Chapter Fifty-one
I waited under the railroad station’s overhang for Daddy’s train to arrive. It was raining with a vengeance now and the sound of it pounding on the metal roof was deafening. Sadie had pressed a large umbrella on me before I left her home, but the wind threatened to turn it inside out as I’d hurried here.
As a whistle pierced the air from the north, I smiled despite how awful the last few days had been. I couldn’t wait to greet my father. So much had happened in the six days since I’d last seen him, since my joyous union with David. I couldn’t share it in person with my husband—until tomorrow, that is—and I was eager to discuss all the parts of the case with Daddy.
At last he alit, a small valise in one hand and a sturdy sack in the other. When I waved, he hurried down the platform to me. He set down the valise and embraced me.
“Hello, daughter of mine.” He beamed, blue eyes atwinkle behind his spectacles. His full beard was as white as ever, and his comfortably padded midsection attested to his love of food.
“I am so glad to see thee, Daddy. How was thy trip?”
“It was a train ride, and I’m glad it’s over. Where shall we get ourselves to?”
“Come along to Tilly and Dru’s. They’ve been staying with the Giffords, so I’ve had the house to myself.”
“Thee and David, of course.” He picked up his valise and held out an elbow.
“Yes, which was quite a gift to us.” I opened the umbrella over both of us and took his arm.
“Where is thy fine husband?”
“Oh, thee doesn’t know. Clarinda was taken ill and he had to speed home a couple of days ago. He’s already written to say she’s on the mend, though.”
“Good.”
The wind tore at the umbrella, nearly inverting it. I struggled to keep hold of the handle.
“This is some storm thee is presenting me with,” he said. “It’s much worse down here.”
“I know. Daddy, why did we never come to West Falmouth to see Tilly and Dru? It’s a lovely corner of the world, and thee must have missed them.”
“Thee might well ask. I think thy mother and I were busy raising thee and thy sister, and money was a bit tight for a while. One can’t easily leave farm animals, either. I didn’t have a brother or other relative at hand to take over for a week while we absented ourselves.”
“I understand. I just wish I’d known Frannie better. From all reports she sounded like a lively, creative girl. I think we would have liked each other.”
“Yes. Tilly brought her to us on the train only once when Frannie was about three. But it’s a long trip, and perhaps the girl didn’t take well to traveling.”
We didn’t speak again until we were ensconced inside the house. The first thing the two of us did was wipe dry our matching spectacles. I got the stove going again for tea and showed him Tilly’s room, where he was to sleep, and towels to dry off from the rain. We finally sat with hot drinks, plus a plate of bread and butter. He said my mother had packed him a hearty bag of food to sustain him on the trip and he wasn’t overly hungry. Rain battered the south-facing windows, but the house stood firm.
“The ladies have prepared quite the array of foods for after Frannie’s service,” I said.
“Now, I want to hear all about this very fraught week. Whatever thee wants to tell me.”
“There is so much.” I bit into a piece of bread and swallowed before speaking. “But what I most want to know from thee is Tilly’s past. I’ve learned she was left pregnant and alone by a man. She went somewhere else to give birth and gave the baby up for adoption.”
“Yes.” His expression was somber.
“But she was able to keep track of her daughter, who gave birth to Frannie and died, with her husband, in an accident.”
“A boating accident. All true.”
Boating? I brought my hand to my mouth. “I hadn’t realized it was a boating accident. Frannie’s death is also connected to a boat.”
“What a twist of fate that is.” He wagged his head. “I’m sorry, my dear, but my sister swore me to secrecy about her past. Even thy sainted mother doesn’t know of Tilly’s sad history.”
“Why didn’t Aunt Tilly adopt Frannie?” I asked.
“She told me she wanted to honor her daughter’s married name of Isley. Frannie was the beneficiary of Tilly’s will, make no mistake about it, but she didn’t want her granddaughter to have to change her name. She felt it was the charitable thing to do.”
“I see. This week I met a man named Wesley Stewart who owns two theaters in Falmouth. One is respectable, one not so much. Was he the man?”
