A Death in Utopia (3 page)

As Charlotte moved closer to the group, she saw the dark form of a man on the grass. She gasped as she realized who it was. Winslow Hopewell lay on his back, his arm flung out, and with a trickle of blood on his forehead. Mr. Ripley was leaning over him, but he straightened up as he heard more people coming up the hill.

He spoke to Charles Dana and the two other men who were there. "I am afraid there is no hope for him. He is dead. We must get the women back to the house and then we can carry the Reverend Hopewell in."

Charlotte, Fanny and Mrs. Geary walked silently back to the Hive. Ellen was in the kitchen and Charlotte muttered a few words about what had happened. No one was able to talk much. The scene
on the hillside was too dreadful to think about but they knew they would never forget it.

Nothing was normal that day, and Charlotte was not surprised when Mrs. Ripley decided to cancel all the regular classes and let the children play quietly in the parlor. Charlotte walked back to her room as soon as she could. She needed time to be quiet and think about what had happened. None of it made any sense.

Had the Reverend Hopewell stumbled and fallen on the ground? But why was there blood on his forehead? Had he met someone on the hillside and quarreled with him? It was hard to believe a respectable minister would get into a fight that would lead to such violence. But why would anyone try to injure him?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Ellen slipped into the room. She reported that the men had carried Reverend Hopewell's body back to the Hive and laid it out in George Ripley's study.

"This terrible death reminds me about what Mrs. Child said when she spoke here. Remember she told us that people wouldn't let us live in peace because too many people at Brook Farm favor abolition?" Ellen commented.

Charlotte walked restlessly around their small room. "I wonder what Mrs. Child would say about this. Perhaps she knows of people around here who might attack someone they suspected of abolitionist sentiment."

"Is Mrs. Child still in Boston?" asked Ellen.

"I don't know. But you know what we can do? We could go and ask at Miss Peabody's bookstore. She knows everyone who is lecturing in the area. Perhaps she can tell us where Mrs. Child is," Charlotte answered eagerly.

"We can ride in Mr. Gerritson's wagon," Ellen added. "Mr. Ripley has asked him to notify the Sheriff. He'll be driving to the city soon. There is nothing we can do here."

Charlotte was relieved to have something active to do. She snatched up her shawl and bonnet and the two of them ran down to catch Mr. Gerritson's wagon before he left..

CHAPTER FOUR

Daniel's Rainy Day in Boston

October 10, 1842
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An early morning rain had made the streets wet; fallen leaves and blobs of horse dung turned the pavement into a treacherous slide as Daniel Gallagher hurried to reach the newspaper office before anyone else. Already this morning he had made his rounds of the fish market and the stagecoach yard looking for any trace of news. Didn't anything exciting ever happen in Boston? He needed a good story to persuade Mr. Cabot to give him a job. He knew he could do it if he was given a chance. And he swore he wouldn't end up working as a laborer on the docks like so many other Irish immigrants. All he needed was one chance and he could make his mother proud—make some money too so he could bring her over to America.

This morning he felt he was getting lucky. A mystery in that strange community out in West Roxbury? How did one of those radicals get himself killed? Glory be to God what a stroke of luck if he could get that story!

He was almost running now, hoping to reach the editor's office before one of those slick Boston reporters got there and grabbed his
chance. He'd heard the story from an Irishman, Rory his name was, who'd been out on the road early coming back to the city after sleeping in some farmer's barn all night. A lot of the new immigrants do that. When you're just off the boat and not a penny to your name, you'll sleep anywhere. He was slipping through a patch of woods so as not to be seen, when he noticed a group of people huddled around something on the ground and looking scared silly. Rory managed to get close enough to hear them talking about someone being dead and then he skedaddled out of there so they wouldn't think he had anything to do with it. When Daniel ran into him at the edge of the Common, he was white as a ghost and glad enough to tell the story when he was offered a couple of currant buns.

Daniel hurried down Tremont Street to Mr. Cabot's office and arrived at the steps just as Mr. Cabot was approaching from the other direction. "Mr. Cabot, sir," Daniel began. "I have just heard there has been a terrible accident this morning out at Brook Farm. Someone is dead. With your permission I would like to write the story for the
Transcript."

