Delivering the Truth

by Edith Maxwell

  He looked at me as if I were a fool. “He’ll confess to it when I show him my brass knuckles. He’s guilty, no question.” The old brash Jotham was back. He rushed off muttering to himself.

  I remounted and bumped away slowly over the paving stones, thinking I should detour past the police station and warn Kevin that Jotham was on the rampage in his grief. I doubted Jotham could get close enough to William to harm, him, though, especially after Jotham’s behavior at the reception yesterday. I saw the sadness Jotham was experiencing, but his anger left me less sympathetic than I might have been otherwise.

  I was nearby Orpha’s home on my way to the police. A large wagon passed me too closely on my left. I veered onto the muddy dirt track, but the front wheel encountered a rock and the bicycle stopped with a jerk. I managed to fall sideways away from the wagon but crashed my knee onto a root of a large elm tree that bulged up above the ground. I pulled myself up to a side sitting position, my left foot weighted down by the bicycle’s heavy metal frame.

  A woman rushed toward me. “Rose!” Orpha’s granddaughter Alma set down her marketing basket and picked up the bicycle so I could free my foot. “Are you all right?” With her other hand she pulled me to standing.

  “I hope so. I thank thee for coming to my rescue.” I tried to wipe the mud from my hands, then rubbed my knee. It felt strained but when I gingerly put weight on it, the leg held. “I feel rather foolish just now. I hit my knee on that root.”

  “Come along home with me. We can apply a cold compress.”

  “I was planning to visit Orpha, anyway.” I straightened my spectacles, then took over the bicycle as Alma picked up her basket. We walked slowly along to the house, where she left me knocking at the door. At Orpha’s appearance, I leaned the bicycle against the house and limped in after her. A few minutes later my leg rested on a hassock with a cold cloth draped on my knee.

  Orpha gave me an inquiring glance. “You did not come over only to show me your new transport, I dare say.”

  I smiled, then frowned. “No. There have been several disturbing events of late I wanted to discuss with thee.”

  She nodded gravely. “I have heard some news, but you tell me what you find most unsettling.”

  I proceeded to lay out my thoughts about the arson, Thomas’s murder, and Minnie’s death. My encounter with Jotham this morning. What the police had found. My concerns about Nell, about Jotham, about baby Billy. Jotham’s comment at the funeral reception, and Cyrus’s accusing Jotham of plying Stephen with matches.

  “I wonder what Cyrus meant by that,” I said. “Perhaps he thought Jotham was responsible for Stephen Hamilton’s attempts at arson. I still cannot believe Ephraim Pickard started the mill fire. Could Jotham have been encouraging Stephen to burn down the factory?”

  “But why? And anyway, young Hamilton didn’t. You said he was at a pub when the mill fire was set. And he’s been in jail for several days now.”

  “But he did try to burn the Meetinghouse.”

  “True. The neighbor did not recognize the woman who came to Minnie’s home?” Orpha asked.

  “She said she didn’t, only that the woman was thin and a bit taller than I. Perhaps she told Kevin more.”

  Orpha sat silent for a moment, then said, “I am concerned for Nell, poor thing. It sounds like a classic case of postpartum blues.”

  “I hope she wasn’t out wandering around with my knitting needle and then went crazy on Thomas. But why?” I frowned. “When will we find an effective treatment for the sadness that arises after childbirth?”

  “Time. Time heals it. But the mother and children must all be kept safe until that happens. It is not easy.”

  “Well, at least Billy is cared for,” I said. I fell silent. I gazed at my hands folded in my lap but instead imagined Minnie’s fear and desperation when she saw her death approaching.

  Orpha cleared her throat. “I am not surprised to see you sorting through these questions, Rose. You have a gift.”

  I glanced up, confused. “What kind of gift?”

  “Did you know you were born in the caul?”

  “I was?” Babies sometimes emerged with all of the amniotic sac unbroken, in a beautiful translucent bubble, or with a piece of the caul stretched like a thin mask over the face. I’d never known my birth was one of those.

