A Changing Light Page 2

  A man walking with a well-dressed couple approached on the sidewalk. “Good afternoon, Miss Carroll, I mean, Mrs. Dodge.” Ned Bailey beamed from under his bowler.

  A distant cousin of my brother-in-law, Ned had tried in vain to court me a couple of years ago. He was not to my liking, and I’d already fallen in love with David. But Ned was harmless and a good soul. As he was part of the family of the prosperous Bailey carriage manufacturers, he was nearly royalty in Amesbury.

  “Hello, Ned,” I said. “Thee must be deeply involved in this week’s festivities.”

  “Indeed I am. May I present Mr. Justice Harrington and his wife, Luthera? They are visiting from the capital of our neighbor to the north, and I’ve been showing them around. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, this is our town’s esteemed midwife, Mrs. Rose Dodge.”

  We exchanged smiles and greetings, although I detected a barely concealed lip curl from Luthera when she heard the word “midwife.” She was tall for a woman, standing perhaps two inches beyond my own five foot seven, with Justice yet a little taller.

  “I’ve been to Montreal but not yet to Ottawa,” I said. “I hear it’s a lovely city.”

  “Yes, it is,” Justice said. “We are the nation’s capital and have much fine architecture as well as our famous Rideau Canal.” His face was clean-shaven, and deep brown eyes sparkled under dark eyebrows. “Our own carriage industry is booming, so your Spring Opening presents a splendid opportunity to make connections. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Harrington?”

  “Yes.” Her porcelain skin and flaxen hair were a contrast to the darker good looks of her husband. “It’s my father’s company, Montgomery Carriages, in which Mr. Harrington is taking an active role. We make the best carriages in all Canada.” It was a good thing her maroon velvet toque was well secured on the side of her head. The way she lifted her chin the lace-trimmed topper might otherwise have slid off.

  Ned clapped his hands. “Very good, very good. Well, we’re off to call on my uncle before tonight’s dinner.” He beamed.

  “I’m happy to have met thee, Luthera, and thee, Justice,” I said. “I hope the week is satisfactory and enjoyable.”

  Luthera only nodded, her gloved hands clasped in front of her wool coat, which was cut in smooth lines with a diagonal overlap. The color matched her velvet hat.

  Justice smiled. “We’re thrilled to have a chance to meet Mr. Bailey, senior. Everyone in the industry admires the company’s vehicles. Good day, Mrs. Dodge.” He tipped his black stiff-fur hat and let Ned sweep them away.

  They were an odd couple. Luthera seemed downright icy, while her husband was genial and projected an excitement about life itself. Well, one never knew what went on within a marriage. One’s differences might feed the other’s needs.

  A drop-front phaeton passed by, followed by a runabout, a Bailey whalebone road wagon, and a fringed surrey filled with gaily clad young ladies. I reversed direction and headed for home. I’d seen enough of the happenings for today. The visitors and carriages would be around all week. I looked forward to nothing more than a quiet evening with my David.

  Chapter Three

  I was fixing coffee early the next morning when I heard the clatter of the milk wagon. I pulled my dressing gown closer around me and stepped onto the side porch.

  “’Morning, Mrs. Dodge.” The milkman, the son of a local dairy farmer, set down the wire carrier holding two bottles and a pound of butter. He handed me the newspaper and picked up the empties. We’d prevailed on him to obtain the Amesbury Daily News for us as he passed through town every morning.

  “Thank you, Sven.”

  “There’s news about town.” He shook his head, looking worried. “Not sure if it made the paper. A man was murdered in the night. One of them visitors.”

  No. “Murdered?” I brought my hand to my mouth. To my knowledge, Amesbury hadn’t seen a murder since last summer, when a matron had been killed in her bed. My friend Bertie had been suspected in the crime, and I’d worked hard to untangle the facts and clear her name.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Does thee know the victim’s name?”

  “No, ma’am. I heard he was from up Canada way, though.” He touched his white cap. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Only milk?”

  “Yes, thank thee.” With the household being solely David and me for the time being, we didn’t need more than thrice weekly deliveries. I brought the carrier and the paper inside.

