Judge Thee Not

by Edith Maxwell

  I smiled back. “I also would that it were today, thee knows that. I confess not to liking that our union cannot be accomplished earlier, but there we have it.” The news was indeed a mix of good and if not bad, then disappointing.

  “And the Amesbury Friends, your elder women, they still do not accept your marrying an open-minded and peace-loving Unitarian?”

  I smiled back, but ruefully. “I’m afraid not. Their adherence to practices from the past disappoints me.” The custom of Friends was to disallow marriage to people of other faiths. In earlier times, when Quakers were severely persecuted for their unconventional beliefs, the intent was to keep the religious society strong and not diluted by outsiders. In this more liberal modern era, many Meetings were easing those strictures. Not Amesbury, though. Not yet, despite John Whittier advocating for change. “I can only pray they will come around in time after we are wed.”

  “They will, I’m sure of it. I’ll tell Mother she can proceed with planning her festivity, if I may. The garden will still be lovely in late August.”

  Our food arrived, so we took a moment to taste the dishes. As always when we dined here, the meals were expertly prepared and rich in the kinds of sauces and garnishes I didn’t sample in my daily life. I’d chosen the sole tonight, and its sauce had been buttery and lemony in exactly the right proportions, with a few capers mixed in for a piquant touch. Rather like the man across the table from me. Serious and playful in equal measure, with a rebellious streak to spice him up.

  “The chef has outdone himself tonight,” I said. “Back to the garden party, if we might? I’m sure it will be lovely. Am I to invite my own family and friends, as well?”

  “Oh, yes, she said to mention that. And you know how happy she would be if Mr. Whittier were in attendance.”

  “He’s not one for crowds, and he is growing more frail with age,” I said. “But it never hurts to extend an invitation. He sometimes sends a freshly penned poem in lieu of attending in person.” Over David’s shoulder I spied a couple being seated. My eyes widened when I saw the man was Irvin Barclay. And the woman he was with was most definitely not Sissy. His companion wore an emerald green dress in the latest fashion, with a gored skirt flaring away from the tightly fitted waist and sleeves that puffed out above the elbow. A hat in the same hue as the dress perched on her red tresses at a gravity-defying tilt. I had seen her only yesterday looking worried as she walked at the lake.

  “What have you seen, Rose?”

  “Don’t turn around now, but Irvin Barclay has sat down to dinner with a rather stylish woman who is not his legally wedded wife.”

  David gave a little whistle. “You don’t say?”

  “I do. And if I were the betting type, I would wager this is not his sister nor his mother, nor a business partner, either, strictly speaking.” I thought of Sissy alone with Aoife and my heart broke. I leaned closer to David. “I learned this afternoon Irvin has some kind of financial problems and has dismissed all the household servants except the cook. And this shortly before his wife is about to give birth to twins.” I shook my head.

  “You are thinking this dinner date of his might be where his money has gone?”

  “Those were my thoughts, yes.” I gave another glance at the woman, hoping to make it look casual. “But how to ascertain the identity of this companion is the question.”

  “Have you finished your meal, my dear?” David asked.

  He had the twinkle in his eye I adored—and which I knew by now also signaled he was up to something.

  “Yes, thank thee, darling.”

  He twisted in his seat, surveying the room as if searching for the man who had been serving us. David in fact caught the man’s attention, but his gaze also traveled across Irvin’s companion’s face.

  My betrothed faced me again. “I know who she is,” he murmured a few seconds before our waiter reached us.

  “We’d like a sweet to finish off our meal, wouldn’t we, Rose?” David asked.

  Repressing the urge to snicker at his solicitous tone, I simply nodded.

  “We have a Charlotte Russe, angel cake, and a bread pudding with hard sauce to offer you tonight,” the man said, clasping his gloved hands.

  “I’d like the angel cake, please,” I said.

  “The Charlotte Russe for me,” David said.

  “Excellent choices for you both.” The man gave a little bow and left.

