Delivering the Truth (14 page)

twenty

The hansom, at my
direction, left me at the Meetinghouse. The lamps in the tall windows pushed a comforting yellow glow out into the dark night. I'd felt the need to join other Friends in midweek worship, and I knew I wouldn't be alone walking toward home when the hour was up, as many Friends lived in the same direction. I didn't always attend the Fourth Day worship but tried to when my schedule permitted, when I wasn't called to a birth or was too fatigued from being up all night at one. The evening gatherings tended to be primarily adults and often included those seeking respite from the cares and business of everyday life. Harriet had been a regular attender at midweek Meeting when she was alive, taking it as an island of calm in her life as mother of five active children as well as a worker in the noise and bustle of the mill.

I had arrived at least ten minutes late and quietly took a seat on one of the benches near the door. The air wasn't overly cool, although I kept my cloak on, as had the others in attendance. The room smelled of lamp oil, weathered floorboards, and simple wooden pews. John Whittier had been a member of the building committee when this meetinghouse was constructed after the previous one became insufficient for our burgeoning membership numbers. The woodwork carried straight, elegant lines, and the high ceiling invited the spirit to soar. The undecorated but beautiful design reflected the Friends' emphasis on simplicity and lent the space a spiritual air.

My hands clasped in my lap, I tried to calm my mind and my heart. The death of a baby always sat heavy with me, even though I knew it was part of this life we lead. The thought of Nell's illness and her nighttime wanderings disturbed me, too, as did knowing Thomas's killer walked freely about the town. Picturing Ephraim sitting in a jail cell wasn't a happy thought, either.

After some minutes, the silence of gathered Friends began to soothe me, as it usually did. We waited on the Light together, with closed eyes and quiet tongues. Someone across the room snored softly. A woman cleared her throat. I pictured the room encircled with Light, and I mentally moved from person to person, holding up their concerns and joys, whatever they might be, to God's care. I also pictured my dear David's face surrounded by the Light, a thought that brought a small smile to my face.

From the facing bench, John's deep voice dropped into the pool of stillness. I kept my eyes closed as I listened, then smiled as I recognized the familiar words of his own poem, written about this very place of worship.

And so, I find it well to come

For deeper rest to this still room,

For here the habit of the soul

Feels less the outer world's control;

The strength of mutual purpose pleads

More earnestly our common needs;

And from the silence multiplied

By these still forms on either side,

The world that time and sense have known

Falls off and leaves us God alone.

Hearing this brought me back to the outer world for a moment, but I had to trust that way would open. That poor Patience and Hiram would somehow also be soothed. That the murderer would kill no more and would soon be brought to a safe and just place. That Ephraim wouldn't only be freed but would find employment suitable to his intelligence. That Nell's troubled mind would heal. That William would now devote his care to his marriage and his baby with Lillian, while also supporting Billy. And that I'd survive the party with David's mother.

The next morning, after the family left, I checked my schedule. I had clients coming in the afternoon, but the flour bin in the kitchen was running toward empty, so I thought I'd pay a visit to the mercantile and order some to be delivered, along with several other food supplies the household needed. It was the additional money Faith and I contributed to the household that enabled us to purchase food whenever we needed it. Feeding, housing, and clothing six people on a teacher's salary alone would make things much tighter, which was why Harriet had been working outside the home before her death. I supposed Frederick was correct in abstaining from hiring household help, given our combined finances, but it would certainly make Faith's life easier, and mine, too.

After the mercantile, I decided I would check in on Patience, and on Lillian, as well. The night's rain was gone and the air was mild for my walk into town. In the mercantile, the same two men I'd spoken with yesterday warmed their hands at the stove and conversed in quiet voices. I wondered which one had squealed on me to the police. I greeted Catherine behind the counter and we exchanged pleasantries.

“I'd like to order some foodstuffs, Catherine. Can thy brother deliver them?”

“Certainly.” She took a stubby pencil from behind her ear and pulled out a pad of paper.

I asked for twenty pounds of flour, ten of porridge oats, and five of sugar. I added three bars of washing soap, a block of butter, a tin of cooking oil, and a bit of chocolate as a treat. I'd get along to the butcher, the fishmonger, and the produce market after I left here.

“Oh, and some pea seeds,” I said. “It's time to get planting, I think.”

Catherine nodded in approval. “We're all a little starved for something green to eat by this time of year, aren't we?” She leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “I hear tell a baby under your care died last night. Is it true?”

It appeared there was no news that didn't travel faster than fire on a windy night. “The Henderson infant.” I nodded. “They're sorely grieving.”

Catherine glanced around the store and then back at me. “A lady was in here a little bit ago calling you a baby killer. Said you had finished the babe off with your knittin' needle.”

I couldn't speak for a moment. Catherine might as well have dropped an anvil on my head. “Gracious sakes. What a horrible thing to say. And besides—” I stopped as I heard my voice shake. What was the point? I shook my head. I'd surely be out of work soon if this kept up.

“I told her you weren't. That Friends don't kill anything, won't even go to war. She wouldn't listen.”

“If some deranged townsperson thinks I'd kill a baby, or anyone, by any method, she needs more help than my protestations can offer.” My upset had turned to anger. I knew it wasn't a peaceful reaction, but I couldn't help myself. I glanced over at the men, who were both watching my conversation with Catherine. I turned my back. I should never have spoken with them yesterday.

“Of course I told her that was a crazy notion,” Catherine said. “But some people get crazy notions in their heads.”

As I made my way up Main Street with a goal of arriving at the Parry home, I considered taking a detour to the police station. I was curious what Kevin had made of Guy's news about both Nell's outing and her access to my needles. But I didn't want to know, at the same time. I decided to continue on my way to see Lillian. I'd hear around town of any new developments in the case. Whether the news would be accurate or not was anybody's guess.