  David came downstairs a few minutes later, dressed except for his tie, and kissed my forehead as I perused the paper at the table. His hair was damp, and he smelled of soap. He’d made sure all the most modern conveniences were incorporated into our home, including indoor plumbing and a gas stove.

  “Is this for the coffee?” He pointed to the pot of water on the stove, from which steam rose.

  “Oh, dear! I forgot about it.” I stood. “I’m sorry, darling. The milkman brought the most dreadful news.” I hurried over to the pretty enameled double pot, white painted with pale blue flowers, which we’d received as a wedding gift from David’s father. He’d said it was imported from France and was the best way to brew coffee.

  “I’ll make the brew.” David took the pot of water from me. “You sit down and tell me what transpired. Did a cow die?”

  I plopped back in the chair and held up the paper. “Much worse. A Canadian man, here for the Spring Opening, was murdered sometime in the night. David, he’s a gentleman Ned Bailey introduced me to only yesterday.”

  “You don’t say.” He dumped the coffee from the grinder’s drawer into the top of the biggin, then slowly poured the boiled water over it.

  “It’s true.” The paper didn’t have much. A headline screamed, “Murder Taints Opening!” and a paragraph said only that Justice Harrington of Ottawa never returned to his rooms, according to his wife. A night watchman found his body in the alley behind the opera house, with gunshot wounds in his back. It said that, at the time the paper went to press, Acting Police Chief Kevin Donovan had no more information to offer.

  “Goodness,” I said. “This says our Kevin is acting chief of police. I wonder when his promotion happened.”

  “Didn’t Chief Talbot come down with tuberculosis?” David asked. “I think I heard about his illness somewhere.” He sat across from me. The coffee drip-dripped through its two filters.

  “I don’t know. If so, perhaps he went off to Saranac for the cure. There’s a new sanitarium there. Or maybe he even traveled out to Colorado.” I sniffed the rich aroma of the brew. Whoever discovered coffee was due an enormous medal in heaven. “I met a lady doctor yesterday who specializes in treating consumption.”

  “Dr. Chatigny? She’s a fine physician. Where did you meet her?”

  “She’s caring for Orpha. I told thee she’s failing. And Mary’s mother made her promise to care for her old friend.”

  “Your mentor is in good hands, then. And the police department will similarly be in good hands with Detective Donovan, I daresay.” David brought us each a cup of coffee.

  I splashed milk into mine. “I would agree.”

  “Tell me more about this unfortunate Canadian.”

  Right. Last evening I hadn’t mentioned my encounter with the Harringtons and Ned. I relayed to David how I’d met them on the street.

  “Luthera and Justice are interesting names, are they not?” he asked.

  “Indeed. And Ned was full of pride, being their escort about town. They were off to visit his uncle.” I sipped the coffee and frowned. “Luthera seemed highly involved in her father’s carriage company in Ottawa. And they were an odd couple. She nearly sneered at my being a midwife and acted quite cold, while he was friendly and full of life.”

  “A life cut short,” David said. “Shot in the back, no less. A cowardly act if there ever was one. Who in the world would have wanted him dead?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” The clock in the next room donged seven soft chimes. I stood. “I will make thy breakfast, husband
. Thee needs to be at the hospital by eight thirty for rounds, as it is Third Day, am I right?”

  “Yes, my dear wife. What is your plan for the day?”

  “I have several ladies in various stages of pregnancy coming this morning, and I’ll pay a visit on the lovely Esther Ayensu this afternoon. She’s due in two weeks’ time. You know I like to make a home visit well in advance of the birth to make sure all is ready.”

  “She’s the Negro lady you met after the Independence Day murder.”

  “Yes.”

  “You won’t overexert yourself, will you?” He grabbed my hand and gently pulled me to him, resting his cheek on my belly.

  I stood there for a moment, my hand on his shoulder, savoring the feeling of being loved. There was no man alive I’d rather create a family with than this one. I tapped the top of his head.

