A Changing Light Read online

  “Now, let’s talk about the murder before I have to get myself off to the post office.” Bertie’s eyes sparkled. “What do you know?”

  “Alas, almost nothing. Kevin told me something about plans for a new design going missing from the older Bailey’s possession, but he offered no details about the nature of the plans except that they were for a carriage.”

  “Think the dead man might have made off with them and was killed for his misdeed?”

  “Maybe. Before you came into the meeting yesterday, Ned Bailey told me he might be opening a motorcar factory. Apparently in Germany they are either adding electricity or some kind of engine to carriages so they can move under their own power.”

  “A horseless carriage. Just think of it, Rosetta. No more streets filled with manure, no more giving a boy a coin to watch your steed when you run into a store to do an errand. It would be a different world, wouldn’t it?”

  “It certainly would. But what Ned said made me wonder if somehow his plans were involved. When I said I’d heard something about missing plans, he inquired rather sharply and then acted nervous.”

  “What else do you know about the unfortunate Canadian?” she asked.

  At another knock on the door, I went to it. “Faith, what a delight.” I kissed her cheek.

  “I wanted to tell thee about the soiree last night,” she said, rosy-cheeked and breathless.

  “Come in, my dear. Bertie and I are having coffee and discussing the murder.”

  “Of course you are. Why am I not surprised?” Faith laughed and greeted Bertie.

  I brought her a cup of coffee and a plate. Faith was as slender as I, or as I had been before my present condition evidenced itself. She could easily consume a sweet baked treat even if she’d eaten breakfast twenty minutes earlier. She shed her coat and sat.

  “Bertie had just asked about Justice Harrington,” I said. “He worked for his father-in-law’s company, Montgomery Carriages in Ottawa. That’s about the extent of my knowledge. Was Luthera at the soiree, Faith?”

  “Indeed she was, in a new black gown, looking tragic.” She sipped the coffee. “But I had the feeling she was putting on an act. She certainly let the other ladies fuss over her, especially after Robert Clarke led a short tribute to her husband.”

  After I’d delivered the Clarkes’ youngest child almost two years ago, I’d been able to save the mother, Georgia, from hemorrhaging. Her husband, Robert, was a wealthy carriage factory owner, and a generous, civic-minded one.

  “I approached Luthera,” Faith continued. “I asked her if she would be traveling back to Ottawa soon. She told me rather irately that she would of course stay to represent her father’s company for the entire week.”

  “Who knows, maybe theirs was a marriage of convenience,” Bertie said. “She might not be grieving for her husband at all.”

  “Does thee know where Luthera is staying?” I asked Faith.

  “Yes. She’s with the Clarkes. Georgia was there last night, too.”

  “Excellent. I might need to pay a visit on Georgia later today,” I said. “I would like to know more about this Montgomery Carriage Company.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out, as well.” Bertie stood. “Now I must run, or the citizens of Amesbury will be waiting outside the post office ready to have my head.”

  “Thank thee for the buns, Bertie,” I said and extended a hand. “And thank Sophie.”

  “I’ll do that. Lovely to see you, Faith, darling.” She squeezed my hand and made her way out.

  “Did thee overhear anything else of use at the gathering?” I asked Faith.

  “I’m not sure,” my niece replied. “Ned Bailey was there seemingly trying to conduct some manner of business. He would corner this or that businessman and engage them in a hushed conversation, but I doubt he was successful. It’s supposed to be a social affair. The daylight hours are for business, buying and selling and all that, the evenings for including the ladies and getting to know each other on a social level.”

  “How did William Parry act?”

  “Officious, as usual.” She raised a single eyebrow. “But I wondered if he was completely healthy. He kept coughing into his handkerchief.”

  “He might be ill. I saw him going into the tuberculosis doctor’s office yesterday.”

  “Does it seem the disease is worsening of late, Rose? Spreading? I keep hearing of more and more people falling ill to it.”

