“We’ll see ye next time, you old rascal,” she called.
I certainly hoped there wouldn’t be a next time for Frederick at this establishment. The night air was bracing, with bright stars peeking out between scudding clouds. It was a welcome change from the stuffy tavern. After we’d walked a little way, I said, “I heard thee has worked for the Dodge family in Newburyport, Hilarius.”
“That I did. Made them a set of shelves for their kitchen and did a few other bits of carpentry. Nice folks, pleased with my work. And Mr. Dodge paid me promptly, unlike certain others I’ve had occasion to be employed by.”
“David Dodge is … a good friend of mine. He mentioned thee.” I made a quick decision. “I happened to see a policeman take thee in for questioning this morning.”
Hilarius fell silent. The only sounds were the shuffling of Frederick’s feet and the clop-clop of a horse plodding by as we moved through Market Square.
“It’s true. He did,” he finally said. “I’ve had a few minor run-ins with the law in my past. I fell in with the wrong crowd and had engaged in a bit of thievery. But not anymore.” His voice was gravelly. “The detective accused me of breaking into a house and killing a woman. I told him I did no such thing.”
“And thee has a witness to affirm thy whereabouts elsewhere during the time of the crime?” I glanced over at him.
An electric streetlight illuminated his face as he stared straight ahead. Moisture dotted his forehead again and his nostrils flared above a mouth clamped in a grim line.
eight
With a cup of coffee into Frederick and Betsy happily ensconced on his lap in the sitting room, I set to chopping onions. The routine activity set my mind to simmering along with the soup stock. The bar matron had spoken of Frederick being lonely. Of course he must be, with Harriet no longer in his life. It hadn’t occurred to me he might seek out a new mother for his children, a new love to take into his arms. So far it seemed all he was doing was dousing his woes with alcohol. Maybe there was a way I could search out a suitable Quaker widow his age or even a younger bride not afraid of taking on a ready-made family of five children. I wasn’t sure how the older children in particular would react to Frederick replacing their mother with another, but we could cross the Remarriage Bridge when we came to it. If it came to pass at all.
Then my thoughts turned to Rowena’s murder and the many events of this day that had begun so long ago in a tragic way. Hilarius was certainly lying about last evening. Kevin must not have any actual evidence to link him to the crime, though, or he would have kept him in jail. David had vouched for Hilarius’s character, and Hilarius had been very helpful tonight. But he’d alluded to a shady past. Maybe it had come back to haunt him. As my new doubts about David were now haunting me.
I blinked away the tears the raw onions had brought. I melted butter in the skillet and cooked the onions until they were translucent, meanwhile chopping a half dozen carrots and dicing eight potatoes. I fished out the pork bones from the stock and stirred in the vegetables. Would that I could fish out the truth as easily. Oscar Felch being missing was disturbing. I hoped Kevin had managed to track him down.
We were getting low on bread, and we’d eaten all the rolls for our afternoon meal, so I mixed a half cup of sourdough starter into warm water from the kettle always sitting on the back of the stove. I stirred in handfuls of flour until it was a thick slurry called a sponge, and beat it with a hundred strokes of the wooden spoon. After I replenished the starter with a few dollops of the slurry, I covered the sponge with a damp cloth and set it in the entryway where it would have a slow cool rise all night.
My thoughts kept rising, too, and not slowly. There was the Leroy character Zeb mentioned, with an apparent hatred for the suffrage movement. I shook my head. I needed to write all this down. I headed for my room in the front of the house and passed through the sitting room. Faith sat with her feet tucked up writing in a journal while Frederick read a book to Betsy, apparently enough in control of his faculties again to not slur his words.
He glanced up. “I thank thee, Rose.” He lifted his chin.
This was no time to discuss his inebriation, so I merely nodded. At least he’d thanked me. I noticed a little smile played on Faith’s lips. She had to be happy at his return and at his apparent reconciliation with me. The children, no matter their age, wanted only peace in the family.