  “This breakfast isn’t going to cook itself, Dr. Dodge.”

  He chuckled and sat up straight. “Have I told you I loved you lately, Rose Carroll Dodge?”

  Chapter Four

  My morning visitors seeking antenatal care had been all abuzz with the news of the murder as well as the Spring Opening events. I’d had to steer each of them back to the reason they’d come, checking their baby’s health and their own. Two were doing well, but one young bride, who had asked if she could barter fresh eggs for her fee, had not gained sufficient weight for her sixth month of pregnancy. I gave her back her basket of eggs and gently encouraged her to eat them, herself.

  “We’ll arrange something else after the birth, shall we?” I smiled as I sent her on her way, but I made a note in her chart. I would arrange for an anonymously delivered box of food every week. I hated to see impoverished women go hungry during a time when they needed to be eating more, not less.

  The morning post had brought a note from Kevin asking me to stop by the police station this afternoon. After I supped on a simple midday meal of bread and ham as well as a sliced apple and a glass of milk, I mounted my bicycle. I’d go see the detective after I paid my visit to Esther. I pedaled along Whittier Street. I hadn’t ridden much this winter because of the snow and ice, but today was milder than yesterday, and no hazardous ice remained. David worried a little about my bicycling while pregnant. I assured him it was not dangerous to the growing foetus, although I would certainly cease riding about when my belly grew unwieldy.

  I coasted halfway down Carpenter Street to the tidy cottage the couple shared. Even though it was coincidence that Esther’s husband, the carpenter Akwasi, had his home and shop on this street, it was aptly named.

  Esther welcomed me in and offered me tea in a tidy and cheerful kitchen, with yellow curtains at the windows and an orange-and-red braided rug on the wide pine floor. I thanked her and sat at the table, which was covered with small cards and several pens and bottles of ink. Several of the cards had beautiful lettering on them. She slid them to the other side of the table.

  “Is thee a calligrapher?” I asked. When I’d first met her, she worked stitching upholstery for the carriage industry.

  She turned toward me from the stove, moving with the waddle of a woman near her term. “Yes. The Board of Trade hired me to make signs and place cards for the various Spring Opening events.”

  “Thee is very talented.”

  “Thank you. It’s an occupation I can do from home.” She smiled down at her large taut belly and smoothed her dress over it. She was a beautiful woman, as tall as I was, with large eyes, dark curly lashes, and skin the color of melted chocolate with plenty of cream mixed in. Her cheeks glowed with the fullness of her condition.

  “That will be good after thy baby arrives.”

  “I’ve been getting more and more inquiries from businesses wanting placards and advertisements lettered, even some private invitations.” She brought a teapot to the table. “This’ll need to steep a bit.”

  “Where did thee learn to letter so beautifully?”

  “I’ve always been drawing, and I started copying nice lettering last year. Using good-quality pens with different-sized nibs helps, too.”

  I gazed at the cards. “It looks completely professional. Well done.”

  “Thank you.” Esther frowned a little. “Rose, I heard a Mr. Harrington was murdered in the night. Will you be involved in the investigation, as you were before?”

  “I doubt it.” Which might not be strictly true. I had dug into the case when her husband was falsely accused a couple of years earlier, and I planned to proceed directly to the police station after I left here. “I did meet the poor victim yesterday afternoon.”

  “I encountered him and his wife, as well, when I was delivering a batch of cards yesterday morning. They were talking to a carriage factory owner. William Parry, a rather unpleasant fellow.” She poured out two cups of tea.

  “He is a little unpleasant, although he has also suffered tragedy in his life.”

  “Mr. Ned Bailey introduced me to the Harringtons as I was leaving the opera house.” She frowned. “Mr. Parry seemed to be having some kind of disagreement with Mr. Harrington.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I pray the police don’t come after my husband with more false charges this time,” Esther said.

  “I’m sure they won’t. Has he any connection with the carriage industry?”

  “No, not directly.” She grimaced and let out a soft groan.

  “A tightening? A cramp?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’ve been having them more frequently.”

  “But they don’t last long, am I correct, nor occur regularly?”

