by B. B. Oak
Poor dear Molly Munger. Henceforth I shall have only kind thoughts concerning her. But as I marched toward her home this afternoon, my thoughts were anything but kind. And little wonder, for I had not seen hide nor hair of her for a week. Her father’s excuse that she was indisposed with some vague ailment had worn mighty thin, and I needed to know for certain if Miss Molly had any intention of returning to work. I sorely hoped she would, for domestic helpers are hard to come by in Plumford. Most village girls prefer to work at the mills. Truth be told, so would I. And if I cannot earn my way with my art, I may well end up standing afore a loom instead of an easel.
Of course, if I so desired it, Grandfather would happily support me here in Plumford and give me leave to paint to my heart’s content. But I would not be content merely dabbling at art whilst caring for an elderly gentleman, no matter how dear he be to me. I must strike out on my own in order to make a name for myself in my field. If I were a man that would be perfectly understandable to Grandfather, and I am sure he would encourage my ambitions,just as he encouraged his son to seek his fortune at sea and his grandson to become a doctor. But he encourages me, a mere woman, to stay by his hearth and close to his heart, where I will be safe if not satisfied.
Yet Molly was not safe in Plumford, was she? Her strong father and upright mother could not protect her from the evil she encountered right here. I pray her life is not ruined because of it. She is not yet seventeen!
As I approached the Munger house I could hear ferocious blows and pounding coming from Mr. Munger’s butchery alongside it. Perchance this noise prevented Mrs. Munger from hearing my knocks upon her front door, but I do not think so. I am quite sure I glimpsed her white-capped head peeking through a downstairs window that offered a good view of me standing on the porch. I went around back where I saw a few sheep contentedly grazing in a field by the river. I knocked on the back door, and this time Mrs. Munger answered.
“Miss Bell, what a surprise,” said she without a trace of a smile.
“I have come to inquire about Molly.”
“Have you now?” Rather than move her large frame aside so that I could enter, she remained rigid in the doorway, arms akimbo.
“How is she faring, Mrs. Munger?”
“Molly?”
“Yes. Is she feeling any better?”
“Any better than what, pray?”
I did pray. For patience. “Better than Thursday last when your husband came to tell me she was ill, Mrs. Munger. My concern for Molly grows with each passing day she does not come back to work.”
“Why, our Molly is not at all sick. I reckon Mr. Munger just didn’t want to come out and tell you the truth, Miss Bell. Molly has up and quit you. She don’t care to work at the doc’s no more.”
“Oh! And when was I to be informed of this?”
“Ain’t you being informed of it now?”
I felt my cheeks burn with indignation. “I would like to discuss this with Molly herself if I may, Mrs. Munger.”
She did not budge from the doorway. “My daughter has gone to work for my aunt in Ipswich. Good Day, Miss Bell.”
I did not budge either. “Molly could not have gone quite yet, for I spied her looking out an upstairs window as I came up the path,” I declared. In truth I had only spied Mrs. Munger’s visage in a window, but I sensed she was lying and so gave her tit for tat.
We eyeballed each other in silence, neither blinking, until tears suddenly flooded Mrs. Munger’s eyes. She covered her face with her apron and sobbed.
“Please tell me what is troubling you so, Mrs. Munger. Perhaps I can be of help.”
She dropped her apron and considered me. “You might help at that. Molly regards you highly.”
’Twas news to me that she did. During our short acquaintanceship, I have received little enough respect from the girl but more than a good share of back talk. Nevertheless, I followed Mrs. Munger up the narrow staircase and into a small, neat bed chamber. Molly was lying atop the covers staring up at the ceiling. She was barefoot and dressed in a muslin nightgown, so she did not seem to have any immediate intention of going out. Yet a bright pink bonnet adorned her head. She stared at me blankly but did not move a muscle. She seemed to be waiting for me to speak first, and so I did.
“What a pretty bonnet, Molly. May I ask why you are wearing it in bed?”
Mrs. Munger sighed and said, “She has not taken the fool thing off for a good three days.”
