Delivering the Truth (9 page)

My stomach complained of emptiness, so I left my desk and stoked the fire in the kitchen. I heated a bit of soup and broke a chunk of bread off the loaf. I stood to eat, too restless to relax at the table. From the window at the back of the house I could see the small upholstery factory that faced onto Powow Street. I watched the comings and goings at the business, where they created cloth and leather seats for some of the carriages and sleighs made in town.
That had been made in town before the fire, at any rate. A man pushed a cart full of hides onto the premises and stood talking outside with the factory owner.

The man looked familiar, with his round cheeks, ample belly, and bowler hat. I snapped my fingers. It was Minnie's brother Jotham. I put down my dinner, grabbed a shawl from a hook, and walked down the back stairs to the low picket fence separating our garden from the factory yard.

“Oh, Jotham,” I called. I waved my hand. “Hello, there.”

He glanced in my direction and frowned, but turned away from the owner and walked toward me. “That's me. Who are you again?” He removed his hat and glared.

I smiled, hoping to ease the conversation. “I'm Rose Carroll, the midwife. I attended thy sister's birth last week. We met—”

“That's right,” he said. “Birth of a bastard nephew.” A smile crept over his face. “I'll allow as how he's a cute one, though.”

“And at least he's healthy, and Minnie survived the labor.” I continued, “Not all women do live through childbirth. Thee has much to be thankful for.”

“I suppose.” He wrinkled his nose. “What's that funny way you speak?”

“I belong to the Religious Society of Friends. I'm a Quaker and we call it plain speech.”

“Well, it sounds odd to me.”

I nodded. “Has thee seen Minnie and the baby today?”

“No. My cursed older sister is there lording it over the household. We don't see eye to eye.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. I will stop by tomorrow and pay Minnie another visit.” I gestured at the factory. “Thee works with leather, then?”

“No. I only deliver it. I deliver anything. Work is hard to come by, and now what with the fire—” He knit his brows and shook his head slowly. “I don't know where I'll be getting my next meal.”

Another man out of work because of the fire. At least he wasn't at risk of starving anytime soon, not with that belly.

“I saw thee talking in town with one of my clients, Nell Gilbert. How does she seem to thee?”

“No, miss. You're mistaken. I don't know no Nell.” He turned away.

So they both lied about knowing each other, unless it was a chance meeting. It hadn't looked like one, though. They'd been speaking directly for several minutes, not the behavior of a stranger inquiring of directions from another, which of course neither would need, being local residents. I turned away, too, wondering why Jotham put me in mind of an actor instead of a sincere person.

thirteen

Baby Lizzy was a
round and cheerful child of a suitable size for thirteen months. I dandled her on my lap in the late afternoon, her chubby hands grabbing for my glasses as I tried to speak with her mother. Nell, Guy, and the baby lived with Guy's parents in a modest house on Summer Stree
t.

“What is Lizzy eating these days?” I asked.

A thin and pale Nell shrugged. Her dark hair wasn't properly done up and she reacted little, even when I placed the baby on her lap. Her hands still rested limply on her legs. She hadn't changed since I'd seen her on the street.

Nell's
mother-in
-law Josephine swooped in and set Lizzy on the floor. She shot me a look of caution I well deserved. The baby could have fallen off her mother's lap.

“Lizzy's eating porridge, bread, eggs, a bit of applesauce,” she told me. “She's a hungry girl.” She left the room again, and I watched that Lizzy didn't crawl near the hot stove.

“I'd like you to take this tonic,” I said to Nell, handing her a script. “It's strong in iron.” I knew she needed more than that. I had seen this type of postpartum melancholia before. Some mothers simply outgrew it, but I'd heard one horrific tale from my teacher, Orpha Perkins, about a mother who had methodically suffocated each of her five children, including her tiny newborn, saying God had told her to do so. She was sentenced to live in the insane asylum for the rest of her natural days.

Nell clutched the script and stared at it but didn't speak. I scooped Lizzy up and carried her in to be with her grandmother, since she clearly wasn't safe alone with Nell.

“Nell is not in a good way,” I said.

“That she is certainly not. I'm afraid she'll do harm to Lizzy.” Josephine watched Lizzy crawl to the window and pull herself up to standing.

“I gave her a prescription for a tonic. Is she eating and drinking?”

“Very little. But I watch the baby constantly.”

