by Adele Fasick
The young man soon wandered off to find more congenial company and Daniel turned to Charlotte with a smile. "You will never make a proper reporter." He shook his head in mock horror. "Perhaps we should keep our thoughts to ourselves and just ask questions."
"I'll try," Charlotte promised, "but I hope the others here aren't quite as pretentious as he is. Do you believe a poet has to be free of other work?"
"I certainly hope not or I fear my poetry will never see the light of day. But here comes our first speaker."
Daniel and Charlotte sat in the very last pew of the church where they could see the backs of the heads of almost everyone who was there. The heads were quite varied, most of them streaked with gray, some pure white, and a few glossy black or tawny blond. One heavyset patriarch had long, flowing pure white locks and massive shoulders that towered above everyone else in his pew.
The speaker was introduced as the Reverend Edgar Blackwell from Maine. He was a rather short, gray-haired man wearing a black clerical-style suit and large glasses. He opened a thick sheaf of notes and announced that he would talk about "Heathenish Attacks on Biblical Studies in the Modern Day". His theme seemed to be that Massachusetts was besieged by dangerous religious groups that did not respect the Christian traditions of the commonwealth. He talked for a long time and Charlotte's thoughts drifted off to the puzzle of Winslow Hopewell's death. They seemed to be learning nothing of any value here, but then she heard the Reverend Blackwell mention Quakers and her attention went back to him.
"Not only are ungodly freethinkers who deny the literal truth of the Bible dangerous, but also those who claim that every man can judge for himself the truth that God has given us. Those who call themselves Quakers refuse to accept the teaching of ordained ministers and believe God speaks to every human being and that each of us can choose his own truths. This can lead to schism and heresy. These people refuse to take oaths in a court of law. They refuse to remove their hats in our public buildings—even in churches." His voice sank to a low growl of disbelief as he said this.
"These Quakers do not believe in the sacredness of marriage. They allow a man and a woman to declare themselves married without the blessing of clergy. This undermines society and cannot be allowed. There is talk now of accepting Quaker marriages as equal to Christian weddings, but we must never allow that in Massachusetts."
After a while the Reverend Blackwell ran out of steam and his sermon petered out into a list of innovations that can never be allowed. Many in the audience stirred restlessly. At last he sat down and a very different speaker came to the pulpit. This was Bronson Alcott the tall white-haired man Charlotte had noticed earlier looking conspicuous in a pew near the front of the church. His manner was calm and quiet, but his words were lively, jumping about from one topic to another.
"Engage in nothing that cripples or degrades you. Your first duty is self-culture, self-exaltation: you may not violate this high trust. Either subordinate your vocation to your life or quit it forever. Your influence over others is commensurate with the strength that you have found in yourself."
Charlotte strained to understand what he meant. Could everyone do whatever they wanted? He went on and on talking about trusting your soul. He even mentioned Quakers and how they had taught him to believe the inner light that he found within himself. It was very different from Reverend Blackwell's view and Charlotte was glad that someone had a good word to say about Quakers, but she simply could not follow all of what he said. She looked at Daniel who was frowning deeply. He had brought paper with him to keep notes, but he wasn't writing much. Others seemed to be equally puzzled.
Finally other speakers became impatient and Alcott yielded his place. Speakers represented all shades of ideas. The man Daniel had seen at the April meeting was there insisting that the world would end in 1843 and there was no use trying to reform it. Another told the audience that cruelty to animals was the cause of evil and the world needed to be purified by everyone adopting a diet limited to grains and vegetables.
The Reverend John Carter, Fanny's friend and the minister of the church, spoke at last and he was brief and to the point. "While we are thinking of the many paths open to us in finding spiritual grace and build a better world, we should remember there are things we can do right now in Massachusetts to help destroy a great evil."
The change in tone was startling and the audience listened intently. Daniel started to write something on his papers.
"Slavery still exists in America," Reverend Carter continued, "And it is spreading across the country because of the pressure from representatives of the Southern states in Congress. The law requires anyone, in any state across the nation, to return runaway African slaves to their owners no matter how cruelly they have been treated. Many of us believe that obeying such a law is contrary to the law of God. The number of runaways increases day by day. Here at the church we have seen individuals, married couples, sometimes entire families fleeing their masters and seeking help in traveling to freedom in Canada. Let us not forget our duty to these poor fugitives among us."
John Carter was speaking very seriously but he did not mention any specifics of how to help runaways. Perhaps he was afraid there were Southern spies in the group. He was also the person responsible for organizing the Convention, at least so far as anyone could organize these eccentric people, so he moved on to practical matters. He suggested an adjournment to allow people a rest period. Many in the audience had brought food of some kind with them and the women of the parish had set up tables in the small parish hall and offered baked goods. Mrs. Carter was setting out platters of brown bread and biscuits and pitchers of milk. Fanny offered to help her and Charlotte joined the two of them in slicing bread and making sure that everyone got some.
Mrs. Carter was a brisk, small woman with gray hair and worried eyes. She fluttered her hands as she surveyed the large crowd, most of them large men who looked as though they expected far more food than was available.