  “I believe it is. Such ailments are often worse during the winter months, with all the houses shut up and wood and coal smoke being present. And for those weakened by the Asiatic influenza, consumption can be even more dangerous.”

  “That makes sense.” Faith stood. “I’d better get myself off to work, too. Is thee feeling well, Rose?”

  “Very well, indeed. And how is thy husband?”

  “Also very well. Zeb has been busy with the Opening this week, though.”

  “That’s right. He’s moved up in the Parry company.”

  “I’ve barely seen him. He came home quite late last evening.”

  “What has he been busy with?” I asked. “Is he selling, or perhaps displaying the carriages in the showroom?”

  “Some of both. Thee knows how well he speaks. He started out in manufacturing, but they quickly realized someone with his education and well-spoken manner would be better suited interacting with the public.” She blushed. “Rose, I am blissfully happy, making a life with him.”

  “We are both truly blessed with our men, are we not?”

  She hugged me. “Yes, we are.”

  As I tidied up the kitchen, I wished this case were tidier. I knew it wasn’t my business. No one I was close to was being suspected. Still, if I could help Kevin in some way, I would like to. Right now, though, the facts were only dim figures in a thick fog.

  Chapter Twelve

  Annie Beaumont lifted the Pinard horn from my bare belly an hour later. “The heartbeat is still fairly faint, but it’s strong.”

  “Good.” I’d asked my former apprentice and now my assistant to undertake my antenatal care. We sat in my office, which had its own outdoor entrance from the wide covered side porch of our home. David had designed it particularly to enable me to continue my business. It was decorated simply with a desk and swivel chair, a chaise, a sink for handwashing, and a small coal stove. I’d added rose-colored side curtains on the windows, with lace half curtains for my clients’ privacy.

  “It’s a little early for a measurement, but we might as well,” Annie continued. While I still reclined on the examination chaise with my skirts up, she stretched a measuring tape from my pubic bone to the top of my womb. She checked the measurement then glanced at my face as she told me the number. “This seems closer to five months than four, Rose. Are you sure of your dates?” She clapped her hand over her mouth, then laughed. “Look at me, asking the midwife if she’s sure about the date of her last monthly.”

  “Annie, stop that.” I smiled. “I’m in no position to be caring for my own pregnancy. Thee knows that is exactly the right question to ask a pregnant woman, whether it is me or someone else. In any event, it’s possible my cycle was thrown off at the beginning with my body’s new, ah, experiences.” That is, enjoying glorious and frequent intimate acts with my husband. “If thee thinks the size of my uterus seems more appropriate for being five months gone, so be it.” I pulled down my dress and sat up.

  She made a note in my file. “You said you hadn’t experienced early nausea. How are you feeling otherwise? Is your appetite healthy?”

  “I am well. Better than well, truly. I’m eating heartily, and I feel extra energy, with my hair and fingernails strong and growing faster than usual.” I shook my head. “I know our clients have reported the same, but it’s quite remarkable to experience it in one’s own self.”

  “Do you plan to stop riding your bicycle?” She tucked an errant red curl behind her ear.

  “I will, as this creature grows.” I gazed down at my belly a
nd ran my hand over it.

  “Then I think your pregnancy is proceeding in a healthy manner, Mrs. Dodge.” The skin crinkled around her green eyes.

  “And speaking of that. Annie, I would like to offer thee a partnership in my business.”

  Her eyebrows lifted nearly into her hairline. “Me?”

  “Yes. Thee is fully capable of taking on clients of thine own, and I would like to work as equals with thee. We can work out the details, but does that interest thee?”

  “Oh, Rose.” She crossed her hands over her heart. “How far I have come. When I first met you, I couldn’t even read.”

  She and Faith had worked at the Hamilton mill together, but both had had higher ambitions, other dreams to pursue.

  “If Faith hadn’t taught me my letters,” she continued, “and if you hadn’t taken me on as a student, this never would have happened.” She sniffed and swiped at a tear.

