A Changing Light Read online

  “Very well, then, Mrs. Dodge. I suppose you’re putting your best detective skills to work solving this wretched killing that has threatened to derail our entire Spring Opening.”

  “Not at all.” I kept my voice level. “I’m simply caring for ladies bringing new life into the world, as I do. Good day, William.”

  He nodded, but he’d narrowed his eyes, and his gaze was on the closed door to his office. The concerned look had returned. Why did I have the feeling he was worried for himself, not for his employee?

  Chapter Sixteen

  David and I drove in the buggy to my brother-in-law’s home at six o’clock. It wasn’t too far, but the night had turned colder, and we’d be returning home not until after the family dinner Frederick and his new wife, Winnie, had invited us to.

  “I stopped in at Orpha’s this afternoon, but Alma said she was in a deep sleep,” I said. “David, I fear she might slip away any day now.”

  “That is the way of it.” He shifted the reins to one hand and patted the thick driving blanket covering our legs. “You’ll miss her deeply.”

  “I shall.”

  “Will Faith and Zeb be at the house tonight, do you think?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I held on as we jostled over a bumpy section of Sparhawk Street. “So much happened today I wanted to discuss with thee.”

  “About the murder investigation?”

  “Yes, mostly.” I twisted my gloved hands together. “One part of it is that Annie’s brother Pete, a night watchman, apparently saw Zeb that night in the same alley where the body was found. This afternoon I popped into the Parry showroom to speak with Zeb, but Kevin showed up and took him off for a chat in private.”

  “Zeb? He’s a fine, upstanding young man, and a Quaker, to boot. He wouldn’t have killed anyone.”

  “Never. But when I asked him about what Pete related, he said the man was lying, that he hadn’t been there. He got a rather grim look on his face when he said it. I’m worried about what he might be hiding.”

  “Don’t you think Faith probably knows?” He clucked to Daisy to turn onto Center Street.

  “I’m not sure. She told me he’s been working late this week during the Spring Opening.”

  “Kevin Donovan is a good man. He won’t haul Zeb in on false charges.”

  “I hope not.” Kevin had made mistakes before. He’d better not this time. We pulled up in front of the Baileys’ modest house, which I had called home for several years. My oldest nephew, Luke, trotted down the front steps. At fifteen, he was still growing and was as much of a beanpole as always. His voice had stopped cracking, though, and was now a pleasant baritone.

  “I’ll see to Daisy, David. Here, Aunt Rose. Let me help you down.” Luke extended his hand.

  “Thank thee, dear Luke.” I kissed his cheek once I reached the ground, then left the two of them to unhitch the sleek roan mare and put her in with Star, Frederick’s horse. I made my way through the side door into a warm kitchen fragrant with roasting meat. I also spied apple pies cooling on a shelf.

  “Winnie,” I said to the plump aproned woman at the stove. “These pies are works of art and they smell heavenly.” One had strips of crust woven into a lattice, and the other was decorated with stars cut out of pastry dough.

  She turned and smiled. “Hello, Rose, darling. Those beauties are Mark’s doing.”

  Nephew Mark, now twelve, had become interested in cooking last year. His twin, Matthew, didn’t share the drive to create delicious food.

  “How is thee?” Winnie asked.

  “I am well, thank thee. This wee one is growing apace.” I patted my full waist.

  “As it well might. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Will Faith and Zeb be here?”

  “No.” She leaned down and drew a large pan of scalloped potatoes out of the oven, nicely browned on top, and set it at the edge of the stove. “She said they’re both busy with the Opening. Terrible news about that poor Canadian, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Winnie wiped her hands on her apron. “Rose, I heard a disturbing rumor at the market this afternoon.” She glanced toward the door to the sitting room and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I overheard someone saying the police think Zeb might be the killer. That has to be wrong. How could they think he might have committed such an evil act?”

  “A night watchman spied him in the alley, that’s how.” I let out a breath. “My detective friend, now the acting chief, talked to Zeb this afternoon, but I don’t know what came of the conversation. I agree, Zeb wouldn’t hurt a soul.” I removed my cloak and hat and hung them, then sank onto a chair at the already-set table.

