Delivering the Truth (24 page)

thirty-six

After I arrived home,
I asked Faith and Frederick to sit at the table with me as I ate a bit of bread and cheese to tide me over. I wanted to fill them in on the day's events, at least some of them. And I'd never been so happy to be in a warm, clean, simple home with people who spoke truth and loved me.

Bertie rapped on the back door as I began my tale, pressing her face against the glass and waving. I opened the door and invited her in.

“I had a notion you were in trouble, Rosetta. Had to come and make sure you were all right.” She took a seat at the table, too.

Frederick narrowed his eyes at the sight of Bertie. I knew he didn't care for her and hoped he would act in a civil fashion. I couldn't tolerate one more moment of tension in this day.

“I was in a bit of trouble, as it happens.” I stared at a morsel of bread on the plate and stroked the grain of the long table, its smooth, worn lines a comfort under my fingers. How much of my grueling terrifying afternoon should I share with them?

Frederick's eyebrows went up, but he waited in silence.

The twins wandered in. “Who's in trouble?” Matthew asked.

“When's supper?” Mark chimed in.

“I'm hungry,” Matthew added.

“No one is in trouble, and thee is always hungry,” Frederick said in a sharp tone. “Take a couple of apples and run along, both of you.”

“But we saw the police wagon bring Rose and her bicycle.”

“Kevin simply gave me a ride home, boys.” I waited until the boys had left the room with their fruit before I continued. I told my companions of my conversation with Della that morning, and how I'd left a note for Kevin laying out my suspicions.

“So Alexander Locke killed Minnie O'Toole,” Frederick said.

“It appears so. On Lillian's orders.”

“That young man has been on an unhealthy path for some years. This news does not surprise me.” Frederick tented his hands on the table.

“Oh, and earlier in the day I had told Kevin about Nell's ill health, and her talk of the Devil. Well, it turns out the Devil was Jotham O'Toole all along. Nell told Kevin how Jotham pressured her to kill Thomas. It was she who stole my knitting needle.”

“Does thee mean Nell killed Thomas?” Frederick asked.

“No. She was out that night, but in the end she refused, and Jotham did the deed. Except I didn't know about it when he came to fetch me.”

“Why did he come for you?” Bertie asked.

I shook my head. “He said he wanted me to help him sort through little Billy's baby things. I shouldn't have agreed, but I did. And once we got to Minnie's flat, he locked the door, stuck a gun in my back, and led me in to where he had Lillian Parry tied up and gagged on the bed.”

Faith gasped.

I patted her hand. “She was in labor with her baby. Many weeks before it should have been born, too.” I went on to tell them about the rest of the afternoon. Untying Lillian. Helping her birth her baby. The infant's weakness and then death.

“Heavens, Rose. How ever did you master Jotham?” Bertie sat forward with bright eyes.

“He was so overwhelmed by a woman giving birth in the room that he left his gun on the bureau when he went to fetch a few things for me.” I laughed, but it was without humor. “After the baby was born and in Lillian's arms, I took the revolver and ordered Jotham to stay seated on the floor. I also made sure Lillian stayed put.”

Faith's face shone in admiration. “Thee is so brave.”

“I only did what I had to. What anyone would have done.”

“Would thee have shot either of them?” Frederick's face was somber.

“I prayed I wouldn't have to. And then, when I was obliged to shoot at Jotham to prevent him from leaving, I prayed for guidance to be able to wound without killing. With God's help I succeeded in barely scraping his leg.”

He nodded. “Tell us how thee escaped these killers.”

“That was, finally, not of my doing at all. Minnie's neighbor, Therese Stevens, saw Jotham bring first Lillian and then me into the house. She was suspicious and eventually fetched Kevin Donovan. He blessedly brought other officers to back him up.” I laughed, this time truly amused. “He thought it was rather entertaining to find me training a gun on two murderers.”

“I wonder how Jotham convinced Lillian to come along with him.” Bertie cocked her head.

“I don't know. A gun in the back can be pretty persuasive, though.” I shivered remembering that feeling. “He must have abducted her when she was out shopping.”

“But then who set the carriage fire?” Faith asked.

“Surely not Ephraim,” Bertie said.

“Jotham told me himself he set the fire and that he faked a limp going to and from the factory. I think he also meant Stephen Hamilton to be accused of the arson, because he'd been offering Stephen matches.”

“Which he used on the Meetinghouse instead.” Frederick tapped the table. “This Jotham O'Toole harbored a great hatred for the Parrys, it seems.”

“He was angry beyond reason with William for getting his little sister with child,” I said. “But Minnie seemed happy with the arrangement. I don't believe Billy is the result of William forcing himself on her.”

“Billy is now William's only child,” Bertie said. “I'll wager he adopts him and dotes on him.”

“And Patience will be left without a child again,” I said with some sadness. I pulled my pocket watch out. “Gracious sakes alive. David will be here in
forty-five
minutes!”

thirty-seven

I pulled on my
gloves as the clock in my room chimed seven times. Faith sat on the chaise and Betsy bounced in my desk chair. Bertie leaned against the dresser twirling one of her curls in her finger.

“Thee looks so pretty, Rose,” Betsy said. “I want a party dress, too.”

“Hush, Betsy,” Faith chided. “This is a special occasion for our auntie.”

“I suppose I'm setting a bad example with the dress, the corset, the whole undertaking,” I said. I'd had no time for a rest, but my mind was still
a-roil
and I knew I wouldn't have been able to sleep, anyway. I'd taken care washing up, and Faith had helped me arrange my hair after I'd dressed, with Betsy handing her hairpins. Bertie had simply looked on with folded arms and a little smile. Now I glanced in the glass above the mantel.

