Shadows on a Maine Christmas (Antique Print Mystery Series Book 7) (18 page)

“Mary, Doreen’s mother, was the one who really changed her life as a result of what happened to Betty and me. She went to nursing school and got her degree. Ruth helped out with her tuition, because we decided we were all in this together.” Aunt Nettie paused. “I thought about joining her, about studying nursing, too, but I knew I didn’t have the dedication needed. But I promised to help her in any way I could. We all did.”

“So Mary became a nurse,” said Maggie.

“Her getting her degree was the beginning,” said Ruth. “After that she worked at Rocky Shores Hospital, specializing in maternity cases. She watched and listened and kept studying.”

“But without Ruth’s help, she couldn’t have done what we’d intended all along. Ruth had the money to set up a small operating room here, in this house,” Aunt Nettie put in.

“You’ve seen Betty’s room. It was in that space. In those days, the late fifties and sixties, those rooms were walled off from the rest of the house. One of my cousins from Boston came to Maine and helped with the carpentry and plumbing. We didn’t want the children to know what was happening there. We told them it was a storage area. I think when they were teenagers they guessed something else was happening, but they didn’t ask. And like they used to say in the army, we didn’t tell.”

“It wasn’t that hard to keep it a secret, because Mary worked the day shift most years, especially after she married and had Doreen, and we scheduled most of the young women who came to her for help at night.”

“She did illegal abortions here in this house?” said Maggie.

“Our goal was to create a place for women that was safe. Clean. Private. Kind. And in case there were any complications, which only happened twice, we weren’t far from Rocky Shores Hospital, and Mary knew a doctor and nurses there who wouldn’t question or talk. Ruth bought her all the medical equipment and supplies she needed, and she and Betty kept the children busy or out of the house or asleep. Whatever was necessary.” Aunt Nettie smiled at Ruth. “And I helped by talking to the women. Holding their hands. Making sure they understood what was entailed, emotionally as well as physically, with making the decision to end their pregnancy. We wanted to make sure such a difficult decision had been thought out. And I stayed with the women after their operations to make sure they were ready to leave here.”

“And this went on for how many years?” Maggie said incredulously.

“From about 1957, when Mary felt she had enough training to begin, until 1973, when
Roe versus Wade
was decided. Our services weren’t needed when abortion was made legal,” said Ruth.

“We drank a lot of champagne that night, didn’t we, Nettie? And then I had the extra wall in the house removed, and Mary worked through another nurse to donate our equipment to a clinic in New Hampshire. Far enough away so no one would ask questions.”

“Remember the party you held to wallpaper the re-done room, and hang pictures there? It became a downstairs living room, Maggie. A ‘rec’ room they called them in those days,” said Aunt Nettie. “The children were pretty much grown up by then, but with a television, bookcases, and a Ping-Pong table, it became a room where they could entertain their friends when they were home. It helped us all erase what had taken place there, and celebrate living.”

“And none of the children ever knew what the room had been used for before that?” said Maggie.

“Not one of our four who grew up here. The only one who knew for sure what was happening was Mary’s daughter,” said Ruth.

“Doreen,” said Maggie. “Mary told her?”

“Mary was the most involved. And Doreen was small when it all started, so Mary would bring her here for one of us to look after when she was working. Then, when she was older, Mary explained to Doreen what she was doing. By then it was the early seventies, and Doreen was a teenager. She understood. That was the period of women’s liberation, and abortion was one of the hot topics in the news. Doreen volunteered to do what she could to help.”

“As a teenager?” Maggie said, incredulously.

“She wanted to, and Mary trained her and trusted her. She worked with Mary, handing her instruments, and doing some of the prep work that Mary’d always done herself.”

“And when she was old enough she became a nurse, like her mother,” said Maggie.

“She did. Of course, by then we’d closed down everything here. There was no longer a need for Mary’s services. Women could be taken care of in clinics or hospitals. They didn’t need to break the law. And neither did we.”

“Which was an immense relief to all of us,” said Aunt Nettie. “It was harrowing, all those years, knowing we could have been arrested at any time. But we were lucky. Those who knew what we were doing didn’t tell the police, and we were able to do what we’d set out to do: provide a safe alternative to women in this part of Maine.”

“And occasionally other states, too,” added Ruth. “Word did spread.”

“How many women did you help?” asked Maggie.

“We didn’t keep records. We weren’t that foolish. They would have proved our guilt if anyone reported us. But after word got out about what we were doing, about thirty or forty women found their way here each year.”

“So it wasn’t every day.”

“Heavens, no. We tried to schedule people on one night a week. Usually it was one woman each time. We didn’t want lines of cars outside the house. We kept it all very quiet.”

“And I assume that was what was in the blackmail letter to Doreen,” said Maggie. “The fact that you were all involved with illegal abortions.”