A
familiar-looking
buggy clattered up next to me and pulled to a halt. David leaned his head out the side nearest me.

“Hello, Miss Carroll.” He winked and doffed his hat. “Might I offer you a lift?”

“I'd be delighted, David. I thank thee.” I gathered my skirts and climbed in, smiling at him as I settled myself. “I'm off to pay Lillian Parry a visit. She had some premature labor pains two days ago and I want to see if they've subsided.”

“You're looking like a spring flower, as always.” He clucked to the horse, who walked at a steady pace. “There is no hurry to arrive there, I hope?”

I shook my head. I straightened my back, thinking of the deceased baby as well as my knitting needle problem. I filled him in on the latter.

“They were in this very satchel.” I gestured to the bag on my lap. “And the needle that was stolen, the one that killed Thomas Parry, had been sharpened. I saw the dried blood on it.” I shuddered. I was no stranger to blood, but that of a murder victim was something else entirely.

“That's awful,” David exclaimed. “I hate to think of someone trying to frame you for a crime. I hope this detective gets to the bottom of the murder soon. Very soon.”

“As do we all. I know it's no excuse to not have replied to thy invitation, but it's been a difficult week. I lost an infant last night, too. He was only four days old and was burning with fever. He died in his mother's arms.”

“Why didn't you bring him into the hospital? Or send word to me personally?”

“By the time they called me, he was very sick with dehydration and a high temperature. I sent the husband to fetch a hansom and tried to cool Timmy down, but he died before the cab even arrived.” My throat thickened again. I blinked away a looming tear.

David patted my hand. “You have a large heart, my Rose.”

“Would thee in the hospital have any other means to save him, besides cooling him?” I asked.

“Not really, no. We have no miracle medicines. Perhaps in the future one will be developed. There are so many diseases that take babies.”

“I couldn't tell if he had pneumonia or if the fever was from another illness, but his father does have a bad cough.” It was comforting to be able to speak of medical issues with this man, colleague to colleague.

“That could be related.”

“And apparently I am now regarded not only as the local supplier of murder weapons but also as a baby killer.” I sighed.

“Outrageous! Who uttered that?” He frowned at me.

“Catherine in the mercantile told me a customer had said that is what I am,” I said.

“Ignorant people will say ignorant things. Don't worry. The police are bound to crack the case soon enough,” he said as we passed Huntington Square. A stone pedestal was under construction. “What's going to be erected there?”

“It's to be a statue of Josiah Bartlett donated by Jacob Huntington.”

“Ah, Bartlett, the famous local signatory of the Declaration of Independence?”

“The very one. They plan to dedicate the statue on Independence Day, I have read.” I glanced at him. “By the way, what is thee doing on this side of the river?”

“I have a patient to see, and I hoped to see you, too. Did you decide to allow me to escort you to the dinner on Saturday?”

“Yes, I'll come,” I fell silent for a few moments, and then laughed.

“What is funny?”

“I have a real frock to wear to thy fancy party. Me, in a fancy dress. And it's quite lovely.” I caught David's smile before he tried to straighten his face.

“Are you allowed to wear a party dress?”

“John Whittier, as one of our elders, gave me his blessing to slip away from plain dress for the evening.” I glanced at a house we passed. “David, look!” I pulled at his sleeve.

“Whoa,” he instructed the mare. “What alarms you, Rose?” He sounded worried.

“I'm not alarmed. But look there.” I pointed. “Narcissus blooming. The first I have seen this spring.” The home faced in a southward direction and the sun shone directly on its front garden.

David threw back his head and laughed. “You're a treat, Rose. We had been speaking of death and murder, so naturally I thought you had spied some new victim or piece of evidence. And it's only spring flowers.”

“Well, they're lovely and a welcome sight. Harriet used to plant bulbs every year around the house. I should check to see if any are blooming when I return home.”

“Indeed they are lovely.” He clucked to the horse to move again and a minute later pulled up in front of Lillian and William's home.

I sat for a minute.

“Something still troubles you.” David leaned around and peered at my face.

“I'm worried I'll embarrass thee at the party, David, or do something to turn thy mother against me. I'm not a society girl, thee knows that.” All of John's questions also rolled around like so many bowling balls in my head, setting up a racket as they clanked against each other and demanded my attention.

“I don't care about any of that,” he said with force. “And you should know as much.”

“But what will thy mother say when word reaches Newburyport of my involvement in the murder?”

“No buts. You're intelligent and beautiful and independent and caring. And I love you for all of those traits.” He smiled at me. “Now get
thee
to work. I must be off, myself.”

I squeezed his hand with a smile at his use of the Quaker pronoun, then climbed down and waved as he drove away. How did I deserve such a man? The degradation I had suffered now nearly ten years earlier raised its head once again, bringing with it the insecure feeling that had blighted my happiness ever since. I had been attracted to David from the first moment I set eyes on him a year earlier. We'd both attended a lecture at the hospital about complications with twin births, and a friend had introduced us afterward. David and I had talked about parturition, and I'd been impressed by how seriously he took my practice of midwifery, especially since some women were beginning to prefer the care of a doctor for their pregnancies. He'd offered to lend a hand when I needed it, and after we'd worked together on several difficult situations, I'd noticed his attention becoming more than professional. He joked with me, and several times I caught him casting adoring looks my way. We'd finally taken to spending delightful time together outside of work.

But this blight of mine was standing in my way. Was I afraid I would be hurt again? Abused and left? By David, never; I knew that in my head. Still, returning his love was not as easy as I wanted it to be. And even if I did, I wasn't sure if he could overcome his mother's own resistance to him descending into what some considered the wild cult of Quakerism to find a bride. Not that he had proposed, I reminded myself.