Charity's Burden

by Edith Maxwell

  “You untie me this minute,” she screamed, her breath still weak from my blow. Her fanciful velvet bonnet now hung down her back, and a long strand of light hair had come loose from its pins, lying limp on her cheek.

  “I will not free thee.”

  She grabbed for my ankle but I was too fast for her. I sidestepped and quickly scooped up the object, then stepped back again as I examined it. It was a curette, used for scraping the uterus, except the curved end had been honed to a point as acute as a needle. The murder weapon. Had she used this on Wallace, too? The police would learn that soon enough. Again I skirted her at a safe distance and picked up the end of the long rope.

  “Two can play at this game, Delia.” I brandished the tool in one hand. “Put thy hands behind thy back or thee will feel the point of this weapon thee so carefully sharpened. Thee won’t like it, I promise.” I prayed I would not have to carry out my threat and harm her. But if I had to hurt her to prevent her from attacking me or anyone else in the future, I would. This killer was not going free.

  She cursed but complied, wrestling herself into a seated position with her hands to the rear. I didn’t help her. I didn’t trust her not to try to grab me again. The rope was long enough to secure her gloved hands. I had to put down the tool, so I worked quickly, pulling these knots snug, too.

  “That’s too tight,” she complained. “And it’s cold here on the ground.”

  This from someone who was going to lock me in an unheated wagon? Her whining would have been funny if it hadn’t been so pathetic, so desperate. It was a vivid contrast to what this disturbed person had done to Charity and Wallace, and had been about to do to me.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t be there long. Just until the police arrive.” I gave her one last glance, then hurried toward the house. My visit to Lucy was going to have to wait.

  fifty-one

  I slid into Wallace Buckham’s home, grateful the door was unlocked. I gaped, halting in my tracks. He lay dead in the foyer. I slid off a glove to touch his cheek, but his skin was cold to the touch in the chilly air. Wallace wore a silk dressing gown over a long night shirt, except the collar of the pale blue gown was now stained by the congealed blood which had poured from his neck. The portraits of happy families with well-spaced children watched silently from the walls.

  I closed my eyes and sent up a prayer for his released soul, then made my way around his body and into his office to ring the police.

  “This is Rose Carroll,” I said once we were connected. “I have a murder suspect by the name of Delia Davies tied up at a private residence on Moody Street.” I gave the address.

  “What’s that you say?” The young officer sounded skeptical.

  I sighed inwardly. “Would Kevin Donovan happen to be there?”

  “No, miss. He’ll be going to mass with his family, I’m sure.”

  I started anew. “I was attacked by a person of interest in Charity Skells’s murder. Delia Davies confessed to killing Charity. She also took the life of a physician named Wallace Buckham. I was able to overcome Delia.”

  “You were?” His voice screeched.

  I held the listening device away from my ear for a moment. “Yes.” I made every attempt to keep my tone from becoming impatient. “She is outside and her hands and feet are tied. I’d appreciate it if thee would please notify Detective Donovan and send transport to come pick her up as soon as possible.”

  “I’m impressed, Miss Carroll. We’ll get on it right away.”

  “I thank thee. I shall wait here until someone arrives.” I hung up the receiver and sank into the office chair, my knees wobbly from what I’d just been through. My gaze traveled over the jars of herbs, the red pamphlets, the binaural stethoscope, the tidy desk. A sheet of paper sat near the phone. I took a closer look and shook my head slowly. On it was written Call Detective Donovan. What a pity Wallace hadn’t telephoned earlier. He might have hesitated for fear the authorities would detain him, too.

  I pushed up to standing. It wouldn’t do to leave Delia alone much longer. Who knew what she could get up to, even bound like she was. Before I left the house, I took a moment to kneel next to Wallace’s body. I tried to slide his eyelids shut. Unfortunately they had already stiffened in place. He might have been a censured doctor, but he had done the right thing in the end. He didn’t deserve to die for his crimes.