I thanked Josephine and bade her farewell. After retrieving my satchel from the room where Nell sat, I walked slowly away from the modest house. The sun had warmed enough that a great deal of the remaining snow on the ground was now transformed into rivulets of water running along the edge of the road. The late afternoon light burnished the budding trees with tints of gold. My feelings weren't so lovely. Nell Gilbert was most certainly ill with melancholia.

I thought it might be time to pay Orpha a visit. She always provided me with good counsel and I hadn't seen her in some weeks. She'd lived
eighty-two
years already, and I couldn't trust she would always be there to visit, at least in the flesh. Orpha now lived with her granddaughter, a dressmaker, and her husband and children over on Orchard Street, only a few blocks distant, so I headed in that direction. Within minutes I sat in the parlor with a cup of hot tea in my hands and a plate of shortbread cookies on the table between us.

“I am right pleased to see you, Rose.” Orpha beamed from her rocking chair. She rocked back and forth with a slow rhythm, her feet on the
needle-worked
cushion that topped a small stool. A Bible sat on a round table to her right. Her kinky grizzled hair was tied back in a bun. She had once confessed to me, knowing of Friends' views on equality, that a slave was part of her ancestry. It didn't concern me, and her facial features didn't reveal it. I knew some in town would have refused her services if they were aware she harbored even a drop of African blood, no matter that slavery had been abolished decades earlier or that many in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts had welcomed escaped slaves.

“I have missed thy company and thy counsel, Orpha.” I sipped my tea.

“I miss working with you too, dear. And how is the work lately? No losses of mother or child, I hope?”

“Not a one this year, for which I am grateful, although I had a difficult shoulder dystocia only last week.” I told of her calling for David's help and then not needing it. When I mentioned David's name I blushed, and of course she noticed.

“You are sweet on this doctor. I thought you were looking well. Now I see why.”

“I am quite fond of him.” I smiled. “But I do worry. He took me to meet his parents yesterday. I survived it, but his mother is a true society woman and I'm afraid she disapproves of his spending time with me.” I twisted my hands in my lap.

“If you love him … do you?”

I nodded slowly. This full, warm sensation whenever I thought of him, my respect for him, my genuinely liking him—it couldn't be anything else.

“And he you?”

“I believe so.”

“Then the two of you will find a way. You know that, Rose, in your heart.” She cleared her throat. “Now, about that birth. Would it be the illegitimate infant I heard word of?” Orpha's glance was sharp despite her eyes' watery appearance.

“Indeed. Minnie O'Toole is the name of the unmarried mother. It's not that part which bothers me, and she and the babe are both healthy.” I told my teacher of my suspicions about William Parry being the father. “And he's also about to be a father again. His wife is seven months along.”

Orpha nodded. She leaned forward and took a shortbread. “The Parry factory was the first to burn.” She took a bite and rocked some more. “What a curious confluence of events in our town. Sad, true, but curious.”

I agreed. “Minnie's brother Jotham seems sore aggrieved about the bastard baby, as he put it.”

“I don't know this man. Jotham is an unusual name.” She pursed her lips. “It's biblical in origin. Jotham was a king of Judah who ruled long because he followed the Lord steadfastly.”

“This one doesn't look much like a king. He also said he's likely to lose work,” I went on. “He delivers supplies to the industries that support the carriage factories. But something about the way he talked seemed passing strange to me. As if he wasn't sincere.”

Orpha laughed, loud and long. It always surprised me how this frail old woman maintained a hearty guffaw in her.

“My dear Rose, do you expect only sincerity from the human race?” She wiped a tear from the edge of her eye. “Good heavens above, that will be the day.” She snorted and laughed a little longer.

“No!” I protested, but I smiled with her. “Oh, never mind. I have another matter I wanted to discuss.” I described Nell's melancholia and her inattention to her daughter. “She is truly in a bad way. I gave her an iron tonic, but I know she needs more than that.”

“I have seen this more times than I wished. Have you tried Saint John's wort?”

“No. Of course, that has an antidepressive effect.” I should have thought of it myself.

“Yes. I recommend combining it with chamomile, and then add in portions of peppermint, licorice, and star anise for soothing.”

“I'll bring her some at the next opportunity. Now, tell me how thee is getting along.” It had been over a year since Orpha had made the decision to cease attending births or even doing prenatal examinations. I had supported her in her choice. She had grown increasingly wobbly, with her thin legs and hips made stiff from osteoarthritis. The strain of staying up all night accompanying a laboring woman was too much to ask—yet I sorely missed her. She had been generous in making sure her current client list turned to me for their care instead of to another midwife in town, or even the doctor.