  David and Luke hurried in from outside, and Winnie and David exchanged greetings. David pulled off his gloves and shed his coat, while Luke went to the pump in the sink to wash his hands.

  “It looks like you’ve outdone yourself, Winnie,” David said with a smile.

  Betsy, now ten, rushed in from the front. “Auntie Rose, Uncle David!” She wrapped David in the biggest hug, blond curls escaping her long braid.

  “Hello, sweet Betsy,” I said to her, but I made my way to Luke at the back of the kitchen.

  “Thee knows Annie’s older brother, doesn’t thee?” I asked him in a low voice.

  “Pete? Sure.” He wiped his hands on a towel. “He was helping with our ragtag baseball team last summer. He’s a night watchman now.”

  “I know. Would thee say he is an honest type?”

  “I think so.” My nephew cocked his head. “Why does thee ask?”

  “It’s complicated.” If Pete had told an untruth, why? And if he hadn’t, that meant Zeb was lying, with an even bigger why hanging unanswered.

  “Is this about the murder?” His eyes widened.

  “Frederick, boys,” Winnie called to the other room. “Rose and David are here, and dinner is ready.”

  “It might be,” I murmured.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the buggy in front of Alma’s house, I turned toward David at a few minutes before eight. We’d finished our pie with the Baileys when the telephone had rung in the other room. Frederick answered and summoned me, saying it was Alma. My heart went heavy as I rose and went to the device in the sitting room. I had told Alma this afternoon where I would be during the evening.

  “I think you’d better come now, Rose,” she’d said in a low, somber tone.

  I’d returned to the table and told the family. We all held Orpha in a moment of silent prayer before David drove me over to Orchard Street.

  Now I kissed my husband. “I might be all night,” I said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  “I shall sleep near the telephone. Summon me whenever you’re ready to come home. I will hold Orpha in my prayers even as I slumber.”

  I gazed fondly at him before stepping down and entering the house. Alma sat darning a stocking at Orpha’s bedside when I crept in. She raised a tearstained face.

  “I knew this time was coming. But it’s hard, Rose.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  I touched her shoulder. “I know.” I’d accompanied my sister Harriet on her last journey. She’d been much younger than Orpha and had been felled by illness, not old age. Still, it was those who were left behind who felt the hurt of loss.

  I gazed at my teacher and friend in the bed, this woman who had been an important part of my adult life in myriad ways. She lay on her back with her eyes shut. I stood with my own eyes closed for a moment, holding her soul in God’s Light that her passage might be easy.

  “Alma, let me relieve thee. Has thee supped?”

  “No.”

  “Then go. Eat and go to bed. I’ll be here for the duration.”

  “I’ll eat something.” Alma stood. “I doubt I could sleep, though. I did clean her up an hour ago. She’s not passing much water, but I fitted her out with extra rags.”

  “Has she been in pain, that thee can tell?”

  “I don’t t
hink so. She’s not grimacing nor groaning, but she doesn’t seem conscious. It’s different than being asleep.”

  “Yes, she’s in a comatose state, Alma.”

  She kissed Orpha’s brow and whispered, “I love you, Nana,” before making her way quietly out of the room.

  I smoothed Orpha’s hair back off her forehead before I sat, then took her hand in mine. My mentor’s life ending. My baby’s life beginning. So much change in the world—for good, for bad, for whatever we humans would make of it.

  “Thy passage will be easy, dear Orpha,” I murmured. “Thee will glide away on a soft wave and leave this earthly shell behind. I love thee, and it’s all right to let go.” I kept talking until I ran out of soothing words. I didn’t know if she could hear me or, if she could, if she could make sense of my ramblings. But I had the notion my voice might bring her comfort. I began to sing and started with, “Lullaby, and good night, with roses bedight.”

  Alma came back in after some time and pulled the rocker on the other side of the bed closer to it. She took Orpha’s other hand and joined me in a soft rendition of “Shenandoah,” harmonizing in a sweet soprano that fit well with my lower alto range.

