A Changing Light Page 4
I patted her arm. “By and by thee will.”
“But speaking of news—” Faith glanced over her shoulder. “Come into the hall with me.”
We moved around the corner into the hallway where I’d come in.
“Is thee on the case of the Harrington murder?” she asked.
“I spoke with Kevin Donovan about it, but I haven’t really learned anything of interest.”
“Will thee tell me when thee does? If I could get a scoop, they might start taking me seriously around here.”
I would hate to put her in danger by encouraging her to snoop around. On the other hand, she was nineteen, a married woman, and had brave ambitions. After all, I’d put myself in danger more than once in the pursuit of justice.
“I will,” I agreed. “Kevin did mention that the senior Bailey reported some plans having gone missing. You might keep an ear out for information regarding those.”
Her eyebrows went up. “There’s been nothing in the newsroom about that. The Baileys must want to keep it quiet for now.”
I nodded. “And here’s something else thee can do. One of the reasons Kevin values my counsel on cases is because I can go places he never will be able to.”
“Like women’s bedrooms, for instance?”
“Precisely.” I bobbed my head. “Go to the Spring Opening social events. Take notes on who acts suspicious, who talks to whom. Introduce thyself to the ladies. They all love having their names in the newspaper. Thee might overhear a newsworthy confidence or a tidbit thee can use.”
Faith gave me an impulsive hug. “Rose, thee is brilliant.”
I laughed. “Not by any stretch of the imagination. But I am a wee bit older than thee and somewhat more experienced in these matters.” I sobered. “See if Luthera Harrington attends.”
“Does thee suspect the wife?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. By rights Luthera shouldn’t be going out, as she presumably is in mourning. But she seems to be invested in her father’s firm.”
“Montgomery Carriage Company.”
I bobbed my head. “Luthera might well attend,” I said. “Has thee seen her?”
“No, I don’t think so. Or if I did, I didn’t know it was she.”
“She has lovely pale skin like a creamy bleached linen and light hair the color of flax.” I pushed my glasses back up the bridge of my nose. “When I met her yesterday, she was quite stylishly dressed. She should be easy to find. I’m sure all the ladies will be clustering around her offering their sympathies.”
“And hoping to pick up pieces of gossip, I daresay. You know, Rose, I’ll bet Nellie Bly never has to cover balls and teas.”
“The intrepid lady reporter?”
“Yes.” Faith’s face gleamed. “Did thee hear she recently arrived back from her trip around the world?”
“I didn’t. She circumnavigated the entire globe?”
“She did. She traveled alone and sent back reports all along the way. It was quite the feat.”
“Mrs. Weed?” The fresh-faced runner popped his head around the corner, his voice cracking. “Boss wants to see ya.”
“Thank thee,” Faith said to him, but to me she rolled her eyes. “Maybe if I were Nellie Bly, I’d get some respect from my peers.”
An amused snort slipped out of me. “Thee will be more respected even than her in time. Mark my words, Faith Bailey Weed.”
Chapter Nine
Alma set down a bolt of a sprigged lawn fabric she’d been showing me after I left the newsroom.
“I know this one is too colorful for a good Quaker. But it’s quite lightweight for summer, Rose.”
“It’s pretty, I’ll grant thee, but I shouldn’t be wearing flowers,” I said. “And the colors must be muted to conform with our custom of simple dress. Does thee have a lawn in a pale gray or green, perhaps?”
“I don’t here, but I can order some in.”
“Any plain color will do.”
“I wish some of those fancy ladies liked simpler garments.” Alma shook her head. “One of them was in this morning. She’s a new widow and demanded I make her a black dress, but with puffy sleeves as well as the bodice shirring and slimmer skirt profile of this year’s fashions.”
Luthera. “Does she have skin like fine china and light hair?”
Alma scrunched up her nose. “How did you know?”
“I met Luthera Harrington yesterday. She’s a new widow because her husband was murdered last night.”
