Taken Too Soon

by Edith Maxwell

  We supped and didn’t mention Currie for some minutes, talking instead about David’s meeting with his colleague, about a lovely passing sailboat, about what President Harrison was up to recently. The waiter arrived to remove our plates.

  “Excuse me, my good man,” David said to him. “We earlier spied a handbill for a burlesque show in town. Is it good, respectable entertainment? Worth our while?”

  The man shot me a quick look. “I might not call it entirely respectable, no, sir. An attraction for the general populace, it is. But the female performers are, shall we say, rather rudely dressed. Most ladies don’t care to witness such a spectacle.” He stressed the word “ladies.”

  “Are local young ladies the performers?” I asked.

  The serving man gave a little start. Why? Did he not expect me to speak to him?

  He cleared his throat. “Indeed they are. Much to the chagrin of their fathers, I must say. A rather unscrupulous gentleman is the recruiter of late and has been given the boot from more than one household.”

  Currie. David and I exchanged a glance.

  “If that will be all, I’ll bring out the next course,” the waiter said.

  “We thank thee.” I smiled at him.

  “It’s as I thought.” David waited until the man had left to speak. “How my brother ever landed in such a disreputable occupation is beyond me.”

  I laid my hand on his. “He might still find his way out of it, darling. Consider the possibility, if thee will.”

  It took him a moment, but he finally smiled gently. “Have I told you I loved you lately?”

  “Not in the last hour, no.” I returned his fond gaze.

  “I love you, wife.”

  “I love thee, husband.” I straightened my fork. “David, how did Currie end up on the Cape, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. It was during the time he wasn’t communicating with us. My father has friends and business associates here, though, which is why he has the Flying Dude subscription. Maybe Currie thought he could find employment with one of them.”

  “Speaking of Herbert, it’s curious that Clarinda was able to prevail in causing a family rift with Currie. Did thy father not defend him? Stand up to his wife in the matter?” Currie could have felt abandoned by the very man he’d surely always looked up to.

  David spoke slowly. “He tried. But, as you must know, we can never really see into the inner workings of married couples.”

  I nodded.

  “Father has always doted on my mother. I know she seems cold and imperious at times, but they have had a close partnership for many years. Herbert Dodge is no milquetoast. In the case of Currie, perhaps my father felt he could not push Mother too far.”

  Our man delivered our main courses. David had opted for fillet of beef with mushroom sauce, while I’d chosen the sole. I’d ordered it at the Grand Hotel in Amesbury last year and had loved the light treatment of the thin fillets.

  After we’d eaten several bites, David asked, “Is yours good?”

  “Very. It’s mildly lemony and the cured capers scattered about add a perfect piquant spark. And thy beef?”

  “Excellent. Very well prepared, with wine and thyme in the sauce, if I’m not mistaken.” He’d switched to a glass of hearty red wine to accompany his meal and now sipped from it. “Our discussion of Tilly’s interview with the detective was cut short by meeting my brother. Is there more to tell?”

  “Edwin is a skilled interrogator. I sensed she was holding something back, not telling him the entire story of her morning fishing. He questioned Aunt Dru, too, separately, of course. They both appeared upset at Edwin’s suggestion that Frannie was pregnant, but neither actually answered his question about what they knew of her condition.”

  “It seems both Miss Tilly and Miss Dru are quite busy with their own lives, what with their library duties and Tilly’s fishing. I wonder how much time Frannie spent at tag tying. Not being in school, she must have had plentiful free time in which to do as she wished.”

  “Yes.” I took another sip of my sweet, tangy drink. “Dru also mentioned to the detective that she’d found an ale bottle behind their shed on Seventh Day and seemed think it proved Reuben Baxter had been at the house.”

  “Their shed is quite near the train tracks, is it not? Any vagrant could have tossed the bottle there and no one the wiser.”

  “I expect the detective immediately thought the same.” I let out a noisy breath. “Oh, David. Talking about murder and wicked shenanigans is not what I imagined we’d be discussing during our first week of marriage.”