  “Has thee had voice lessons?” I asked her after we’d finished another tune.

  She laughed quietly. “I did, for a time, before I married. Prudence Weed taught me. Once the babies came along, it seemed more practical to take up dressmaking than to pursue a career as a singer.”

  I tilted my head. “Does Prudence have a son named Zeb?”

  “Yes. Faith’s Zeb.”

  “I forgot you know Faith. I guess I didn’t realize Zeb’s mother taught music.” I checked Orpha, but our chatting didn’t seem to have disturbed her.

  “Mrs. Weed doesn’t teach anymore.” Alma raised her eyebrows and turned her mouth down a little. “She’s overly fond of the drink, that one. She would be late for lessons, and one morning she was clearly inebriated. My father threw her out of the house.”

  Good heavens. I brought a hand to my mouth. “I had no idea.”

  “It’s a pity. She has a beautiful voice and has performed onstage. Mrs. Weed was also a good teacher—when she wasn’t more soused than a sailor.”

  Prudence was a Quaker as far as I knew, and we were cautioned not to imbibe. If she hadn’t been raised in the Religious Society of Friends, it was unlikely Zeb’s father would have married her. The strictures on Quakers marrying out were easing of late but they wouldn’t have been twenty-five or thirty years ago. Even I had been read out of Meeting after marrying Unitarian David, but I had appealed and been readmitted within two months’ time. What was Prudence doing becoming intoxicated—or drinking alcohol at all? Faith must know. She and Zeb had lived with his parents for a few months after they’d married. I would ask her next time we met.

  Alma and I lapsed into silence. After a bit I glanced over to see her sleeping in the chair. Good. It might be a long night. In my midwifery practice, I was accustomed to sitting up all night with a woman bringing new life into the world. Helping her through her labor, assisting her to walk the floors, supporting her squats to help bring down the baby, or even simply sitting by her side as she snoozed between pains. I could easily manage an end-of-life sitting up, too. The full moon shone in above the half curtain, lighting Orpha’s way into the next world.

  I slipped out for a moment to use the water closet. When I returned, my teacher’s breathing had become noisy. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes had cracked open, as well. She took in a breath, and when the next didn’t come, I wondered if it had been her last. Should I call Mary Chatigny? She’d asked to be notified. But I didn’t know what she could do. It was growing late, and despite Mary’s vow to her mother, I felt accompanying Orpha was my job, and Alma’s.

  With a gasping inhale, Orpha finally took another breath. This continued for an hour. I tracked the seconds between breaths, exactly as I sometimes counted the seconds between a birthing woman’s contractions. Alma stayed sleeping. I did not wake her.

  Finally, my teacher had no more breaths to take. As I watched, the pink slid out of her skin. I knew her soul had been released from her earthly shell, too, but that was less visible. The clock on the bureau ticked from eleven fifty-nine to twelve as if nothing had happened. I ran my hand over Orpha’s hair one last time, slid her eyelids shut, and kissed her forehead. I straightened the covers, smoothing them over her chest.

  “And thus it is, dear Orpha,” I murmured, removing my spectacles and setting them on the bedside table. I sat, holding her in God’s Light. When quiet tears flowed from my closed lids, I did not wipe them away.

  I didn’t know how long it had been when I felt something stirring within me, as if some small fish had flipped and rippled along the walls of its tank. Except this was my baby. I hadn’t yet felt it move. Clients of mine had described the sensation, and now I truly knew what they meant. I hoped the quickening was a sign that part of Orpha’s spirit had jumped into the tiny life within me. I couldn’t imagine any better parting gift.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Her soul left her body at a few minutes before midnight, David,” I told him after he helped me up into the buggy at an hour past dawn the next morning. “Alma slept through the death, but I finally woke her. We washed Orpha and prepared her. By the time we were done, it was nearly two o’clock and I decided to sleep there for a bit, borrowing the girls’ bed.”

  “You are a most caring friend, my darling.”

  I blinked away more tears. “I was honored to accompany her to her death.”

  We rode in silence until we reached our house.