  “And?” I asked, when David didn’t elaborate on the woman’s identity. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know her name. She came to the hospital seeking treatment for something the nurses regarded as scandalous.”

  “Does thee mean the clap or perhaps syphilis?” I kept my voice as low as I could. If her husband was intimate with a woman who had such a disease, Sissy would soon also be infected, as well as Irvin himself. I’d already delivered a baby whose mother was infected with the clap and didn’t know it. Baby Charlie, the one I’d mentioned to Jeanette, was blind as a result.

  “Something along those lines,” David said. “Not that there is much of a treatment, and certainly no cure.”

  “If this woman is intimate with Irvin, both of Sissy’s babies are at risk.”

  “Let us hope she is not.” He nodded gravely. “But one nurse also said the woman is some kind of scientist. Possibly an astronomer.”

  “Like Maria Mitchell, the Nantucket Friend who studied the stars.” Faith and I had both been excited to learn of fellow Quaker Maria and her informed quest to discover and name stars never before identified. She had died only recently.

  “Yes.”

  I thought for a long moment. “A woman diagnosed with a sexual disease. A scientist-astronomer. Someone out to dinner with a banker who doesn’t seem inclined toward the sciences in the slightest, and who is married to a lovely young lady and apparently thrilled about becoming a father twice over on the same day. I confess to being confused, David.”

  He smiled, rolled his eyes a little, and nodded. “I reside in confusion with you, my love.”

  My gaze traveled back to Irvin, who was on his feet, gesturing and apparently in dispute with the man serving the diners. As I watched, both Irvin and his companion rose and moved in our direction, apparently for a change of seating. True, their first table had been situated near the noise and bustle of the kitchen. I did not fault them for requesting a different location for their meal. A moment later Irvin neared us and slowed as I smiled at him.

  “Ah, Miss Carroll.” He came to a halt. “Ah, well, good evening.” His gaze darted to David and back at me as his forehead broke out in nervous droplets.

  “Hello, Irvin,” I said with a smile. “May I present my betrothed, David Dodge of Newburyport? David, this is Irvin Barclay.”

  David stood and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Barclay.” He inclined his head toward the woman. “Miss.”

  “Ah, yes.” Irvin cleared his throat. “I, I . . .” He swallowed. “I am pleased to meet you, sir. This is Miss Nalia Bowerman. My, ah, cousin.” He ran a finger between his suddenly red neck and his collar. “Miss Bowerman, Miss Rose Carroll.”

  I smiled at Nalia. “Irvin’s cousin? What a pleasure to meet thee, Nalia. I am Sissy’s midwife. Has thee come to assist her in her confinement and delivery of twin babies?” I couldn’t help myself from asking, despite being quite certain that was not the purpose of Nalia’s presence. I inquired mostly so I could see how they both would react.

  Nalia’s relaxed demeanor and bell-like laugh were in distinct contrast to Irvin’s case of nerves, which appeared to border on panic. “No, Miss Carroll. I actually reside here in Amesbury.” Her voice was oddly nasal in timbre, and she smelled like she’d applied rosewater liberally. “Mr. Barclay and I were merely conducting a spot of business, weren’t we, cousin?”

  Her emphasis on the word “cousin” lingered in the air as he escorted her to a table where they, too, could observe the beauty of the sunset. And where all present could observe them. What was I
rvin thinking, coming out in public with a lady not his wife? Unless Nalia was, in fact, his cousin. But then why was Irvin so nervous at us seeing him with her?

  I resolved to put them out of my mind. I was out with my husband-to-be, and I wasn’t letting anything rob me of the joy of being with him.

  Thirty-three

  The next morning I saw Frederick and the children out the door to their half day of school, it being Seventh Day. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and sank into a chair at the table, reaching down to pet Christabel, who purred her contentment. I hadn’t slept well and was not feeling so content. I wasn’t sure if my restlessness had been from the rich food of my dinner with David or the mélange of facts and questions surrounding Mayme’s death.

