Taken Too Soon Read online

  “That’s why we asked thee down here, Rose. We need help getting to the bottom of this. It’s going to destroy Tilly if we don’t.” Dru stood. “Now, if thee will spare me thy husband for a few minutes, I’d like him to walk me over to Huldah and Sadie’s.”

  David, ever polite, also rose.

  “To fetch Tilly?” I asked.

  “No. She and I will be sleeping there tonight.” My aunt blushed. “We thought, since you two missed your wedding night in a fancy hotel, the least we could do was give you this house to yourselves tonight. Sadie has plenty of beds.”

  David glanced my way with a confused expression. “We were going to continue on to the Tower House Hotel in Falmouth, Miss Dru.”

  I gazed back. “But we aren’t certain they have a room for us tonight, and it’s been such a long day.”

  He squinted at me. “It is late.” He parceled out his words. “We may as well stay here.”

  I tilted my head and smiled. “It’s a truly lovely gesture, Aunt Dru, and the best wedding gift thee could have given us. We both thank thee.”

  “First door on the right upstairs.” She pointed up. “It’s my room, but the sheets are freshly clean, and I left out clean towels. You’ll find breakfast things in the kitchen, and an apple pie, as well. We’ll see you at Meeting for Worship at ten o’clock tomorrow, I trust? Thee can’t miss the Meetinghouse. It’s down the lane from here, surrounded by the burying grounds. We’ll save thee and David seats next to us in our usual pew. We sit in the front row, fair warning.”

  So we’d be on display. Oh, well. My aunts were longtime members and deserved their preferred seats. “We will be there,” I said. “What about a key to the door of the house?”

  She gave a laugh like small bells jingling. “It’s in the keyhole, but no one bothers to lock their doors in West Falmouth, Rose. There’s simply no need.”

  “But what about talking with the detective?” I asked. “Won’t we be doing that early, perhaps?”

  “All in due time, Rose.” Dru turned toward the door.

  “I shall return, dear wife.”

  My breath rushed in and I clapped my hand to my mouth. If Frannie was indeed murdered, where was the killer? Had he fled town, or was he lurking outside to do more harm?

  “Be careful, will thee?” I murmured to David.

  He touched my cheek. “Yes, wife, I will.” David held out his elbow to Dru. “Your carriage awaits, madam.”

  Chapter Six

  First sunshine peeked through lacy bedroom curtains at the same time as the first train rumbled by outside, rattling the windows. It didn’t bother me. So what if we weren’t to see the officer on Frannie’s case until later? I luxuriated in the arms of my still slumbering husband, my hair loose on the pillow. What a true gift Aunt Dru had bestowed upon us, letting us cavort in our first marital bed free of cares.

  And cavort we had. Both slowly and exuberantly, with care and with abandon, arousing sensations beyond limits. I’d examined nearly every inch of his fine body—the first grown man I’d ever set eyes on in all his naked glory—and he mine. I now slid quietly around to spoon my back with his front, stifling a laugh to see our clothing tossed around the room by the hurricane of our passion.

  In the light of day I idly wondered why my aunts had summoned me. Did they already know the local force was not up to solving Frannie’s murder? With any luck, the authorities would be competent and would solve the case promptly, and I wouldn’t need to become involved except to help comfort Tilly in her grief. I could have spent a week not leaving this very room, as long as David was in it, too.

  The man behind me stirred, then murmured the same sound he made while eating a favorite delicacy. He tightened his arms and kissed the hollow below my ear.

  “Good morning, wife,” he growled.

  “Mmm. A fine morning it is, husband.” I rolled back to face him, and an entire hour passed before we rose from the bed.

  By the time I’d cleaned up, garbed myself in a day dress, and tidied our belongings and the bed, he had breakfast under way. He’d started the stove, found coffee supplies, and had a potful waiting. He’d also located milk, eggs, jam, and bread, and stood barefooted with an apron tied over his shirt and pants, stirring eggs in a bowl. Two plates, mugs, and forks were set on the kitchen table, which was already covered with a red gingham cloth.

