Turning the Tide

by Edith Maxwell

  I saw Kevin coming up behind them and I smiled.

  “I said apologize, and I meant it,” Bertie demanded.

  Kevin grabbed the collar of each young man. “These scoundrels giving you trouble, ladies?”

  “Hey,” the shorter one said, trying to twist away.

  “They certainly are, Detective,” Bertie said.

  “Detective?” the taller one screeched.

  “You bet,” Kevin said.

  “They’ve said something rude to every one of us, including Rose, and they’re well liquored, too.”

  “You’re both going to be sobering up in jail tonight.” Kevin blew his whistle and the officer across the street ran over. “Take these idiots out of here, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.” He marched the two suddenly subdued rascals away.

  “Thank thee, Kevin,” I said.

  “Anybody else been bothering you ladies?”

  “Not since this morning,” I said. “You heard about the attack, I trust?”

  “The stupid act of one Leroy Dunnsmore? Indeed I did. I’ve already had a little conversation with him in his jail cell.”

  I introduced Kevin to my mother.

  “You raised one smart and brave daughter,” he told her.

  “I thank thee,” she replied. “It’s really of her own doing, though.” She regarded me with pride etched into her face.

  Kevin glanced at Bertie and back at Mother. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” He took my elbow and we walked around the corner onto Pond Street where it was quiet. I gladly perched on a stone wall in the shade of a tall maple.

  “How are thy wife and son, Kevin?”

  “Both blessedly on the mend. Thank you for asking. But what I wanted to tell you is Dunnsmore claims he had nothing to do with Mrs. Felch’s death, that he didn’t even know her.” Kevin removed his hat and rubbed his hair. “Regardless, he’s still in big trouble from the attempted shooting.”

  “Thee could check his statement with Zebulon Weed. Leroy might have spoken of Rowena at work.”

  “Good idea. That Weed boy did a brave thing this morning. I’ll see to it he gets a glowing commendation from the department.”

  “Thee will run a good risk of embarrassing him, but I think giving Zeb recognition is an excellent idea.”

  “Dunnsmore also claims he was with his wife all night Saturday, but as we know, marital attestation isn’t a particularly reliable alibi,” Kevin said. “Husbands and wives will go to great lengths to keep each other out of trouble.”

  “If a gun is his weapon of choice, though, wouldn’t he have shot Rowena, too?” I asked.

  “Hard to know.”

  “I think I told thee about Elbridge Osgood. I had a little conversation with him and his wife, Lyda, today when he came to vote. Apparently neither of them believes a woman should have the same right. He also seemed quite bitter about Rowena taking his job.”

  “Thank you. He’s on my list to talk to.”

  “In fact, he said he wished he’d killed her himself.”

  Kevin’s eyes widened. “You don’t say.”

  “I do. I heard him with my own ears. His wife scolded him for saying it, but the words were already out.”

  He made a tsking sound and shook his head. “Some men are just idiots.”

  Did he mean stupid but not homicidal? I couldn’t tell. “Bertie told me Sophie Ribeiro said Elbridge isn’t regarded as particularly smart.”

  “Who’s this Ribeiro lady?” Kevin frowned.

  “She’s Bertie’s, um, friend, and she’s a lawyer, too. She and Bertie live together. The name is Portuguese.”

  “Unusual.”

  “Anyway, I wanted to tell thee I stopped into the law firm of Bixby & Batchelder yesterday. It turns out they let Elbridge go. Lyda had told me it was because Rowena was promoted. But the secretary at the firm said it was because he wasn’t a very good lawyer, and that at the time he was furious at their action.”

  “You’ve been busy, Miss Rose.”

  “I’m just trying to help. I also spoke with Oscar Felch this morning when he came to vote. He seems quite bereft at Rowena’s death but had no understanding of her desire not to become a mother. He seemed to blame Zula entirely for Rowena’s plans to leave him.”

  “I had a rather unproductive conversation with him, myself.”

  “He told me he felt you suspect him.” I watched a work horse plod by hauling an open wagon piled high with coal.

