“Poor Rowena,” Frannie said. “She was an inspiration to every one of us.”
“Is there any idea about making a memorial to her?” I asked. I’d forgotten to raise the issue during the demonstration earlier. “I think the law firm she worked for would like to contribute.”
Zula wrinkled her nose. “How would you know such a thing?”
I thought fast. “I had occasion to stop in there yesterday on another matter, and the woman at the front desk spoke of Rowena.”
Zula looked like she didn’t quite believe me, but she shook it off. “We’re talking about how to remember her, yes.”
“Tell me more about Rowena,” I said. “I didn’t know her at all, having met her only once before the meeting.” I looked from Zula to Frannie and back.
“She was a brilliant lawyer,” Zula said. “She graduated from Union College of Law in Chicago, and she had aspirations to be the Attorney General of the Commonwealth.”
“Could she hold the attorney general’s office?” Bertie asked, scrunching up her face. “If they don’t even let us vote, would they allow a woman into such a position of power?”
“She was determined to make it so,” Zula said with pride in her voice. “She was always citing the congressional legislation from nine years ago. It determined if a woman is licensed to practice law, she must be allowed into the highest court in the land.”
“The Supreme Court?” I asked.
“The Supreme Court.”
“And Rowena was a gifted leader of our movement,” Frannie added. “She knew how to lead without ordering us around, and she lit a spark in everyone with her vision and her commitment. She could have been the next Elizabeth Cady Stanton.”
“She was all of that and so much more.” Zula gazed at a likeness of Rowena in a frame on the end table where she sat. “She could make you laugh. And she was brilliant.” She coughed and blinked, appearing to cover up a rush of emotion.
“Didn’t she have any flaws?” Bertie raised one eyebrow. “You make her sound like a saint.”
Zula half glared at Bertie. “She didn’t suffer fools lightly, true.”
So maybe she had other enemies out there I wasn’t even aware of. “I’m still not sure the detective has the right man for her murder,” I said.
“Why did he arrest that fellow, anyway?” Frannie asked, cocking her head.
I sighed. “Hilairus Bauer has been in trouble with the law before, for petty thievery. But I know someone who vouches for his character.”
Bertie nudged me. “That someone happens to be Rose’s intended, David. Look at the pretty ring he gave her.”
I blushed but held out my hand to display the simple ring of engagement featuring a love knot done in gold. David had given it to me in the summer. Zula glanced at the ring without interest, but Frannie complimented me on it.
“Anyway, Kevin said a witness placed Hilarius at the scene of the crime,” I went on. “But I have an uneasy feeling about the statement. I just don’t think he was the villain, so to speak.” I gazed at Zula. “Is there anyone else who might have wanted to do away with Rowena?”
“How about Mr. Felch?” Zula curled her lip. “He was most certainly not happy about her deserting him, as he put it.”
“He was away Saturday night, though, in New York.” I pursed my lips. “Does thee know of an Elbridge Osgood?”
Zula’s thick dark eyebrows went up. “The one Rowena was promoted over. She talked about him.”
“Do you think he killed her, Rose?” Frannie leaned forward, her hands on her knees.
“I really don’t know. I’m just thinking about who might have thought they had cause to commit murder.”
“What about the anti-suffrage hothead with the gun today?” Bertie asked.
“Leroy Dunnsmore. Yes, he’s on the list. And the detective has him in jail. But if Kevin thought Leroy murdered Rowena, he wouldn’t have arrested Hilarius.” I sighed. My head spun with possibilities. And of course another possible suspect sat across from me, not that I was going to add her name to the discussion.
Zula regarded me. “You’re quite the detective, Rose. How does such an interest comport with being a midwife?”
I laughed lightly. “Midwifery is my profession. But it turns out I have another calling, to be an unofficial assistant to Kevin Donovan in cases where I have an interest.”
“Is this so? And he welcomes your advice?” Zula asked with narrowed eyes.
“It’s not advice. I just pass on information I learn.”
“Were you angry with Rowena because she wouldn’t move in with you?” Bertie asked Zula, a calm innocent expression on her face.
I shot Bertie a quick glance. Another not-so-innocent question, but not a very kind one to someone grieving as Zula must be.
Zula blinked. She picked up her glass and took a sip. “I was frustrated in love, do you hear me? I’ll be honest with you. I wanted her. But she didn’t want me back, not in the same way.” She stared at Bertie. “And in case you’re wondering? No, I didn’t kill her.”
nineteen
By eight the next morning Frederick and the children had all gone off to work and school, and the kitchen girl was busy scrubbing pots. Mother and I took our coffee into the sitting room. She’d been busy reading to Betsy, Mark, and Matthew last night when I arrived home, so we hadn’t had a chance to talk. Today had dawned blustery and cold, in sharp contrast to yesterday, and the coal stove warmed the room nicely. Winter was once again on its way.
“How was the gathering at Zula’s?” Mother asked.
“It was pleasant, and the Election Cake delicious.”
“Thee said this Zula might be a suspect in the murder. Was it safe going to her house?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I smiled. “I was with two others, remember. Nothing at all happened. And Bertie managed to weasel a couple of bits of information out of her.”