“Murdered?” Alma nearly screeched, then clapped her hand over her mouth, glancing downstairs toward Orpha’s room.
“Alas, yes.”
“I guess I didn’t attend to the news today. Anyway, she said wanted the dress by tonight. I told her that wasn’t possible, but that I had a new dress close to that style I made for a slender lady whose husband had died. Unfortunately, the lady passed, too, before she could pick up the garment. Mrs. Harrington was reluctant, but she had no alternative.” She glanced at the clock. “I have two hours to finish the alterations.”
Luthera must be determined to attend tonight’s function. Which was unseemly for a widow, but at least she’d be dressed appropriately.
“May I visit with Orpha?” I asked.
“Always.”
We moved through the quiet house. “Where are thy daughters?”
“My husband took them to stay with his parents in Kittery, Maine. Between my work and caring for Nana, I have my hands full, and Mr. Latting was overdue for a visit, anyway. He’ll be back on Sunday, but the girls will stay on another week.”
“Is it thy father or thy mother who is Orpha’s child? I would have thought he or she would want to be here during her last weeks.” Or days. Especially a daughter might long to care for her aged mother as she passed from this world.
Alma cast her gaze upward. “It’s my father who is her son. He’s a rather difficult man, unfortunately. My mother loves Nana, and she would be here. But she obeys her husband, and he wants his wife by his side. If they still lived in Amesbury, I’m sure Mother would find ways to pop in. But they moved down to Ipswich after I married, and it’s too hard for her to get away unnoticed.”
Good heavens. “That’s too bad.”
“Yes, it is.” She gave a quick laugh. “If my husband tried to keep me from doing what I wished? I would no longer be married.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I thought it was a blessing Alma had not adopted her parents’ ways in this regard.
Before we stepped into Orpha’s room, Alma grabbed my hand, stopping me. “Rose, you see babies into the world. Will you be so kind as to see Orpha out? She mentioned to me it would give her great peace to be ushered into the next realm by her favorite midwife. You.”
My throat thickened, but I swallowed down the emotion. “It would be an immense honor, Alma. Traditionally midwives have always assisted at both ends of life. I have a telephone at home.” I could be a death midwife as well as a birthing one.
She nodded.
“I shall continue to stop by every day, but if her death seems imminent, please summon me.”
“And it won’t upset your condition?” She snuck a look at my waist.
“Of course not. This baby is safe inside for the duration. Thee should know, Alma. Thee has borne children. I’m not ill, I’m pregnant.”
I followed her into the room. Alma was obviously keeping my mentor clean and comfortable, as the space blessedly did not smell of urine or worse.
“She’s been sleeping most of the day,” Alma said. “And she’s barely eating, Rose. Wake her, if you can.”
I blew out a breath, then leaned down and touched Orpha’s soft cheek. Her lids drifted open.
“Rose. I’m glad you’re here.” She gave a faint smile. “Alma, dear, may I have some of that soup you offered me earlier? Perhaps Rose can help me sip it.”
Alma bustled off. I picked up the hairbrush on the side table and began stroking Orpha’s hair gently back away from her face. It wasn�
��t completely white, having dark grizzled through, and the texture was soft while still a bit kinky. Orpha had told me long ago she’d had a Negro ancestor generations earlier, which was one reason she’d never turned away any pregnant woman from her care, no matter her skin color.
“That feels lovely,” she murmured.
“Good.” I dampened a cloth from a washbasin and wiped her face and hands. “There. Better?”
“I am much refreshed. Would you mind terribly handing me that small jar?” Her gaze shifted to a squat container on the bedside table. “My skin feels parched.”
I opened the jar and held it for her to scoop out a couple of fingers of a white cream. I inhaled the scent as she gently rubbed it into her face.
“Calendula and lavender.” I smiled at her. “This is why thee always smells lovely.”
“Those herbs are healing, too.” She finished and said, “Help me sit up a little, please.”
I helped her, even though she winced at the effort. After Alma brought the soup, I stayed, feeding Orpha spoonfuls of a thick broth until she’d had enough.