"Do you think there is enough food?" Mrs. Carter fretted to Fanny, who murmured sympathetically, "Don't worry, Sarah, these men live should be able to live on their grand words; they scarcely need what we have to offer."
"Everyone was supposed to bring something, but these reformers never remember the worldly goods in life," Mrs. Carter looked as though she had seen enough reformers to last her a long time. The others smiled to think about how most of the men found their ideas far more important than their wives' baking and cooking, but the still wanted to eat when they were tired of talking. Charlotte realized that Mrs. Carter must have met many ministers who worked with her husband's church. Perhaps she had known Winslow Hopewell and would be willing to talk about him.
Daniel was talking to Bronson Alcott and another man. Actually he wasn't talking—he was listening. Very few people ever got a chance to talk when Mr. Alcott was part of the group. Charlotte was pleased to sit with Fanny and Mrs. Carter who were companionably exchanging recipes for baked beans. Finally she had a chance to ask Sarah Carter more about the runaways her husband had mentioned.
"Do you see these runaways very often? How do they get this far north?"
"Usually they stowaway on a ship to Boston and from there they follow a route, mostly up rivers, to Montreal in Lower Canada," Sarah Carter explained. "They stop at various farmhouses along the way where people are prepared to help them. Right now we are expecting a young couple from Virginia, although with winter coming on this is not a good time to travel."
"We had better not talk too much about this," cautioned Fanny. "Who knows who may be listening even in this room?"
Charlotte felt uncomfortable about restraining their talk, but she knew Fanny was probably right. There was another topic even more urgent, "Did you know Winslow Hopewell, Mrs. Carter? He died tragically at Brook Farm recently."
"Oh my yes, everyone has heard about that. What a terrible shock to the entire community! Poor old Reverend Thomas Hopewell will never get over the loss I'm afraid. And it is a blow to
the entire church society. Ministers should not be involved in such scandalous crimes." Mrs. Carter's forehead was wrinkled with worry and sadness.
"It wasn't his fault," Charlotte said. "It's not a scandal when an innocent man is struck down."
"That depends on the cause," whispered Mrs. Carter darkly.
"What do you mean?" Fanny leaned across the table and whispered her question.
"My husband told me he had heard there were those who were deeply angry at young Reverend Hopewell. He was such a handsome young man that a few of the women in his congregation admired him all too well. I'll mention no names, but several men insisted their wives stop going to that church. One man even demanded that the whole family start attending church in a different parish."
"Did Winslow Hopewell ever act with impropriety?" Charlotte asked, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. Would George Ripley have been friendly with a man of such bad reputation? Fanny sat still, one hand covering her mouth as she stared at Mrs. Carter.
They were sitting like that when the Reverend Carter stood up, clapped his hands, and said it was time to move back into the church for the rest of the program. Mrs. Carter jumped to her feet to clear away the dishes and Fanny and Charlotte slowly gathered their wits together and helped her. They had heard far more than they expected at this meeting, but Charlotte desperately needed to know more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Daniel Tries to Learn More
October 30, 1842.
Mealtime at the New Thinkers Convention was not a great success for Daniel. He was seated across the table from Bronson Alcott who talked on and on chasing an idea down byways and through brambles like a sheepdog herding a runaway flock. Just when he had said something worth hearing, he was off on something else, from the Great Oversoul to the necessity of every man becoming a God. He paid no attention to questions. The other men at the table didn't even try to get a word in and after a while Daniel stopped trying too.
Charlotte and Fanny chatted with Mrs. Carter. The three of them had their heads together all during the meal. As everyone walked back into the church for the afternoon session, Charlotte whispered to Daniel urgently, "I've learned something about Reverend Hopewell that may help us."
The talks during the afternoon ranged widely. New Thinkers had a lot to think about—everything from refusing to obey fugitive slave laws to the virtues of phrenology. That was a science, so the speaker claimed, that would let a practitioner discover a person's innermost talents and virtues by examining the contours of his skull. Daniel couldn't go along with the importance of bumps on the head. He'd seen people with all sizes and shapes of heads act pretty much the same.
When the meeting finally broke up, the sun was sinking fast and the sky was dark with snow clouds. Charlotte just had time to ask Daniel to meet her the following day so she could tell him what she had learned. Daniel walked back to Boston with a group of men who talked mostly about politics and not much about the ideas of the Convention. It was a relief to hear men worrying about money rather than about their souls.
Sunday morning was warmer with only a dusting of snow on the ground and not a cloud in the sky. Ruts in the road were frozen stiff so Daniel's boots didn't get too muddy except when he made a mistake and crashed through an ice-covered puddle. He passed a few wagonloads of folks headed for the churches in Boston, but no one was going his way.
Charlotte was waiting in the parlor and he was glad to sit down in front of the fire to warm up while they talked. She had a lacy kerchief around her neck and her cheeks were especially rosy. She was almost as pretty as Abigail, Daniel thought, as she leaned forward to talk.
"Mrs. Carter, the minister's wife, told us yesterday that some of the husbands of women in Reverend Hopewell's congregation were angry. They thought their wives were unsuitably attracted to him. One man in particular told his wife stop going to her minister for counsel and insisted that the whole family go to a different church."
