course, while Renwell had to choose his footing carefully. A sleety snow began to blow from the northeast and at times Lewis would lose sight of the man entirely in the swirl. Then a break would come and he could pick out the green of Renwell’s ragged scarf. Or was that the green of the conifers growing on the opposite shore? He realized he could no longer be sure, for the bitter wind made his eyes water and the snow was sticking to his lashes.
Renwell had slowed to a walk now, spent by his initial efforts, but so had Lewis, whose breathing was quite audible in the frosty air, his lungs sore, not only from exertion, but from the cold knifing into them. He could feel the temperature dropping rapidly, and his face became encrusted with a layer of icy snow. He attempted to pull the collar of his coat up to shield himself, but this limited his vision even more and he found it increasingly difficult to make out where he should place his feet.
He knew he had made a mistake as soon as he stepped down, but he couldn’t stop himself in time. The ice right over the middle of the river where the current ran swift gave way and his leg plunged through to the icy water. He grabbed the edge to prevent himself from falling farther, but the fragile ledge broke away in his hand and he plummeted into the cold dark water, only catching himself from total immersion with one last desperate reach. This time the ice held, but he was in water up to his shoulders and could see no clear way to get himself out. He could feel the current pulling at him, trying to drag him under the ice with it. Every time he attempted to shift his weight up onto the ledge of ice he only slid farther back. The cold was perishing and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before it took him.
Summoning up the last of his laboured breath, he shouted, “Francis!”
Renwell stopped and turned around.
“Francis! Help me.”
Renwell stood looking at him for what seemed like many long minutes. Please, Lord, Lewis prayed. Please stir this sinner’s conscience, for I am not ready to meet You yet. The Lord is my Shepherd … If it be Your will that I’m taken so be it … The Lord is my Shepherd … If not, then please let this man come to me now … The Lord is my Shepherd.
He couldn’t remember the next line in the prayer. Try as he might, he couldn’t force his numbed brain to function, to dig down and retrieve the words.
Renwell picked his way back over the ice until he was close enough to be heard without shouting.
“Why should I help you?” he said.
“For the love of God, Francis, you can’t leave me here.”
“Better you than me. If I come any closer, I’ll go in the water as well.”
“No. The ice is freezing while we speak. It will hold if you go down on your belly.”
“And why would I? So you can chase me? So you can turn me in? If I leave you there, I’m free, at least from you. No one would ever know what happened.”
Lewis reflected that this was true, for no other living soul would be on the river on a night such as this, and by the time some fisherman or boatman again ventured out, all they would find was a corpse frozen into the ice.
“If I get you out, will you leave me alone? Let me go on, unmolested?” Renwell had moved a little closer, and was fingering his scarf. Was it possible that the man would act, after all? Lewis realized that it was, but that the price of his rescue would be to let his daughter’s killer walk away unchallenged.
He had never truly understood the story of Judas and the forty pieces of silver until then. It had always been presented to him as a venal act, an example of the power of money over men’s souls. But he knew now that the silver had nothing to do with the disciple’s treachery. He had agreed to the transaction in order to save himself. He had to marvel at the Lord’s ironical ways. Here he had been praying, begging Him for salvation, and his prayers had been answered, but at a terrible cost. He no longer had even his anger to sustain him. That had been purged by his plunge into the cold, sobering water. The choice was clear — justice for Sarah or life for himself. He had always thought of himself as a man of principle; strange how easy it was to stand on principle until it was tested. Then he realized that there really was no choice at all: he could agree or he could perish — Renwell would walk away no matter what he did.
“Why did you do it, Francis? Just answer me that. Whatever you decide here, just give an answer to that one question, and then you’ll have to let your conscience be your guide. Provided you still have one, of course.”
“Why did I do it? Because of the promise that things might change. We put our trust in Mackenzie; we mistook his ranting as a blueprint for action. And now we know how sadly that trust was misplaced. All of us.” Renwell stood with his head down, lost in the misery of past action.
What nonsense was this? Lewis shook his head, thinking that he had misheard. Why was this man speaking of Mackenzie and trust and things that had no bearing on the matter? Lewis began to doubt himself, to think that he was dreaming the conversation, that the cold had befuddled him into some strange hallucination, and that Renwell had not turned around and come back toward him, but had even now reached the shore and disappeared. He continued speaking anyway. Whether Renwell was actually there or not, it was his only hope. There were no other options.
“I don’t care about Mackenzie. I’m talking about Sarah — and the others. What happens when the bloodlust takes you, Francis?”
“Others? Bloodlust? What are you talking about, Thaddeus?” It was Renwell’s turn to shake his head and look confused.
“Rachel. Rachel Jessup in Demorestville. A woman in a cabin near Prescott. I know it was you. I saw you in Milford, and again when I left Fort Wellington to look for a bed.”
“Fort Wellington? Prescott? I’ve never in my life been in either place. I know you saw me in Milford, for I saw you as well. Demorestville? I’m not even sure where that is.”
Lewis went on. “You did it, didn’t you Francis? You murdered them all — Sarah, Rachel, and the other — there’ll be another and another after that, won’t there?”
A look of anguish crossed the young man’s face. “I didn’t know until days afterward that Sarah was dead. If you knew how many times I wanted to somehow go back in time and take back my actions, to stay with her. How many times I’ve wished I’d never heard the name Mackenzie. If I’d been there, she wouldn’t have died. I know that. And when I saw you that day in Milford, with your accusing looks, I was sure that you blamed me and that you’d take your revenge by turning me in, having me hunted down with the other rebels.”
“I wouldn’t turn you in as a rebel. No, I wouldn’t do that. But as a murderer, yes, I would.”
“A murderer? You think I murdered Sarah? I lost everything that meant anything to me that day. And for what? Foolish politics and a lost cause.”
“And what about the other days? What about the other women? Were they all foolish too?”
“What other women? You think I was with other women?”
“They were all the same, Francis. They all died the same way as Sarah. What else am I to think?”
With a wail of torment, Francis dropped to his knees. “Oh, Thaddeus, are things at such a pass between us that you would think that of me … that I would take pleasure in murder? Oh, my Lord, forgive us both, for we are poor wretched sinners in Your eyes. And I know not which sin