“I am well. I have my books.” She motioned to a
well-stocked
bookcase behind her and the Bible on the table next to her chair. “And my
great-grandchildren
keep me young.”

With that, two little girls ran into the room, the smaller cradling a doll and the older holding a piece of paper.

“
Great-granny
, look!” The taller girl, aged about six, pushed the paper into Orpha's lap. “I wrote a screepipshun for the new mommy. She needs a tonic. Don't you agree?”

The younger girl held her doll forward. “She just had a baby yesterday and she's looking right poorly. Isn't she?”

Orpha took the doll and gave her a careful examination. She handed her back to the girl and told her big sister, “I agree a prescription for a tonic is exactly right for a new mama. Very nice work, dear. Both of you, say hello to Miss Rose, now.”

Each of them curtsied, said their hellos as quickly as possible, and ran out, the doll now relegated to being dragged by one foot.

“Training my replacements, I see?” I finished my tea and set the cup and saucer on the table.

“Why not? Unless you're planning to have your own daughter take over the business?” She cocked her head.

“My … what? Thee knows full well I'm not yet even married.” With that, David's gentle face popped unbidden into my mind.

Orpha's voice grew gentle. “And is it not about time you made that happen, Rose Carroll?” She gazed into my eyes. “You cannot let a painful experience in your distant past govern your future, you know. That would be giving it more power than it deserves.”

fourteen

When I arrived home,
Faith was stirring a pot and Annie worked with dough, her apron front showing smudges of flour. I greeted them and sank into a chair at the table. I took in the warmth and the aromas. I was grateful for the respite from a day of no sleep, an overactive brain, the memory of a depressive Nell Gilbert, and Orpha's reminding me of my past.

“You have been busy,” I said. “It smells like heaven in here.”

“Doesn't it though?” Annie pushed her hair back from her face with her wrist, leaving a streak of white on her forehead.

“
Beef-potato
soup,” Faith said with a smile. “With lard biscuits. Annie's Grandmere's recipe.”

“And treacle cake.” Annie pointed to a rectangular pan full of the moist molasses cake cooling on the table, then pressed an inverted drinking glass onto the dough. She shook out the fat round patty she'd cut with the glass onto a nearly full pan, and popped the biscuits into the oven.

“It's good to see thee, Annie,” I said. “How is thee and thy heart?”

Annie gathered up the remaining scraps of dough. She pressed them into a small loaf pan and added it to the oven before turning to me, wiping her hands on the apron.

“I keep thinking I see Isaiah around town. I catch sight of a lanky man, walking with energy as he did, and I'm about to hail him by name.” She joined me at the table, her voice trembling. “Then the man turns and I see it isn't my Isaiah. Of course. It never will be.”

“No, it won't.” I laid my hand on hers.

She wiped her eyes. “But Faith and I, we're planning our futures, isn't that so, Faith?”

Faith looked at us and nodded, her eyes bright.

Annie went on. “We're both going to get ourselves out of the mill. She's going to be a writer. And I want to study with you, Rose. I want to be a midwife, too.”

I laughed and clapped my hands. “These are fine plans. I approve. When do we start?”

“We haven't quite finished the plan,” Faith said. “We're saving our money, though. I give half of my earnings to Father to help with the household. But the other half I take directly to the Powow National Bank and put it into my account.”

“I do the same.” Annie nodded. “Because, if we become apprentices, we won't be earning as much for a while.” She cocked her head at me. “I guess I should have asked first if I may become your apprentice.”

“I'll consider it, Annie.”

“Oh, good!” Faith exclaimed. “See, Annie? I told thee she would say yes.”

“In truth my practice becomes busier and busier,” I went on. “And thee has a lovely manner with people. That's important. Thee might want to start studying a bit. I can lend thee a text to begin with.”

Annie examined her hands. She twisted the apron between them.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

She glanced up with eyes full of shadows. “I don't know how to read, Rose. I can't read your text, or any other. My parents took me out of school in St. Hyacinthe when I was seven to move here, and I was just learning to read French. When we arrived here I had to help in the house and then I began to work. I never completed my schooling.”

“I'll teach thee, my friend.” Faith gave her a quick fierce hug. “Thee must learn. We will start with Betsy's
McGuffey's First Reader
from last year. Thee'll be reading
Little Women
soon enough.”

“All right.” Annie mustered a smile. “I do wish to learn. But will I need to wear eyeglasses after I learn?” She gazed at mine, which were in their habitual position halfway down my nose.