  “Right, on both counts.”

  “It’s thy body’s way of preparing the womb for the real event,” I said. “A kind of rehearsal of the contractions to come. Thee can also practice calming thyself and taking slow deep breaths when these pains occur. Such breathing is good preparation for the birth.”

  “Very well. See, it’s now over.” She sipped her tea. “Can I tell you something strange that’s been happening?”

  “Of course.” I hoped it wasn’t any kind of scurrilous vandalism because of the color of the couple’s skin.

  “I’ve been having the oddest dreams. They are very nearly nightmares.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Last night I dreamed I gave birth to a frog. And it seemed perfectly normal to do so. The night before our baby was a full-grown three-year-old, even though I knew I’d given birth the day before.” She wrinkled her nose. “Akwasi was holding him like a newborn and rocking him, despite the child wearing short pants and shoes. Is there something wrong with me?”

  I laughed and patted her hand. “Esther, this is perfectly normal. I would think it odd if thee weren’t having such dreams. Most pregnant ladies do as they near their time, especially first-time mothers. Your actual fears might be different ones, but this is the way your mind works it out while you sleep. Please don’t let these dreams disturb you.”

  “All right. But I do have fears, you see. I’m worried I won’t be able to give birth easily. It’s my first, and how will I know what to do? What if something goes wrong?”

  “I will be with thee, I and my assistant. Thee has met Annie Beaumont. She’s very good. We shall guide thee through.” I took a sip of tea.

  “I feel silly worrying. My mother was a slave. She birthed seven babies with barely any help at all. I was born only three years after Emancipation.”

  “Such a life must have been horrific and painful for her.”

  Akwasi Ayensu had been an escaped slave when our town’s—and our Meeting’s—abolitionist poet, John Whittier, sheltered him and helped him get an education and be trained in a trade. Akwasi frequently attended Friends Meeting for Worship and had brought Esther several times. It was inconceivable to me that humans had thought they could own another human, but our country had a long, dark, and sordid history of exactly that.

  “Mama—her name was Glory—was a strong woman with deeply held values,” Esther went on. “She did what she had to
to stay alive and keep us safe.”

  “Of course she did. Thee is strong, too. I have every confidence in thy abilities and the ability of thy body to do what women have been doing for millennia.” I stood. “Now, why doesn’t thee show me the bedroom and thy supplies? We’ll do an examination, and I’ll let thee know how much longer I think thee has before the baby comes.”

  Chapter Five

  “Thee is the chief of police now, Kevin,” I said after he showed me into his office. “I congratulate thee.”

  “Acting chief.” He plopped into a creaky chair behind the desk in his own office, not the chief’s, and the desk was its usual mess of papers and books. He ran a hand over his round head, mussing the short-cropped red hair. “Frankly, it’s a thankless job, but I suppose I should thank you, Miss Rose.”

  I suppressed a smile. I’d never been successful at convincing him to leave off the title and simply call me Rose. And he hadn’t changed my moniker after I’d become a Mrs. I was fond of the detective and didn’t mind a bit.

  He went on. “And now we have a murder during the Spring Opening. Things couldn’t get much worse.”

  “I’m sorry. It must be a thankless job. David thought perhaps Norman Talbot had contracted tuberculosis.”

  “Yes, more’s the pity. He took himself off to some wretched place in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State to attempt a cure. You know, sitting out on balconies in the sunshine, drinking clean water, breathing fresh air, those kinds of boring things.”

  Saranac Lake. The sanitarium opened by Edward Trudeau, the scientist who had first isolated and cultured the tuberculosis bacterium only half a decade ago.

  “How did the chief contract the disease?” I asked. “It’s often those who live in desperate and crowded circumstances who fall ill. Norman must reside in decent housing and so forth.”

  “He does. Talbot’s a gruff, rather officious man, but in fact he has a big heart. He was taking food and games to the young boys down at the Flats. Doing his Christian charity. He must have caught it from one of them.” Kevin cleared his throat. “But about the murder of poor Mr. Harrington.”