Charity's Burden Page 3

  Was that the money Charity had referred to?

  “Now we have two deaths in the family,” Virtue added.

  “Thee lost someone else recently?” The poor woman.

  “My husband’s brother, Joseph.” She tilted her head toward a framed portrait on the far wall, a picture now draped in black crepe. “He lived in Newburyport and was much older than my husband. Had made a fortune in rum.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’d fallen away from being a Friend, as thee can imagine, may he rest in peace.”

  “I’m sorry to hear of his demise.” I pictured the man on the horse Ransom had addressed as Joey. “Does he have a son by the same name?”

  “Yes. He was here just before thee arrived.” Her mouth pulled. “Joey doesn’t follow Quaker values, either. He’s my husband’s nephew, but he’s a drunken gambler.”

  “I see. I met him briefly as I arrived with Ransom.” Every family had its black sheep, it seemed.

  We sat in silence for several moments. I closed my eyes and held Charity’s released soul in the Light, as well as that of her mother, still very much of this world. I opened my eyes to see Virtue rubbing the back of one hand with the other.

  She lifted her chin. “I must see my girl. Where did thee say she is?”

  “At the Methodist hospital on Market Street.”

  “Would thee accompany me, Rose?” Her eyes pleaded her case.

  One more delay to my visiting Orpha. But I had to say yes. “Is thee sure thee doesn’t want to remember Charity as she lived, rather than with her soul already released to God?”

  “I have many happy memories of my daughter. Nothing will erase them. But I must say my farewell in the flesh.”

  “Of course I will come. But Ransom—”

  “He can stay here or he can go home. He’s not coming with us.” She stood with her chin lifted.

  “I’m not coming where?” Ransom appeared in the doorway, now without Howie. His shoulders drooped and his face still had that stricken appearance.

  “I’m going with Virtue to view Charity.” I caught myself before I uttered the word body.

  “I have every right to see my wife.” Ransom glared at Virtue.

  “Then thee can exercise that right later today,” Virtue said in a low, steely tone that brooked no argument. “I don’t wish thy company on my sad mission. Now if thee will excuse us.”

  “I don’t mean to intrude, but what about the older children?” I asked Ransom. “Will thee be home for them after school today, Ransom, or will they come here, Virtue?” Someone had to look out for them now.

  Ransom looked from me to Virtue and back. “Charity always took care of the little ones. I’m not sure I know what to do.”

  Virtue’s nostrils flared but she kept her composure. “I will fetch them and bring them here. They are always welcome at my house.”

  “Thank you, Mother. My wife would have appreciated that.”

  Virtue gave a soft snort. “We’ll be going now. Rose?”

  seven

  On the way to the hospital, Virtue said, “We need to fetch my husband. Elias will want to see our girl, too.”

  “We can stop to tell him, but we can’t accommodate a third person in this buggy.”

  She brushed away my comment. “He has his own carriage, of course.”

  I steered Peaches to the haberdashery that Elias had started years ago as a small enterprise making hats for Quaker men. It had blossomed into one of the most highly regarded hat shops in the area, making all manner of toppers for men as well as fanciful head creations for women. It was an ironic business for a Friend to own, since his own wife and daughters wore only plain bonnets.

  “I’ll return in a moment,” Virtue said as she climbed down.

  As I waited, I mulled over Ransom’s reactions to the news of Charity’s death. He’d first asked himself what he would do, and then said her death was his fault. This grieving father was reeling from the news, and must have realized that her pregnancy was due to his insistence on resuming relations too early. I had only lost two clients to childbirth, and both had succumbed by natural causes, but their distressed husbands had not claimed responsibility.

  Virtue reappeared and climbed into the buggy. “He’ll be right along.” She clasped her gloved hands tightly, her gaze downcast.

  A mass of vehicles clogged Market Square ahead and I was forced to pull Peaches to a halt. Men yelled, horses whinnied and huffed, and a church bell tolled twice. A stiff cold breeze chilled me and I pulled my woolen shawl closer around my neck.

  “Rose, if I’d only known,” Virtue said as we waited.

  Her voice was so low I had to strain to hear over the clamor. “Known what?”

  “Charity and I, we’d had a falling out. She was upset I couldn’t help her more. I wanted her to come around. Leave that worthless husband and bring the children home to live with us.” A tear splashed on her glove, and then another. “We’d been estranged for months. I didn’t know how bad it was for my girl. I didn’t know she would die before I could say I loved her and missed her.” She drew out an embroidered handkerchief and patted her eyes. “And now it’s too late.”

  I patted her hand. There was no comfort I could offer, no words that would bring Charity back. A moment later the carriages ahead started to move. I clucked to Peaches to follow them.

  We didn’t have to wait long in the hospital foyer for Elias Swift to arrive. His haunted eyes were damp and the corners of his mouth dragged downward as if he might weep again at any moment. He was a tall, sturdy man with a silver chinstrap beard and normally lively blue eyes under dark brows.

  Nurse Jeanne Peele led us down into the hospital’s keeping room where more than one white-shrouded body lay on trolleys awaiting transport to their final resting place.

