Charity's Burden Page 14

  “Now, fill thy grumbling stomach.” After a good mouthful of soup and a bite of bread and butter, I related what had happened on my way home from Bertie’s. “It was a deliberate hit. Whoever it was, was definitely aiming for me. I only wish I’d had a chance to see the driver’s face or check the wagon for markings. But the night was too dark and it all happened so fast.”

  “And you were knocked down the embankment?” he asked, concern filling his voice.

  “Yes. But what a blessing that Peaches was neither harmed nor lost his head. He brought himself home and waited for me here. I’m afraid the buggy has a bit of a dent in the back left side, though. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t care about the buggy! I care about you, my Rosie. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt. Your neck muscles are sore as a result of the buggy being hit. Your neck will likely become more stiff throughout the day. It’s from your head being whipped forward and back after the impact.” He savored a bite of soup before going on. “I worry for you constantly, darling, when we are apart.” Lines etched his brow.

  “I know. Thee worries even when only the Merrimack separates us.” I suppressed a smile.

  “Rose, it isn’t funny. You’re investigating the death of the woman who bled out. Let me guess. It’s a homicide.”

  “Apparently so. I didn’t want to tell thee on the telephone, but the autopsy showed that her uterus was perforated in several places.” I was no longer smiling.

  He frowned. “It could have been an incompetent abortionist who killed her without intent.”

  “That’s possible. But there are several people and circumstances that make me think—and Kevin Donovan agrees—that it might have been a purposeful homicide.”

  “So you’re investigating and someone found out. You know I hate it when you put yourself in danger like that.”

  “I’m aware of that.” I took a sip of cider, careful not to move my head too far in either direction. “And I vowed to be very careful, but I can’t not ask questions.”

  He sighed. “I know you can’t. Who are the suspicious people? Let me guess. The husband?”

  “Exactly. Father of six, he wouldn’t hear about family spacing. And now it appears he is stepping out with—and yes, that’s a euphemism—a young single woman at his place of employment. Whose mother is possibly an abortionist. She certainly deals in abortifacient herbs.”

  “That’s a messy can of worms.”

  “Indeed. In addition, there’s an equally messy situation with an inheritance coming to the children of the victim and her cousins’ children. The husband and another cousin might have thought they could lay their hands on the money, but Bertie’s sweetheart Sophie told me she is the administrator of the trust, not the parents.”

  “What a confusion.” David shook his head. “Although is it any less of a web of suspects and lies than the other cases you were involved in?”

  “I don’t suppose so. But now I can’t even go to the police station to speak with Kevin.” I told him about the new chief’s new strictures. “So I’ve been going to Kevin’s home and leaving messages for him with his wife, a delightful woman named Emmaline.”

  “I hope you told him about the attack last night.”

  “Yes, I did.” I popped the rest of my bread in my mouth. I loved the sour flavor, the chewy texture, the crunchy crust. I almost could live on bread alone. I sometimes did when at a prolonged labor after I’d been summoned without the chance to eat a proper meal.

  “David, does thee know a doctor named Wallace Buckham here in Amesbury? He says he’s an orthopedist.”

  He nodded slowly. “Why do you ask?”

  “He advertises himself as an herbalist who treats women, and his notice in the newspaper did not mention the title of doctor. I thought he might be providing abortion services, and went to speak to him this morning. My questions were apparently too direct, because he showed me the door in high dudgeon.”

  “He has a less than stellar reputation.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll have to check the details, but I seem to recall some incident with the mother of one of his pediatric patients. It’s possible he was censured by the AMA’s Judicial Council and has ceased practicing medicine.”

  “What’s the AMA?”

  “Sorry. The American Medical Association. It’s the national governing body for my profession, and ethical issues are in their purview. I’ll check on Buckham and let you know what I learn.”