  “Madam, your breakfast will arrive shortly.” His cheeks were rosy and his hair damp. “Please sit and I will pour your morning libation.”

  “My, what a fine hotel. But seriously, David, thee doesn’t have to wait on me,” I protested. I sat, anyway.

  “I insist, Mrs. Dodge.”

  “Oh, now, let’s not make a habit of that. In my mind Clarinda is Mrs. Dodge, not me.” When I saw him pull his mouth to the side, I hurried to clarify. “I only mean the appellation is new for me, David. Of course I am Rose Dodge now, and I’m proud to claim the name. But as a Friend, thee knows full well we don’t consort with titles.”

  “Of course I know. Rose Dodge it is.” A minute later he loaded up my plate with a flourish, filled his own, and joined me at the table. After we joined hands for a moment of silent grace, he asked, “Odd, isn’t it, that your aunts wanted us to hurry down here? There doesn’t seem to be a bit of urgency in the air.”

  “I know. I thought at the very least they would have made an early appointment with the detective. And did it strike you that Dru didn’t seem to be grieving?”

  “I admit it did. She is elderly, though, and perhaps is suffering from a lack of mental acuity.”

  “I suppose so.”

  By eight thirty we’d eaten our breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen. “Fancy a quick walk to the closest water?” he asked, sitting to don his shoes.

  “Please, as long as we leave here ready to proceed straight back to the Meetinghouse.”

  “I’ve got my pocket watch, so we won’t be late.”

  I ran upstairs to grab my bonnet. I was about to run back down as quickly but slowed at an open door I hadn’t focused on last evening. I peeked into what had to be Frannie’s room. I didn’t want to take the time now, but I promised myself to come back to it later. Perhaps a thorough search would at least give me a clue into her life and character, if not the identity of her murderer.

  Not five minutes later we’d arrived at an inlet on Buzzard’s Bay, which I could spy beyond a spit of land. The tide was out, leaving the inlet a shallow pool. Despite it being First Day, clam-diggers dug their wide forks in the mud for the delicious bivalves.

  “Didn’t Aunt Dru say Frannie’s young man was a clam-digger?” I asked.

  “She did. Reuben Baxter.”

  “I wonder if we’re looking at him.” In front of us were adult women, young men, children, and even a plodding old man, all digging in the mud. Most wore knit caps, old jackets, and high boots. But would Reuben be working if his sweetheart had died the day before?

  David laughed. “I wish you luck identifying any of these searchers unless you already know them.”

  Two of the large saltwater raptors called fish hawks dipped and soared above, and the smell of salt water on the fresh breeze made me nearly swoon.

  “Does thee love the sea like I do?” I asked, my hand tucked through David’s arm as we strolled on.

  “I do love it. I’ll tell you, I’m surprised Currie has been living down here. He had quite the terrifying experience in the ocean during his young teen years, and I’m sure he has neither been in the water nor out on a boat since.”

  “Oh? Do tell.” The floodgate on stories about his brother had lifted, apparently. I looked forward to learning more about David’s childhood, and his brother’s as well.

  “We were out at a family gathering on Plum Island. My brother was fourteen and I was ten. True to form, Mother was paying attention only to the other ladies, Father played football in the sand with the older boys and my uncles, and Currie and I were left to get up to mischief with our younger cousins.” He strolled o
n a bit, then paused at the West Falmouth dock. “It was this time of year. A big storm was either approaching or departing the area, and the Atlantic was high and rough.”

  “Let me guess. Currie decided to go for a swim.”

  David frowned. “Yes. He was a good swimmer, but conditions were treacherous. Do you know what undertow is, and riptides?”

  “I’ve heard the terms. Explain them, please.”

  “Undertow pulls a swimmer underwater. Plum Island Beach in places has a steep drop-off, so the water becomes deep immediately. The conditions can lend themselves to undertow. A riptide is when, sometimes due to storms, a swimmer can get out beyond the breakers and not be able to swim straight back to shore. Many have drowned from both situations.”

  I kept my silence, but I stroked his arm with my other hand.