  “Well, I have to, don’t I? Here’s my thinking: He’s angry she’s spoiled his plans for a family, he doesn’t want to continue to support her if she’s off lawyering, and he wants to find a new young wife who doesn’t have so many independent thoughts. It makes sense to me.”

  “I suppose, although he has cause to feel abandoned and sad at the loss of his dream. Most spurned men do not become killers, do they?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But if you’re correct, then you’d have to find the person he hired to do the deed.” Like Hilarius, maybe. I didn’t voice my thought. I liked the man and didn’t want him to be a killer, but I did wonder if there was underlying history of his I wasn’t aware of. I expected being a hired killer might bring in a tidy sum of money that he was desperate for. David had said Hilarius supported an ill mother as well as his own family. Perhaps her medicines were quite dear. I’d ask David. He would know. How awful if he killed a woman to save a woman, though. “Is there any other news on the case?”

  “I am exceedingly sorry to say there is not. My chief is even sorrier, I’ll tell you.” He let out a deep sigh. “Solving a case requires a detective be three things. Can you think what they might be?”

  “Thee must be persistent, I’d say.”

  “Yes, dogged is one. Imaginative is another, exploring ideas which on the face of them might not appear possible.”

  I nodded. “And lucky must be the third?”

  “Precisely. Very good, Miss Rose. Sometimes luck is kind enough to lend us her fair hand. But we must have all three to be successful. Being dogged and lucky without creativity doesn’t bring the answers, neither does luck plus imagination without being stubborn enough to follow up leads.”

  “Nor would being dogged and creative without serendipity.” It hadn’t been particularly creative to round up the petty thieves in town earlier, though. Kevin didn’t always practice what he preached. I kept that thought to myself. “And speaking of luck, I did happen to see Zula’s handwriting yesterday. I thought it bore a similarity to the scribing on the note Rowena held.”

  “Oh?” His fair eyebrows went up.

  “Yes, it also featured upright kinds of letters. But they leaned almost backward. Have you asked her for a sample of her writing?”

  “Not yet, but I will. Good sleuthing, Miss Rose.”

  From around the corner came the strains of the women singing our invented “Battle Hymn of the Vote.” I hummed along.

  Kevin rolled his eyes but smiled. “I rather like your ditty.”

  “Bertie and I made it up this morning.”

  “The more I consider it, the more I think you ladies are right. You should be as equal citizens with men. And I should thank you all for maintaining such a peaceful demonstration today. Maybe if we had more ladies in our government, we’d have less war, and fewer quarrels and disturbances people like me have to handle.”

  “I’m glad thee has seen our side of the argument.” That would be the day, when women could not only vote but also run for office. And win. Maybe we’d even have a female president one day.

  eighteen

  Tired and with sore feet, but satisfied with having made a public statement about suffrage, the women started to drift away home when the polls closed at five o’clock. A half dozen of us gathered in a small knot to review the day. Georgia had returned from takin
g Elizabeth to her rooms earlier and reported she was resting comfortably. The sun vanished beyond the tall brick edifice of Saint Joseph’s Church around the corner as we talked, all of us looking a bit worse for the wear.

  “We had a number of women interested in joining the Association,” Zula said. Hair which had escaped its pins curled around her forehead, which bore a smudge of ink from one of the placards.

  “New blood,” Frannie replied with a grin, her brown eyes still bright.

  “Except for the shooting and the rude young men, I thought most of the men were remarkably well behaved,” I said.

  “We got our share of glares and fists, but they kept it across the street,” Bertie added.

  “But we also had men who approved of our action, like Zeb this morning.” I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes.

  “This was wonderful, but shall we be off ?” Mother asked. “I’m eager to see my grandchildren.” She looked wearier than the rest of us. She was older by a decade than Frannie, who was nearing fifty.

  “May I entice you all to my flat for a bite of Election Cake and a cup of tea, or something stronger?” Zula asked. “My cook insisted on preparing the sweet and it’s far too large for me to consume alone. She said her mother used to be hired by the government to make an enormous cake for all the voters, and she simply can’t abandon the custom.”