  “I’d appreciate that. So if Wallace’s pediatric orthopedic practice is closed, then maybe what he calls his women’s health offerings are his only source of income. The husband of one of my clients told me his wife had gone to Wallace last year for ‘lady problems,’ as he put it, but she didn’t like him. The husband called him a babykiller.” I pictured the foal coming out. “I was at their farm early this morning to help birth a foal, David.”

  “You’re expanding your practice, my dear?” He covered my hand with his.

  I laughed. “No, this farmer is young and inexperienced. I grew up seeing horses and cows born. It’s a mammal’s birth, after all. Even though large animals have certain issues different from humans, much of the birth process is the same.”

  “It’s good you could help, then.” David finished his soup. “Is Faith excited about her impending wedding?”

  “She’s beside herself, full of excitement vying with anxiety. I told her all will be well on First Day, but she can’t quite believe it.” I giggled. “David, I had to give her a basic lesson in the sexual act and how to avoid pregnancy. She didn’t know the first thing, but wanted to learn.”

  He set his chin on his palm and gazed at me. “Come here, you beautiful woman.” When he opened his arms, I flounced onto his lap with a grin, throwing my arms around his neck.

  “Yes, handsome man?”

  “You know how eager I am for our own wedding night.” His voice was low, husky, as I imagined it would be in our bedchamber one day soon.

  I closed my eyes and pressed myself against him, moving, luxuriating in the sensations even through a half dozen layers of cloth. “Mmm. I am, too.” My breathing grew rapid and shallow. Warmth flooded me from my intimate parts outward. I slid off and kissed him hard and deep. I took his hand. “Come with me.”

  His dark eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as he stood. He kissed me, murmuring, “Are you sure?”

  “Come.”

  thirty-two

  I pinned up my hair again after David left an hour later, smiling to myself at what a special reunion we’d had. I had a pregnant client coming at three. It was time to fix my mind on my business, not on my sweet love nor the mystery of this week’s confounding death.

  I tidied my parlor, washed up, and reviewed my client’s history. I’d seen her for only one visit so far and needed to refresh my memory about her health and her prior births. I didn’t have to worry about dinner. Faith and I had agreed yesterday on a simple dinner tonight of Indian griddle cakes and what Clayton’s Quaker Cookbook called a Quaker Omelette. The two of us always shared a laugh at the term. What did this man know about Friends? The book, published five years ago in San Francisco, mentioned only that the author grew up cooking with his mother, not that he was a Friend. It didn’t matter, because the omelette was a delicious, nourishing, and easy dish. Plus there was plenty of soup left over from our lunch.

  My client was late. The clock read three fifteen and she still hadn’t arrived. I paced the short length of my parlor and back. Last year I’d lost a client’s business because her husband hadn’t allowed her to use the midwifery services of someone associated with violent death—me. I hope that wasn’t happening again. A minute later the doorbell rang and I hurried to answer it.

  “I’m sorry, Rose,” the woman said, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “I tried to hail a conveyance but none were to be had, so I walked as fast as I cou
ld.”

  I greeted her, the first Scottish client I’d had, and added, “It’s not a problem. I’m glad thee made it. Please come in.” I hung up her coat and hat and showed her into my parlor. “How has thee been feeling since our last visit?”

  “I felt the wee thing move! You know I have already the two bairns at home, but it’s such a glorious thing to sense the wee new being come to life.” She shook her head in amazement.

  “I’m glad of it. Thy baby will be born in the warmer weather, which is pleasant for both it and thee.”

  She frowned. “Rose, I had a wee natter with one of your other wifies, who tossed some blether about Charity Skells. She said it was”—she lowered her voice to a near-whisper—“murder. Is it true? My man, he told me not to come today, but I said, nonsense. Rose didn’t kill that poor wifie, I told him.”

  “I thank thee for that, and I certainly didn’t kill poor Charity. It’s true that she died of unnatural means. I don’t believe the police have yet ascertained whether it was a homicide or not.”

