Judge Thee Not

by Edith Maxwell

  “Wash your hands first.” I threw a chunk of butter into the cast iron skillet and added the asparagus spears when it was melted. But where was my darling David? I hadn’t seen him in two days and had much to discuss with him after we dined.

  He arrived at the side door at the exact moment the biscuits were ready and the asparagus was lightly cooked. The children were all back in the sitting room by now.

  “Knock, knock,” he said through the screen door.

  “Door’s open,” I called, not looking around. I drew out the biscuits and slid them into a cloth-lined basket. The asparagus went onto a plate. The fish I left in its baking dish.

  David slid one arm around my waist from behind, kissing the back of my neck. Shivers went up and down at the deliciousness of feeling him so close. His other hand appeared in front of my eyes, and it held a big bouquet of fragrant heliotrope and sweet peas.

  “My, isn’t thee sweet!” I twisted to face him. “Where in the world did thee find those?” How I longed to be cooking dinner in my own kitchen and have David—as husband, not beau—come home with flowers.

  His blue eyes sparkled. “I have my sources.”

  “I thank thee.” I kissed him on the lips but kept it chaste. This was family dinner time, not canoodle time. When I pulled away, my stomach growled something fierce.

  He tossed his head back and laughed. “Never stand in the way of Rose Carroll and her supper.”

  “Words to remember, my dear. Children, dinner’s on,” I called. “David, help with putting the serving dishes on the table, please?” He was a man atypical for his time who didn’t object in the least to being asked to help with domestic matters. I stuck the bouquet in a blue-and-white earthenware pitcher with water and set the flowers on the table before joining the others.

  After the manner of Friends, we joined hands, closed our eyes, and held a moment of silent grace and thanksgiving. David joined us in the practice, of course. He’d told me after his first time sharing our repast how much he appreciated the quiet respite. The next half hour passed in a flurry of eating, Betsy trying to recite a new poem she’d learned vying with the twins sharing jokes they’d heard in the schoolyard. Queen mouser Christabel lurked beneath the table anticipating fish scraps.

  “Where’s teen Luke tonight?” David asked.

  “He’s studying with a friend and eating supper there, and I think I mentioned Frederick is out with Winnie.”

  “The fish is delicious, Aunt Rose,” Mark said, gesturing at his empty plate. “It was a good idea to add the dill weed to the bread crumbs, wasn’t it?”

  “A very good idea,” David said.

  We’d had a jar of dill I had dried last summer, but it had been Mark’s excellent idea to add some to the bread crumb topping. Maybe the lad would end up a famous chef somewhere when he was older.

  “Auntie Rose,” Betsy piped up. “What’s a moron?”

  Mark put his hand to his mouth and stifled a laugh. Matthew rolled his eyes.

  “It’s a word people use to talk about someone whose brain doesn’t work very well,” I said, thinking of Irvin’s comment about Jeanette. “But it’s not a nice name to call someone with a simple mind. We shouldn’t judge them faulty simply because they’re different.”

  “A moron would still be a child of God, wouldn’t she?” Betsy asked.

  “Yes, indeed, Betsy,” David said. “Where did you hear this word?”

  “Father said that girl who lives next to our school is one. And anyway, she isn’t! Her mind is keener than most children’s.”

  My heart turned to lead. Quaker Frederick? How could he be so ignorant? Saying such a thing reflected the views of many in our world, but it surprised me he would use that word.

  “I play with Ginny sometimes before I come home,” Betsy went on. “She can’t see so she can’t go to school. Sometimes I read my primers to her because she really wants to learn.”

  “And well thee might, my darling. I shall have a word with thy father about his ignorance.” And maybe with Jeanette about helping this girl.

  “I have a new joke,” Matthew spoke up. “Did thee hear this one? If all the seas were dried up, what would Neptune say?”

  Mark screwed up his face, thinking.

  David opened his mouth to answer but I smiled and nudged him to let Matthew have the pleasure of giving us the answer, which doubtless included some kind of pun.