"Hmm...What do you know about Brook Farm? An Irishman like you has no idea of who those people are or what they are doing. And how did you hear of this mysterious death? Was this a brawl between some drunken Paddys?"

"No, but it was an Irishman who told me. He was just passing by and heard the news. Readers of the
Transcript
would be interested in what's happening at Reverend Ripley's Farm. I can walk out there this morning and get the news for you before the other newspapers have heard what happened."

"All right then, go do it, but you had better stop at Miss Peabody's bookstore first and find out more about those people and what they are up to. Then you'll be able to ask sensible questions."

Daniel knew about Brook Farm already. His Aunt Maggie was a cook there and his cousin Ellen was going to their school. Still, he didn't want to offend Mr. Cabot, so he decided to stop at the bookstore before starting out. He could take a look at some of the books this George Ripley had written. Could Ripley have been the man who was killed?

Stooping under the low doorway, Daniel went into the dim bookstore; the towering bookshelves covering every wall always made him greedy to read. There was no sign of Miss Peabody, so he started looking at the shelves to see what he could find.

A few minutes later, the door into the back room of the shop opened and Miss Peabody came in with two young women. His cousin Ellen! What was she doing here? He didn't recognize her friend who was talking excitedly in a low voice as if she were urging Ellen to do something. A lock of dark hair was slipping out of her bonnet and the set of her jaw made him willing to bet she would win any argument she was in.

Miss Peabody came toward Daniel, her large body blocking his view of the girls. Her frizzy white hair was escaping from her cap in all directions, but her welcoming smile was good to see.

"I need to find out more about Brook Farm out in West Roxbury. Do you have any books about George Ripley?"

Before he had finished speaking, Ellen broke in. "What are you doing here, Daniel?" she asked. "And why do you want to know about Brook Farm? I thought you said you wouldn't waste your time on foolish schemes to change the world."

The second girl frowned at Daniel when Ellen said that, her dark eyes taking in his shabby suit so intently he was sure she could see spilled currants from his breakfast buns. He tried not to look at her while he answered Ellen.

"Did you just come from there? Do you know anything about someone getting killed? I'm going to write a story about it for the newspaper."

"We don't need any newspapers interfering," said Ellen's friend sharply in a fancy English voice. Turning to Ellen she added, "We can't talk to outsiders about what happened."

Ellen introduced them, but even after hearing he was Ellen's cousin and could be trusted, Charlotte Edgerton didn't look any friendlier. But Daniel knew he would learn more about Brook Farm from them than from any book, so he walked out of the shop with them.

"Mr. Cabot told me to talk to Miss Peabody," Daniel explained, "to find out more about Brook Farm. She knows most of what is going on all over the city, but I am sure you know more about Brook Farm."

"That we do," said Ellen. "We were hoping to find Lydia Maria Child and ask her some questions, but Miss Peabody told us she is on her way to Ohio to visit relatives."

Charlotte Edgerton looked at Daniel. "Why are you so curious about what happened? Are you hoping to write a story to discredit Brook Farm?"

"Not at all, Miss Edgerton. I want to discover the truth of what happened. Surely that will not discredit your community."

Ellen broke in quickly. "Come to Aunt Bridget's with us. We can tell you what happened. Jonas Gerritson is going to pick us up in his
wagon and give us a ride back to the Farm. If you go with us you'll be there faster than walking."

They turned down a narrow, muddy street where a group of children gathered around a puddle were kicking water at each other. A red faced man sat on the steps of one house muttering to himself and singing snatches of songs. He stared at the girls as they walked past and called out, "Oh, you pretty girlies, won't you stop and talk with me a while?"

Daniel could feel his cheeks flushing as he realized what this must look like to the Englishwoman. An excuse for her to think that all the Irish were drunken fools. They were worse than Americans when it came to looking down on the Irish. Bringing her along to visit Aunt Bridget would never have been his idea.