  The telephone bell commenced to ring in the sitting room. I jumped to my feet. “Please excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  My client nodded, so I hurried into the next room. I lifted the hearing device and spoke. “Bailey household, Rose Carroll, midwife, speaking.”

  “Miss Carroll, there’s a lady in labor,” Gertrude said.

  “Please put her through.” I waited until the sound changed. “Hello? This is Rose Carroll.” But there was no response. I heard breathing, and a tapping sound. “Hello? Is there a laboring woman in need of my services? Who’s calling, please?”

  More near-silence. More breathing. I frowned at the telephone. Could this be the woman herself and she wasn’t able to speak? Then who had told the operator a laboring lady wanted to talk with me? “Who’s there?” I queried anew.

  “You need to lay off the snooping,” a hoarse voice said.

  The snooping. My heart dropped like a weight in my chest. “What? Who is this?” I realized I was almost screeching. I didn’t want to alarm my client so I lowered my voice. “Is there a woman in labor?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Quit nosing around where it’s not your business. Or you’ll end up in the same place as Charity Skells.”

  What? A click followed and the sound in my ear turned dead, as if the connection had been severed. I pulled the listening device away from my ear and stared at it, my hand shaking. My throat was so thick I could barely swallow. Goosebumps stood erect on my arms and the back of my neck. The caller could be Charity’s killer, or someone close to the killer. Maybe he—or she—was the same person who had attacked me last night. Maybe my threatener was … I suddenly remembered I could talk to Gertrude again. I depressed the lever twice.

  “Gertrude, is thee there?”

  After a brief moment she came on the line “Yes, Miss Carroll?”

  “Who put that call in?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t give a name.”

  “It was a man?” I asked.

  “I actually don’t know. The voice was too raspy to tell. Could have been a lady, I s’pose.”

  I hadn’t been able to tell, either. “Does thee know where the call originated?”

  “Hang on.”

  I heard switches, clicks, and women’s voices chattering in the background, saying things like “One moment, please,” and “A call for you, ma’am.”

  Gertrude came back on the line. “No, I can’t tell. It might have been one of those telephone cabinets they have in the fancy hotels, where you pay fifteen cents to make a call.”

  I’d heard about telephone cabinets. Did Amesbury have any? “Thank you.” I hung up and took a few deep calming breaths until my heart rate had returned to something approaching normal before rejoining my client.

  “Rose, what’s to do? You sounded feart there.” Her eyes were wide.

  “I’m not scared. It was a prank call.” I tried to laugh. “Now that telephones are becoming more commonplace, apparently lunatics and scoundrels are paying money to bother innocent people. It’s not a problem.” I swallowed, thick though my throat remained, and inhaled deeply. “Let’s listen to that wee heartbeat, shall we?”

  thirty-three

  By five o’clock the house was full of female voices. Faith was home, as were the younger children. Faith’s friend—and my apprentice—Annie Beaumont had come straight from the Boston & Maine train. Alma had just arrived with Faith’s dress, and Betsy, Faith, and Annie were cooing over it. My last client had just left, so I joined them in the kitchen. This company would help greatly to push worrisome thoughts of threatening telephone calls out of mind.

  “I thought I’d save you the trouble of coming to fetch the dress,” Alma said.

  “I thank thee,” Faith answered, running a finger along the shirring.

  Betsy clapped her nine-year-old hands. Her eyes gleamed. “I want one just like it when I get married.”

  “That day’s a long way off, Miss Betsy,” Alma said, stroking Betsy’s hair. Her older daughter was only a couple of years younger than our Betsy. “Faith, run and try it on, will you? I want to be sure I don’t need to alter it.”

  “Use my room, dear,” I called after her as she swept away with the dress over her arm.

  “Alma, sit and tell me how Orpha fares,” I said. “I saw her this week and to my eyes she seems recovered.” I had found Orpha on the floor of Alma’s house last summer. My teacher had been incoherent from apoplexy and dehydration.