  “Well, it has. What does thee say?”

  “I say yes. How else would I answer?” She reached out and gave me a quick hug, then sat again.

  “It’s about time for me to stop accepting new clients who will be due around the time my own child is due, or at least to let them know thee will be their primary midwife, not I.”

  Annie nodded.

  “Thee can use my office here, and we can have new stationery and calling cards printed with both our names on them.”

  “My memere will never believe it.” She frowned. “I should tell you, though, I have moved out of my family’s rooms. I’m lodging at Mrs. Perkell’s now.”

  “Oh? Why is that?” Virginia Perkell, Georgia Clarke’s sister, kept a boardinghouse for young ladies. I myself had resided there until my sister died, then I’d joined my brother-in-law and the children at their home.

  “Tuberculosis down in the Flats is running rampant. You know in what close quarters everyone lives.”

  The tenements at the Flats were mostly populated by immigrant families. French Canadians like Annie’s, with her parents and siblings and her beloved memere, her mother’s mother, all crammed into two rooms. Polish, Irish, and Italian families and workers lived in similar circumstances.

  “I can’t risk getting sick when I’m helping care for mothers-to-be and then their newborn infants,” Annie added. “And Mrs. Perkell has a telephone should you need to summon me.”

  “It’s a responsible move, and Virginia is an excellent housekeeper. I doubt thee will encounter illness there. Now, I think we should discuss our schedules.”

  “Which ladies are due the soonest?”

  “Esther Ayensu on Carpenter Street ought to deliver within the next two weeks, three weeks at the most. It’s her first, and I did the home visit yesterday. All seems to be in order.”

  We talked for a few minutes about another four women under our care.

  Annie stood. “I’d better go. I have an errand to run for my mother.”

  “We’ll speak soon.”

  She turned to go, then faced me again with a frown. “Rose, are you again helping the detective with this terrible murder?”

  “I’m interested in it. As far as I know, not much information has yet come to light.”

  “My older brother Pierrot is a night watchman. He thinks he saw a man near where the body was found.” She crossed herself. “May Mr. Harrington’s soul rest in peace.”

  “The murderer, perhaps? That could be very useful information. I don’t know where Justice’s body was discovered.”

  “It was in the alley behind the opera house.”

  “Was it Pierrot who found the body?”

  “Yes. He was quite disturbed by the experience. He didn’t hear the shots, but when he was making his rounds an hour earlier there, he saw a tall fellow hurrying away.”

  “Has he told the police?”

  “Not about the man. The thing is, Rose, Pierrot knows Faith’s Zeb. And he thinks it might have been him he saw.”

  My mouth dropped open. Zebulon Weed? I shook my head, hard. “Zeb never would have murdered someone.”

  “I know that.” She twisted her hands together. “You know that. But what if the police don’t? We don’t want to get him in trouble. And Faith would never forgive me.”

  I rose and took both her hands. “Thee must tell thy brother he has to go to Detective . . . I mean, Chief Donovan, and tell him what he saw. If it was Zeb, I’m sure he has a completely reasonable explanation. And there are plenty of other tall lanky men in town, especially this week.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I suppose that is the right thing to do.”

  “Does thee want me to pass Kevin a word?”

  “Would you? I’m not sure I can convince Pierrot to pay that visit on his own. My brother goes by Pete. Because people mangle the French, he took on an American nickname.”

  “Pete Beaumont. I’ve got it. Thank thee for telling me, Annie.”

  The door clicked shut behind her. I sank onto a chair, closed my eyes, and held Zeb in God’s Light, praying a door hadn’t clicked shut on his future.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I telephoned the police station and left a message for Kevin that he might want to speak further with night watchman Pete Beaumont about what he saw the night of the murder. I explained where the family lived and left it at that. I had other calls to make, but those I wanted to do in person, and Orpha was on my list to visit, too.