“I like Bertie. Thee and she are good friends, it seems.”
“We are.” I nodded.
“Tell me what information she elicited from Zula.”
“We found out she was alone in her apartment the night Rowena was killed.”
Mother raised her eyebrows. “No one to vouch for her.”
“Right. Zula employs a cook, a maid, and a stable boy, and they go home from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning.”
“Interesting. Did thee learn anything else?”
“Yes, in a way. Zula had romantic feelings for Rowena that weren’t reciprocated. Bertie asked her if she was angry about Rowena’s rejection. Zula got the drift of the question and ended by saying she didn’t kill Rowena.”
“She knows thee works with the police now and then, I suppose.”
“Yes, we talked about my assisting Kevin last evening.”
“I think thee needs to be very careful, Rose.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “Whoever killed could kill again, and if he or she knows thee is asking questions around town, thee could be a target.” Her voice broke as she gazed around the room, which still bore little touches of Harriet everywhere. “I’ve lost one daughter. I can’t lose thee, too.”
I realized with a start how painful it must be for her to be staying here in Harriet’s home and be reminded of her at every turn. “You won’t lose me, Mother. Don’t worry, I am careful.” I squeezed back. “I have no intention of putting myself in harm’s way. At least no more than we did yesterday.” I smiled at her. “Did Frederick behave himself last evening?”
She sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Indeed. He was here reading to the younger children and helping Luke with his homework all evening. Just as he should be.” She nodded once in a satisfied way. “Yesterday was a heartening demonstration, wasn’t it? Complete with Elizabeth Cady Stanton herself.”
“I was so pleased to be able to meet her. For her to stand wit
h us made the day extra special.”
Mother nodded. “She’s like that. She’s such a luminary, and yet she makes herself available to everyone.”
“I hope her ankle will heal well.” I sipped the last of my coffee.
“I’m sure it will. She said she’s returning home to Seneca Falls today, so she can have her own physician look at it.”
I watched out the window as a small cloud of leaves blew down the path. “I wonder which way the presidential election went.”
“Frederick will bring home the newspaper, won’t he?”
“Yes. But I’m going out soon. I’ll pick one up in town.”
“I’m eager to see it.” Mother drained her coffee cup and set it on the end table. “I wanted to tell thee I spoke with Ruby Bracken about thy situation during our long hours at the demonstration yesterday.”
“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows so high my glasses slipped down the bridge of my nose. I pushed them back up. “And?”
She shrugged. “She did not seem willing to budge in her position.”
I slumped in my chair, and Mother reached over to pat my hand. “Thee is not to despair, Rosie. We’ll figure out something.”
I wasn’t so sure we would, but I didn’t want to wallow in that particular problem right now.
“Now tell me, the couple who came to vote in their runabout yesterday,” she began. “What was their last name again?”
“They are Elbridge and Lyda Osgood. He’s a lawyer—or was until he was let go. And she’s one of my clients, due to deliver her third child within the month.”
“I thought Osgood was the name thee had mentioned. The name is familiar to me.”
“It’s a large family and they own a good deal of land here in town,” I said. “One Osgood is the proprietor of a carriage factory, but I’m not sure if he’s directly related to Elbridge.”
“No, this was at home in Lawrence. I met a Delilah Osgood who spoke of a relative with an unusual name. As I recall it was Elbridge or something like it.”
“What did she say about him?”
“Her words are what I can’t quite remember. I’ll think hard on it. Or maybe I can send a note to thy father and ask him. His memory is always better than mine and I’m sure I spoke to him on the matter.”
twenty
I left Mother baking at home and cycled over to Greenwood Street at about nine. I had prenatal visits scheduled but not until later this morning, and I wanted to find the neighbor who had reported seeing Hilarius. Had this neighbor actually seen him beat Rowena to death? I wasn’t sure I could trust Kevin right now to follow up on every detail about Hilarius. I thought perhaps the strain of his wife and son being sick—as well as pressure from his boss—was temporarily affecting his usually sound judgment.
I coasted down Main Street into Patten Hollow, passing the pond on my right. The wind chilled me and I was glad I’d worn the thick woolen scarf Harriet had knitted for me. After I turned right on Greenwood, I dismounted and wheeled the cycle up the hill, one of many slopes in Amesbury. The road was steep and its paving planks slick with dew this morning.
My friend Catherine lived in this neighborhood, but I hadn’t been to her home in four years and couldn’t quite remember which house it was, or if it was even in this block of Greenwood. That hadn’t even occurred to me the morning I found Rowena’s body, likely because of the early hour, the shock, and my lack of sleep.
The Felch home was in the middle of the block. Where to start? I leaned my bike against a tree. The modest cottage across the street might be the best bet, but when I used the knocker, no one came to the door. At the larger house to its right, a young maid answered the door.
“Good morning. I’m helping the police with an investigation.” Which was really only a slight deviation from the truth.
At the word police her mouth formed the letter O.
“I was wondering if you or anyone in the household might have seen a crime committed across the street last Saturday night.” Dispensing for the moment with Quaker terminology for the days of the week, I pointed to the Felch house.