“Did Alma tell you my request?” she asked, after I helped her get comfortable on her pillow.
“She did. Nothing would honor me more than being thy end-of-life midwife, dear Orpha.”
“Good. That’s settled, then.” Her eyes closed.
I slipped out, calling a goodbye to Alma as I went. And wiping my eyes.
Chapter Ten
My perambulation home took me by the Town Hall as the church bells tolled five times. Faith had said the Board of Trade meeting was open to the public, and David wouldn’t be home until six o’clock. I lifted my skirts and marched up the stairs. I might be able to learn something. I’d at least be able to report back to Faith on the proceedings.
I edged into the back of the hall. On a raised floor at the front sat an array of men. I spied the elder Bailey, mill owner Cyrus Hamilton, William Parry, and three other gentlemen. I thought one owned the highly successful hat factory down on the river. I peered at the man next to William and realized it was Jonathan Sherwood, the manager at the Lowell Boat Shop. I’d met him several times during previous investigations and had found him a quiet, intelligent, thoughtful man. The meeting hadn’t started yet, and the board members conversed among themselves, although Mr. Bailey was nodding off.
The audience was made up of shopkeepers and the owners of the many smaller factories who supplied parts and upholstery for the carriage industry. Some women occupied seats, although men comprised the majority. I didn’t know any of them well, but I’d delivered babies for a number of their wives. Ned Bailey sat in a row near the back. I slid into the wooden chair next to him. As I did, a mustachioed man seated behind him raised a dark eyebrow and gave me a rakish grin. His eyes were a startling green in a deeply tanned face.
I nodded at him and greeted Ned as I sat.
“Good evening, Mrs. Dodge. What brings you here?”
“Curiosity, mostly. I’m wondering how the murder of one of our visitors will affect the week’s events.”
“A tragedy, that death,” he said with a somber look, then his expression brightened. “Do you know, even though commerce seems to be flourishing for carriages, I think the future lies in self-propelled vehicles. Motorcars.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “What would propel them?”
“Why, a German put an electric motor in a carriage body only two years ago. It’s called the Flocken Elektrowagen. And another Kraut named Benz added an internal combustion engine to a carriage before that. Imagine it. We could do away with horse-drawn carriages entirely.” Ned’s eyes gleamed.
I gazed at him. He’d always seemed a silly man to me. This looking forward was a new turn for Ned Bailey.
“Even here,” I began, “the horse-drawn trolley is about to disappear in favor of the electrically powered one.”
“I know. I’m thinking Amesbury would be perfect for the new industry. We already build the best carriage bodies. Let us add a source of power and sell them to the world!”
“Will thee start the first Amesbury motorcar company?”
“You’ve read my mind, Mrs. Dodge.”
I remembered what Kevin had said earlier about the plans. “Ned, I heard a rumor about plans being stolen from thy uncle. Does thee know anything about that?”
He whipped his head toward me, his eyes narrowed. “Who did you hear that from?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned what the detective told me. “Oh, around town.”
“What kind of plans?” Ned asked.
“I don’t know.” That, at least, was the truth. Or . . . no—it wasn’t. Kevin had said they were plans for a new design of carriage. I kept my mouth shut even as I wondered if they could be for a horseless carriage. I hoped Ned wasn’t involved in the theft or, worse, responsible for it.
Ned drummed his fingers on his thigh as his heel jiggled up and down, making his leg jitter. I glanced away when my dear friend Bertie Winslow, Amesbury’s postmistress, slid into the seat on the other side of me.
“Bertie, how lovely to see thee.” I smiled at her.
“You know I like to keep my finger on the pulse of the town.” Her hat, trimmed today with a purple ribbon, sat as always at a rakish angle on her curly blond hair. “Hello, there, Mr. Bailey,” she said to Ned.
He nodded at her. “Miss Winslow.”
She squeezed my hand and whispered, “Any news on the you know what?”
I assumed she referred to the murder. “Not yet.”
