Turning the Tide Page 5

  “I’m glad we’re at peace. It would be horrible if thee had to go to war,” Faith said to Zeb.

  “I’m glad, too.” He patted her hand.

  “But thee wouldn’t go if called, would thee?” I asked. Friends were quite clear about refraining from participating in the military for any reason.

  “I expect I wouldn’t,” Zeb said. “Would thee, David?”

  “I would feel obliged to.” He cast me a glance. “As a physician, of course, my skills would be in great demand. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to pass.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. I was sure even being a doctor in a war was terribly dangerous. I couldn’t imagine having found love with David and then losing him to a violent conflict. Although countless wives had experienced the death of their husbands in the War for the Union only a quarter century ago.

  I opened my eyes again when Zeb spoke.

  “Rose,” he said, “Faith tells me thee found a woman dead this morning, and the cause was murder. I know thee has worked with the police before. Does thee have an idea of who might have done the awful deed?”

  “No, and neither does the detective, at least so far. The victim was Rowena Felch, who would have been leading the demonstration on Tuesday. She was very active in the suffrage movement. It could be that a man vehemently opposed to women having the vote killed Rowena, and that he might target other leaders, too.” Because this was my family, and only because, I added the details about Zula and the missing husband, and I mentioned the possibility of an ordinary burglar having struck her so he could get away. “In fact, I saw Guy Gilbert, a policeman I know, detaining a man named Hilarius Bauer today on High Street as I cycled to Meeting for Worship.”

  David stared. “I know this man. There couldn’t be two by such a curious name.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Where does thee know him from?”

  “He did a few days’ work at my parents’ home. He’s a decent carpenter.”

  “And he didn’t run off with the silver?” Faith asked.

  “Not that I’m aware. I wonder if I should put in a good word for him to the police. I believe he’s honest. Or he was with my father, at least.”

  “Kevin said something about collecting the possible suspects in town,” I said. “The motley crew of common thieves, was how he put it. I had the impression Hilarius’s reputation was why Guy put him in the police wagon this morning, not from any actual evidence. But when Guy mentioned Greenwood Street to him, the man suddenly looked frightened. Or nervous, more like.”

  “I do know his mother is quite ill and Hilarius supports her as well as his own family,” David offered.

  “Pertaining to the idea of the killer being against suffrage, I’m on the same shift with a man who never stops talking about why women’s place is in the home,” Zeb said. “He’s quite clear in his mind on matters of who should vote and who shouldn’t.”

  “Are there many like him?” Faith asked.

  “A few. But he’s the most vocal. Others who aren’t even Friends support universal suffrage.”

  “It isn’t necessary to be a Quaker for members of our sex to believe women should have equal rights.” David smiled.

  “Of course, of course.” Zeb went on, “Sometimes this fellow gets into quite the argument on the topic.”

  “What’s his name?” I gazed at Zeb. Was this man Rowena’s murderer?

  “Leroy Dunnsmore.” Zeb tapped the table. “And he’s quite the hotheaded fellow.”

  “Does he seem like a murderer?” David asked. “Although I suppose that’s a foolish question. What would a murderer seem like, after all?”

  “That I cannot answer,” Zeb said.

  “Does thee mind if I pass his name along to Kevin?” I asked him. A yawn escaped me now my anger at Frederick had subsided. I was going to need to sleep, and soon. I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes before replacing them.

  “No, although I suppose to keep the peace on our shift I’d prefer the detective not tell Leroy who gave him his name.”

  “I think he would honor thy request. I thank thee for telling me.”

  “If it helps to catch a killer, why wouldn’t I?” Zeb stood and gathered the plates and forks. “I’ll do the washing up.”

  David also stood and picked up the coffee cups. “I must get home. I have a patient in need of a home visit before sundown.” He set the dishes in the sink.

  “I’ll see thee out.” I walked with him to his waiting doctor’s buggy. His mare Daisy, secured to the hitching post, waited patiently in the traces, her roan coat sleek and shiny in the afternoon sunlight. “I want to tell thee about another unfortunate occurrence from this morning.”

  “Yes?”

  “After Meeting for Worship I was eldered by one of the women.”

  “What does eldered mean?” he asked with furrowed brow.

  “It means being admonished about acting wrongly. She made it clear that when we marry I’ll indeed be read out of Meeting.”

  The corners of his eyes drew down in sympathy. “Truly? When I proposed to you in July, you thought maybe you wouldn’t be expelled.”

  “I was wrong.” I set my fist on my waist. “It’s a stupid custom, not allowing Friends to marry outside the faith. Especially when thee already lives like a Friend, almost!” My ire rose again until my cheeks burned. I wanted to throw something, anything. “Aren’t we living in modern times? I can’t understand why the women feel they must adhere to this archaic custom.”

  “Are you doubting your decision to marry me?” He peered into my eyes.

  “Not at all.” I shook my head, hard. “Not at all.”

  “Good. What about Mr. Whittier? He and thee are friendly. Could he put in a word for you?”