  The sound of a mockingbird on a maple tree outside floated in through the screened door as it ran through its repertoire of other birds’ songs. By the end of summer the bird would have acquired even more. I’d once met a man who could similarly imitate people’s voices. It was uncanny how he could change the timbre of his voice to sound like other men and even some women. Too bad one couldn’t get into other people’s thoughts and emotions the same way, at least in a murder case. What was Mayme’s killer doing right now? What was he feeling? Smug that he’d gotten away with an evil deed, or nervous he was about to be caught? Myself, I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration. I was getting nowhere in unraveling the tangled ball of string this week had become.

  I drained my coffee with a sigh and took the cup to the wide black soapstone sink. At least this morning I’d been able to remind the children to clean up after themselves. The sink was full but the rest of the kitchen was relatively tidy, so Lina would be able to focus on the floors and other cleaning tasks. Right now I was going to attend to my garden for a little while and then clean my own room. I didn’t have any prenatal visits this morning and I’d sometimes found doing manual labor freed up the mind to think in a more orderly fashion. Or to ignore thinking and let the mind sort things out in its own way.

  As I was already wearing my oldest dress, I pushed up the sleeves and made for the outdoors, clapping an old straw boater on my head to keep the sun off my face. This near the summer solstice, the sun’s rays were strong even in the morning. I had dug up and applied some of Fredericks’s horse Star’s manure to a new garden patch in back of the house last fall. I donned the gardening gloves we kept in the outbuilding, grabbed a shovel, and got to work. I loosened the dirt, mixing in the now-aged manure, and readied the bed. From the clouds blowing in and the humid air, it appeared we’d get a good dose of rain later in the day. This was a perfect time for young plants to go into the garden.

  Sitting back on my heels some time later, I admired my several tomato plants and the pepper seedling. By Eighth Month the family would be dining on our own crop of plump sun-ripened vegetables. I rose and moved over to the herb garden, where I nurtured some of the herbs I used in my practice. I knelt again and pulled weeds from around the lavender, yarrow, and motherwort until all those little competitors for the herbs’ soil nutrients and water were banished to the compost heap.

  I didn’t seem to be doing much thinking as I worked but trusted my brain was operating in the background. I was cleaning up around the base of the low-spreading pennyroyal when a shadow fell over the plant. A person-shaped shadow. I twisted my head to see Nalia Bowerman, Irvin’s companion from the night before. A chill passed through me. How had she found my house? Could she possibly be Irvin’s partner in murder, too? I was home alone. At least I was outside, and the upholstery factory on the other side of the back fence was bustling with workers making cloth and leather seats for carriages, sleighs, and other conveyances. If Nalia were so daring as to threaten me, I could easily summon assistance.

  I swallowed. “Nalia, what a surprise.” I hoisted myself up from my knees and dusted off my skirt. “I won’t offer my hand. I have obviously been working in the dirt. What might I help thee with?”

  She nodded and did not return my smile. “Miss Carroll, my cousin believes you labor under the delusion you are a private detective.”

  Her cousin. Irvin had introduced her as such last night, and I supposed it could be true. Or perhaps not. “Did he send thee here?”

  “No.” The redhead was not dressed in dinner finery as she had been last evening, instead wearing a tan linen traveling costume. She sported a boater trimmed with a matching ribbon and a daring red feather, and again wore it at an angle befitting my stylish friend Bertie. “Cecelia informed me where your residence was located.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “Who is Cecelia?”

  “You are her midwife and you don’t know her name?” Her nostrils flared.

  “Oh! Thee means Sissy, I gather. She has never presented herself to me with any other name.”

  “Be that as it may. Mr. Barclay told me he is not certain he wants to proceed with you providing his young wife’s medical care. In the matter of her impending delivery of his infants, that is.”

  I blinked. His infants. Last time I checked it took both a man and a woman to make babies. “Why has Irvin himself not told me Sissy will be under another’s care for her births?”

  “It’s because he is disturbed at your meddling in the work of the police.”

  Aha. Now the truth emerges. “This is what thy cousin says, I assume?”

