A Changing Light Page 8

  “It is.”

  We said our farewells and ended the call. I didn’t have as clear an image of the afterlife as that held by practitioners of other religions or even some of my fellow Friends. I did have faith that Orpha’s soul was resting easy, wherever it had landed. I resolved to make my own mind easy about the unsettling events of this week. Only then would I be able to rest.

  After I laid out a fresh sheet of paper and sharpened a pencil, I began to jot down what I knew, as well as which questions remained.

  Justice shot. Where is the gun? Who killed him? Did wife abuse him?

  Luthera. Reason to want husband dead?

  The stolen plans. Ned’s? Plans for what, exactly?

  Night watchman saw tall person running. Zeb? Who? Need to talk to Pete. If Zeb, why?

  William Parry. Heard arguing with Justice. Is William involved? Why?

  I sat back. What else did I know, or need to know? I thought of one more item.

  Wilson, Georgia’s driver. What time did he bring Luthera home?

  The bell in the hall sounded, the one attached to the twisting handle in the front door.

  “Rose?” Faith called from outside. She pounded at the entrance.

  “Just a minute,” I called as I hurried to pull open the door. “Faith, come in.”

  “I can’t. But . . .” Her voice trailed off. Her bonnet was askew, and her cheeks were flushed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Zeb. They think he—” Her words rushed out, ending in a sob. She brought a shaking hand to her mouth.

  “Step inside, dear Faith. It’s cold, and thee is upset.” I pulled her in, shutting the door. I kept hold of her arm and persuaded her to perch on the settee in the sitting room next to me. “Now, take a deep breath and tell me what has happened.”

  “I tried to call thee last night, but no one answered. Kevin Donovan questioned Zeb yesterday. Someone claimed he saw Zeb the night of the murder.”

  “I know,” I said in a soft voice.

  “Thee does?” She stared at me.

  “I was at the Parry showroom yesterday afternoon when Kevin arrived, saying he needed to speak with Zeb in private.”

  “But Rose! Zeb is a gentle man. He never would hurt anyone, ever.”

  “Faith, calm thyself.” I took her hand. “Did Kevin arrest him?”

  “No.”

  “Did he detain him at the police station?”

  She shook her head.

  “That means Zeb is not in trouble.” Yet. “That said, does thee feel he hides anything from thee? Does thee know if he was out late working that night, or was he perhaps doing something different about which he didn’t want to inform thee?”

  Faith let out a noisy breath and reclaimed her hand, clasping it with the other in her lap. “I’ve never told thee, but his mother has a terrible habit of drinking alcohol, and far too much of it.”

  “Prudence.” Exactly what Alma had said.

  “Yes. I know about her habit, because we lived with them for a time. But Zeb is desperately unhappy about it. He’s worried about her, and he feels ashamed, too. I think he might have been out helping her the night of the murder.”

  “Has thee asked him directly?”

  “No.” She glanced at the clock, which read eight forty-five. “Criminy.”

  “Faith . . .” I gently scolded her for using a euphemism for Christ.

  “I know. I shouldn’t utter that word. But I have to be at the newspaper office at nine.” She stood. “Thank thee for listening, Rose. I pray thee is working hard on the case.”

  “As hard as I can. As is Kevin, I can assure thee.”

  Faith tossed her head as if she didn’t believe me. “He needs to be looking in an entirely different direction, in my opinion.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After Faith left, I returned to my office. I hadn’t even had the chance to tell her about Orpha. That news could wait. I’d resumed staring at my list when Akwasi Ayensu rapped on my office door.

  Esther’s tall, dark husband worried his cap in his large hands. “Rose, Esther believes the baby is coming. She needs you.” Despite Akwasi attending Amesbury Friends’ worship, John Whittier hadn’t been successful in convincing him to adopt our rather archaic ways of speaking.

  I wasn’t surprised at his words. The full moon often brought on labor. “I’ll come straight away,” I said. “Go and sit with her. Smooth her brow, hold her hand. Persuade her to take deep slow breaths during the pains. Can thee do that?”