  “I don’t dare ask. The Women’s Business Meeting is quite clear on what is in their domain and what the men handle. Among Friends, marriage is very much under the women’s supervision. Ruby did say I could write a letter making amends after several months’ time had passed, and she said they would consider reinstatement. But it’s not a sure thing at all.”

  “You are a committed Quaker.” He touched my hot cheek. “I know how much it means to you. This will be difficult.”

  “I know.” I tried to calm myself. “Has thy mother come around at all?” Clarinda Dodge was completely opposed to our engagement. She’d been so bold as to lie to me last summer about his feelings. She wanted David’s marriage to cement her—and his—place in society, which she valued greatly. He’d told me she was also worried about what her peers in the Episcopalian Church would think of her son marrying a working woman and a Quaker.

  “My father and I are both working on her. It helps immensely he likes you so much.”

  “I like Herbert, too. I wish I could think of a way to become friendly with Clarinda. Is there any common ground between us?”

  “Besides me, you mean?”

  “Yes, and besides John Whittier.” I’d arranged a meeting between Clarinda, who was an avid fan of John’s poetry, and the man himself, which had pleased her greatly. “She doesn’t knit, does she?”

  He tilted his head to the side and regarded me. “Are you clairvoyant? She took up knitting just last year.”

  “Then perhaps I shall find a few skeins of the most beautiful wool in the world and send it to her as a gift.”

  “Bribery! I like it.” He grinned. “But it might help.”

  “At the very least we’ll have something else to speak of besides poetry when we next meet.”

  He dropped his smile and took my hand. “Rose, dearest, you know how I feel about you, how much I love you. But I can’t bear the thought of causing you pain at being expelled from your faith.” He straightened his shoulders, his expression as somber as I’d ever seen it, and swallowed. “It rips me up to say this, but if you need to choose the Quakers o
ver me, you must.” He clenched his jaw and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

  I stared at him, my own hands suddenly icy, even the one he held in his. “What? Why would I do that?”

  “I only wanted to offer you a choice. I think it will be terribly wrenching for you to be separated from your church and I hate to see you be forced to go through such a cleaving.” His eyes searched my face. “I would be devastated if you decided to avoid the pain of expulsion by letting me go, but I would understand.”

  “I never want to let thee go.” I extracted my hand from his. This was the last straw for me on a day already full of drama and pain. “Thee needs to leave.” My voice shook.

  “But Rosie …”

  I turned back toward the house, my eyes swimming. How could he even suggest such a thing? I didn’t lift my skirts enough, and I tripped on the first step, crashing onto my knees. David rushed to my side. He lifted me up and turned me toward him, enveloping me in his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

  seven

  I awoke in the dark to the sound of wailing. Sitting upright, I found my spectacles and lit the lamp. The clock read six. Had I slept through until the morning, or was it six at night? I was still fully dressed, but being clothed wasn’t a clue, as I had laid down after David’s departure. The memory of our last words flooded back. He’d apologized for offering me a way out of our engagement, saying he was only thinking of my feelings. But now he’d planted a seed of doubt. Had he really been offering himself a way to extricate himself ? I would not blame him if he had. He had many reasons not to marry me. His mother’s approbation. His much more elevated position in society. His thriving professional life. Even our own differences in faith. Having an odd-speaking Quaker for a wife, a wife with her own business—delivering children, no less—and one who somehow kept enmeshing herself in murder? None of these would further his career or his relationship with his mother. He might be feeling more outside pressure than he had let on to me. I knew he loved me. But that was the only thing I was sure of.

  I sighed deep and long, then shook my head to clear it. I ran my tongue over my teeth, hoping to clear it of the taste of fatigue and stale dinner. When the crying I’d heard started up again, I made my way into the sitting room. Betsy sat weeping on Faith’s lap. Both were clothed as they were at our First Day dinner, so it must still be the same day. The three boys were likely upstairs.

  “What’s the matter, dearest Betsy?” I knelt in front of her.

  “I want my papa,” she cried, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

  Faith stroked her hair. “Father hasn’t returned,” she whispered.

  Poor Betsy. She’d already lost her mother. She must live with the fear her father might die, too. So Frederick hadn’t come back from his impetuous storming out four hours ago?

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He must have had matters of business to attend to,” I told my little niece. “Dry thy tears now.”

  She sniffed and swiped at her eyes, her downturned mouth trembling.

  “Does thee have any idea where he could be?” I asked Faith.

  She beckoned to me. I pushed to standing and leaned over so my ear was close to her mouth.

  “The tavern.”

  I rose and stared at her. Frederick Bailey, a Quaker father and teacher, at a tavern? What in the world was he doing at a drinking establishment?

  “He’s been going down there of late” she murmured. “I don’t know if he imbibes or not. Can thee go find him and ask him to come home?”

  I blew out a breath. “I will.” It was not an errand I wanted to do, but Betsy needed her father at home. And Frederick needed to stop acting like a pouting boy the age of the twins. Running off to the tavern, indeed. How had I missed Frederick’s absences? Maybe he only went out when I was at births or visiting with Bertie. Surely he knew I would be most unhappy with him if I found out.

  As I went into the next room, Betsy asked, “What’s imbibes mean?”