"Whew!" Daniel whistled softly. "Did she mean that Hopewell was carrying on with women? That's a secret he would want to hide."
"She didn't say whether she thought he had misbehaved or whether the men were just suspicious. Either way it could have led to a quarrel and maybe even the crime."
"But who was that man? That's what we need to know."
"Mrs. Carter didn't mention any names and I don't know how we can find out without asking embarrassing questions," Charlotte admitted. "I did learn that the assistant minister at Reverend Hopewell's church has taken over the preaching. Could we ask him? Fanny said his name is Edgar Barlow."
The idea of going to the assistant minister was appealing but would it work? Maybe the man would be happy to talk scandal, but more likely he'd stick to his colleagues and deny that a minister would do anything wrong. He would rebuff any reporter who asked questions.
Charlotte had another idea and said, "Perhaps I could attend services at the church. People in the congregation are surely talking about the death of their minister. Some of the women might be indiscreet enough to say something to me. Perhaps they have vesper services this afternoon."
No sooner had she conceived the idea than she acted on it, running off to ask Mrs. Ripley whether she had any idea of church services at the Third Street Church. Daniel sat awkwardly in the parlor waiting for her return and trying to figure out a way to ask questions without seeming to. Fred interrupted him by entering, evidently from outside because his face was red from the cold and his knitted cap showed traces of snow. "You're here again?" he asked. "Is the Farm so attractive, or is it just Miss Edgerton?" Before Daniel had to answer, Charlotte was back.
"The Third Street Church does indeed have afternoon vesper services and Mrs. Ripley said that it might be a nice tribute to Reverend Hopewell if some of us take the carriage and go into town to attend them. She said she would go with us."
Daniel's ears pricked up at the thought there might be a chance to ride into town like a gentleman instead of having another long walk. The charms of the frozen road, which had probably turned muddy in the sunshine by this time, were dwindling fast.
Fred spoke up, "Why don't we ride into the city together?"
They left for Boston early and were there in plenty of time for the afternoon service at the Third Street Church. Everyone piled out of the carriage and Mr. Gerritson drove it away to the public barn where the horses could keep warm until the service was over. Ellen and Daniel took the opportunity to visit their aunt while the others were at church.
Aunt Bridget looked exactly as she had the last time they had visited her. She was sitting at the same table sewing what seemed like the same bonnets, while two small children played on the floor around her. Ellen had brought some buns from dinner and she made tea because Aunt Bridget didn't want to stop her stitching. She said she had to have the black velvet bonnet ready on Monday morning.
Ellen passed on a little news from her mother, while Daniel watched the children finish their buns and start playing with the scraps of fabric. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bit of string he'd been carrying around. They were delighted to have a new toy, and reminded Daniel of children in Ireland playing with any odds and ends they could get their hands on. No special toys for them. The O'Reilly's had come to America to get more for their children, but it didn't seem to amount to much.
At last the news session was over and Aunt Bridget turned to Daniel to ask how he was doing. "I'm not so bad," he said, "but I've been trying to investigate a death out at Brook Farm and it is very hard work. If I could solve this mystery, I think I could land a good newspaper job."
His aunt murmured sympathetically and wished him luck. She had heard of Winslow Hopewell. "He was that grand minister from the Third Street Church, wasn't he?" she asked. "Several of the women from that church buy my bonnets and I often hear them talking to one another about him."
"Did they talk about him indeed? I suppose they all admired him a great deal."
"Oh, it was more than ad
miring they were doing," she retorted. "The way they talked about his fashionable jackets and cravats they sounded more like schoolgirls than like married women talking about their minister. It wasn't his sermons they ever mentioned."
Ellen laughed. "Wouldn't you think they'd have more sense? Do you think they were flirting with their minister?"
"It's been heard of," Daniel answered. "These women don't have much on their minds with the servants taking care of their children and their husbands off at work all the time."
He turned to Aunt Bridget, "Do you remember any of the names of these women? Was there one particular woman who talked most about the minister?"
"Oh, indeed I know the names of all my clients. Many a woman buys a bonnet from me every year, sometimes one for the summer and one for winter. This black velvet one I'm working on now is for Mrs.Jarrod Smith. I have to finish it for her by tomorrow so she can wear it to an important funeral."
"Is she one of the ones who talked about Winslow Homer?" Daniel asked hopefully.
She laughed, "Indeed no. Mrs. Smith is quite elderly and stern. I doubt she would ever have a frivolous thought about anyone, especially a minister. Now Mrs. Whitelaw, who wants the blue bonnet I'll be making tomorrow, she's a different kettle of fish entirely."
"What is she like?"
"She's young and flighty. Always changing her mind about what she wants. Should it be the blue or the green, and with the black fringe or the white feathers? She usually brings a friend or two with her when she comes and is always asking their opinion. She even asks my opinion. And then sometimes after she's gone home she'll send her maid around to tell me she's changed her mind again. She talks about the young minister all right. I've heard her say she wanted the white feathers on her bonnet so he'd be sure to look at her while he was preaching."