  “I really haven’t got a notion,” Matthew announced triumphantly.

  Mark gave a hoot, but Betsy looked confused.

  “A notion,” Matthew told her. “An ocean, Betsy. Neptune doesn’t have an ocean. Get it?”

  She smiled and clapped her hands. “Yes!”

  When would David and I have our own table full of lively little ones? My betrothed caught me gazing at him, and I knew he had understood my thoughts.

  “Soon,” he mouthed.

  Twelve

  We left the children to clean up and retired to the sitting room. Already I could hear giggles and protests, but they knew how to do dishes and put away food—not that we had much left over—and were plenty old enough for regular chores.

  David and I sank onto the cushioned settee. He laid his arm over my shoulders and stroked the hair off my brow, letting his fingers trace the shape of my cheek and outlining my mouth. A frisson of thrill rippled through me. I had no choice but to pull his face to mine and engage in a long and luscious kiss.

  At a giggle from the doorway we pulled apart.

  “Back to your cleanup, Miss Betsy,” David mock scolded my niece, who disappeared into the kitchen.

  I stroked David’s hand, basking in my warm cheeks and tingling insides.

  “What adventures have you been up to, Rosie?” he asked.

  “Hmm. What haven’t I been up to?”

  He peered at me. “Meaning what?”

  “For one thing, I helped Kevin Donovan’s wife with a dangerously fevered month-old infant today.”

  “Little Rosalie, your namesake?”

  “Yes. Poor Emmaline was overwhelmed, and the baby was dehydrated. I resolved to do what I knew how, and if it wasn’t enough I was prepared to call you. Their usual doctor was away and left no one to back him up, more’s the pity. But cold cloths and spoon feeding the baby milk that Emmaline expressed did the trick.”

  “Alas, I have no other fever-reduction tricks in my bag besides willow bark extract. You know, salicylate,” David said.

  “I suspected as much. But surely thee wouldn’t give salicylic tea to an eight-pound infant.”

  “Not without diluting it. It’s far too harsh. I have read of a chemist attempting to synthesize salicylic acid, the active ingredient of willow bark, into a pill form, and adding something to buffer the acid’s irritating effects. But I don’t believe it’s on the market yet.”

  “Such a pill would be a boon for ill people. At any rate, I think I helped Emmaline regain her calm,” I said. “She’ll call me if the baby doesn’t improve. The fact she hasn’t yet is a good sign.”

  “Very. What else has been happening?”

  “I have a twin birth coming up. Sissy Barclay came to me yesterday for the first time at about seven months along.” I repeated what I’d told Orpha. “She is young and a first-time mother. I confess to being full of trepidation for when I receive the call about her labor.”

  “Understandably. But I think you have successfully delivered twins who lived to be healthy children, haven’t you?”

  “Only once by myself, although I did assist Orpha with several. In one case, the mother’s cervix kept starting to close, and Orpha had to reach in and nearly drag the first baby out.” I smiled. “But he was fine, and his sister wasn’t a difficult second birth, despite being bigger than her brother.”

  “What about your twin nephews?” David asked. “Were you there for their births?”

  “No. It was before I moved to Amesbury, but Matthew and Mark’s births turned out to be pretty easy for Harriet. She’d already
borne two children by then and neither twin presented complication. They went to term but were not overly large.”

  “I was reading in the medical journal only last week of a new technique for Caesarean sections which might make them safer for the mother.”

  “Perhaps one day. For now, I hope Sissy goes another month, so the babies are big enough to survive, but no more, so they aren’t too big to be born without giving her problems.”

  “Sissy Barclay.” He frowned. “I know the name Barclay. Is her husband Irvin?”

  I nodded. “A banker. Considerably older than his wife.”

  “What did I hear about him?” David rapped his fingers on his thigh. “I can’t recall at this moment. It wasn’t good, whatever it was.”

  “Sissy said his first wife couldn’t bear children, and then she passed away.”

  He stared at me. “Right.” He leaned closer on the settee and lowered his voice to a murmur. “At the time some gossiped that the wife’s death was possibly not a natural one.”