  I slid my glove back on and opened the door only to hear an alarmed whinny. Peaches. I’d left him tied to the hitching post in front. Sure enough, Delia had somehow risen and was hopping through the snow with both feet toward my horse and buggy. She still had a good ten feet to go and wasn’t moving fast. I lifted my skirts and raced toward her, positioning myself between her and my horse.

  “Thee isn’t going anywhere, Delia.” Behind me Peaches whuffed and stomped his feet.

  Delia glared at me with rage on her face. Her ire combined with her forward momentum to unbalance her. With a cry she tipped face front into the snow. She turned her head to the side and cursed me with words that should have embarrassed anyone in earshot. I stepped behind her and grabbed the length of rope connecting her hands and feet. I pulled it until it was taut, ignoring her tirade.

  Dressed for church, Kevin arrived with the wagon before ten minutes had passed. The music of the ever louder police bells that preceded him had never sounded so sweet.

  fifty-two

  I sat in Kevin’s office at the police station as the town’s church bells rang eleven. He and I had agreed I would meet him back here after I paid my visit to Lucy and her baby. Blessedly, both mother and child were in the bloom of good health, as were their equine counterparts. The newborn boy was already nursing like a champ, just like his colt brother. And my heart rate was finally back to normal.

  “I guess we both missed church this morning,” Kevin now said with a wry smile.

  “Sometimes God’s work takes us elsewhere. Did Delia go easily?”

  “You must be joshing. She snarled and scratched and loudly proclaimed her innocence. She’s still making a nuisance of herself in the lockup downstairs. Nice knots you tied, by the way.”

  “My father taught me well.”

  “Now fill me in on what Miss Davies told you, if you will.”

  I relayed everything I could remember. Finding the wagon. Discovering the black horse hair. Delia seizing me and saying she’d killed Charity after Wallace refused to. “Good for Wallace, refusing to kill Charity. I’m sorry I ever suspected him.”

  “It’s what a good detective does, Miss Rose. He was on my suspect list, too. Did Miss Davies confess to killing him, as well?”

  “No, she stopped short of that. She did say he hadn’t died of natural causes. She told me he’d been about to turn her in to the authorities. And I saw your name written on a piece of paper next to the telephone in his office.”

  “What a shame he waited so long.”

  “Yes.” I thought for a moment. “So Savoire was telling the truth about her own morning.”

  “She was. A neighbor came forward and said she’d seen Mrs. Davies at home until eight thirty that morning.”

  Likely the same neighbor with whom I had conversed. I frowned. “But Savoire knew of Charity’s death. I wonder if she suspected her daughter was to blame.”

  “It’s possible. We’ll have her in for another round of questioning.” He tapped a pencil on the desk. “It’s the motive that puzzles me. Was Miss Davies so enamored of Mr. Skells that she had to do away with his wife? Was she really going to take on all those children?”

  “I believe she thought Ransom was going to have control over the funds from Charity’s uncle Joseph, not realizing that Sophie was going to administer them. And she said Virtue would take in the children, which I imagine she would have.”

  “Yes, the money might have been the real draw. It’s often the motive for homicide once we weed out spurious
causes for killing.” Kevin nodded. “We’ll get her to talk sooner or later. I should tell you Joe Swift’s lawyer convinced him to divulge what he was hiding. It was nothing more than the affair between Mr. Skells and Miss Davies.”

  I nodded. “Good.”

  “Is there anything else Miss Davies told you this morning?”

  “Delia convinced Charity she knew how to perform a safe abortion. She said she told Charity she’d apprenticed with her mother.” I shook my head. “Poor Charity, thinking she was going to improve her situation by not having yet one more child. Instead she lost her life entirely.”

  Kevin tsk-tsked. “It’s a good thing Mr. Skells is guilty of nothing more than adultery or those children would have been left orphans.”

  “Like the ones last fall.”

  “Like them, indeed. Why people think they can get away with committing murder is a question to which I’ll never have a satisfactory answer.”

  “Does thee know if he will keep the children with him or give them over to Virtue’s care?”