Without uttering a word, Molly turned away to face the wall, giving me the back of her bonnet to regard. Regard it I did, for it looked mighty familiar, right down to the marabou feather trimming. Why, it could have been the very bonnet I had seen on the empty little head of the banker’s wife! Had she given it to Molly before she left town? That did not seem likely. Mrs. Vail had made it clear to me that she prized her bonnet too highly to ever part with it. Besides, she did not even know Molly. Perchance she’d left her bonnet behind accidentally and Molly had come upon it somehow. Or could it be that the bonnet Molly was wearing was not Mrs. Vail’s after all, but her very own? How could she have acquired it? Mrs. Vail told me that a “dear friend” had ordered her bonnet from an exclusive Boston milliner. Could Molly have the same dear friend? Someone with a penchant for women decked out in pink bonnets? I recalled the sly smile I had seen Capt. Peck give Mrs. Vail. Could it be possible . . . ?
“Were you well acquainted with Captain Peck, Molly?” I ventured to ask.
After a long moment of silence, I saw the marabou plume on Molly’s hat bob up and down as she nodded yes.
“He seduced my girl with that blasphemous bonnet,” Mrs. Munger said, confirming my suspicions.
“His murder must have been a great shock to her. Is that why she has taken to bed?”
“She took to bed from the shock of what he told her a few days before he died,” Mrs. Munger said. “And she miscarried because of it too.”
“Good Lord! She was with child?”
“The fetus had not yet stirred when she lost it, and she is as good as recovered from the ordeal.”
“Are you sure she is going to be all right, Mrs. Munger?”
“Yes, I know a good deal about birthing. But I know nothing about . . .” She clapped her mouth shut and turned her eyes from me.
I waited for her to continue, and when she did not, I sat myself on the edge of the bed and patted Molly’s back. “I am very sorry,” I told her. “I know this is a mighty bleak time for you. Nevertheless, you have your whole life ahead of you. A full, happy life, I am sure, for you still have your health and—”
“What if she don’t?” Mrs. Munger bawled. “What if she caught the pox from that villain? He told her he had it for sure.”
I was stunned silent by Peck’s vileness but only for a moment. “I will send Dr. Adam to examine Molly as soon as he returns from Boston.”
She looked relieved yet cautious. “No one but you and Doc Adam must know about this.”
“What about Molly’s father?”
“Oh, Ira knows.” Mrs. Munger sank down on the bed beside me. “I wish he didn’t, but it couldn’t be helped. He was home when Molly miscarried, just back from playing town ball. In her upset state, she confessed all to him, even that she might have caught the pox from Peck. He listened real quiet and did not so much as raise his voice, much less his hand, to our daughter. He just went out to the butchery and stayed there all night. He has not spoken a word of it since.”
“And neither shall I speak a word of this to anyone but my cousin,” I assured Mrs. Munger. “This whole affair will be as dead and buried as Peck.”
“I pray that be so. But what if Molly got the pox from him? Do you know what the signs are, Miss Bell?”
“Like most women, I have been kept in the dark about such things. But Dr. Adam will know. And I am sure he can prescribe remedies if she did. She is young and resilient. In time she will forget this sad episode in her life.”
“I do not want to forget!” Molly sat up and
stared at me with tear-glazed eyes. “That’s why I will always wear this bonnet.”
“To remember the heartless man who gave it to you?”
“No, to repent that I gave myself to such a man as that.” She turned to her mother. “Bury me in this bonnet, Ma. That is my final wish.”
This morbid directive caused Mrs. Munger to start sobbing again. I sat quietly on the bed and contemplated what Molly had said. Her belief that the bonnet was a symbol of her disgrace and that she should wear it in shame forevermore—or even for another minute!—seemed absurd to me.
“Allow me, dear,” I said, and before she could lift a hand to prevent me I yanked the hateful thing off her head.
I tossed it to the floor and trampled upon it till it was flattened. I was breathing rather hard when I was done. I looked at Molly. She looked back at me with an expression of pure relief.
Mrs. Munger gingerly picked up the destroyed bonnet by a frayed ribbon, as one would pick up a rat by its tail. “I will burn it,” she said.