  “The caul was intact,” she went on. “I was the midwife at your birth, you know.”

  I nodded. “My mother told me.”

  “But she did not tell you about being born in the caul, did she?”

  “No, never. You didn’t, either, even while I trained with you.”

  “After your niece’s birth, when you came to me asking for an apprenticeship, I wanted our relationship to be professional, without a special privilege. I needed to see how you would do. If it turned out you were not well suited for your calling, I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of my letting you know that.”

  “But—”

  Orpha held up a hand. “I suspected you would be a talented midwife, caring and skilled at once, and you indeed are.”

  “I hope to improve.”

  “And you will, with experience. I would never have let you out on your own if I did not think you were ready, though.”

  “But why would being born in the caul give me any special privilege?”

  She smiled. “Babies born in the caul often have the gift of sight. Of seeing their way through whatever confronts them. Some become actual seers, some use their gift in the ministry, some become great leaders.”

  “So why didn’t Mother tell me about being born in the caul?”

  “She thought any talk of a gift was silly superstition. Your mother is a very modern woman.”

  I had heard this superstition and hadn’t given it much credence. But I now knew that sometimes superstitions are based in fact of one kind or another, couched in the language of myth to make them easier to understand. Perhaps if a baby’s first view of the world was through a translucent membrane, he or she would try harder throughout life to see the truth.

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m no great leader, Orpha.”

  “But you do see things, and you have a strong sense of justice.”

  “John Whittier said the same thing, that I have the gift of seeing. I didn’t know what he meant, but I’m sure he doesn’t know about my being born in the caul.”

  “It does not matter,” she said. “You will see your way to solving these puzzles. I am confident of it.”

  “I hope so. It’s terrible that a murderer continues to walk free in our town. That it might be two different killers plus a dangerous arsonist is worse.”

  “I have no answer for you, except that you must trust your own sense of right.”

  “I’ll try.” I removed the compress and palpated my knee. It didn’t feel as if I had seriously harmed it. I certainly hoped not, since it would be hard to dance with an injured leg. And I very much wanted to dance with my dear David.

  Orpha sighed. “Now I am tired.” She waved a hand. “Be off on your fancy bicycle, my dear, and let me rest.”

  After I’d taken my leave of Orpha, I walked the bicycle slowly. This news of my being born in the caul had struck a curious nerve in me and made me think back on my life. I wasn’t sure I felt that I had a gift of seeing, but a consistent thread in my experience had certainly been persistence and solving problems. I’d been good with arithmetic in school and now found satisfaction in solving the problem of a slow labor or a stuck baby. With the first I found that making the laboring mother feel safe was a great assist, and with the second it was often a question of the mother assuming the right position to free up the infant so it could continue its passage into the world. Perhaps understanding how to fix those problems was a kind of seeing.

  Or perhaps it was my need to see right done in the world. My parents, especially my mot
her, had often spoken of the role of Friends in achieving equality in our society. Mother had been adamant that I should make seeking truth and justice my life’s work no matter what profession I pursued.

  After some minutes of walking, my knee felt strong enough to ride again. I remounted my steel steed and resolved to go directly to William Parry. He had to acknowledge Billy, and I wanted to warn him about Jotham’s threat, as well. William had buried his first son only yesterday, though. I didn’t know if he’d still be at home or out seeking to reestablish his business. As it was ten o’clock, I decided to search for him on Carriage Hill. Sure enough, after I cycled up the slope, I spied him striding away from the ruins of his factory toward a waiting carriage, a liveried driver standing at attention.

  “Oh, William,” I called. I didn’t dare lift a hand from the handlebars in case I lost my still precarious balance. “Hello?” I tried out the bell and was pleased when it dinged twice, once as I pressed the thumb handle, once when it released.

  William turned his head and slowed to a stop as I rolled up. “Yes, Miss Carroll? My, that is some kind of transport.”