I laughed. “No, my nearsightedness has nothing to do with my love of reading, dear Annie. My father wears spectacles, too. Otherwise all I can see is a few feet beyond my outstretched arm, and I like to look far into the distance when I get the chance.”

“But Mother didn't need eyeglasses,” Faith said with a frown.

“True. In our family it's only thy grandfather and me. Now, thee, Faith?” I smiled at her, with her rosy cheeks and clear eyes. “Who will thee apprentice to? John Whittier, perhaps?”

“I don't know as yet. I'm not aspiring to write poetry.” She frowned. “Perhaps the
Amesbury and Salisbury Villager
would let me write a news story now and again, or publish a serial.” A dreamy look came into her eyes. “But I really want to write like Alcott. I want to write stories, novels that everyone will want to read. I wish she hadn't passed on last year. I wish I could meet her.”

Luke burst into the room. “I'm hungry.” He grabbed an apple from the wide wooden bowl in the pantry and took an enormous bite out of it.

“When is thee not hungry, beanpole?” Faith said. “We'll have supper in fifteen minutes. Run and wash up, and tell the rest to do the same.”

Faith's more carefree life as a teenage girl had been snatched from her with my sister's passing, but she was doing an admirable job of mothering her younger siblings and being a responsible worker while still managing to enjoy her own life as much as possible. And, of course, there were plenty of girls of seventeen who were already married and mothers of babes in arms. The ambition of both Annie and Faith to be more than that pleased me, as I knew it would have Harriet. Being a mill worker hadn't been her career of choice, but I knew she'd been saving what money she could so she might follow her dream of being a horticulturist. Poor Harriet had left me that small nest egg wrapped in a handkerchief. I was saving it for an emergency, since I had already followed my own dream.

Luke ran into the house as we all sat eating our porridge the next morning. He'd been out getting Frederick's horse ready for the two of them to ride to the Academy. One of the blessings of Frederick's position was that his older children could attend classes free of the cost of tuition, so these days Luke rode to school behind Frederick on the family horse. As Faith had done before my sister's passing.

Betsy picked at her breakfast, more interested in playing with her little straw doll than eating. Matthew and Mark bickered quietly about the rules to a new game they had made up.

Luke stood in the doorway. His face was pale, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Come in, Luke, and shut the door,” Frederick said. “Thee is letting the cold in. Now, what's this face?”

Luke shut the door. “Terrible news! I heard some men across the fence in the factory yard,” he choked out. “Thomas Parry was killed.”

Faith brought her hand to her mouth. Frederick's square face turned stern. I narrowed my eyes. Everything seemed to revolve around the Parry family this week.

“That is tragic news. Did they say how or when?” I asked.

“Sometime in the night. He was stabbed.” His mouth turned down. “To death.”

Faith held out an arm. “Come here, Luke. This is indeed terrible news.”

Luke hurried to his sister's side and let himself be embraced. The children were all still so affected by Harriet's demise that any new death was a reminder of their own loss. I wished Frederick had been the one to comfort Luke, but that was not his habit.

“What does stabbed mean?” Betsy asked, kicking her chair with her feet.

Mark opened his mouth to answer.

I held up a hand to Mark. “It means he was hurt, Betsy.” I said.

“But to death means he died,” Mark said. “Like Mother.” His eyes filled.

“And like Isaiah.” Matthew laid his head on his arms, the sound of his weeping filling all our hearts. Mark put his arms around his twin and Betsy watched them with wide eyes, her hands stroking her doll.

“Our town has seen too much violence this week,” I said. “Let us take a moment, all of us, to hold Thomas Parry's soul in the Light, and that of anyone who cannot find a peaceful way in which to live.”

Frederick pursed his lips. Perhaps I should have waited for him to call for a moment of grace, but in my experience I would have waited a goodly long time, and the children needed the comfort of silence now. He finally joined the rest of the family members as they closed their eyes and fell silent, Matthew's sobs quieting, Betsy's feet stilling. I joined them, but my mind was not so still. Thomas Parry dead. William's son murdered. Who would kill him? It had to be connected with the arson of the factory. I prayed it wasn't a revengeful act by Ephraim Pickard.

After Frederick cleared his throat, his signal that the time of prayer was complete, I stood. “Now, there's still school in your day,” I said to the children. “Let's get you ready, shall we?” I bustled the three youngest into the next room to don their coats and make sure their shoes were properly laced up.