“Yes. Although Doreen was only involved for a short time, and it was her mother who was the primary person.”

“But abortion is legal today. There are restrictions in various states, but people who do what Mary did aren’t arrested and put in jail,” said Maggie. “That was over forty years ago. There’s no way you could get in trouble today for what happened way back then.”

“Not legally. But there are still people who believe women who choose abortion are evil, and those who perform abortions are murderers. And Nick Strait, unfortunately, is one of those. How do you think he’d feel if he found out what his grandmother and mother had done? Not to mention the fact that they were breaking the law at the time,” Ruth said.

Nick, who saw the world in black-and-white.

Now Maggie understood why Doreen didn’t want Nick to know. “But I suspect he’ll find out somehow. Especially after what happened to Carrie. I just wish Betty hadn’t said anything to her.”

“She wouldn’t have had to say anything for Carrie to know,” said Ruth. “Carrie was one of the women who came to us back in those days. After Billy was born she didn’t want to risk having another child with the same problems. She didn’t think she could handle having two, and it was before genetic testing. She was scared, and her husband was about to leave her. She didn’t see that she had any choice.”

“Which was the way most of the women who came to us felt. Scared. Boxed in,” agreed Aunt Nettie.

“So Mary terminated Carrie’s pregnancy, so many years ago,” Ruth continued.

“You’d think she’d have been grateful. That it would never occur to her to advertise what had happened.”

“I’ve been going over it in my mind,” said Ruth. “Carrie had cancer. Once again, she was scared. She didn’t know what to do. So she lashed out. But telling people about what happened then would not only upset Nick, it might encourage people to ask who else we helped. What happened so many years ago needs to stay in the past.”

“So, you see, you must tell Owen Trask. Tell him what really happened. See if knowing the truth will help to find whoever killed Carrie,” said Aunt Nettie.

“I don’t know if that can happen without Nick’s finding out,” said Maggie. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

“But at least he won’t find out from his own mother,” said Ruth. “That’s why we need you, Maggie. You need to speak for all of us.”

1. American Sparrow Hawk 2. Field Sparrow 3. Tree Sparrow 4. Song Sparrow 5. Chipping Sparrow 6. Snow Bird.
Hand-colored copper engraving showing the Sparrow Hawk surrounded by five birds it preys on. “Drawn from Nature” by Alexander Wilson (1766–1813). Wilson, the “Father of American Ornithology,” was the first to seriously study and draw American birds. His masterpiece,
American Ornithology
, was published between 1808 and 1814. This is an octavo print from the smaller 1832 edition, considered to have superior color to the first, larger folio. 5.5 x 8.5 inches. Price: $70.

“Where have
you been all this time?” asked Will as Maggie and Aunt Nettie came in. “I’ve been worried.”

“Paying a call on a friend,” said Aunt Nettie. “You went out last night. It was our turn.”

Will looked less than pleased. “But at least I told you where I was going.”

“We’re home now,” said Maggie. How was she going to talk with Owen Trask without either Will or Nick finding out? She couldn’t just disappear. Will would ask questions. She needed to distract him. And after all, Will was the reason she’d come to Maine in the first place. They’d spent time together, but so far had avoided talking seriously about the future. Or, at least, about Maggie‘s future. “I just realized it’s December twenty-ninth. I only have a couple of more days here. I thought maybe you and I could spend the afternoon together.”

“I’d like that,” said Will, calming down a little. “Walter English always has a big auction on New Year’s Day. What about our checking out the preview?” He turned to Aunt Nettie. “Would it be all right if we left you for a couple of hours?”

“No problem at all,” agreed Aunt Nettie. “It’s time you spent time together doing something you both enjoy.”

“Not to speak of the possibilities of finding inventory items for our businesses,” agreed Maggie. “Although Will and I are both pretty picky. And I’m watching my budget.” She didn’t add that adoption could be expensive, and she was also putting aside money for when her daughter or daughters came home. Clothes, shoes, orthodontics, school supplies, sports equipment… She was pretty sure supporting a family of two or three would cost a lot more than her current budget for living alone.

Half an hour later Will and Maggie were on the road. “I’m surprised there’s so much going on in Maine this time of year. I’d imagined the state pretty much closed down when the summer visitors went home,” Maggie admitted.

“In many ways there’s more happening in the winter and early spring than there is in the summer,” said Will. “Summer along the coast is geared to boating and fishing, and of course, tourists. But in winter there are lectures and concerts and a lot goes on in the schools and churches. Some people ski or snowshoe. Kids play ice hockey and skate and snowboard. Hunting is big in the fall. Ice fishing is popular, too.”

“I don’t think ice fishing is my sport. Huddled in a small hut on a frozen lake or river?” Maggie shuddered. “No, thank you. But I’m glad to know there are activities for indoor types like me. Are there many antiques shows in Maine in the winter? Since I’m tied to my classroom, I’ve only done shows close to home. I haven’t looked further.”