“No, I didn’t see nothing.” She wrung her hands in her apron. “I won’t have to talk to no coppers, will I?”
“I’m sure thee won’t.” I used my most soothing voice. “Is anyone else at home this morning?”
She shook her head.
I thanked her and moved on, although I caught a flicker of a curtain moving after she closed the door. She acted like she was afraid of something. But what? Maybe it was as simple as her being an uneducated girl brought in from the country to work for a family and not being familiar with officers of the law.
Smoke curled up from the chimney at the next house, and when I knocked I heard the thud of small running feet within. A round-faced woman opened the door. Catherine Toomey held a young girl on one hip while another lass the same size peeked out from behind her skirts.
“If it isn’t Rose Carroll!” Catherine exclaimed.
So she did live in this block. I knew her from the Mercantile where she sold dry goods, and I’d assisted my teacher with the birth of Catherine’s twin daughters, these very girls, a scant four years ago. Last summer I’d had spent even more time with the congenial Irishwoman when she’d been helping at her daughter-in-law’s labor and birth. “Catherine, I thought thee lived somewhere around here.”
“What brings you to the neighborhood?” Catherine set down the twin in her arms. “Come in for a cup of tea, will you?”
“I’d be happy to, thank thee. Hello, girls,” I added, bending over to ruffle each of their heads. When I straightened I noticed Catherine’s dress was turned, the measure of a frugal woman: picking apart the seams of a piece of faded clothing, turning them inside out, and restitching to reveal fresh fabric.
The little ones ran off giggling. Catherine gestured me to follow her to a warm roomy kitchen at the back of the house. “You children go play, now.” She pointed to a box of toys in the corner of the kitchen.
A minute later we sat at the table, steaming cups of tea in front of us. I picked up the small milk pitcher in the shape of a cow. “How is thy grandson, Charlie?” He’d been born in July, but unfortunately his mother had suffered from the clap and had passed it to her baby in the birth canal. The disease had damaged Charlie’s eyes, a common cause of blindness in children.
“He can’t seem to see a thing. But he’s happy and healthy, and we’ve all vowed to help him navigate his world as best we can.” She made a tsking sound. “But it won’t be easy.”
“Indeed, it won’t. I heard that Marie’s spirit was released to God a month after the birth.” The baby’s other grandmother had been gravely ill with cancer in July.
“Yes, may God bless her sainted soul.” Catherine crossed herself. “Now, Rose, tell me why you’re here today. You don’t seem the type to pay purely social calls.”
“It’s true.” I gave a little laugh. “Did thee happen to hear about the murder of thy neighbor, Rowena Felch?”
“Been hearing nothing since. It was quite the shock, it was.”
“Mama, what’s murder?” one of the girls piped up with a lisp.
I grimaced. Little pitchers definitely had big ears.
“I’ll tell you later, my wee sweet.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” I lowered my voice. “I’ve heard from the police a neighbor reported seeing a man near the Felch house on Seventh Day night.” I knew Catherine was familiar with my ways of speaking so I didn’t have resort to calling a day after a Roman god.
“It was I who told them, in fact. I felt a bit queer when he told me why he was after asking, but I said my piece.”
“What a relief I don’t have to knock on every door on the street. They’ve arrested this man but I don’t think he did it. Can thee tell me exactly what thee saw?”
“So you’re i
nvolved in solving another case, are you?” Her eyes were bright. She had also been involved, in a way, with the July murder of a mill girl.
“A bit.”
“As I told the young officer, I’d heard a noise and was curious about what it was.”
“Thee didn’t talk to the detective himself ? Kevin Donovan?”
“No. They had a pack of men out here asking questions, they did. So like I told the copper, I looked out the side window of the parlor and saw a skinny sort of gent standing looking at the Felch’s lilac bush. The moon was well full and bright that night, it was.”
“But thee didn’t see him”—I glanced at the children—“assault Rowena.” Assault was unlikely to be in their vocabularies yet, but they might know words like beat and kill.
“I didn’t see her at all and I told the officer as much.”
One of the girls, moving behind Catherine’s back, fetched a small square box off the work table next to the stove and returned to her sister.
“What time did thee hear the noise?” I asked before sipping the welcome warmth of my tea.
“Mummy!” one of the girls cried out.
“Now what can the matter be?” Catherine twisted in her chair. “Can’t two ladies have a nice cuppa and a spot of talk, then?”
The one who had yelled cowered with her hands over her head. “’Top it, Thithy,” she lisped.
“I’m just a-salting her, Mummy,” the other said in an innocent voice even as she plucked a pinch of grains out of the salt cellar and sprinkled it on her twin’s head.
“Oh, fer Mary, Jesus, and Joseph. You stop plaguing your sister and wasting my good spice, now, my girl. Go put the cellar back where it rightly belongs.”
It was my fault again, using the word assault, but I could barely keep a giggle inside.
Catherine turned back to me, her shoulders hunched with suppressed laughter. She covered her mouth and shook her head, the amusement in her eyes unmistakable.
Turning the Tide Page 13