  The air was chilly in the somber room. I noticed open vents high on the walls allowing the outside air of winter to naturally cool the bodies. The hospital must have to bring in ice in the summer despite the room being mostly underground.

  The nurse gently folded back the cloth covering Charity’s face, then stepped away, folding her hands in front of her. I was glad for Virtue’s sake someone had smoothed back the dead woman’s hair and wiped her face clean. At first glance one might think she was in repose, but a closer look showed her skin had taken on the waxen quality of a corpse. I had long thought that if anyone had any doubt about the soul persisting in the body after death, they had only to view a deceased person. The physical being was truly merely a shell once the life force departed.

  But now the poor Swifts had to view the shell of their daughter. Virtue—with her rigid spine, ever-neat appearance, and strongly held views—was near collapse, as was her husband. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bent over, stroked Charity’s lifeless cheeks, kissed her brow.

  “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’m so very sorry.” Virtue murmured more words I couldn’t catch. Elias stood behind her wringing his hands. As I watched, Virtue calmed herself, eyes closed, standing with one hand on Charity’s forehead, the other on her heart. I sensed she was praying, holding her daughter’s released soul in the Light. I closed my eyes and did the same.

  After a scant minute, the door opened behind us.

  “You wanted to see me, Nurse Peele?” a man’s voice said.

  I opened my eyes and turned to see John Douglass, a well-known doctor in town with a general practice, which meant he also cared for pregnant and birthing women. My heart sank. In the past he had not been favorably inclined toward my own practice—or that of any midwife, he had once maintained. On our way downstairs I had mentioned to Jeanne that I would like to talk to the supervising doctor about Charity’s bleeding and death. I hadn’t heard that John Douglass had moved from a private practice to here, but he must have. I glanced at Virtue, who paid us no mind and continued her prayerful vigil.

  I moved qu
ietly to the doorway. “It was I, John, who wished to speak with thee.” I spoke as softly as I could and still be audible.

  He shook his head, lips pursed, likely unhappy with my addressing him by his Christian name. His silver hair and full beard of the same hue showed his age as over sixty, but he was vigorous for that stage in life, with keen, clear eyes and a steady hand.

  The nurse nodded, murmuring, “Doctor, this is midwife Rose Carroll.”

  “Oh, we’ve met, Nurse Peele,” he said.

  “Let us step out into the hall.” I gestured toward the door.

  The doctor frowned. “Very well.”

  “I’ll remain in here with the parents,” Jeanne said.

  I waited until the door closed to speak. “Charity Skells summoned me this morning, saying she was taken ill. I brought her here because I was alarmed at the quantity of her bleeding. It seemed too copious for a miscarriage. Does thee know her history?”

  “I do.” He checked a piece of paper in his hand. “Under your care, she lost a prematurely born infant last November.”

  I pressed my lips together at the way he stressed the word your. “I believe she would have lost the baby no matter who was caring for her. None of us have the means to save an infant born two months before its time.”

  “The woman was malnourished, Miss Carroll. I dare say she wouldn’t have given birth so early if she’d been eating the quantity and quality of food a pregnancy requires.”

  I kept my calm. “And would thee have moved her into thy home to feed her?” Why hadn’t Virtue done exactly that? Could she not overcome her husband’s objections to nourish her own daughter?

  “Of course not.” John dismissed my question with scorn in his voice. “There is assistance available. But maybe you don’t offer that to your ladies.”

  How dare he? “John, I help my clients explore all their options for good health. In fact, Charity was receiving donations of food from our church, despite her reluctance to accept a gesture equaling her own name. As a caring mother, she likely gave most of the food to her children. It is her husband, Ransom Skells, to whom thee might better assign the blame for her condition.” I smiled, despite feeling exactly the opposite of cheer and goodwill. “What I wanted to ask the attending physician was his opinion as to her cause of death. Will thee call for an autopsy?”

  “What do you think she died of, if not the miscarriage of an early-term fetus?” He watched me, his hand fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch. He narrowed his eyes. “I hear you’ve been playing lady detective around town. Do you imagine Mrs. Skells was murdered?”

  I gazed at him over the top of my spectacles. “Excuse me. I have not been playing lady detective, as thee puts it.” And I couldn’t imagine why someone would kill a struggling housewife like Charity. “A poorly executed termination is a possible explanation.”

  “An abortion?” he scoffed. “Surely not here in Amesbury. They’re against the law, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Of course I know.” I sighed. Men had no idea the lengths to which women in difficult circumstances would go to avoid one more baby, or one at all. “I also know Charity was tired, impoverished, and with few resources to feed the children she already had. She might have sought out a way to avoid adding one more to her family. At any rate, as her midwife I would like to ask for an autopsy to be carried out. I imagine the police will want to see the results of it, too.”

  The door opened. Jeanne ushered out Virtue and Elias.

  “We’ll go now, Rose,” Elias said.

  “Thank you, Jeanne,” I said. “And thee, John. Please send word when the results become available.”

  “I’ll need Mr. Skells’s permission.” The doctor folded his arms.