Molly insisted on watching it burn and went downstairs with us. Her mother opened the oven door of the cookstove, removed the johnnycake baking on a tin, and added some wood sticks to spruce up the fire. She tossed the bonnet onto the flames, and we all watched it blacken and shrivel to nothing. Then we ate the johnnycake and drank some tea. I was pleased to see that Molly’s appetite was as keen as ever.
I left the house shortly thereafter and saw Ira Munger walking toward the grazing sheep. He was wearing a leather apron stained black with blood and grease. I waved to him. He solemnly nodded back to me, then gripped one of the sheep by the nape of the neck and began pulling it toward the butchery. It did not so much as let out a single bleat of protest, for it did not know its fate. Alas, I did. I looked away and hurried home.
There I impatiently awaited Adam’s return from Boston, anxious to tell him about Molly. When I heard the stage pull up in front of the house I hurried out, expecting Adam to be on it. He was not, and the note the driver handed me was not from him, but from Henry Thoreau, who had dispatched the driver to deliver it to me from the Concord station. Scrawled in pencil on a sheet torn from his notebook, Henry’s terse message informed me that Adam would be spending the night in the city. How could Henry know this? Had he taken the cars to Boston with Adam this morning? If so, why had Henry returned without him? What is keeping Adam in the city tonight? And what made him decide to go there in the first place?
So many questions! And the biggest one of all is this: Will Adam ever confide in me again? How paradoxical it is that our moment of intimacy has rendered us strangers. I long to be his closest friend again, his trusted companion and fellow traveler through life. But now that we are adults this can no longer be possible unless . . . No! We cannot marry!
ADAM’S JOURNAL
Wednesday, August 19th
Can it be that I shall discover Peck’s killer this evening? Perhaps I already have.
I interviewed Edwin Vail at the Provident Bank on Tremont this morning. For such an unremarkable little man, he has a rather grand office, with tall windows and an enormous ornate desk. Behind the desk, built right into the wall, is some sort of vault, the steel door of which was shut tight.
As Vail was greeting me with cool civility, a nervous young man carrying a metal case hurried in. “You were due here twenty minutes ago,” Vail told him in a severe tone. “I came near to sending a guard after you.”
The young man winced. “Please forgive my being tardy, sir.” He hefted the case onto a solid side table. “I left the printer posthaste, but my hack got held up in traffic.”
“Why did you not disembark from the conveyance and continue on foot?”
“These bank plates are heavy, sir! And I feared I would be too vulnerable to thieves.”
“You are chock-full of excuses, aren’t you? If you are so much as five minutes late in future, I will see you never work at this bank or any other as long as you live. Now get back to work.”
The browbeaten bank clerk slinked out, closing the door behind him. Vail turned his glare toward me, as if seeking another target upon which to further vent his anger. But he must have thought better of it, for he only motioned for me to sit and took his own seat behind his desk. Its massiveness dwarfed him. “So what is it you want, Dr. Walker?” he asked with impatient bluntness.
Here I admit to being caught inexcusably unprepared. I had thought we would exchange pleasantries and eventually get around to Peck’s demise, but I saw that would not wash. Thought fast and saved my bacon by pulling my gold watch out of my waistcoat pocket.
“This timepiece,” I said,“was found in the front yard of my grandfather’s house the evening you were there, Mr. Vail. Given its quality, I presumed it yours.You left Plumford before I had opportunity to return it to you, and I came here to do so now.”
Vail’s eyes lit up at the sight of the embossed gold watch-case. “Let me see it.”
He extended his hand, rising slightly to reach across the broad expanse of his desk, and I had no choice but to unhitch the chain and drop my timepiece into his soft, open palm. My heart also dropped as I watched him examine it with a covetous eye. He nodded and smiled as if recognizing it and grasped it in his hand as if it had found its way home again. Then he looked hard at me and frowned. “No, no, it is not mine.” He handed my watch back to me. The case felt oily from his touch. “No doubt its owner will soon enough claim it.”
“Well, neither Mr. Thoreau nor Mr. Upson has done so. And the only other guests in the yard that evening were you and Captain Peck.”