  “Then let’s speak no more of it this evening. I could talk until the cows come home about your beautiful brown eyes, the roses in your cheeks, and your perfect shape.”

  I laughed lightly. “That won’t be necessary.”

  We did manage to avoid touching on anything the least bit unpleasant for the rest of our dinner and our short ride home on the train. It didn’t mean the unpleasantness had gone away.

  Chapter Twenty

  Once again I was rosy-cheeked from the marital bed and smiling to myself the next morning as I strolled to the Giffords’ home at around ten thirty. David had opted to stay home and read an article in a medical journal he’d been meaning to get to instead of accompanying me on my detecting rounds, as long as I promised to return by midday so we could sally forth on an excursion to Wood’s Holl.

  Sadie greeted me at the door. “Come in, Rose. Dru isn’t here, but Tilly is busy penning notes to various friends and relatives about Frannie’s passing.” She glanced behind her, then whispered, “She’s doing better, at least for now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I can’t come in at the moment, but please tell her I’ll be back later in the day. David and I have an excursion to Wood’s Holl planned.”

  “Of course. Thee will enjoy thy afternoon. Come for supper after thee both return.”

  “We will and I thank thee. Can thee tell me where to find Zerviah? I’d like to talk midwifery with her.”

  “Of course. The Baxters live in the caretaker’s cottage on the Latting property. Thee knows the two big mansions on either side of the Meetinghouse?”

  “Yes. Belonging to the Swift brothers, someone said.”

  “Precisely. Abial Latting’s home—estate would be a better description—is beyond the one to the left as thee faces the Meetinghouse.”

  “I thank thee kindly.”

  She glanced over my shoulder. “Greetings, Marie.”

  I turned.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gifford, Mrs. Dodge.” She held up a canvas bag. “I bring more tomatoes, and a few squash, too. My mother was overambitious in her plantings this year.” She smiled.

  “What a lovely gift,” I said. “How is thee, Marie, and thy mother?”

  She tilted her head. “She’s not recovering at the rate she or I would wish, alas. Frankly, I doubt she will, at seventy-nine.”

  “From what is she ailing, if I might inquire?” I asked.

  “It’s a wasting disease of some kind, probably cancer. She has a strong spirit and will to live, but there is no medicine to cure her. I’m truly only trying to keep her comfortable at this point. Part of the effort is assuring her that her garden produce is not rotting on the vine.”

  “Thee is a caring daughter,” Sadie said.

  “Very,” I agreed.

  “You know, someone will do it for me when my time comes. Perhaps my children, perhaps someone from my church, maybe a friend. I feel no good deed is wasted in God’s eyes.”

  I smiled. “Has thee been out fishing for a moment of respite?”

  Marie ceased smiling. “Yes, once, but I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Why, pray tell?” I asked.

  “I was in the inlet at high tide on Saturday morning.”

  Ah. Another possible witness to the murder?

  “From a distance I spied two people in a boat,” she went on. “It seemed they were arguing, perhaps struggling.”

  “Could thee s
ee who they were?” Sadie asked, her eyes wide.

  “No. A fish bit my line and the boat had turned when I heard a rather loud splash. By the time I looked again the other boat was gone. Now I wonder if I witnessed the poor girl’s death.”

  “Thee might have,” I said. “I think thee should tell the detective what thee saw. It could be important to his investigation. He’s encamped at Huldah’s office.” I was surprised sensible Marie hadn’t already thought of going to the police with what she’d seen. Her mother was ill, though. That likely absorbed most of her attention.

  “I suppose I should. I shall go right now.” She extended the bag to Sadie.

  Sadie thanked her and told her where to find the office.

  “I’ll see you ladies later. I can pick up my bag after I return.” Marie walked off with a brisk step.

  I watched her go. “Many are reluctant to speak with the authorities. I’m glad she wasn’t.”

  “Does thee think she really heard Frannie go into the water?” Sadie whispered.

  “I don’t know, but it certainly seems possible.”