  “I spoke to him a few minutes ago. He’s hanging his head in shame, and rightly so, but he is resolved to keep the children. The funds Miss Ribeiro will disburse will help him greatly, I’m sure.”

  “And I imagine Virtue will continue to offer her support.” I hoped she would, anyway.

  A small knock on the door preceded Norman Talbot sticking his head in. “Ah, Miss Carroll. I heard you were here.”

  I stood hastily. “I’m just going.” I glanced at Kevin. I truly didn’t wish to cause him problems with his chief.

  “Let me shake your hand first, young lady.” Norman’s tone was gruff, begrudging. “You did good work this morning.”

  “She most surely did,” Kevin said proudly, also standing.

  Norman extended his hand to me. Feeling a bit like my world had stood on end, I shook it.

  “I thank thee,” I said after I managed to extricate my hand from his overly firm grasp. “It was an act of self-preservation, truly. Delia Davies was about to lock me into an unheated windowless wagon. I couldn’t have that, now, could I?”

  The chief smiled as if he was obliged to. “Henceforth you are welcome to act in self-preservation with any criminal you encounter. That said, my caution about staying away from police work stands. Following it will obviate the need to defend yourself. Good day, Miss Carroll.” He slipped out the way he came in.

  “Both a commendation and a chastisement,” Kevin murmured, staring at the door.

  “I perceived as much.” As if I ever tried to get into dangerous predicaments. “I do have to be going. I have a wedding to prepare for.”

  “Miss Faith and Mr. Weed, isn’t it?” Kevin raised his eyebrows. “That’s a happy occasion. Please convey my congratulations to the couple.”

  “It will be my pleasure to do that. I hope you finally get some time to build that snow fort with thy boy.” I pointed to the pencil likeness of Sean.

  “I’m on my way, Miss Rose. I’m on my way.”

  fifty-three

  David and I sat next to my parents in the second pew of the Meetinghouse a few minutes before two o’clock, with Betsy perched beyond my parents. We had left a seat empty to remember our dear Harriet. Annie and Bertie sat behind us, and Matthew, Mark, and Luke were in front of us with Frederick and Winnie. The front pews on the other side of the aisle were filled with Zeb’s parents, his aged grandmother, his younger siblings, and other close relatives. They’d also left a vacant place, in their case to honor Isaiah, the brother who had died in the Great Fire last year.

  When David had arrived, a stern-faced older Friend had pressed her lips together in disapproval and then looked away. She was one of the women who had cautioned me about the consequences of marrying out. I merely squeezed my beau’s hand and smiled at him. She couldn’t turn David away from a happy Meeting like this one, where plentiful non-Friends were in attendance.

  Between the front pews and the facing bench, empty of elders this afternoon, stood a small table on which rested the large parchment marriage certificate, with two fountain pens at the ready.

  Annie leaned forward from the pew behind me. “When will it begin, Rose?” she murmured.

  “When the couple enters,” I whispered in return. The winter sun, low in the sky, created the shadows of dark branches dancing on the wide pine floorboards. The air smelled familiarly of wool, antimacassar, and expectation. Benches creaked and a buzz of whispers and quiet words from the non-Quakers in attendance filled the air, as it had during Charity’s much less happy service yesterday

  Mother and Daddy sat with eyes closed, as did other Friends in the room. Betsy and I had greeted guests until only a couple of minutes ago, handing visitors who were not members of the congregation a small printed sheet outlining the customs for the Meeting for Worship for Marriage. We’d given an especially warm welcome to Orpha and Alma. Orpha had whispered, “Nice work this morning,” to me and squeezed my hand. Once again I was amazed but not surprised at how fast news traveled. I’d whispered back, “All’s well that ends well.”

  John Whittier had written to express his regret that his health did not allow him to leave Danvers at this time, but he’d wished Faith and Zeb many happy years together. He’d also enclosed a copy of a poem he’d written a decade and a half earlier, “The Golden Wedding of Longwood,” which he’d written for friends celebrating their fiftieth anniversary of marriage. His inscription to Faith and Zeb on the poem read, May your joyful union also last fifty years and more.