“Yes.” Daddy spoke in a slow measured voice. “He fathered my late niece. Thing is, he went out to sea. He might not have even known Tilly was carrying his child.”
“But he said he would marry her, and she never heard from him again.”
“That is Tilly’s story, yes.”
“Her story? It isn’t true?” I stared at him.
He finished a bite of bread before going on. “It was like this, Rose. Thy aunt falling in love surprised everyone, most of all her, I think. Her reserved manner is simply who she is and has always been. Even as a girl she wasn’t a fanciful creature. Of course, she is older than I, but I remember her well when she was in her teenage years. She didn’t giggle with friends or flirt with the boys as so many others are wont to.”
I pictured a young Tilly. “That comports with how she is now, too. So thee thinks perhaps she embroidered the story a bit in her mind?”
“It’s possible. Young love can be expressed with great hyperbole at times. Tilly—being Tilly—might have taken as fact what was a flight of the imagination on Wesley Stewart’s part.”
“And she let herself be carried away by passion with the expectation that a promise underlay it. But Daddy, maybe he was one of many unscrupulous men who lie to women in order to have their way with them.”
“That’s possible, too.”
I sipped my tea and thought. “I wonder if he’ll be at the Meetinghouse today. I’d like to ask him if he knew he was Frannie’s grandfather.”
“Would thee ask him such a bold question?” He regarded me over the top of his glasses, then threw back his head and laughed. “Of course thee would. My girl Rose wouldn’t shrink from such a confrontation.”
“Thee knows me too well.” I smiled for a moment, but sobered again. “When I first met Wesley this week, he knew about Frannie having been murdered. He must have read Tilly Carroll’s name in the newspaper. He didn’t show a flicker of recognition. Could he have forgotten her name? Was she so inconsequential to him?”
“Or does he own a theater because he formerly acted on the stage? He could be an expert at disguising his emotions. Did he seem to know Tilly is thy aunt?”
I summoned the memory of our meeting in the opera house. “I think I said I was there to see my aunt whose ward had died, and he then mentioned the murder.” How had Edwin described the case? Murky and tangled just got murkier and even more tangled.
Chapter Fifty-two
I slit open my eyes to see more and more people enter the Meetinghouse at a few minutes before two o’clock. I sat on the facing bench between Daddy and Dru, with Tilly on Daddy’s other side and Huldah flanking her. Tilly hadn’t wanted to take such a prominent pew but Huldah, the Clerk of Meeting, had insisted. The pew, normally reserved for the Meeting’s elders and recorded ministers and where Abial had been on First Day, was raised a foot higher than the rest, so I could easily observe who was in attendance.
Marie sat with Sadie in a side pew. Brigid had hurried in, brushing rain off her coat, and slid in next to Marie. Hazel appeared in the doorway, surveying the room. Her lip curled as she spied Brigid. She took a seat at the back on the far side. Abial strolled in aiming for our bench. Again in his long coat, he stopped short, nostrils flaring when he saw it was full. He blinked when he saw me, then made for the first pew, which was also fully occupied. He cleared his throa
t and waited until the West Falmouth Friends sitting there squeezed to the side to make room for him. A quiet hum of conversation went on among the non-Quakers, but Friends sat in silent worship.
The upstairs balcony was full. I’d heard of this happening, that when a young person died everyone in the community turned out to pay their respects. It certainly seemed to be the case today. My eyes widened to see Effie Bugos in the front row of the benches up there, her keen gaze roving over the group below. The divider between the two halves of the building was up today, of course, and I spied Currie and Wesley Stewart come in the far door and take seats. Interesting. If, in fact, Wesley was Frannie’s grandfather, I could understand his presence. But Currie’s? That remained a puzzle, especially since he’d said he hadn’t planned to attend. Tilly didn’t seem to notice them.
As Huldah stood to speak, Edwin entered. The door was directly in front of me and I watched as he found a place to stand in front of the back wall. He surveyed the crowd, pausing on each person of note in Frannie’s murder investigation.