  “I will do anything for her.” His expression of worry made his ears stick out from his head even more than usual. “But isn’t it too early for the baby?”

  “Not too. Esther is within what we call the safe period of time for birth. Thy baby is well big enough to survive outside the womb.”

  “He is?” His deep brown eyes widened, and he allowed himself a little smile.

  “Yes. Off with thee now. I’ll be along within the half hour.”

  He clapped his cap onto his head and rushed away. I didn’t hurry as I changed my dress, pinned up my hair again, checked my birthing satchel. This was a first birth and was unlikely to speed along. When a woman’s body hadn’t yet stretched all the way open to let out a baby even once, labor was usually somewhat prolonged. I was glad I’d had a big breakfast. It occurred to me that I’d never asked if Esther was willing to speak with Kevin about the argument she’d overheard. It was too late, now.

  I put in a call to Annie at Mrs. Perkell’s. “Esther Ayensu is in labor. Can thee meet me at the house?” I gave her the number on Carpenter Street.

  “Yes. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “I doubt it’s urgent. Take time to eat something. It’s her first, and we could be there for many hours.” I rang off and lettered a notice for my morning’s clients, saying I had been summoned to a birth, and we would reschedule their appointments. After I fixed it to the outside of my office door, I scribbled a note to David about my whereabouts, donned my shoes and cloak, and set off to do what I did best. I’d have to leave solving the murder to Kevin, and rightly so. And postpone my rest, as well.

  I was halfway there, feeling lightheaded from my fatigue, when I realized my hands were also light. I’d forgotten my satchel. I shook my head in disbelief. I was on my way to a birth, after all. Reversing direction, I walked back down nearly the entire length of Whittier Street. A chickadee buzzed from an oak tree under the slate-colored sky. I sniffed the air, picking up the metallic scent of impending snow.

  As I passed Bertie’s cottage, which was tucked behind a larger mansard-roofed home, she emerged from the back leading her horse, Grover.

  “What ho, Rose?” She smiled at me. “Out for your morning constitutional?”

  “Not exactly. I was on my way to a birth on Carpenter Street, but I forgot my birthing satchel.”

  “Is this Rose Carroll Dodge or some alien being inhabiting your body?” She peered into my face. “You never forget your bag of tricks. Is your condition addling your brilliant brain?”

  “That’s possible. But it’s more that . . .” My voice trailed off as my throat thickened with emotion. I swallowed it down. “Oh, Bertie. Orpha died last night.”

  Bertie quickly tied the horse to a hitching post and held out her arms. “Poor Rosetta.”

  I let her hug me. Her embrace felt nearly as good as David’s had. I sniffed and pulled apart. “She was old. It was her time.”

  “I know. But she was a wise old woman, and we need those in our lives. And you loved her. I’m sorry, my dear.” She pulled a clean folded handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and handed it to me.

  “Thank thee.” I dabbed my eyes.

  “Say, did I tell you I reconciled with my own not-so-wise old woman?”

  “Thy mother?” I knew Bertie had been estranged from her mother for some years.

  She nodded. “I decided to let past hurts stay in the past where they belong. I’m quite enjoying getting to know the old bag again.”


  “Thy mother must be a pip. Look who she raised.” I swiped away the rest of my tears.

  “She is.” A black gelding clopped by pulling a late-model phaeton. Grover whinnied at the horse. “Sure are a lot of carriages around this week. The Board of Trade even hauled Sophie in to translate for a couple of the visitors.”

  “Because of her Portuguese?”

  “Yes. She grew up speaking it with her daddy. And now she’s interpreting for a handsome green-eyed Brazilian gent and a man from Lisbon. Although the Brazilian speaks English well enough, as she discovered.”

  “I think I might have seen the Brazilian around.”

  “He’s quite the charmer.”

  With a start, I remembered my mission, as well as the time. “Bertie, why isn’t thee at the post office?”

  “I was just headed down there. My assistant opens up on Thursdays. There’s no rush.”