  “We nearly lost my brother that day. He floundered and called out, but we children had traveled a ways down the beach in our play. I yelled and waved my arms at the adults. I couldn’t get their attention. Currie was the oldest among us young ones. I wanted to swim out and save him, but I wasn’t yet very tall or strong. I knew if I tried we’d both drown.”

  “What happened?”

  “A passing fishing boat saw my brother’s distress and was able to pull close enough to toss him a life preserver. My mother never bought fish from anyone other than that man again.”

  A clear sign that Clarinda was grateful for not losing her son, and that she loved him, even if she had trouble showing it. “The experience must have scarred Currie,” I said. That, combined with difficulties in school and an overbearing and critical mother—despite her gratitude that he hadn’t been lost—could have contributed to whatever trouble he was having as an adult.

  “I believe it did, Rose. I do believe it did.”

  Chapter Seven

  A bit windblown and flush of cheek after our walk, David and I slid into a front-row pew next to Tilly and Dru in the West Falmouth Meetinghouse at a few minutes before ten o’clock. After I squeezed Tilly’s bony hand, she turned her black-bonneted head and gave me one of the saddest looks I’d ever witnessed. I bobbed my head once in understanding. She folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.

  I gave a quick glance to my other side, where David’s eyes were also shut, his hands resting loosely on his thighs, his body still. My heart nearly burst at having married this man—a person with few prior experiences of silent worship, an avowed Unitarian—who was willing to join me at least occasionally in seeking for God’s Light after the manner of Friends.

  Before settling into the silence, which was still full of shoes thumping and benches creaking as members hurried in, I gazed around the Meetinghouse. In construction, it was nearly identical to our building in Amesbury. It featured two sides full of pews with a center divider now raised but able to be lowered. It had a lofty ceiling and an upstairs balcony above the entry hall for additional seating. The lower part of the walls here, though, were lined with wood paneling where ours were plain, and the building had one fewer tall window on each side. Paned sliding windows could close off the upstairs, where ours was open above the half wall. The entire interior presented a more elaborate and darker face than Amesbury’s simple, light-filled worship rooms. The differences didn’t matter. I could sit in expectant waiting on God wherever I was.

  When I worshipped in Amesbury, experiencing Friends’ gradually quieting was something I craved. West Falmouth Meeting was no exception. Latecomers sat. The rustling of clothing stilled. Benches ceased creaking. The children of the community were ushered out by a couple for First Day School. All around me breathing slowed and, as John Whittier so eloquently put it, the outer world fell away and left us God alone.

  A pang invaded my quieting. For eight years I had been worshiping with Amesbury Friends. I knew the women’s business meeting planned to read me out—that is, expel me—because of my marriage to David, who was not a member of our religious society. The more liberal Lawrence Meeting, where I had worshipped growing up, had allowed our Meeting for Worship for Marriage to go forward under their care, but when I returned to Amesbury I would not be welcome in our beautiful and peaceful Meetinghouse. I could write a letter of appeal to be reinstated, and I planned to do so without delay. I knew John Whittier would argue my cause with the women. Still, I would have some weeks of empty First Days until they allowed me to return. I blew out a breath. That was neither here nor now.

  But the rejection, on top of Currie bringing both strife and joy into our wedding reception and then my being called to solve a murder, tinged what should have been my day of joy. If I were a more negative person, I might wonder if it all added up to a bad omen for my marriage in the years ahead. On the contrary, I tended to go through life with a measure of optimism that things would turn out for the best. I would not let darkness shade my love for David and our life together. I settled my shoulders and my mind and returned to the worship at hand, beginning with holding Frannie’s soul in the Light of God.

  My reverie was interrupted some time later when a sonorous voice dropped into the silence. I opened my eyes. An older man had risen from the facing bench, the seats reserved for the elders of the Meeting. He clasped his hands in front of a plain suit but one cut from very fine cloth, I could see even from here. His flat-brimmed hat and chinstrap beard marked him as a Friend. The quality of his shoes, the cloth of his shirt, the cut of his suit, every inch of him revealed that this was a Quaker with considerable financial resources. Except . . . was a button missing from the coat? I peered. Maybe he’d simply forgotten to fasten it. I imagined someone like him wouldn’t go too long without having a repair done, unless he was slovenly about his appearance.