  “I do believe such a memory would haunt me, if it had been I who was there.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I made my way to the Union Store after checking at the telegram office. No message from my father had awaited. Perhaps he was busy, or maybe it was simply too soon for a reply to my inquiry. I surveyed the store but didn’t see Brigid anywhere. What a pity. I wanted to ask her if she knew anything about Frannie going to Falmouth.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” a barrel-chested man in a long apron called out from behind the store’s counter, where Brigid had been the day before.

  I approached him, thinking quickly if there was anything David and I could use at the house. “Good morning. I am in need of a bottle of milk and a half dozen eggs, if thee has them.”

  “We surely do, ma’am. You’re one of them Quakers, I see. New to town?”

  “I am.” I smiled at him. “My name is Rose Dodge. My husband and I are in West Falmouth for a few days visiting my aunts Tilly and Drusilla Carroll.”

  “Those are two fine ladies. I’m Gilbert Boyce, and I manage the store. Quite the pity about Miss Tilly’s ward, may she rest in everlasting peace.”

  “It’s very much a pity.”

  “Well, let me get those supplies for you.” He disappeared into the back.

  He’d said “manage.” Did he also own the store? And was he the one Abial had been peeved not to find?

  Gilbert emerged holding a quart of cold milk, with moisture already forming on the glass, and a small metal box with a lid. He flipped open the top, revealing six eggs nestled in individual stiff paper sleeves. “How do you like this? I invented it myself.”

  “It’s a grand improvement over loose eggs in a basket, I’d say. Thee must have a tinkerer’s mind.”

  “Yes, I do, Mrs. Dodge. I do, indeed.” He stroked one of his long bushy sideburns. “Matter of fact, young Miss Isley used to come in and pester me with questions about my inventions. She was a tinkerer, too.”

  A tiny lady with a wicker basket over her arm piped up. “May she rest in peace, young Frannie.” A widow’s hump misshaped her upper back.

  “Did thee know her, ma’am?” I asked.

  “Not to speak with, but everyone knew who the girl was, and I’d see her in here from time to time conversing.” She pointed with a tanned and wizened finger at the shopkeeper, a smile splitting her face under a faded man’s derby. “He’s quite the inventor, is our Mr. Boyce.”

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Bugos,” Gilbert said. “Let me know what I can help you with.”

  “You know I will. I can wait until you’re done with this nice lady.” She fixed a keen gaze on me for a moment, then made her way with an uneven gait down an aisle.

  “Can I help you find something else, ma’am?” Gilbert asked me.

  “Nothing material, but I thank thee. Thee is the manager here. Does thee also own the store? An Abial Latting was in yesterday quite peeved with not finding the owner at hand.”

  “Oh, him. No, ma’am, I’m not the owner. I just run the place for him. And Latting? What isn’t he peeved about?” His laugh was a hearty one. “I’m glad not to tangle with the man, though.”

  Interesting. “I had occasion to meet Brigid McChesney here yesterday. Might she be here today, as well?”

  “Yes. The girl’s a good worker, and I’m lucky to have her in my employ. I think she’s around the side sweeping up.” When a woman bustled in with three children, the shopkeeper greeted them, then said to me, “It’ll be sixteen cents, Mrs. Dodge.”

  I paid him and drew out the cloth bag I’d remembered to bring on my peregrinations. “I thank thee, Gilbert,” I said. “I’ll return these containers before I depart for the north.”

  “I’d appreciate you doing so.”

  Making my way outside, I indeed discovered an aproned Brigid sweeping the perimeter of the store. “Hello, Brigid.”

  Startled, she looked up. “Mrs. Dodge, I didn’t hear you.” She paused in her work, holding the broom with one hand.

  “Please call me Rose, Brigid.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that, ma’am. Can I be helping you with something, then?”

  I decided to come out with it. “Did thee know anything about Frannie seeking employment in Falmouth? Did she venture down there on occasion?”

  Her expression turned stony. “You’re after asking about that man, aren’t you?” She nearly spat the word “man.”

  Currie. “What man?”