“Do not forget the Indian was also present. Perhaps the watch is his.” He smiled at his own ludicrous suggestion. “Though it is doubtful such a savage as he can even tell time.”
“Mr. Trump is no more a savage than I am,” I replied.
Vail widened his eyes to feign fear. “Then I beseech you not to scalp me the way Trump scalped Peck!” He smiled again.
“You do not seem much distressed over your friend’s demise.”
“Peck was not my friend. Why, I barely knew the man.”
“Oh? You were not his business partner?” I voiced this in perhaps too inquisitorial a manner, but snooping into the affairs of others is all new to me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Vail said, looking at me as if I were insane. “I cannot imagine how you made such a preposterous assumption.”
I considered telling Vail that Peck himself had told me but thought better of it. It was obvious that if I confronted him further in such a direct manner I would get nowhere. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Vail. I did not mean to offend you by that question.”
“Your offence, sir, is that you are wasting my time.” His stood abruptly. “Good day.”
Such a rude dismissal left me far less inclined to be polite. I reckoned I had nothing to lose (and perhaps something to gain) if I riled him again.
So I remained seated and said, “Then it was only your wife who had a close friendship with the captain.”
I had not forgotten the way Mrs. Vail had looked so intensely at Peck upon her arrival. And I hoped my impertinence might trigger an outburst from Vail that would reveal more than he wanted me to know.
His face grew red, and his eyes bulged like a rabbit’s. Unfortunately, his anger left him speechless.
Tried again. “I came to that conclusion because she brought him a volume of poetry when you visited. And I heard you yourself proclaim to Captain Peck that your wife—Lucy, is it?—insisted on accompanying you to Plumford.”
“How dare you presume to call my wife by her Christian name?” he sputtered.
I had clearly presumed far worse than that, yet he was calling me on a point of etiquette. That made me think he had plenty to hide. “Again I apologize,” I said.“I was only trying to remind you of what you said when—”
“Enough!” He straightened his waistcoat over the bulge of his belly. “Only to stifle your ill-mannered prying do I tell you my wife
suggested we take up Peck’s offer to visit him for the simple reason that she wanted to get some fresh country air. As for the book Mrs. Vail brought him, it was merely a formal gift a guest gives a host. She went to no great trouble to obtain it, for we reside directly across the street from a fine bookseller. Now that I think upon it, I recall that it was my idea to bring Captain Peck a book. Mrs. Vail did not know the man well, and for you to imply she did comes perilously close to a brazen insult.”
I declared I wished to cause no offence. However, I remained firmly ensconced in my chair, ignoring his movements toward the door. He waited by it, and I waited him out until he reluctantly spoke again.
“Such a dreadful business it was,” he muttered, eyeing me closely as though to gauge the effect of his words on me. “All my dear wife and I want to do is forget our perilous proximity to such a heinous crime as that. Why, that wild Indian could have slaughtered us as well as Peck as we lay asleep and defenseless in our bed! It is all too horrible to contemplate, and I do not wish to speak of it further.”
I could hardly force him to. Nor could I come right out and call him a liar for denying he had any business dealings with Peck. I would have to find out about them from another. How relieved he looked when I rose from my seat and made my way to the door. Before I left I asked him if he knew of Lt. Finch’s whereabouts. I was not surprised when he replied that he knew nothing of the man and had barely exchanged two words altogether with him during their brief acquaintanceship. Vail and I did not shake hands in parting.
As I stood outside the bank wondering how to go about finding Finch, I recalled the man’s newfound devotion to town ball. With no other avenue of inquiry open to me, I walked to the Common where he had told me he played.
Once there I abandoned the promenades and struck out across the rolling grass. As I passed the Great Elm I paused to regard it. That this fine specimen, over two hundred years old, is still standing never fails to inspire me. When its very core started rotting away a century ago, the large cavity was filled with clay and the exterior swathed with a canvas bandage. The tree healed! And when four limbs were torn from it in a gale ten years ago, they were bolted back in place with iron bands and appear to have knitted back to the trunk! My hope is that advancements in medical science will some day make it possible for doctors to perform such curative feats upon humans.