“We are gathered here today to remember Frances Elizabeth Isley, whose soul was released to God a week ago today,” Huldah began. “For those not of our faith, let me briefly explain how we conduct our worship service. As we always do, we sit in stillness seeking God’s Light. If one present feels moved to share a message of divine direction, he stands and does so. To be clear, the Religious Society of Friends includes ladies as well as gentlemen in this invitation.” He cast a benevolent look around the room. “It is important to leave a goodly period of silence between messages. The difference between a First Day meeting and today is that memories of our dear Frannie may rise up. All are welcome to speak, but please remember to allow at least a few moments of contemplation before sharing thy thought. Rather than ending at a time certain, we shall discern when the worship is completed.”
He sat and closed his eyes. I followed suit, listening as the room stilled. As always, I loved this part of worship, the settling into the silence, the calming of the physical body, the quieting of the mind and heart. A rustle from the doorway disturbed my worship. I opened my eyes to see all three Baxters in the doorway. Reuben’s eyes were rimmed with red, but the cap he held looked like he must have found the one he’d lost, as it was in good repair. Joseph, bowler in hand, looked tentative. Zerviah made her way to stand by Edwin, but two women on the nearest bench scooted over to make room for the Baxters to sit. I glanced beyond Daddy to see if Tilly had noticed the family come in, but her eyes were firmly shut and her expression somber but not upset. Good.
The storm rattled the tall windows as we sat in expectant waiting. After about five minutes, Sadie stood.
“Frannie was a joy to know. She was exuberant and curious every day of her short life. She would pass by as she walked home from school each afternoon, singing with a smile on her face. May her soul rest easy in God’s arms.” She sat.
That started the flow of messages, some from Friends, some from others who had known the deceased. After a time Aunt Dru pushed up to standing.
“My sister and I loved Frannie with all our hearts. The day she came to live with us changed our lives forever.” Her last two words rose and nearly turned into a weeping wail. She brought a handkerchief to her mouth and breathed slowly in and out. “Some of my happiest times were baking with the girl. I shall miss her terribly, and I know Tilly grieves even more deeply than I.”
After she sat, I reached for Dru’s hand and held it in mine, gently stroking the papery skin with my fingers. I doubted Tilly would speak, but I’d been surprised before. For myself, not a word of inspiration was rising up. Which was no surprise, since I hadn’t known Frannie more than distantly.
Brigid glanced around and rose, looking nervous. “Frannie and I were that good of friends. She didn’t judge me for being Irish, you see, and oh, did we have fun together. She was a good girl, and let no one say she wasn’t.”
Something sounding distinctly like a snort came from the area where Hazel sat. I whipped my head toward there to see a local Friend glaring at Hazel, who had the decency to look abashed. Edwin had his gaze fixed on Hazel, too.
“My heart is heavy, but I know Frannie’s in heaven with the blessed Lord,” Brigid continued, apparently not hearing Hazel’s outburst. “May yeh rest in peace, dear friend.” She crossed herself and sat.
“Amen,” Dru murmured softly.
I wondered if Zerviah would speak, but she held her peace. Or would Wesley contribute a message? I couldn’t imagine what he would say short of an outright confession, and that was as unlikely as me converting to Methodism.
Abial stood, smoothing down the front of his waistcoat, the pious look pasted on his face not erasing his florid cheeks and jowls. Was there ever a more pompous Friend, puppy-raising notwithstanding? He cleared his throat.
“I spoke of Frannie’s passing on First Day last. It is not right the young should die before the old. May the authorities that be act swiftly to apprehend the scourge who brought about her untimely demise.” He stared at Edwin, who returned the stare with a level gaze.
A gasp came from the balcony. I peered up to see Effie, hand to mouth, with alarm drawn on her face. She saw me looking and pointed a shaky finger at Abial. She nodded at me in an urgent gesture. What? What was she trying to tell me? She’d said it had been too dark to see identities on Seventh Day morning.
Abial finished. “Young Frannie Isley brought joy to all who met her.”