When the children were ready, I led the way back into the kitchen. Faith was preparing the lunch pails, speaking in a soft voice to Luke, who helped her. Frederick must have gone out to bring the horse around, a gelding Betsy had named Star. I pulled on my cloak and clattered down the back steps. Frederick stood at the fence holding Star's reins and talking with a man from the factory. When I joined them, Frederick shook his head.

“Not much more information than Luke told us, Rose.”

The man tipped his hat and greeted me.

“Who did thee hear it from, the news of Thomas Parry's death?” I asked him. I stroked Star's soft nose.

“Well, miss,” the man said, “it was my sister who works up to Haverhill. She was on her way to catch the Ellis trolley when she met the Parrys' kitchen girl going out for fresh milk at dawn. That household is all a flurry. My sister came back right quick to tell us about it.”

“We thank thee,” Frederick said. He turned back to the house and I followed. “We must be off to school, Luke and I. This is a sad and serious turn in events, though.” He shook his head.

“I'll see thee tonight. I might venture to the Parry home to make sure Lillian isn't too distraught.” And to see what else I could learn about this serious turn of events, I added to myself.

I arrived at the stately Parry home on Hillside Street. The large house, almost a mansion, which had been built only a few years before, featured all the latest styles in the homes of the financially comfortable: the hexagonal corner room with its own pointed hat of a roof, elaborate shingling, various slants to the other portions of roof, large rooms, and the covered porch that wrapped around three sides of the home ending in a portico.

Kevin Donovan rushed down the stairs of the wide veranda. He halted when he saw me walking up the path from the street.

“Miss Carroll, what are you doing here?” He folded his arms across his chest.

“I heard the news. It's so very sad. Has thee learned who killed poor Thomas?”

“Now, I know I asked you to keep your eyes and ears out about the case of arson, but I can't be talking about a murder case with you. I repeat, what are you doing here?”

“I'm Lillian Parry's midwife. I came to make sure she isn't suffering from distress.” I looked him straight in the eye.

He snorted. “If I didn't know better, I'd say it was more a case of her doing a happy jig now Thomas is gone. For all I know she stabbed the young man herself, just to be rid of him. It's no secret they hated each other. And many others in town didn't like him, either.”

“She did once mention Thomas didn't care much for her. Did thee speak with William, too?” I asked.

“His grief is relentless, poor man. Who wouldn't drown in sorrow, losing his only son? I regretted having to question him at such a time, but a case of murder demands it.”

I nodded. “Indeed.”

“Aye. Well, I'm off to speak with that Eph—” He cleared his throat. “With a possible suspect.”

“Does thee mean Ephraim Pickard? Oh, no. I'm sure he wouldn't kill a soul.”

Kevin sighed. “You were the one who told me about him, and that Thomas Parry fired him. That he had soot on his shirt. Maybe the fire wasn't enough, because Thomas survived it. Maybe Ephraim did him in. What do you think of that idea?”

I shook my head and pulled my cloak closer about me. “I don't believe it. Does thee have evidence? Does thee have the knife, the murder weapon?”

“How do you know about that?” His tone grew even more exasperated.

“I don't.” I shrugged. “Thee said he was stabbed. I assumed it was with a knife. Was it something else?”

“Miss Carroll. Rose! Leave off these conjectures. Get in and see your patient. I'll do the police work around here. Do you understand?” He pointed to the front door with his arm extended.

I understood that all of a sudden he didn't want my help, after all. “Thee needn't be so harsh with me. Good luck in thy investigation.” I walked up the stairs.

Kevin climbed into the police wagon waiting at the edge of the wide street. He glanced at me and shook his finger before signaling the waiting officer to drive off. I waved at him, then tapped the heavy door rapper shaped like a carriage wheel. If I uncovered a piece of information, that would only help him in his job, wouldn't it? I wasn't sure why I was so driven to discover the truth, but I knew that drive was part of who I was and always had been.

The house maid pulled the door open. Her white cap sat askew and her apron sat a little off kilter, as well. I had met her on my initial visit to Lillian.

“Oh, Miss Carroll. It's a dreadful day. Just dreadful.” She ushered me into the elegant foyer and shut the entry door behind me. Both the door to the parlor on my left and the door to the library on my right were closed. I removed my cloak and bonnet and handed them to her.

“I came as soon as I heard the news. How is Lillian taking it? And William?”

“Mr. Parry is beside himself. He treasured that boy so. He's locked himself in the library there. He let the policeman come in, but that's all. He won't even take a cup of coffee or his breakfast. The missus is upstairs in her bed, still.”