At the front, Cyrus Hamilton rapped a gavel on the table in front of the board. “The public meeting of the Amesbury Board of Trade will come to order.”
“Come for coffee in the morning?” I asked Bertie. “We can talk then.” My new abode was down the street from where she lived with her sweetheart.
“You’re on, Rosetta. Eight isn’t too early?”
“Not at all.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kevin take a place on the opposite side of the hall, standing with his back to the wall. These mysterious plans had to be at the center of the mystery. Didn’t they?
“The first matter of business tonight is the unfortunate turn of events of which I am sure you are all aware,” Cyrus began.
I’d had some dealings with him two years ago when his son, who was sick in the head, committed a crime. Cyrus himself was a kind man who had shown great generosity to my brother-in-law.
“Mr. Sherwood?” Cyrus gestured toward Jonathan.
“In case any of you has been too busy to read the news today, it is this.” Jonathan stood to speak. “Mr. Justice Harrington of Ottawa, Canada, and the Montgomery Carriage Company, was brutally murdered sometime during last night or the early hours of this morning.”
A gasp went up from several in the audience who apparently had been otherwise occupied. Most of the rest nodded knowingly or in sorrow.
“Our excellent police force is now led by the able Mr. Donovan.” Jonathan gestured toward Kevin, who tipped his hat. “The force is busy investigating.” Jonathan picked up a piece of paper and read from it. “The Board of Trade has determined that the week’s events shall go forward. At tonight’s soiree we shall pay tribute to Mr. Harrington and lift a glass in his memory. We have every confidence that the streets of our fair town are safe, and that our visitors are not at risk. That said, it always behooves one to conduct one’s affairs with all due caution.”
A murmur rose up around me. I was sure people were wondering if perhaps we weren’t entirely safe going about our business, traveling here and there, venturing forth after dark. In fact, a murderer was still at large.
Cyrus rapped the gavel on the table. “Order, please. The board will now move on to two other items of business. Thank you, Mr. Sherwood.”
“I’m leaving, Bertie,” I whispered. “See you in the morning.”
“I’ll be there,” she murmured.
“Good day, Ned. And good luck with thy new venture.”
“Have no fear. I shall.” I knew, coming from him, that “be careful” wasn’t a threat but instead a more caring admonition. I also knew I had many reasons to proceed with caution, a growing baby and a beloved husband being among the very top.
Chapter Eleven
I was ready for the day when Bertie knocked on the back door at eight the next morning. She looked ready, too, in a crisp white shirtwaist, a gray striped skirt, and a stylish turquoise jacket with a matching turquoise ribbon in her plush black hat. Petite Bertie loved fashion.
“Where’s that handsome husband of yours?” She sat at the kitchen table and drew out a wrapped packet.
“He left for Anna Jaques Hospital not ten minutes ago.” I poured her a cup of coffee and sat with mine across from her.
“He should hang out his shingle here in Amesbury. That way, he wouldn’t have to cross the mighty Merrimack River every day.”
“I’ve gently suggested the same. David is considering it. He could affiliate himself with the Methodist Hospital on Market Street instead of the one in Newburyport.”
“I would advise the move.” Bertie unwrapped the packet. “Brought you some of Sophie’s Portuguese sticky buns. They’re quite delicious, and you’re eating for two now.”
“I am, and these look lovely.” I brought plates and napkins to the table. “I thank thee.”
“Sophie finds it relaxing to bake, and it provides a welcome break from her lawyering.” She looked me up and down. “Rose, I daresay you’re fuller of figure than you were yesterday. That baby is growing well in you.”
I’d recently told my good friend the happy news, as well as my nieces and nephews. I now laughed and patted my midsection. “It is growing well, and I feel well, too. Only fuller, as thee says. My new dresses won’t be finished a day too soon.” Today I’d donned my roomiest garment, an older work dress, as I had no client visits this morning. Even it was snug. Still, I took a bite of a bun, and then another. It was never wise for a pregnant woman to skimp on food if it was available.