  “Of course,” she scoffed. “Do you think I have any stake in this?” Her tone indicated the sheer impossibility she would care.

  I had the feeling Irvin hadn’t actually asked her to make this trip. “And what is Sissy’s opinion in the matter?” This conversation smelled like spoiled fish.

  “She has no say. The husband’s opinion is the law of the land.” She folded her arms, with remarkably long fingernails splaying over her elbow on one side and her forearm on the other.

  I gave my head a little shake. Nothing she said made sense to me. “I understand thee is a scientist.”

  “Yes, that is true. I am a computer at the Harvard College Observatory in Professor Pickering’s group.”

  “A computer,” I said. “What kind of job is that?”

  “I and other women examine photographs of the stars and classify them according to their spectra. But I don’t expect you to understand all that.”

  “Does thee believe a woman’s voice should not be heard?”

  “What I believe is not pertinent. What we are discussing is your ceasing to care for my cousin’s wife.”

  “Thee may inform Irvin, if thee wishes, that I am a practicing midwife, not a detective.” I kept my voice soft but firm. “I do not meddle with the police. Sissy has engaged me to provide her with midwifery services, and I intend to honor our agreement.” I planned to consult directly with Sissy about her care. If she wanted me to continue, continue I would.

  Thirty-four

  After delivering her warning, Nalia had left without a goodbye or a fare-thee-well. I watched her make her way to the road and turn right toward town. I hadn’t really expected any kind of polite parting salutation based on the tone of her voice when she spoke to me. And now my brain was even more scrambled than before. Had Irvin commissioned her to deliver his doubts and she’d lied about him? Was she even his cousin? And why had Sissy given her my address? Maybe Nalia had lied about how she learned where I lived, too. She was a woman who had surely fought battles to achieve the education and experience necessary to become an astronomer at Harvard College, of all places. I found it hard to believe she would support Irvin in trying to remove me from Sissy’s labor and birth.

  On the other hand, what if she and Irvin were stepping out, and she wanted to do away with Sissy after she gave birth? Irvin would be a father and Nalia wouldn’t have to go to the trouble to bear and deliver children. I shook my head. This was only too reminiscent of what had happened in the winter, when the husband of a pregnant client of mine had an amorous affair with a young woman at his workplace. How could men be so stupid, so heartless, to conduct such affairs when thei
r wife was carrying their unborn child?

  I frowned and tapped my mouth, trying to think if I had asked Irvin questions about Mayme’s death. I stared at the small narrow leaves of the pennyroyal plant. Why would Irvin suspect I was working with the police or investigating on my own? Nalia had said she lived here in Amesbury. Maybe she’d concocted the entire story because she’d heard independently I had worked with Kevin on past cases. Or because she herself was guilty of one or more past misdeeds, one of them fatal to its target.

  When the first raindrops dampened my face, I shook myself out of my reverie and hurried to stow the shovel and gloves. I was almost to the open back door of the house when I heard the bell of the telephone, so I hurried in without washing my hands and lifted the receiver.

  “Rose Carroll speaking.”

  I smiled when I heard David’s voice in return.

  “Good morning, my sweet,” he began. “You sound breathless.”

  “I was outside gardening. Thy call and the rain arrived at the same moment.”

  “I have a direct line to the rain god, you know.” He was clearly smiling.

  “Is that so? Except she’s a goddess, thee knows,” I joked. “When she saw I’d finished planting my seedlings and weeding my herbs, she decided to deliver the watering they needed.”

  “Have I told you I loved you recently?”

  “I believe thee did as we were saying our goodbyes only twelve hours ago.” I blushed to remember our caresses in David’s buggy after he’d brought me home. I counted. Only two and a half months to go before we could deepen our intimacy to our hearts’ content.

  “I might very well have.”

  “How is thee this fine morning?” I asked.

  “I am in good health, but two patients under my care are not a bit well. I was making the rounds at the hospital this morning. I’d finished checking on the lady who took a fall yesterday when I was called to the bedside of a foreigner, name of Scanpatski or some such unpronounceable name.”