  “I’m going straight on to the hospital if you don’t mind,” he said, “but I’ll come home early today to comfort you.”

  “That’s fine, and I will welcome thee.” I touched his hand. “I have a bit of happy news to share with thee first. Last night as I sat after she died, I felt our baby move.” I smiled through my fatigue and grief. “It was the first time.”

  He threw his arms around me and murmured into my hair, “That makes me very happy.”

  “Me, as well.” I sat comforted by the warmth of his arms for a moment, then disengaged. “It means the little one continues healthy. By and by, as it grows, thee will be able to feel it kick, but not yet.”

  David sat beaming at me. Daisy nickered. The milkman’s white wagon pulled up. The day’s young sun slanted across the road and through the bare branches of a tall elm.

  “Go on and get thyself to work. I’m going to try to grab a little more sleep before my morning clients come.” I kissed him and climbed down.

  Inside, I put away the milk. I washed my face and hands, used the lavatory, and let down my hair. Ravenous, I scrambled two eggs. I toasted bread and fried a slice of ham to go with the eggs. I sipped a cup of herbal tea instead of coffee but found myself buzzing with thoughts and feelings instead of relaxing into rest.

  The feelings were easy to identify. Grief dragged me down. My body was heavy with it. How I would miss Orpha’s twinkling eyes, her raucous laugh, her wise counsel about all things connected to pregnancy and birth, life and death. Perhaps most of all I was going to miss when she peered into my soul. She had a way of seeing the true me—sometimes before I myself was even aware of what I was experiencing.

  But my mentor’s days had run their course. At least her spirit hadn’t been cut short by illness or violence. It was in the right order of things that old people should die. We humans had no way of stopping that natural progression, nor should we.

  Justice Harrington’s life, however, had not been allowed to follow its own path. I wasn’t surprised my thoughts led me, even as I grieved, to seek his killer. I brought my tea into the office as my grandmother’s clock struck eight. I wanted to gather my thoughts, and I’d found in the past that laying them out in writing could prove useful.

  First, though, I needed to telephone Mary Chatigny. I put the call through to Gertrude, the operator, and waited until Mary answered.r />
  “Mary, I need to tell thee that Orpha’s soul was released to God last night. Alma and I were with her. She died only minutes before midnight.”

  I was met with silence. I hoped she wasn’t upset with me for not summoning her.

  “May her blessed soul rest in peace,” Mary finally said. “She went quietly?”

  Perhaps the good doctor had been praying instead of speaking. “Yes. When I arrived, she was already in a comatose state, and she didn’t seem to be in pain or struggling. After she was gone, Alma and I washed her and laid her out. I’m not sure what the arrangements are now. We were both so exhausted we simply went to sleep at around two in the morning.”

  “I’ll handle that. Mrs. Latting and I have an undertaker arranged. Don’t worry. Thank you for being her death midwife, odd as that sounds.” She gave a low laugh.

  “It does, doesn’t it? I might have to add it to the letterhead on my business stationery.”

  We were both quiet for another moment. I thought about her own letterhead. “Mary, I think thee has a patient named Marie Deorocki. She’s a friend of mine and seems ill with coughing. I heard a rale when she breathed. I’m concerned that she’s still going about town, making purchases and conducting business.”

  “I shouldn’t talk to you about patients, but you are correct. Mrs. Deorocki is ill with tuberculosis. I’m concerned, too. For her own health, and she also could be infecting others. But she refuses to stay home and rest. And she won’t hear of traveling to a sanitarium.”

  “That’s a pity.”

  “If you can persuade her otherwise, it would be a great service to her and her fellow citizens.”

  “I’ll try.” I watched a scarlet cardinal hop on the railing of my porch. “Does William Parry have the disease, too?”

  “Mrs. Dodge, I truly can’t reveal anything else about my patients. It’s all to be confidential.”

  “I understand. Please let me know if thee needs my help with Orpha or anything else.”

  “I shall do so. I expect she’s now in heaven having a good laugh and a piece of berry pie with my mother. That’s a comforting thought, isn’t it?”