  I thought. Bertie had her finger on the pulse of the town. “Has thee heard anything of interest about the murder?”

  “You haven’t solved it yet?” She elbowed me with a grin.

  “Goodness, no.”

  “As a matter of fact, I might have a tidbit for you,” she said. “I heard the Parry factory might be closing down. They’re in some kind of financial straits.”

  “Interesting. What kind of straits?”

  “Don’t know.” Bertie cocked her head. “Maybe despair pushed Mr. Parry to kill the Canadian.”

  “But why?”

  “Ah, that’s for you and your detective to ferret out.”

  “I was at the Parry open house yesterday,” I said. “All seemed well with the business. If they close, Faith’s Zeb would be out of a job, more’s the pity.”

  “Zeb Weed. Prudence’s son.” Bertie frowned. “I read the name in the newspaper just now.”

  My eyes widened. “Zeb’s or Prudence’s?”

  “No, not the Quaker sot.”

  I nearly reeled from the description. “Thee knows she drinks?”

  “Everybody does. Once upon a time I would enjoy a spot of sherry with her. But her spot always turned into the whole bottle. She can get unpleasant under those circumstances.”

  “I wonder how I only learned of her predilection this week.” It was truly curious I’d never heard even a whisper about Prudence’s overindulgence in drink.

  “Because you’re a good Quaker, Rose, who refrains from imbibing, and you have other things to do with your life than gossip. At any rate, it was her son whose name I read in the Amesbury Chronicle,” Bertie went on. “The article said Zebulon Weed is a person of interest in the homicide.”

  “But Faith said he hasn’t been detained by the police or charged with anything. Thee knows they must be wrong about him.”

  “I don’t know the fellow, Rose. Everyone has their dark side. I hope for your family’s sake he’s innocent, though. Now, I thought you had a birth to get to.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Esther’s labor was going along much faster than labors progressed for many first-time mothers. Annie and I exiled Akwasi out back to his carpentry shop after he hovered in the bedroom, looking worried and helpless. Esther said she wanted to walk. Annie and I took turns walking circuits through the small home, stopping with her to concentrate on a contraction when it came. She was quiet and stoic about the pain, focusing inward on her body.

  I pushed any thoughts of Zeb having a dark side into the back of my brain. I was here to be a midwife, not a detective. And every time I felt grief for Orpha rise up, I pushed it back down, as well. She would be the first to tell me that, during a labor, the mother-to-be was more important than our personal lives.

  As we paused in the kitchen for a pain, Esther’s gaze fell on the calligraphy cards and supplies on the table. After the contraction passed, she spoke.

  “Rose, if I don’t survive, will you make sure the Board of Trade pays Akwasi for my work?”

  “Nonsense. Thee will survive.” It was true, some women did not make it through a birth alive, but Esther would not be one of them. She was healthy and young enough, and I had a good feeling about this labor.

  “I thought I had time to finish up the week,” she went on. “Mr. Parry asked for a special set of cards last week, which I completed. He hasn’t paid me, either. Please promise me.”

  “Very well.” Anything to set her mind at ease.

  “I think Parry is kind of a . . . oh.” She groaned low as another contraction began. She bent over and leaned her forearms on the table. When the pain was finished, she straightened and picked up where she’d left off. “He’s a weasel. Possibly a scoundrel. Don’t tell anyone I said so, though.”

  I laughed. “I promise that, too.” I didn’t have time to think about Parry right now, but I filed away her opinion for later. We resumed our walking until the pains were coming fast and furious. “Let’s get thee back to the bedroom. I think this baby is coming.” Her bag of waters had not yet broken, but that wasn’t a problem. In fact, the cushion of the water would provide for a more gentle birthing.

  Annie and I helped her through a blessedly short period of pushing, during which Esther insisted on squatting. I knelt next to her and watched as the translucent silver sac preceded the head.

  “The caul,” Annie whispered. “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Yes.”

  I gently tore the membrane away from the face and caught the wriggling dusky-skinned body as it—he—slid out. The newborn gave a healthy cry. I glanced at the clock, which read four eighteen. “Thee has a baby boy, Esther.”