  It was a pity the autopsy had to be discussed in front of these deeply saddened parents. “I don’t believe you will, not if the police request it.”

  “Permission for what?” Elias looked bewildered.

  “The police?” Virtue asked. “Request what?”

  I laid a hand on her arm to soften my words as I addressed her and her husband. “To perform an autopsy. We need to determine the exact cause of Charity’s death.”

  “Autopsy? Where they cut the b … person open?” She blinked away the tears that had quickly filled her eyes.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And thee thinks this is necessary?” Elias asked me, his voice so low I could barely hear it. “Why?”

  “I do.” I knew many relatives felt it was a desecration to violate a loved one’s body in any way after death. “It is the only sure way to ascertain the cause of her death.” I would leave it at that. Talk of botched termination or even murder wasn’t necessary. Yet.

  “Elias?” Virtue looked to her husband.

  He gazed at her with a tender look and took both her hands. “I think we should agree.” Elias faced the doctor. “I am Charity’s father, and if it matters, I find no objection.”

  “I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Swift,” the doctor said. “You’ll get your wish, Miss Carroll, only if the husband or the police give the order.” He turned and stalked toward the stairs, grumbling to himself.

  “Elias, if thee pleases?” Virtue said, her spine no longer rigid. Her face looked like it had aged ten years.

  He offered her his elbow. “We thank thee, Nurse Peele,” he said to Jeanne. He and Virtue walked away as if they both wore shoes of lead, their heads bowed and shoulders slumped.

  “I thank thee, as well,” I said.

  Jeanne nodded her head, then leaned closer. “Don’t worry about Doctor. He talks big. But he’ll do what’s right.”

  In my experience, what John Douglass thought was right could be considerably different than my own views.

  eight

  After I left the hospital, I finally directed Peaches to the house on Orchard Street where Orpha resided with her granddaughter Alma Latting, a dressmaker, and Alma’s young family. My former teacher always had a wise word to offer about difficult matters in my practice. Her wit and insights on life in general made her a delight to be around no matter what was going on with my clients. And today I was eager to ask her what she had warned Charity against.

  When Alma answered the door, a tape measure draped around her neck, she welcomed me. But a visit with Orpha was not to be. “I’m afraid my grandmother isn’t in, Rose. She went out with some friends to a quilting bee. She’s been gone since morning and won’t be back until late. I will tell her you called, though.”

  I thanked her. “Please tell her I’ll be by in the morning.”

  “I will. And can you tell—” She stopped abruptly and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, I got something confused. Goodbye, Rose.”

  I retreated to my horse and buggy. Despite being frustrated I still couldn’t learn Charity’s secret, I was glad Orpha was well enough to spend a day quilting. When she’d suffered an apoplectic seizure last summer, I’d been afraid her life would take a steep decline in quality or even end. But the event turned out to be a fairly minor stroke and not the end of her time here on earth at all.

  Another of my mentors, the famous Quaker abolitionist and poet John Greenleaf Whittier, wasn’t available to talk over my concerns with, either. He spent winters with his cousins in Danvers, several towns to the south of here. John was growing more frail with his advanced age and the family was happy to have the tall creative bachelor to feed and fuss over.

  I parted my cloak to check the watch I kept pinned to my bosom. It was already half past two and I had clients coming to the house for antenatal visits beginning at three o’clock. The exchange about the autopsy with Douglass at the hospital had left a bad taste in my mouth despite the nurse’s reassurance. I resolved to pay a quick visit to police detective—and my friend—Kevin Donovan. If he ordered the autopsy b
e done, neither John Douglass nor Ransom Skells would be able to halt it.

  It didn’t take long to reach the centrally located police station downtown. After I gave the lad at the stable around back a coin to watch Peaches, I hurried up the front steps. I greeted Guy Gilbert, the young officer at the front desk.

  “Miss Rose, I spose you’re wanting to talk with Kevin,” he said, standing.

  “Yes, please.” The place smelled as it always did, of old wood, gun oil, and stale tobacco, with an overlay of burnt coffee.

  “Is there a homicide I haven’t heard about?” Guy scrunched up his nose and peered at me.

  “Ah, that’s the question, Guy,” I replied.

  Guy glanced behind me at same time as I heard Kevin’s voice

  “My old friend Rose Carroll, is it?” The detective wore an open coat over his uniform, and his round cheeks were even ruddier than usual from being out in the cold. He was at least a decade older than my own twenty-seven years, but he always looked hale and youthful.

  “Good afternoon, Kevin. May I speak with thee in thy office?”

  “Certainly, but briefly. I have a meeting with our new chief in a few minutes.”

  “It shouldn’t take long.” I followed Kevin back and perched on the chair across from his desk as he shed his coat and also sat.

  The office was in its usual tidy state, with a stack of papers neatly squared on the desk next to a wide blotter. I leaned in to examine a framed drawing on his desk. It was a pencil likeness of a barefoot boy leaning against the trunk of a leafy tree, an open book in his hands, an intent look on his visage.

  “What a lovely picture, Kevin.”