  “The one looking for girls for his nasty show. Girls willing to take off their clothes and parade around on a stage. It’s filthy stuff, Mrs. Dodge, make no mistake about it. He’s a corrupter of innocent souls, that one.”

  “Does thee happen to know his name?”

  “Nah, I don’t. Frannie wasn’t after telling me. But she was falling under his spell. She’d come back on the train with right stars in her eyes.” Her own eyes filled. “I miss the girl, plain and simple.” She sniffed and straightened her back. “If that despicable man was involved in her death, I’ll be wanting to harpoon him straight through the heart.”

  She and I both.

  “Brigid?” Gilbert’s voice rang out from the back door.

  “That would be me. Good day, Mrs. Dodge.” She hurried toward the back, broom in hand.

  “Thank thee, Brigid,” I called after her. The man had to be Currie, didn’t it? If it was, I still didn’t know how he’d found Frannie. Maybe she’d gone to Falmouth on a lark and seen a handbill. Or maybe he journeyed up to this hamlet to find innocent girls. I hated that it was my own David’s brother I was suspecting, my own brother-in-law. But what I’d learned was pointing in Currie’s direction, at least in terms of luring girls to his show.

  A dray piled high with pumpkins pulled up next to where I stood, the workhorse pulling it plodding under the load. I finally dislodged myself from my reverie. It was time to pay Edwin another call.

  Five minutes later I trudged out of Huldah’s office. The detective had not been in. Larkin didn’t seem to know where he was, or maybe he knew but didn’t want to tell me. He was at least polite today. I had one more stop to make, and then I was resolved to return to my new husband and forget about murder for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I rapped on the door of a modest cottage set well behind the Latting mansion. Late tea roses bloomed in tidy beds under the windows. Over the door wound the vine of a sweet autumn clematis in bloom, with thousands of tiny white starbursts smelling of jasmine. An extensive medicinal herb garden befitting someone of Zerviah’s—and my—occupation flourished in full sun. I spied many of the same plants I grew and used, including pennyroyal, tansy, black cohosh, mallow, and more.

  “Hello, Rose.” Zerviah greeted me in her deep-toned quiet voice as she came around the side of the house. “I was expecting you.” She held a flat-bottomed basket full of tomatoes and green beans.<
br />
  “Thee was?” Did she have a sixth sense? I certainly hadn’t sent word I was coming.

  “I was. Would you like to sit in my garden or come inside?”

  “Sitting in the garden sounds lovely.”

  She turned without speaking and I followed her around the back to a shady bower. Ripening apples and pears hung from branches. Two stumps had been placed under the trees. Zerviah set her trug on the ground and perched on one stump, so I took the other. I spied a good-sized vegetable garden beyond the small orchard.

  “Please tell me if you’ve made any progress in the matter of Frannie’s murder,” she began.

  “I’ve learned a number of interesting things, but right now it isn’t clear what’s important and what isn’t.”

  She regarded me in silence for a moment. “I expect you don’t want to share those interesting things.”

  “I’m not really at liberty to do so.”

  “Do any of them pertain to my son?” She kept her voice low, shooting a glance at a shed to the rear of the property.

  “Barely. One of my aunts found an ale bottle by an outbuilding behind their house and claimed it was proof Reuben had been at their home when Frannie was there alone.”

  “Proof? It is true Reuben sometimes indulges in alcohol when he should not. But the railroad tracks are right next to their house. This is a ridiculous claim.”

  “I agree with thee,” I said. “As yet I’m not aware of any real evidence. Was thy son out clamming on Seventh Day morning?”

  “No. It was high tide. He goes out only when the waters ebb.”

  “Was he at home, then?”

  “I believe so,” Zerviah said, but she didn’t meet my gaze, instead looking somewhere over my shoulder. “I was out for a day and a half at a long labor and birth.”

  “Has thy husband vouched for Reuben’s whereabouts to the authorities?” I held my breath. I hoped she wouldn’t take offense at my questions.

  “Mr. Baxter was away and still is. Mr. Latting sent him to the western region of the state to inspect one of his businesses there.”