“The big antiques shows, like Union, and the Maine Antiques Dealers’ Association shows, are in the summer and fall,” Will said. “But in the winter there are smaller shows at schools and churches on a regular basis, and a lot of the antiques malls stay open year-’round.”

“As you’re hoping to do,” said Maggie.

“Exactly.” Will pulled into the crowded parking lot outside Walter English’s Auction House, the building where goods to be auctioned were displayed and the auction would take place. “Shall we do our usual: split up and meet at the desk in half an hour?”

Maggie nodded. “See you then.”

She headed to the left, toward where Walter English usually hung prints and paintings, while Will walked in the other direction, in search of kitchen and fireplace ware. They both skipped the sections of glass, china, and furniture, at least for the moment. Maggie did admire a small pumpkin pine corner cabinet on her way by. It would have fit well in her living room.

But no, she told herself. Her van was full, and shipping costs would really add to the price. True, furniture usually went low at auctions. More people were downsizing than furnishing new homes now. But she shouldn’t think of spending money on nonessentials, even if the corner cabinet was tempting. She kept walking.

She scanned the paintings quickly. Maritime scenes that would go too high for her business. Religious paintings that were out of style; they’d be very slow sellers. She paused at a beach scene from the 1920s. Now that she had space in Gussie’s shop on the Cape it might be the time to start investing in harbor or beach scenes. But again, these were signed oils and would go higher than she wanted to pay.

She glanced through the books and prints. She loved Alexander Wilson’s birds, but already had several dozen of his small prints. She could use more prints of nests and eggs, or anything eighteenth-century or before. But nothing in those categories was here. Not today.

This wasn’t her auction. Or maybe everything else happening was distracting from her usual joy in sorting through antiques, although looking did keep her mind off what she’d have to tell Owen Trask.

The room where most of the items to be sold January first were displayed was large and crowded. Estate jewelry, which usually went at about half its appraised value, was too tempting to look at closely. But a rack of fur coats caught her eye. Why not look? There were four mink coats, of various sizes and lengths, and two other coats from animals she couldn’t identify.

She’d never thought of buying a fur. There were too many stories about animal cruelty. But these animals had been gone a long time. She peeked at the estimates. Even the full-length mink was estimated to sell between four hundred and six hundred dollars; the other coats at even lower prices.

“Would you like to try one on?” asked a woman wearing a WALTER ENGLISH AUCTIONS name tag. “Doesn’t hurt to see if any would fit. Winter is cold. Fur helps.”

Maggie hesitated. It might be fun to have a fur coat. Not mink. She couldn’t see wearing mink to the college or grocery store. And the full-length mink was really over the top. But there was a three-quarter-length gray fur jacket that was tempting. “What is this one made of?” she asked.

“It may be opossum,” said the woman. “It’s a beautiful shade. Why don’t you try it on? We have a mirror.”

Maggie gave in. She slipped off her heavy wool jacket and put on the fur one. Its silk lining was faded, and she suspected it might tear soon from age or wear. Maybe it could be relined. The fur itself was in good condition, though, especially considering it was probably at least forty years old. And it fit perfectly. She turned around, looking in the mirror. Would she really wear a fur jacket?

“I like that color gray,” said Will, coming up behind her. He reached over and stroked it. “Soft. And would be warm, too. In Maine you’d need a warm jacket.”

“But I live in Jersey,” said Maggie, looking at him. There was a pause. He didn’t reply. “But even Jersey has cold and windy winters.” She checked the estimate of what the coat would sell for.

“Leave a bid,” said Will. “Why not? If it’s meant to be yours, you’ll get it. You could pick it up the day after the auction, on your way home. If you don’t get it, no problem.”

“I suppose I could. Bid low and leave the decision to fate. Did you find anything of interest?

“One possibility. A standing iron candle and rush-light holder. It’s eighteenth-century French. It’ll probably go over fifteen hundred dollars, but just in case I think I’ll leave a bid of eight hundred and fifty. I don’t have anything like it, and the Victorian house would be a great place to display it. If I get the house. Most of the rest of this auction is dark furniture and crystal and such. But I think you should bid on the jacket.”

Maggie put her old wool jacket back on. “I’m going to. I’ll bid a hundred and fifty. If I get it, fine. If not, I’ll live.”

“Good plan,” Will agreed as they walked to the desk so both of them could leave bids. “I hope you get it. You look beautiful in it.”

Convinced by those words, Maggie filled out the form and added a plus to the hundred and fifty, so if someone else bid the same she’d go one bid higher. A good wool jacket nowadays would cost that much, and wouldn’t be half as much fun.

She was back in the car when her cell rang. It was Owen Trask.