  “And now others use the cake as a bribe for votes,” Frannie said. “Although I noticed more than one of the gentlemen accepted a slice this morning from the Cleveland camp and then chose a Harrison ballot.”

  “Zula, doesn’t thee want to visit thy sister and new nephew?” I asked. I’d told her about the birth after I returned to the polling place.

  She batted away the suggestion. “They’re in good hands. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  Bertie said, “I’m game for cake.”

  “I think I’ll go back to the house, Rosie, if thee doesn’t mind.” My mother cocked her head at me. “I want to see the children and keep an eye on someone else, if thee understands me.”

  I nodded. Of course she wanted to make sure Frederick didn’t head straight for the tavern as soon as she arrived home. “Does thee care if I go to Zula’s?” I still wanted to learn more about Zula, about her motivations.

  “Of course not. I’ll see thee later on.” Mother had always encouraged my independence.

  “Can thee find the way home?” I asked.

  Mother laughed. “I was visiting Harriet in Amesbury before thee moved here, darling. Of course I know the way.” She said good-bye to the others and walked off.

  “Cake and a drink sounds like fun,” Frannie said. “I told Mr. Eisenman not to expect me until late.”

  “I need to decline,” Georgia said. “My nursling will be hungry.”

  I’d delivered her most recent baby in the summer. I’d noticed she’d left the line several times today to go home and feed her daughter. She was fortunate enough to have a prosperous husband who provided a driver and carriage to transport her. Her husband had been the first to rebuild his carriage factory after the disastrous fire last spring, and he was a loving and forward-looking man who clearly supported his wife in her interest in the suffrage movement.

  “Then we’re off.” Zula began gathering up the various placards and posters.

  “I can take those home in the carriage,” Georgia offered.

  We accepted with relief so we didn’t have to carry them.

  Across the way, groups of men lingered outside the polling place. I hadn’t really followed previous elections, as I’d been too busy with my apprenticeship. How soon would they have the results for Amesbury? A couple of men staggered by, brandishing large Harrison-

  Morton posters on wooden sticks and looking like they’d spent the afternoon enjoying liquid refreshment.

  I spied Hilarius in a clutch of men holding Cleveland-Thurman signs. Then I spotted Kevin and Guy striding toward the group. Uh-oh. Hilarius saw them, too. He turned away from the group and hurried in the other direction, toward us women.

  Kevin blew his whistle. “Halt, Hilarius Bauer,” he shouted.

  Guy broke into a run, but he didn’t need to. Hilarius stopped. He was close enough I could see the sweat again on his forehead and his tense, fearful expression. Guy took his arm as Kevin arrived.

  Kevin laid his hand on Hilarius’s shoulder, a move I’d learned was required by the police at the time of an arrest. “Hilarius Bauer, you are under arrest for the murder of Mrs. Rowena Felch.”

  Oh, no. I prayed he was wrong, that Hilarius was not the killer.

  Hilarius shook his head mutely. He glanced over at me. “I didn’t do it, Miss Carroll. I swear I didn’t do it.”

  “A neighbor of the Felches has come forward placing you in front of their house that very evening,” Kevin said.

  “But I didn’t kill the lady,” Hilarius protested. “I …” His voice trailed off and he clamped his mouth shut.

  Guy clicked the cuffs onto his hands behind his back and marched him away. Kevin started to follow, but I hurried after him and tugged on his sleeve.

  “Has thee any evidence?” I asked in a low voice. “Has thee found the murder weapon, or blood on Hilarius’s clothing?”

  “No, but we will.” He lifted his chin.

  I stared at him. “Kevin, thee has arrested the wrong man for a crime before.” I gazed over my spectacles. “Isn’t it too early to bring in Hilarius with only hearsay as proof ?”

  He sighed. “Miss Rose, you have to let me do my job as I see fit—and my chief is seeing fit to demote me if I don’t solve the case and soon. Mr. Felch is a prominent doctor in town and he’s putting a lot of pressure on the boss. The chief as good as told me to arrest Bauer.”