They climbed the narrow staircase, and entered a long, high ceilinged room left over from when the house had been a mansion. Now the room was bare with no carpet on the floor. The only chairs were straight backed wooden ones drawn up around a large table littered with fabric. The walls were painted a light green, but the paint was dirty and peeling, with blotches of moisture stains from a leaky roof. A large crucifix on a table against the wall was the only ornament. At the base of the crucifix a tiny stump of a candle set in a cracked cup flickered weakly. Another reason for Miss Edgerton to laugh at the "superstitious nonsense!" of the Irish.

Aunt Bridget was even thinner than she had been last time Daniel had seen her, but her curly black hair and blue eyes still made her look young. She was sitting at the table sewing a fancy hat. Ellen introduced Charlotte to her and asked if they could stay for an hour or so while waiting for Jonas Gerritson.

"Sure, I'm pleased to meet you. You'll not mind if I keep sewing while we talk. Mrs. Perkins will have a conniption if I don't finish this bonnet today. The house is quiet as a tomb. Theresa's off asking about a job as a nursemaid that she heard about. And Maureen is working with Mrs. Daly doing starching today. Brian is off somewhere. I never know where that scamp is."

Daniel told all of them what he had heard from Rory that morning. It wasn't much that he knew. He needed to find out more about what had happened and who had been killed.

"Oh, he'll get into trouble for talking about a killing," murmured Aunt Bridget. "They'll accuse him of murder like as not."

Both Ellen and Charlotte looked troubled when she said that. "We don't know what happened. Don't talk about murder. Winslow Hopewell was a famous man and a well-known minister. Why would anyone harm him?"

"Winslow Hopewell?" Daniel knew he was the minister at one of the biggest Unitarian Churches in the city. "He wasn't a member of the Brook Farm Community was he?"

"No, he was visiting Mr. Ripley," Charlotte answered. "He had been staying there for a few weeks. He stayed longer than most visitors, but I don't know that he was thinking of joining the Community."

Daniel was getting fidgety when the girls finally decided it was time to leave to meet Jonas Gerritson. Soon they were on their way, sitting in the back of the wagon along with sacks of onions and flour. The wagon moved slowly through the streets around the market, crowded as they were with wagons carrying food and crates of chickens, but before very long they were out on on a country road.
The rain had stopped and the meadows smelled sweet, not like the dung-splattered streets in Boston.

"Can you tell me more about what happened?" Daniel asked.

"It was all so fast," Charlotte Edgerton said. "I was on my way to the henhouse to see whether there were any fresh eggs" she paused and looked down at her lap. "And then I saw a commotion up by the pine trees. A minute later Mrs. Ripley came toward me with her arm around Abigail Pretlove, who looked as white as a ghost. Mrs. Ripley shook her head at me, so I knew I shouldn't say anything to them. I just ran over to the patch of trees. The men were looking at something dark on the ground.

At first I couldn't tell what it was—it was still pretty dark—and then I realized someone was lying on the ground. He seemed to be sleeping but when I walked toward him, I could see something was wrong. It was horrible! He had a big cut in his forehead and the blood had oozed down into his eyes. I couldn't look at him."

"I was in the kitchen," added Ellen. "As soon as Charlotte came bursting in, I started over there to see what had happened, but Mr. Ripley made all the women go back to the house. He said the men would take care of it. They were standing around and talking, but I couldn't see much from where I was."

"Mr. Ripley was trying to keep everyone calm. But Charlotte and I couldn't just sit there and wait for the sheriff to come. We decided to try to find Mrs. Child and see whether she knew if there were any anti-abolitionist troublemakers around this area. Besides, Mr. Ripley didn't want us to talk to the sheriff or tell anyone about what had happened."

"He thinks we're silly, gossiping girls," Charlotte frowned scornfully as she spoke. "As if we'd tell secrets! And it was you, Mr. Gal
lagher, who told Miss Peabody about it. I don't think we should let this go into the newspapers."

"There's no way to keep it out, Miss Edgerton. Brook Farm has attracted a lot of attention and people want to know what is happening there. I'll write the truth and that's better than letting a lot of false rumors about crazy radicals spread throughout the city."

Charlotte still looked skeptical, but by this time the wagon was turning into the narrow lane leading to Brook Farm. As Mr. Gerritson pulled his horses to a halt in front of the barn, a tall red-haired boy in a floppy blue tunic ran out of the house and across to the wagon.