My hand was on the door to my parlor when a rapping sounded on the front door. My heart sank. Who could it be but someone calling me to a birth? I quickly scanned through my clients who were due within the next month. Lyda Osgood was the most likely. Her due date was in two weeks, as I recalled. I desperately needed a good night’s sleep, but I couldn’t not go to a labor in progress. I’d never had back-to-back labors before. Another reason to continue Annie’s training. Annie had left her mill job and was working as a companion to an elderly dowager in town. She’d told me several months ago she very much wanted to become a midwife, and I’d agreed to let her apprentice.
With a heavy sigh I went to the door. A young man with a cheery smile greeted me.
“I have a message for a Miss Rose Carroll at this address, and I’m to wait for a reply.” He handed me an envelope.
“I’m Rose.” I took the note. Reading it, I exclaimed. Not a summons to a birth at all, it was an invitation to come for tea and cake with Mrs. Stanton at Bertie’s this very night at seven thirty. What a delight.
I smiled broadly. “Please tell her I shall be there. Let me find thee a coin for thy troubles.”
“Oh, no, miss, but thank you. Miss Winslow has already paid me.” He touched his cap. “I’m to come back with the carriage and fetch you in half an hour’s time, if the invitation is agreeable to you.”
“Very much so. I thank thee.”
I thought I’d sup on a quick bowl of soup and put on a fresh dress for the tea party. My notes could wait. I looked forward to clearing my mind of murder and of my personal problems, and I was relieved I’d be able to come back to my own bed in a few hours. Spending an evening in the company of intelligent women was just what I needed.
Half an hour later I was happily sipping tea in Bertie and Sophie’s parlor. The warm air smelled of sweets and women’s perfumes. My spectacles fogged up at the difference in temperature between outside and in when I first came in, requiring me to take them off and wipe the lenses. Bright lamps lit up a colorful array of fine art on the walls of the room, with paintings by Mary Cassatt, Berthe Morisot, and others I didn’t recognize.
After I came in, I thanked Bertie for the ride.
“He’s a very nice young man thee found for a messenger boy,” I said. “Polite, well-spoken.”
Bertie laughed. “He’s the son of a friend. I like the kid, and he wanted to earn pocket change. It was Sophie’s idea to send the carriage for you. We didn’t want you to miss the gathering.” My friend was closer to forty than to thirty, but the fine skin on her face was almost completely unlined, perhaps because of her cheerful spirit and optimistic outlook on life.
“I appreciate it, and I’ll tell her. I was already out once tonight on a less-pleasant mission, so I was glad not to walk over.” At her look of inquiry, I added, “I’ll relate the story to thee later, but it involved Frederick acting distinctly unQuakerly.”
About half of the guests sat in a circle, with Elizabeth holding forth on her views about the world. The desserts were displayed on a narrow table at the side of the room, next to the tea service. I spied a raspberry-
topped cheesecake, a trifle, a plate of sugar cookies, and bite-sized chocolate cakes. Bottles of liqueurs were lined up on the table, along with small etched glasses. While it looked like a party, any laughter was muted and the air tasted somber, as befit a group whose leader had died in the last day. What a pity Rowena herself could not be a part of this.
As I looked around the room, I saw many of the invitees
were partaking of spirits, including Bertie and Sophie. The latter stood speaking with Frannie Eisenman, so I headed in their direction. I hadn’t seen Sophie in a few months, and I wanted to thank her for the ride as well as inquire of Frannie about her new grandbaby.
Unconventional Sophie, who favored the loose soft silks of the Aesthetic Dress Movement, tonight wore an unwaisted embroidered robe in muted shades of green and orange. About my height, she wore her dark hair in a messy knot atop her head.
“Rose, come join us,” she said, extending her hand. “Do you know Frannie?”
I said I did. Frannie and I greeted each other. “How’s thy granddaughter?” I asked.
“She’s perfectly thriving. Gaining weight already.” Frannie’s frizzed hair was surprisingly unsilvered for her age.
“I’m glad to hear it.” I turned to Sophie. “I thank thee for sending the conveyance. It was a treat not to have to walk here.”