  A wide smile spread across her face. “My husband will be wildly happy.”

  I tied and cut the cord, wiped down the little fellow, and swaddled him. Annie helped Esther up onto the bed. Within five minutes she’d delivered the afterbirth and was holding her son, a look of wonder on her face. Annie headed out to summon Akwasi, while I tidied up the room and put away our supplies.

  “Rose, I feel in love.” When she stroked the baby’s cheek with her finger, he turned his head toward her touch in the rooting reaction of all newborns. “I didn’t expect this.”

  “It’s as it should be, Esther.”

  By five o’clock Annie and I stood on the front walk, having left a delighted father with a healthy baby and mother all nestled in the bed together. The little boy had had his first nursing and already seemed expert at it.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if all births were that easy?” Annie asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “And to see a baby born in the sac of waters was remarkable.”

  “Isn’t it? Traditional cultures regarded being born in an intact bag as an omen that the baby would grow into a seer—or a healer.” Orpha believed the same. She’d told me I had been born in the caul, and that I had the gift of seeing. I covered an unavoidable yawn. “I’m sorry.”

  She peered into my face. “Rose, you look exhausted. You weren’t at a birth last night, too, were you?”

  I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about Orpha, so I did. “She went peacefully, Annie. And now we carry on her work.”

  “I’m sorry, Rose.” She stroked my arm. “I know how close you were to her.”

  “Thank thee. I was.”

  “To change the subject for a moment, if I may, my brother is all agitated about being questioned by the police. He knows it’s the right thing to do, but he’s not happy about it.”

  “They probably don’t have a single French Canadian on the force, am I right?” I asked.

  “They don’t. We encounter a big dose of prejudice against us simply because of where we were born.”

  “I hope things will change with time. We’re all immigrants, after all. None of us is originally from this continent, except the Indians.” I’d gotten to know a Wampanoag midwife last fall on Cape Cod and quite enjoyed her company. I’d even accompanied her to a birth and picked up a few tips. “One doesn’t encounter them here in Amesbury despite the name of the highest hill in town.”


  “I’ve wondered about Powow Hill and the Powow River. Maybe it’s history someone will uncover one day. But back to Pierrot. Apparently, they kept pressing him about what he saw. The thing is, Rose, he doesn’t see well.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s terribly myopic but refuses to wear spectacles.”

  I touched my own glasses. “That must hamper him in his life.”

  “It does. He didn’t finish school. Being a night watchman is one of the only jobs he can handle.”

  “Why does he refuse help with his vision?”

  “He says men will take him for a sissy if he wears glasses.” Annie shook her head. “Isn’t that the silliest thing?”

  It was. But Pete’s bad vision might also mean he couldn’t positively identify Zeb as the person he saw running. This was a good thing. A very good thing.

  A snowflake fell on my nose. I glanced up to see more floating down, lazy and soft. “We’d better get ourselves home before this turns into a storm.”

  “Go get some rest, Rose.” She gave me a quick hug and bustled off down toward Main Street.

  I trudged up the hill in the opposite direction. The Ayensu family had skirted death, as did any birthing woman. They had come out of it more than intact. If only the same could happen for our town, with a killer behind bars and its residents safe to go about their lives.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I awoke the next morning to a world covered in white. And a man bringing me coffee in bed.

  “Good morning, my lovely wife. Did you get enough sleep?” He set the coffee on the small table by the bed and perched next to me with a smile.

  “What time is it?” I pushed up to sitting and rubbed my eyes.

  “Seven thirty.”

  I blinked. “Did I just sleep for twelve hours?” After we’d eaten a simple supper of leftover stew and bread last evening, I hadn’t been able to keep my eyes open.

  “You did, my dear. And well needed the rest, I expect.”

  “Apparently. Grief is exhausting, although I’ve been so busy since Orpha passed, I think I’ve been burying it, not allowing it to rise up and overtake me.” I sipped the milky coffee. “This is heaven, husband. I thank thee.”