  “You mean Irvin might have killed his wife to make way for a more fertile version?” I whispered. “Sissy did mention he had always wanted to be a father. She suspects he only married her to be able to have children. She said she’s worried that if her babies die, she might be discarded, too.”

  “Or worse,” David muttered.

  “Or worse.” We sat quietly with our own thoughts for a moment.

  He snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. She expired from apparent heart failure, but she was fairly young and otherwise healthy. Certain poisons can cause the heart to stop, too.”

  “None were detected?”

  “No, but toxicology is an inexact science. A Frenchman named Orfila made great strides earlier in this century, but one still has to know what poison to test for, and the results are not always conclusive.”

  “Speaking of killing,” I kept my voice low, “Mayme Settle was murdered last night.”

  “I heard about the murder.” He twisted to gaze at me. “Did you know her?”

  “Only through the Ladies Circle, and I didn’t particularly enjoy her company, may God keep her soul. I was with Winnie at the Settles’ home last evening, though. This morning I heard Mayme was dead. And not from natural causes.” I blew out a breath.

  “Don’t tell me you’re involved.”

  “Well . . .” I let my voice trail off.

  “Again, Rose?”

  His question might have sounded like a challenge to an outsider. On the contrary, the sympathetic look on his face confirmed for me his concern without including a trace of opposition to my actions. Of course he wanted his beloved to be careful, but he’d never once cautioned me not to investigate wrongdoing when I felt called to do so. He knew my urge for justice was a strong one.

  “Not involved, exactly,” I said. “Except they brought Bertie in for questioning this afternoon, and I went to the station to protest.”

  He sat back. “Why in the world would Bertie kill Mrs. Settle?” The rising pitch of his question brimmed with incredulity.

  “She wouldn’t, of course. But Mayme had a serious and public objection to the way Bertie lives openly with Sophie Ribeiro. I mean, she was so opposed to their living arrangement that in the post office yesterday morning, Mayme wouldn’t even let Bertie wait on her. She said she would come back when Bertie’s assistant, Eva, was at the desk.”

  “Bertie didn’t care, did she?”

  “No,” I scoffed.

  “I’d be surprised if she did. Why was Mrs. Settle so incensed about Bertie and Sophie?” he asked.

  “I understand her own daughter was estranged from Mayme, and Bertie thinks it’s because the daughter also practices lesbianism.”

  “Interesting. She doesn’t live with the family, I gather.”

  “No,” I said. “She teaches at Smith College. In addition, the Settles’ son also went outside what society tells us is appropriate, by impregnating a maid and then abandoning her and her child.”

  David made a tsking sound.

  I thought about what Jeanette had said. “Mayme also insulted my client Jeanette Papka. She’s a highly intelligent, multilingual court interpreter who happens to be blind. Mayme Settle called her a deaf-mute and a moron. Can thee believe it, David?”

  “Alas, I can, although such an attitude seems to contradict what I have heard of her good works. Mother has mentioned the many charities Mrs. Settle was well known for supporting.”

  “That’s very true. She had a large heart in that regard. I wonder if that’s why Mayme was so conscientious about doing charitable works, something society looks on with favor.”

  “To make up for what she regards as her children’s failings, you mean?” David asked. “That sounds plausible to me. Although, considering a woman loving her own kind a failing is rather different than Mrs. Settle’s son not acknowledging nor supporting one’s own offspring.”

  “Very true,” I agreed.

  “I didn’t know the woman, may she rest in peace, but in the case of her views on Bertie’s and her daughter’s choices as well as your interpreter friend’s abilities, Mrs. Settle was clearly the ignorant one.”

  “What’s ‘ignorant’ mean, Uncle David?” Betsy asked, suddenly back in the room and at David’s elbow.

  I wondered how much she had heard of our conversation.

  “It means someone who isn’t educated on a particular topic, either because they haven’t learned better or because they don’t want to learn.” He held out his arms and Betsy scooted onto his lap.