I’d forgotten what a deep throaty laugh she had.
“It’s my pleasure. Bert and I both wanted you here.” She took a sip from her glass. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“No, thank thee.” Surely she knew Friends didn’t imbibe? Then I thought of Frederick at the tavern only an hour earlier. Maybe there were others who indulged in alcohol and I just wasn’t aware of them.
“Well, help yourself to whatever you’d like.” She smiled and moved on to another guest.
I heard the name Leroy Dunnsmore behind me and turned to see who had uttered it. It was Ruby Bracken from Meeting. I hoped she wasn’t going to continue with her censure of me here at a social event.
“That man should be put in his place,” Frannie said, obviously having heard the same remark.
Ruby glanced over. “You know him, too?” she asked.
Frannie nodded. “Spouting off like it’s the Dark Ages.”
“He’s my neighbor up Whitehall Road,” Ruby said. “I never hear the end of it.”
“I just learned of him earlier today, from my niece’s beau, who works with him at the Parry factory,” I said. “Does thee think he’ll make trouble at the demonstration, Ruby?”
“He might.” She shook her head. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”
Bertie beckoned me to where she stood with Zula Goodwin near the door, so I excused myself and walked over to them. Bertie introduced us. Zula was taller than me and looked a couple of years younger, now I saw her up close. She wore a mannish jacket over her black dress, with her auburn hair tonight pulled back into a tightly coiled braid.
“Zula, I’m awfully sorry about thy friend’s death,” I said.
“Rose Carroll.” Zula stared at me. “I heard you found my dear Rowena. Was it a terrible sight? Do you think she suffered?”
I took her hand in both of mine. “I’m afraid I cannot say. But the detective told me she had a grievous wound on the head, so perhaps she lost consciousness immediately.” I hoped my words would console her.
“Who would harm such a graceful and brilliant person?” she whispered. “Such a loving soul?”
“My friend Rose here is a bit of a detective, you know,” Bertie said.
“Are you?” Zula looked surprised.
“No, I’m a midwife. In fact, I am caring for thy sister, Emily. She mentioned thee during an antenatal examination last month.”
“That’s right, she said so.” Zula nodded. “I’d forgotten. I can’t wait to meet my new niece or nephew.” A little smile played over her face.
“But I did have something to do with solving a couple of murders in Amesbury over the past year,” I went on. “And the police detective now welcomes my modest input.”
“Are you working on Rowena’s case, then?” She blinked several times.
“Working on isn’t quite right,” I said. “I’m certainly thinking about it.”
“I understand Mrs. Felch was going to be living with you,” Bertie said.
“As a matter of fact, no.” Zula took a deep breath in and let it out. “She couldn’t tolerate that husband of hers any longer. Mr. Felch is an ogre, and I invited her to share my flat so she could get away.”
An ogre seemed like an extreme description. Could it be true? “What does thee mean, an ogre?”
“He wanted to control every aspect of her life,” Zula said. “Tie her to babies and housekeeping for the next thirty years.”
“When had you thought she going to leave him and move into your apartment?” Bertie asked.
“She planned to leave him soon.” Zula looked intently first at Bertie and then at me. “Rowena wanted only a platonic friendship with me, and I …” Her voice trailed off. “It was what she wanted, and even her friendship was so rich, so full. Yet she refused my offer of refuge.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, fast. “I mustn’t dwell on it any longer. The suffrage movement needs me. And I have my memories.”
“Have the police spoken to thee about her death?” I asked.
She snorted. “The detective wanted to, but my father wouldn’t allow it.”
I found it passing odd this ardent suffragist with an apparent romantic interest in Rowena was letting her father make decisions for her.
“Ladies?” Sophie called out and clapped her hands a couple of times.
I turned to see her standing behind Elizabeth, whose lace collar set off her round rosy cheeks and intelligent eyes.
“Mrs. Stanton wants to say a few words about our common cause. Please find a seat and lend your ears. Mrs. Stanton, we are so very pleased and honored you could join us tonight.”