  “She is well. Her mind remains clear, a blessing.”

  I nodded.

  “She grows more frail,” Alma went on, “but that doesn’t stop her from going out and doing as she pleases.”

  “And thy children keep her spirits up, I dare say.”

  “That they do.” Alma smiled.

  I turned to Annie. “Annie, I want to know how the course went.”

  “It was excellent, Rose. I learned so much.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “Please pardon me, I didn’t get much sleep last night. We midwife-trainees stayed up late sharing stories. I made some good friends there.”

  “I’m pleased.”

  “How has the practice been this week?” Annie asked. “Did I miss any births?”

  “No, although I think Lucy Majowski will go any day now.” I opened my mouth to tell her about Charity’s death and shut it just as promptly. Not here, not now, especially not with both Betsy and Alma in the room.

  Annie nodded as Faith shyly appeared in the door. The dress fell perfectly on her slim figure, and the slate blue flattered her fresh skin and dark eyes.

  Betsy jumped up and down, her hands clasped in front of her. “Thee is so pretty in it, Faith!”

  “Come in and give it a turnaround,” Alma said.

  Faith obliged, lifting her arms to the sides. She turned slowly under the seamstress’s critical gaze.

  “No, I think it’s perfect,” Alma said. “Doesn’t need a bit of altering.”

  “That’s a relief.” Faith sank into a chair. “I’m not sure I can stand even one thing getting in the way of my marrying Zeb.”

  “I’ll be going, then,” Alma said. She picked up her quilted bag.

  “I hope thee will join us on First Day for the marriage, Alma.”

  “I would be honored, and that way I can accompany Nana Orpha. Thank you for inviting me, Faith.”

  Faith rose and retrieved an envelope on the sideboard. “Here is thy pay. I’m exceedingly grateful thee was able to finish the dress in such short time.”

  “Thank you. But the rush, it was nothing. It’s better than having to make mourning attire in a hurry, I can tell you.”

  Annie gave a little shudder and crossed herself.

  “Alma, please give my love to Orpha,” I said.

  “I will do that. She asked to be rem
embered to you, too.”

  Faith showed Alma to the door and went to change out of the wedding dress.

  “Is everything set for Sunday?” Annie asked Faith once we were all seated around the table again. “For the wedding?”

  “I think so,” my niece said. “Zeb is in charge of the certificate of marriage.”

  “What’s that?” Annie looked puzzled.

  “When Friends are married,” I began, “they prepare a large sheet of parchment that includes their wedding vows, the date, and other details. After they pronounce their vows to each other, the man and woman sign it during the Meeting for Marriage. At the end of the Meeting, everyone present also signs the certificate as witnesses to the union. Often the couple frames the certificate. They hang it in their house in a place of honor.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Annie said with a wondering look on her face. “We Catholics don’t do anything of the kind.”

  “Do I get to sign it, too?” Betsy asked, looking hopeful.

  “Thee can sign thy name already, can’t thee?” Faith asked.

  “Of course I can! I’m not a baby.”

  “Then thee will sign the certificate, too,” I assured my younger niece.

  Faith frowned. “I’m just so afraid something will—”

  I interrupted. “Faith, it will all go smoothly. We had this talk, remember?” I stroked her hand.

  “I remember, and thee is my rock to be so calm, Rose. I can’t wait for Granny and Grandfather to arrive tomorrow, too.”

  “When is their train due in?” I asked.

  “At seven in the evening. Zeb and I will fetch them at the station.”

  “You know Granny will calm thee, too,” I said. “Thy wedding will be perfect.”

  “And I get to be the flower girl?” Betsy asked.

  “Betsy, dear,” I said. “Friends don’t have fancy things like flower girls at our Meetings for Marriage.”

  Her face fell. Her lower lip quivered, but I knew she wouldn’t cry. She was too old for pouts even though I knew she was disappointed.