  “Tell me a story,” she murmured, leaning into his chest.

  Her father, Frederick, loved her, but he battled his own demons. He often wasn’t able to offer easy love like David did. It filled my heart she already called my husband-to-be Uncle and slid into his lap with such ease.

  “Once upon a time a Quaker princess lived in a castle,” he began. “But she was lonely because she didn’t have a pet to keep her company.”

  A Quaker princess. He was most surely spinning a tale of fantasy.

  “What was her name?” Betsy asked.

  “Elizabeth.”

  My niece smiled to herself. I did, too. Of course David would name the princess for her.

  But as he spun a well-crafted yet improvised tale of conflict, change, and happy resolution, my thoughts turned to the not-so-fanciful, and the real-life conflict swirling around us. Who had killed Mayme Settle? And why?

  Thirteen

  Annie Beaumont yawned as she and I trudged toward home the next morning at six, already two hours past sunrise. We were only three weeks from the summer solstice and the days were longer than long.

  David and I had never had a chance to talk about our marriage arrangements last evening, because I’d been called to a woman in labor while he was still making up the story of Elizabeth, Quaker princess. He’d offered to stay with the children until Frederick returned.

  The laboring client’s home was only a few blocks distant on Orchard Street, so I had tidied my hair, grabbed my birthing satchel, and walked over. Annie had already been there sitting vigil with the woman, a first-time mother, during the early stages and had only called me when the contractions seemed to be coming fast and furious.

  The labor had slowed again after I arrived, and it had taken the baby another ten hours to finally emerge. The woman pushed for a full two of those hours, with Annie doing the bulk of the coaching. Despite the long labor, a little son was born in good health, if with a temporarily pointy head from his passage through the birth canal. The new mother also suffered no injuries or other complications. We’d stayed until both she and her newborn boy were stable. After he had nursed and both mother and child were drowsing, we departed, leaving them under the joyous watch of the new father.

  “How did thee find the birth, Annie?” I asked my red-headed apprentice. I suppressed my own yawn. The cooler temperatures of yesterday seemed to have gone into hiding again. The sun was already warm and had barely made its way
above the treetops to the east. “I think this was one of the longest labors at which thee has assisted.”

  “It was. Why did her contractions slow down after you arrived, do you think?”

  “It’s hard to say. She might have needed to rest, but she could have been worried to do so without her primary midwife in attendance.”

  At this, Annie’s brow knit. “Do you think she didn’t trust me? Because I’m French Canadian, maybe?”

  “I’m sure it’s not thy background. She’s an Irish immigrant herself, isn’t she?”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know thee does an excellent job, Annie.” I patted her arm. “I trust thee completely. But this client had visited me, not thee, for all her antenatal visits. Thee has seen how we women become somehow more primitive during our laboring, when the animal body takes over for the rational mind. It is no impugning of thee if she felt she could relax and rest for a bit once I arrived. Her body might have dictated its own actions. Anyway, all’s well that ends well, as Orpha taught me.”

  “It was indeed a good outcome, Rose.”

  We walked on a few more paces. “We’ll be having a difficult birth coming up this summer, though.” I told her about Sissy Barclay. “I’ll need thee to read everything thee can about birthing twins. About best practices as well as possible complications. Start soon, please.”

  “I will.”

  “She could go into labor any day, or not for another two months.”

  “I’ll not disappoint you, Rose.”

  “We have another client due in early fall.” I smiled. “She’s a delight. Has thee ever met Jeanette Papka? Her maiden name is French, Voyant.”

  “Mais, oui!” Annie clapped her hands. “She’s some kind of relative of mine. I haven’t seen her in ages, though. She can’t see, and she has a little girl, yes?”

  “Yes, and yes, this will be her second child. Her daughter was a large baby, something like ten pounds, and Jeanette suspects this one will be even larger.”

  “I will be so happy to work with her.” Annie’s expression turned darker. “I knew a girl who was half French and half Irish, a few years older than me. Things did not go so well for her when she was carrying her baby.”