  “Some of us are blessed with long lives in which to do God’s blessed work. Others are placed on this earth for a shorter period of time. Our Frannie was one of those.” His voice was pious and somber. “May she rest in peace, and may we honor her memory as we continue without her.” He sat with a thump.

  He’d brought the outer world right back inside. Tilly’s shoulders shook. Dru’s arm crept around her and I took my angular aunt’s hand in mine as I held Tilly in the Light. Being me, I also held the local detective in God’s Light, whomever he might be, that his investigation proceed with truth and all due dispatch. Finding Frannie’s killer wouldn’t bring her back, but it might provide some measure of solace to her devastated guardian.

  The rest of the worship reverted to silence and ended with Friends exchanging the handshake of fellowship. Quaker after Quaker approached my aunts to offer condolences. David and I were introduced to each. A couple who were about my parents’ age hung back until the crush was over.

  “Thee must be niece Rose,” the woman said when she drew near. “I’m Sadie Gifford, and this is my husband, Huldah.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet thee, Sadie, and thee, Huldah. May I introduce my husband, David Dodge?”

  They exchanged greetings, plus handshakes for the men.

  “Rose, we hope thee and David will join us for First Day dinner whenever Tilly and Dru are finished here.” Sadie smiled at both of us. “We’d love to get to know the newly wedded couple better.” She lowered her voice. “And I don’t want the grieving sisters even thinking about cooking at a time like this.”

  I glanced at David, who nodded, as I knew he would. “We would be honored, and I thank thee, Sadie,” I said.

  “That’s settled, then. Huldah, shall we be off?” She took his arm and they bustled away.

  I smiled to myself, resettling my spectacles on the bridge of my nose. She reminded me of my mother, warm and hospitable but with a no-nonsense air about her.

  The man who had offered the sole message during worship came up to a still-seated Tilly and took her hand.

  “My dear Tilly.” His beard was rust-colored, with the pale green eyes that often accompanied that coloring. The skin was puffy around his eyes, not from sorrow, I thought, but from excessive indulgences.

  “Abial, we
thank thee for thy words,” Dru murmured.

  Tilly raised a gaunt face and stood, letting him help her up. “I don’t believe Frannie’s soul will rest easy anywhere until her murderer is apprehended.”

  Abial’s eyebrows went up but he didn’t react otherwise. “Of course, Tilly.”

  “May I present our niece, Rose Carroll, and her husband of less than a day, David Dodge? Or, Rose Dodge, I should have said. Rose and David, this is Abial Latting, one of this Meeting’s stalwarts and benefactors.”

  “Many felicitations to thee, Rose, and to thee, David.” He and David shook hands. “It is a great blessing that Rose came to provide comfort and solace to her dear relatives, and that thee accompanied her, so soon after the happy occasion.” Abial didn’t quite smile but his expression was welcoming.

  Or at least it seemed he wanted it to come across that way. I shook off a feeling of unease. The man appeared to be a successful businessman, and he was certainly a Friend. I didn’t need to indulge my suspicious tendencies. On the other hand, if the police were correct, someone around here had killed a young woman. Perhaps suspicions were exactly what I needed to dwell on.

  Chapter Eight

  By half past twelve, I stood in the hallway of Sadie and Huldah’s home with Tilly before we joined the others for dinner. I’d wanted a word with her alone.

  “Aunt Tilly, I am so very sorry about Frannie. I wish I had known her better.”

  Haunted eyes gazed at me from a face the color of bleached linen. “I wish thee had, too, Rose. Thank thee for coming so quickly. I hadn’t meant to interrupt thy marriage celebration.”

  I had to strain to hear her near whisper. “It’s all right. We are glad to be here.” I embraced her, feeling her bony shoulders through the black cotton of her dress.

  She didn’t hug me back, as if it would take too much effort.

  “Let’s go in.” I took her hand.