I perched on the arm of the upholstered easy chair Bertie landed in. I pushed up my glasses and caught a whiff of a scent. I didn’t use perfumes. It must have been from when I took Zula’s hands in mine. I put my hand to my nose and inhaled violet, I thought, or perhaps lavender.
Elizabeth waited a few moments while the women got settled. “I’m gratified to see Amesbury fosters a spirit of independence and forthrightness in its ladies, and I’ve been pleased to meet each one of you.
I know the demonstration on Tuesday is on everyone’s mind, but I wanted to share a few thoughts with you beyond the single question of universal suffrage. First, though, let us take a few moments to hold the departed soul of our dear friend Rowena Felch in our hearts—and prayers, for those of you who believe in such matters. She was taken too soon, and with violence, and I hope it was not at the hand of an enemy of our movement.” She bowed her head.
All followed suit and the room fell silent, with only the creak of a chair and someone quietly clearing her throat breaking the peace. Before I closed my eyes, I caught sight of Zula with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. I welcomed the moment of silence, holding Rowena’s spirit in the Light of God. May her killer be found soon and dealt with justly, I prayed. And if I could help solve the case, so be it. I opened my eyes when Elizabeth spoke again.
“I have been much in mind recently of the need to guarantee individual rights. We are each alone, men and women alike. I believe nothing strengthens the judgment and quickens the conscience like individual responsibility. Nothing adds such dignity to character as the recognition of one’s self-sovereignty and the right to an equal place. Each of us needs a place earned by personal merit, not an artificial attainment by inheritance, wealth, family, or position.” She gazed around the room, meeting each of our eyes before going on.
“We must work to give woman all the opportunities: higher education, the full development of her physical and mental faculties, the most enlarged freedom of thought and action. The strongest reason for giving her a complete emancipation from all forms of bondage—of custom, dependence, superstition, and all the crippling influences of fear—is the personal responsibility of her own individual life.”
She sat erect, with a calm clear look on her face. “Go forth, ladies. As I said at the meeting, we shall link arms
and stand tall, and we shall effect change. There is no other way to proceed.”
What a beautiful, stirring speech. I wished I’d brought Faith to hear it, too. As every one of us clapped, I stole another glance at Zula. She applauded even as she still wept. She had truly loved Rowena. Had she killed her because her deep love was spurned? My thoughts flashed to David. His offer today had initially felt like a rejection until I understood his motivation. How would I feel if he’d truly spurned my love? I knew both that I would not be moved to murder him and that my tears would also flow. As had Frederick’s after my sister had died. Perhaps he still cried in the privacy of his room, not from the rejection of a living wife but from losing her to death. When he learned of his wife’s death, would Oscar Felch weep in the same way?
nine
I made my way to the police station at a few moments past eight the next morning. I had matters to discuss with Kevin, but I needed to be home by nine to see several scheduled pregnant clients for their antenatal visits. Frederick had been his usual moody self at breakfast. Luckily I’d managed to stay out of his way. Sharing a house with his unpredictable temperament was like treading on eggshells. I never knew what would cause him to blow up in a fit of temper. Harriet had been a saint to put up with him, and that was a fact.
Faith had loved my report on the tea party. “Granny Dot’s going to wish she’d been there,” she’d said.
“You’ll meet Elizabeth Stanton tomorrow, and Granny will introduce you.” I’d hugged her and nudged her out the door to her job, lunch pail in hand.
On my way to the station, the rising sun painted the clouds in the east a shade matching my name. Now I paced in the anteroom waiting for Kevin to appear, but my mind remained with the gathering at Bertie and Sophie’s. Elizabeth’s words about going beyond merely the vote had moved me deeply. I expected Lucretia Mott and the other women Friends in the forefront of the suffrage movement had influenced Elizabeth’s thinking about equality and integrity. Jane Hunt, Mary Coffin Wright, and Mary Ann M’Clintock, along with Lucretia and Elizabeth, were the team who drafted the Declaration of Sentiments presented at the First Women’s Rights Convention forty years ago.
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