  I lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I’m only concerned for thy reputation.” And Hilarius’s, too. The poor man. Unless he was a liar, in which case justice had been done.

  We sat around a low table thirty minutes later in Zula’s apartment. We’d each taken a turn in the lavatory to freshen up. I’d enjoyed the running water from the shiny brass tap, the flushing toilet, and the look of the marble porcelain fixtures and gleaming marble floor. Zula’s family certainly had money.

  Zula had driven her Bailey runabout home, saying she needed to alert her maid to prepare things. The rest of us walked, but it wasn’t far. I found it more refreshing to walk briskly, even on tired feet, than to stand in one place for hours on end. As we walked, I kept thinking of Hilarius. He’d been about to say something and then had stopped himself. Could Kevin get it out of him? Maybe, if he was more interested in the truth than in making an arrest because of pressure from his superior officer.

  Now I gratefully accepted a cup of tea, even though all the others chose sherry. Zula used her left hand to cut slices of the large cake. I took a bite of the golden brown cake, the top of which was studded with raisins and currants. I savored the spices: cinnamon, allspice, and perhaps coriander, too. The taste was rich and the texture moist. The maid had turned on all the lights before we’d arrived and the room glowed. It must be nice to have sufficient funds to live in this kind of comfort, and with a maid and a cook, too, I thought idly. I didn’t aspire to such a life myself, though.

  “Careful, Miss Carroll, since you don’t imbibe,” Zula said. “Cook puts a quart of brandy in the cake.” She smiled at me.

  Bertie threw back her head and chortled.

  I sniffed the cake. “I am going to assume the alcohol cooks off and the brandy merely adds to the richness.”

  “And what if it doesn’t?” Bertie asked. “A touch of spirits will do you good. We won’t tell those Quaker elders of yours.”

  I didn’t want to spoil the evening by thinking about any elders, particularly not Quaker ones. “Well, I’m too hungry not to eat it.” I smiled back. “And, Zula, please call me Rose. I don’t support the use of title
s.”

  “Very well, Rose.” Zula seemed relaxed, perhaps from fatigue. Or maybe it was from seeing Rowena’s possible killer behind bars.

  Bertie tasted her own piece. “Mmm, delicious. Must be nice to have a cook. Does she make delicacies like this every day?”

  “No, she and the maid both go home from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning. Everyone needs time away from work, and I dine with my parents on the Sabbath.”

  Bertie had been up to something with her question. Now we knew Zula was alone Saturday night.

  “Was thee glad to see the detective make an arrest in Rowena’s murder?” I asked her.

  “Right in front of our eyes, too,” Bertie said.

  Zula sat up straight, her face sobering. “Of course I’m glad. I don’t believe a word that man said about not killing Rowena. Of course he did. Now we can all walk peacefully again.”

  I wondered about that. Maybe we could, or maybe not.

  “Who do you think won the election?” Frannie asked the group. “I would have voted for Mr. Harrison if I’d been able to.”

  “Cleveland would have gotten my vote,” I said.

  “But the polls won’t close in the western states until a few hours from now,” Bertie chimed in. “California and Oregon are at the other end of the continent. We’ll be lucky to hear the winner in tomorrow’s papers.”

  “I suppose,” I said. The railroads had instituted four time zones in the nation a few years ago, which had greatly improved the on-time running of the trains. I’d read every little town all the way to the west had previously kept a different clock, using high noon as their standard. But high noon was not the same here as it was in Ohio, which differed from the time in Texas, which was yet again not the same as California’s.

  “I’ll bet the telegraph wires are humming tonight.” Frannie looked excited at the prospect.

  We ate and sipped and chatted for some minutes. I set down my cup and saucer. “Zula, how did thee become interested in women’s suffrage?”

  She considered for a moment. “I was always a tomboy. I hated turning thirteen and having to let down my skirts and put up my hair. And it just didn’t seem fair men could vote and we couldn’t. I met Rowena at my first Association meeting …” Her voice trailed off as her eyes turned misty.