Reflected back was a simple upswept hairdo framing a face with cheeks matching my
rose-colored
dress. I supposed my spectacles spoiled the effect, but I couldn't see without them. Orpha's cameo hung just in the hollow of my neck. The corset had further slimmed my waist, although I hadn't let Faith pull it too tight, and the dress fit like one of my gloves. The fancy shoes were surprisingly comfortable and the lovely embroidered bag was ready with my best handkerchief.

I fingered the cameo. Orpha had said I had a special talent. I had certainly seen my way through whatever confronted me today, so perhaps that was my gift, my special talent.

“I wish Mama could see thee,” Faith said, dabbing at her eyes.

“I do, as well, my dear.” I turned from the mirror and embraced her. “She's smiling at us from Heaven though, doesn't thee think?”

Faith nodded, smiling through her tears.

“I know she is,” Betsy chimed in. “Mama's always watching us and smiling at us.” She nodded with certainty.

At a knock on the front door, Bertie picked up the evening bag and handed it to me. “Off you go, Princess Rose.”

“Stop it, Bertie. It's only a dinner with dancing.” My heart sank. I'd been so busy getting ready I'd had no time to worry about Clarinda Dodge. “Oh, dear, a
high-society
dinner dance.” I felt like shedding the dress and diving back into the comfort of plain muted colors, and into the society where I belonged: the Society of Friends. What had happened to my place of optimistic confidence from the early afternoon? Perhaps being in peril for my life had shaken it out of me. “How ever am I going to get through this night?”

“Like thee always does,” Faith said. “With thy strength and thy humor and thy grace.” She smiled gently, wiping away a last tear.

I gazed at her. Such wisdom for a young woman. “I thank thee, dear niece. I will try.” I squeezed her hand.

The knocking sounded again. Frederick strode down the hall, passing our open door with a quizzical glance, and invited David in.

“The women appear to be fussing, but I believe Rose is ready,” I heard Frederick say.

I took a deep breath. My ladies in waiting smiled to a one, and a grinning Bertie made a shooing motion with her hands.

“You'll be fine,” she whispered. “Just go.”

I carried the reticule into the hall and paused.

David, resplendent in evening wear, his snowy white collar peeking out from under a black cashmere scarf, took in a breath when he caught sight of me. “You're lovely tonight, Miss Carroll.”

That made me laugh, which burst my bubble of tension. “And you, as well, Doctor Dodge.” Maybe I'd make it through. David's own strength, humor, and grace would be at my side, after all.

I selected my best cloak, the black wool one, off its hook. Frederick took it from my hands and draped it around my shoulders.

David proffered his elbow. “Shall we?”

I waved
good-bye
to Bertie and the Baileys, who were all crammed in the hallway together, and made my way down the front stairs, carefully holding the hem of my dress up off the ground.

As David handed me up into his carriage, he said, “Did you have an interesting day, Rose?”

That was putting it mildly. I smiled in the darkness. “Thee could say that, yes.”

Acknowledgments

I am delighted that
Delivering the Truth
and the Quaker Midwife Mysteries series have made their way into the hands of the reading public, as this historical setting and these characters have a special place in my heart. Many thanks to Terri Bischoff and Midnight Ink for accepting the manuscript and the series proposal, and to my agent, John Talbot, for encouraging me and facilitating the process. Joining the Midnight Ink mystery author club is a deeply satisfying prospect. Thanks, too, to Amy Glaser, Nicole Nugent, and the rest of the Midnight Ink crew, for shepherding my book through to publication.

To the Monday Night Salem Writers Group, I send my gratitude for your sharp ears and insightful critique of nearly all of this book. The Wicked Cozy Authors encouraged me through the process and held me up with support and friendship. I love you guys: Jessie Crockett/Jessica Estevao, Julie Hennrikus/Julianne Holmes, Sherry Harris, Liz Mugavero/Cate Conte, and Barbara Ross. The superb independent editor Ramona DeFelice Long gave the book a close look, and it is much improved for her insightful comments and questions—the easy ones as well as the hard ones.

As I now write four mystery series, I owe a special note of thanks to New England author Sheila Connolly, who writes four concurrent popular mystery series, plus short stories and the occasional standalone, all of which I've read and greatly enjoyed. I've been trying to channel Sheila's energy and discipline for a while now, and I thank her for being a role model, a friend, and a
high-bar
setter. I imagine she gets even less sleep than I do.

As ever, I'm also grateful for my Sisters (and Brothers) in Crime, particularly the Guppies and the New England chapter. As I always say, I would not be published if it were not for what I've learned from my fellow mystery authors.

Midwives Risa Rispoli and Debbie
Becnel-Bush
vetted the birthing details in the book, and Gene Declercq provided me with information about midwifery in the late 1800s. I borrowed the name of my local police consultant, Detective Kevin Donovan, for the detective in the book, which does not imply that he would have acted the way my fictional Kevin does. My friend (and Friend) Martha McManamy lent me her
nineteenth-century
Newburyport house for several solo writing retreats, so I wrote the house in as the Dodges'.

As always, my sons Allan and John David, my sisters Barbara and Janet, and my partner Hugh support me in my struggles and triumph. They're almost as pleased as I am with this series coming to life. And the members of Amesbury Friends Meeting, my second family—I couldn't have done it without you.

About the Author

Edith Maxwell (Amesbury, MA) is the vice president of the New England chapter of Sisters in Crime and a longtime member of the Society of Friends. She is the author of the Local Foods Mysteries, the Lauren Rousseau Mysteries, and the Country Store Mysteries. She blogs at wickedcozyauthors.com.