  The kitchen was redolent with moisture and a delicious smell. I lifted the lid on a big pot to see a rich pork broth quietly bubbling. Faith must have set the chop bones to simmer. With carrots, onions, and potatoes, we’d have a nice soup for supper.

  “I’ll finish the soup when I return,” I called to her as I donned my outer garments. I drank a cup of water and went outside to relieve myself, then headed down the path on foot. It was too dangerous to bicycle in the dark. I could barely believe I was walking to Hoyt’s Tavern. Visiting a saloon on a First Day evening was entirely the last thing I wanted to do. My ire with Frederick began to rise again, but I banished it. If I were to have any luck bringing him home, I’d have to stay as calm and reasonable as I could. Maybe I should have brought Luke with me for male company. I didn’t want him to know his father was in a saloon, though, and he was only thirteen, with a cracking voice and no hint of a beard as yet.

  I thought of swinging by the police station and leaving Kevin a message about Zeb’s fellow factory worker. But a message could wait until tomorrow. Family came first.

  Luckily, the tavern was only a few blocks distant, on Water Street near the Boston and Maine Railroad depot. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. A cacophony of boisterous voices and clinking of glasses filled the lamplit room. The fumes from alcohol and pipe tobacco nearly overwhelmed me. A polished bar ran the length of the space on the right, with stools in front and a mirrored wall behind. Tables spotted the rest of the room. The noise quieted as the people inside spied me.

  I scanned the faces of the drinkers, which were almost completely male, but didn’t spy Frederick. A rosy-cheeked matron behind the bar dried her hands on her apron and waved me over.

  “Are ye after lookin’ for someone, then, miss?” she asked in a heavy brogue, her green eyes taking in my bonnet. “Because I’m thinkin’ yer not here to drink.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not. I need to find my brother-in-law, Frederick Bailey.” The noise in the saloon returned to its previous level. I was relieved to be able to speak with a woman, whose presence likely kept the rowdier customers in their place. I didn’t feel at all threatened, and it was a brighter and cleaner environment than I’d expected.

  “Ah, Freddy.”

  Freddy? I’d never heard a soul call him by a nickname.

  “Aye, he’s off in yon corner where he makes a custom of sittin’.” She pointed.

  A custom. So Faith was right.

  “He’s got a right brick in his hat again.”

  A brick in his hat? “Pardon me?”

  “Yeh know, three sheets in the wind. Soused. In his cups.”

  “Ah, I see. He’s inebriated. I thank thee.”

  She grinned. “Thought yeh was one o’ them Quakers. With the bonnet and all.”

  “Frederick is, too.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” She whistled. “I guess that makes him some kind of a snollygoster.”

  As far as I knew, the term referred to a politician guided by his own interests rather than moral principles. I supposed it could apply to a Friend whose own interests included drowning his sorrows in drink instead of refraining from intoxicating substances so he could be clear to await God’s help for his concerns.

  The woman smiled fondly. “If I didn’t have me own mister, I might think of setting me hat for old Freddy. Said he’s a widower with wee ones at home. I can tell he’s got himself a good soul under his loneliness.”

  I took a deep breath and made my way across the room. My brother-in-law sat alone at a small table, a tankard in one hand and a book in the other. When he didn’t look up, I cleared my throat.

  “It’s time to come home, brother.”

  He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot. “It’s the high-

  and-mighty suffragette, is it?” He squinted. “Care to join me in an al
e, Rose?”

  “Come along, now. This is no trifle. Betsy’s crying, wondering where thee is.”

  His shoulders slumped. “My little motherless girl.” His gaze seemed to plead with me. “Does thee even know how much I miss my Harriet?” He slurred his words.

  “I miss her, too. But she’s gone, and right now thy daughter needs thee.” It sounded heartless, but it was true. Nothing would ever bring Harriet back. “All the children need thee.”

  “Faith doesn’t need me. Saying she’s going off to your women’s demonstration. What if she’s hurt, Rose? What then?” He coughed. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with thee earlier. But I would die if something happened to any of my precious little ones.”

  I’d never heard him express emotions like this. It must be the drink. “I’ll watch out for her.” I pried the tankard out of his hand and took the book from him. I held out my hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Thee is a regular rouser, Rose,” he protested. Still, he placed both hands on the table and pushed to standing, but listed to the side. I grabbed his arm. He was a stocky man and had to weigh eighty pounds more than me. How was I going to get him home if he was this unsteady on his feet? A wiry fellow hurried over and took his other arm.

  “Whoa, there, Freddy,” the man said. “Steady on.”

  “Thanks, Bauer.” Frederick gave the man a wan smile. “This is my sister-in-law, Rose Carroll. Midwife and guardian angel. Rose, Hilarius Bauer.”

  I took another look. So it was, the man Guy had taken in for questioning. The police had obviously released him.

  “Good evening, Hilarius,” I said. “I don’t suppose thee would be able to help me walk this man home? It’s only a few blocks.”

  “Certainly,” he said. “And I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.” He tipped his cap.

  “I, as well.” We made our way to the door. “Thank thee, ma’am,” I said to the matron.