  Now even the murmur of conversation ceased. I twisted in my seat to see Faith and Zeb poised in the doorway at the back of the room, she in her lovely blue gown, he in a freshly starched collar above a new dark suit. He glanced down at her. She nodded and took his hand, and they walked slowly to the front. They lifted their joined hands over the table and then dropped them to sit, hands folded and eyes closed, on the facing bench.

  How I wished Harriet could have lived to see this joyous union. To help Faith prepare to leave her childhood home and become a wife. To see her eldest join in matrimony with a fine young man. To rejoice in the continuation of life. My eyes filled, but I blinked away the tears. This was not a moment for grief, and I knew Harriet’s fine spirit lived on in her daughter.

  I sank into worship, clearing myself of worldly thoughts, leaving room for God’s Light to enter. I held the loving couple in prayer. I held also Savoire Davies, and the family of Wallace Buckham, wherever they were. I held the released souls of Charity and Wallace. I held Ransom and his children, and Virtue and Elias Swift. I held the disturbed criminal, Delia. And I held David and myself in prayer, too, that we also might arrive at a moment like this one right here.

  After some minutes I opened my eyes at a rustling in front. Zeb rose and extended his right hand to Faith, who took it with her right hand as she stood. My eyes filled again to see my beautiful niece, her back straight in that simple dress, her face open and filled with joy, about to marry. How I wished Harriet were here to see this.

  Zeb cleared his throat. “In the presence of God and before these friends, I take thee, Faith Harriet Bailey, to be my wife, promising, with Divine assistance, to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband as long as we both shall live.” He gazed at Faith with his head slightly tilted, love writ large on his face.

  David took my hand into his and squeezed as I sniffed.

  Faith smiled at Zeb. “In the presence of God and before these friends, I take thee, Zebulon Harris Weed, to be my husband, promising, with Divine assistance, to be unto thee a loving and faithful wife as long as we both shall live.” She bent to sign the top line of the certificate. She handed him the pen and he did the same. They sat.

  I stood and made my way to the table. They had asked me to do the honor of reading the certificate to the assembly. I hoped I wouldn’t burst into happy tears halfway through. I took a deep bre
ath and began to read.

  “Whereas Zebulon Harris Weed of Amesbury, County of Essex, and state of Massachusetts, son of Ezekiel Weed and Patience, his wife, of Amesbury, and Faith Harriet Bailey of Amesbury, County of Essex, and state of Massachusetts, daughter of Frederick Bailey and his late wife, Harriet, of Amesbury, having declared their intentions of marriage with each other to Amesbury Monthly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends held at Amesbury, Massachusetts, according to the good order used among them, their proposed marriage was allowed by that Meeting.”

  I read on, detailing today’s date, that the couple had appeared in a duly appointed meeting under the oversight of this Meeting, and repeating the vows they had uttered. The certificate ended thusly:

  “And in further confirmation thereof, they, the said Zebulon Harris Weed and Faith Harriet Bailey, she, according to the custom of marriage, adopting surname of her husband, did then and there to these presents set their hands. And we, having been present at the solemnization of the said marriage, have as witnesses thereto, set our hands.” Under Faith’s and Zeb’s signatures were drawn dozens of lines ready for the signatures of everyone present old enough to know how to use a pen.

  I set down the certificate with a deep breath. I smiled at Faith’s brand-new name—Faith Harriet Bailey Weed—and at the newlyweds. I signed my full name under hers before returning to my seat.

  “We’re next, my darling,” David whispered.

  I turned my head and stared at him.

  “Mother has given us her blessing. Just this morning.”

  My mouth dropped open. He nodded once. I’d never seen him look so happy and so proud. I covered my mouth, about to cry from joy once more.

  “Truly?” I whispered to him.

  “Yes,” he murmured, taking my hand again.

  A loud clearing of throat came from several rows back. I held a finger to my smiling lips. This was a time to hold the married couple in silent prayer and await messages about their union, not to talk among ourselves. But all I wanted to do was throw my arms around my betrothed, my beloved David.