . . .” He sounded utterly defeated.

Tom and Faith were listening intently, but it took a moment for them to register.

“Margaret? Margaret’s body?” Tom asked.

Charley nodded and Faith started to cry. “Poor Nelson. What’s he going to do without her?” It was impossible to think of one without the other.

“I thought you ought to be there when I tell him, Tom. He’s going to need you.”

Faith gave her husband a fierce hug. He and Charley left immediately and she wandered about the house, unable to settle down to anything, certainly not sleep. She had a fleeting impulse to call the Millers, but then decided not to. She didn’t feel like spreading this kind of news. Aleford would know soon enough.

Margaret Batcheldor trapped in a fire in the house the Deanes built. Margaret and Nelson, the recipients of a poison-pen letter. Margaret and Nelson, pillars of POW! Finally, Margaret and Nelson in ski masks and out of mufti, emerging from Beecher’s Bog. Aleford had had its ups and downs, serious tragedies, a feud or two, but nothing like this. The smoke from the fire seemed to have seeped in through the walls of the house. It was as if some noxious gas were permeating their lives, carrying distrust and now death throughout the village.

She began to long for the children to wake up. Her thoughts were beginning to terrify her. She picked up a book, a new Barbara Kingsolver, but the words swam in front of her eyes.

“Momeee!” a frightened voice called out, “Where are you? Where’s Dad? You’re not in your bed? I want to know. Where are you?” It was Ben, and she rushed upstairs to reassure him. Holding him close, reassuring herself.

Nelson answered the door. He was in rumpled striped pajamas and had obviously been sound asleep. He seemed extremely surprised to see the two of them and his mouth dropped open at the sight of Charley in his raincoat and Tom clad in dog collar and jacket at such an ungodly hour.

“I’m afraid we have bad news,” Charley said. “Can we come in?”

“Of course, of course,” Nelson said, bewildered.

“I’ll get Margaret.”

Tom and Charley looked at each other. This was not going to be easy.

“Why don’t we sit down over here,” Tom suggested, and led the way to the couch and chairs comfortably arranged in front of a large fieldstone hearth.

Bird plates and bird pictures adorned the walls.

Carved birds and porcelain birds perched on every surface. Needlepoint bird pillows were carefully arranged wherever one might think to sit.

Charley came straight to the point. “Margaret’s had an accident. I’m afraid she’s dead, Nelson.”

“Dead! Margaret! That’s impossible!” Nelson’s voice rose to a high-pitched screech and he jumped up. “She’s asleep in her bed. Nothing’s happened to Margaret!” When he ran out of the room, they followed. Could he possibly be right?

He wasn’t. They found him in a small bedroom crammed with more bird artifacts and shelves of guides and photographic essays. There was a single bed beneath the window, its spread stretched taut. A bed that no one had slept in.

“But I don’t understand. Where is she?” He grabbed Charley by the shoulders, and although Nelson was much the weaker man, Tom had all he could do to pry him away. Then Charley took one side, Tom the other, and they forced Nelson to sit on the bed between them.

“When did you last see her?” Charley asked.

“When I went to bed last night. I was tired and went up first. She was going to sleep in here.” For a moment, he seemed embarrassed. “I guess I snore sometimes, and anyway, she was getting up early to go birding and didn’t want to disturb me.” He began to sob. “Why didn’t I go with her? What was it? Her heart? The doctor said she would be fine if she took her medication. Outlive us all.” He put his face in his hands and let go. Tom and Charley waited a while.

“Is there anyone you want us to call? A relative or neighbor?” Tom asked.

Nelson shook his head. “We’re the only family we have, except for some cousins we haven’t seen for years. But friends. Everybody was her friend.” His voice broke.

Charley put his hand on Nelson’s shoulder. “Want some coffee? Or maybe a shot of something?” Nelson shook his head again. Charley took a deep breath. “She didn’t have a heart attack, or at least we don’t know that yet. There’s been a fire at the new house the Deanes have put up over on Whipple Hill.

Margaret was inside.”

“You mean she burned to death!”

Charley kept his hand on Nelson’s shoulder. “There was nothing anybody could have done. By the time she was discovered, it was too late. It was a very bad fire. The whole house is just about gone.”

“But what was she doing there?” Nelson was truly dazed now.

“We were hoping you might have an idea.” Nelson shook his head. “She was going to leave early and she did say she was meeting someone. But that was normal. I can’t imagine why she would have gone into that house. It’s not even near any of her spots.” Tears were running out of his puffy red eyes and dripping off his nose. He made an ineffectual wipe at them with his pajama sleeve.

“Did she say who she was meeting?” Tom asked.

“No, but it was probably one of our usual group.

They all want to go with Margaret. She’s so knowl-edgeable.”

Tom noticed Nelson was still speaking in the present. For a moment, the three men sat in a row in Margaret’s room. Nobody said anything. Charley stood up.

“I have to get down to the station and file a report.

Believe me, I realize how painful this is for you, but you’ll have to wait for the body to be released before you can have a service. There has to be an autopsy.” Nelson winced.

“As soon as you feel up to it, we’ll talk about plans for the funeral,” Tom said. “Meanwhile, I’m going to go downstairs and get us some coffee, maybe a little breakfast. Come and show me where things are.” Nelson shuffled off obediently, a pathetic figure in his nightclothes.

“I’ll be in touch,” Charley said quietly to Tom. “Let me know if he thinks of any reason at all, however far-fetched, why she could have been there, and get him to give you a list of the names of the people who went birding with her.”