  I parked my bicycle in front of John Greenleaf Whittier’s home on Friend Street as the town’s bells chimed ten. It was a brisk morning, but I was warmed by my ride, and at least the bright skies didn’t portend snow. Two years ago, we’d had a blizzard in late March, and once I’d seen snow on peach blossoms and daffodils in April. Anything could happen with New England weather at this time of year.

  Friend John wasn’t quite as old as my midwifery mentor, but he was increasingly frail and had been spending most of his time with his cousins in Danvers. He’d been a calm, wise voice in my life ever since I moved to Amesbury. I’d heard he was in town and wanted to share my happy news with him. He would likely surprise me with some tidbit of information about the investigation, too.

  Mrs. Cate, his housekeeper, pulled open the door. “Oh, Mrs. Dodge, I’m glad you’ve come. Mr. Whittier is ailing something fierce. Perhaps you can lift his spirits.”

  Ailing? “I’m glad I came. In what way is he not well?”

  She glanced behind her, then back at me, lowering her voice. “I think it’s the melancholy more than anything. Claims he can’t find the words anymore. You can go on into the study. He always enjoys your visits.”

  John sat in his rocking chair near the coal stove. He had a wool stocking cap atop his head, a blue wool shawl wrapped around his neck and shoulders, and a thick red plaid throw over his lap and legs, despite the warmth of the room.

  “Rose, dear. Thee is a lovely sight for old, tired eyes. Do come in and sit with me.” He folded the issue of the Boston Globe he’d been reading and laid it down.

  “Hello, John. I am happy, as always, to see thee.” I gently squeezed his bony hand before I sat, surprised at how cold his thin skin felt. “But thee looks chilled.”

  “It is true. I am never able to quite achieve a comfortable temperature in the colder months. But that’s neither here nor there.” He batted away his personal concerns. “What news does thee bring me from the outside world?”

  Mrs. Cate popped her head in. “Can I get you both some hot tea?”

  “Thank thee, Mrs. Cate,” John said. “Rose?”

  “I would love some.” After the housekeeper left, I continued, “I have a bit of personal good tidings to share. With God’s grace, David and I will be holding our first baby in about four months’ time.” I smiled.

  “Why, that is splendid news, indeed.” He bestowed a rare wide smile, stroking his snowy white chinstrap beard. “I am glad to hear it, and I have every confidence thee will make an excellent mother and thy husband a fine father. I am quite fond of children, as thee kno
ws, despite never having sired any of my own.”

  “I do know.” I remembered how he’d often winked at my young niece Betsy, even when we’d entered Meeting for Worship, even after John was already apparently in prayer on the facing bench reserved for elders.

  “Why, just this week I penned a little poem for a woman who, as a girl, had always longed for my autograph but her father would not allow her to ask me,” John said. “She’s now a married woman and a neighbor of the Cartlands, with whom I reside in Danvers. Would thee like to hear the ending?”

  “I would.”

  He gazed at the ceiling and recited,

  I trace a name, then little known,

  Which since on many winds has blown,

  Glad to make good, however late,

  Her loss at such an early date,

  For which even now I almost pity her,

  By the best wish of,

  John G. Whittier

  “It’s not much, but apparently my little ditty has made her very happy.”

  “It’s a thoughtful gesture, John,” I said.

  “Such a short, silly piece is about all I can muster these days.” He tented his fingers. “Now, I expect thee has come to seek counsel about the dastardly turn of events this week.”

  “I confess that is one of my purposes. Very little is known to date on who might have killed Justice Harrington, and why.”

  “Is that not the height of irony, that a man named Justice should have the ultimate unjust act committed upon him?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes. But it happened, nonetheless.”

  “Thy able detective has enlisted thy keen mind and insights, am I correct?”

  “After a fashion,” I said. “He’s now the acting chief of police.”

  “Ah. I had not heard. He’s up to the job, I’d say.”

  I only nodded. I’d been mistaken thinking John would have any useful information. He’d barely been in town.

  “Shall we hold this situation in God’s Light?” he asked.