He raised his hand to wipe what I thought was a pretend tear from his eye, and it was my turn to stare. The sleeve of the coat fell away from his cuff. A strip of cloth was wrapped around his palm. I looked frantically at Edwin, who saw me and calmly pointed to his eye, signaling he’d seen what I had.
“She will be much missed.” Abial sat, casting me a sideways glance.
Indeed she will, I thought. But thee will not be missed, Friend.
Tilly blew out a breath and rose. As she stood, my father offered her a hand but she shook it off. Chin raised, she clasped a black-edged handkerchief between her hands. The high neck of her mourning dress was stark against the pale skin of her neck
“As Frannie’s friend Brigid shared, let no one among us speak badly of our Frannie, not now, not ever. She did nothing to deserve her fate. Not one thing.” She spit out the words. “I call on the murderer in our midst to rise above his crime and step forward to repent.” Her shaking voice came out loud and clear. “This cannot go on any longer.”
Chapter Fifty-three
A sharp intake of breath resounded in the room at Tilly’s command, not least from Aunt Dru next to me. Tilly remained on her feet for an excruciating few moments. I didn’t expect the guilty party to step forth and declare his—or her—guilt, and no one did. When his sister began to sway, Daddy leapt up and helped her sit, then took her hand as I had taken Dru’s earlier. My heart broke to see Tilly sitting with bowed head, her shoulders shaking.
Reuben stood and stepped into the aisle. He twisted his cap in trembling hands for a moment. “Frannie was goodness and joy and light.” His voice trembled, too.
Tilly looked up. She set her mouth in an iron line with downturned ends.
“I’m sorry,” Reuben blurted, then sat with a thud.
Sorry? For what? Was this the confession Tilly wanted? What would Edwin do with Reuben?
Tilly raised her arm, pointing at him, and opened her mouth. Daddy hurriedly whispered something to her. She lowered her arm and closed her eyes.
The worship room became as quiet as a tomb, which made me realize the rain must have stopped or at least the wind. Was this the proverbial eye of the storm? If it was, we were in for even worse winds to come.
In the silence, Huldah stood. “Please greet thy neighbor.” He reached across to the nearest person to his left and shook his hand.
I was glad he’d discerned the meeting was over and equally glad Hazel hadn’t said anything shocking about Frannie. I shook Dru’s hand, then that of the woman o
n the end of the front pew.
Huldah approached Tilly and crooked his elbow. “May I walk with thee, Miss Tilly?”
“Thank thee, Huldah.” Her smile in return was wan, but she let him help her up. “I should like to leave this place.”
Into the hum of low conversation a great crack sounded. The building shook. Dru looked at me with wide eyes. Tilly clutched Huldah’s sleeve. A child shrieked. A man leaning on a crutch, one pant leg pinned up, cringed and sank his face into his hand. I expected he was a veteran of the War for the Union and a person who didn’t do well with sudden loud noises.
A young man dashed into the room near where Currie and Wesley now stood. “The big pine toppled. It’s blocking both doors!”
“The devil you say,” a male voice exclaimed from across the way.
“That one’s not a Quaker, I daresay,” Dru observed wryly.
I checked, thinking I’d recognized the voice. Indeed, it was Currie who had invoked the Prince of Darkness, as some referred to the concept known as Satan. A mild chaos ensued. Several men of the Meeting hurried into the front hall, while others in attendance milled about. Some of the women—not Friends, by the look of their ruffles and brightly colored garments—looked worried.
“Tilly, why doesn’t thee sit again?” Daddy said gently.
She obliged but muttered, “All I want to do is make myself scarce, and God blocks the doors? I cannot fathom it.”
“He works in mysterious ways, and thee knows it as well as I do.” My father sat next to her.
I stood. I needed to speak with Edwin, and soon. Sadie circulated around both rooms, speaking softly to certain people. I was sure she was inviting Friends and selected others to join the family in the repast she’d prepared. Meanwhile, Wesley seemed to be making his way closer to Tilly. Would she see him first? Was he thinking of speaking to her?
Brigid rose and strode to the door. I followed her. Edwin tried to stop her.
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