  I nodded as I swung my leg through the vee of the cycle to dismount and tried to regain my breath from pedaling up the steep incline.

  “You were looking for me?” His eyes carried sadness and something more, but he squared his shoulders.

  “I was.” I swallowed. “Pardon me while I catch my breath. I’m recalling my bicycle skills from long ago.” I smiled, then inhaled deeply.

  “It’s a new model, that,” he observed. “I’d read about the safety bicycle. Appears much more sensible than what is in common use.”

  “It is.” I became more somber. “William, has thee heard the awful news?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Awful news?”

  “Yes. Minnie O’Toole, newly delivered of a son only days ago, was murdered last evening.” I watched him. “It’s terribly sad.”

  “What? How can that be? How do you know?” William stared at me for a moment, then turned away, sinking his brow into his hand. With a shake of his head, he faced me again, his nostrils flared, his hand dropping helplessly to his side. “What happened to her?”

  “I’m afraid she was stabbed. I heard of it from the police. They are investigating, of course.”

  “Of course.” He paused, his eyes downcast, before saying, “So much death. Too much death.”

  “William, I believe Minnie’s infant son, Billy, is thy child. In fact, she named him for thee. Is this true?”

  He stared at me again. He blinked hard, then pressed his lips together.

  “Thee does not wish to acknowledge thy offspring, but many have linked thy name with Minnie’s. Including thee, to me, only last week. Or does thee not wish to remember our conversation?” I knew I was being bold, but I didn’t care. The baby needed his father, now more than ever. I had to seek justice.

  His face reddening, he took a step toward me. I took my own step, placing the bicycle between us. He glared but still didn’t speak.

  “The baby is in the care of a wet nurse for now. But he’ll need thy support as he grows.” I mounted my cycle but kept my feet on the ground. “Please take the moral high ground and acknowledge thy son. It is only just.”

  “My wife wouldn’t stand for it. Don’t you see?” His face changed from angry to stricken, and the words sounded ripped out of him. “She thinks our baby is the only one in the universe. She’d kill me.”

  “She might not be the only one. I should warn thee I encountered Jotham O’Toole earlier this morning. He’s dreadfully angry with thee.”

  “That hothead.” His tone dismissed Jotham. “He had the nerve to come into my home, with my Thomas barely buried.”

  “He said to me he believes thee killed his sister.” I watched William’s face change again, this time to incredulity.

  “Why would I kill Minnie? She was a sweet girl.” He spread his hands wide, his eyes still sad.

  “Or that thy wife did.”

  “Lillian?” He laughed. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. And couldn’t, either. She’s a hothouse flower at any time, and now, in her condition? This man must be some kind of lunatic.”

  “I’m only conveying what I heard. He also threatened thee. I might advise traveling with a bodyguard of some kind.”

  His eyes narrowed as he turned on his heel and strode for his carriage. He called over his shoulder, “Nobody threatens William Parry.”

  twenty-seven

  I rolled down the hill, William’s words echoing in my ears as the cobblestones rattled my teeth. A client would visit my parlor clinic at one o’clock. Before then I needed to visit Billy and Patience, and perhaps check on Nell, as well. I braked and then put both feet on the ground as I reached Market Square, waiting for an open spot in the traffic before I attempted to cross and head up Main Street. When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I whirled, only to laugh.

  “John Whittier! You startled me.” I patted my heart.

  “Thee has acquired a conveyance. An excellent choice for thy profession, I dare say.” His eyes twinkled.

  “Well, it will be once I find my balance again.” As always, I was pleased to see him. “I learned to ride a bicycle on a packed dirt road at my parents’ farm. It’s not as easy on these paving stones.”

  “And did thee find the fancy dress of which we spoke?”

  “I did. It’s actually a simple fancy dress, which suits me. It’s even the color of my name.” I smiled, thinking of the little girl calling me a princess.

  “I would be lost in that regard. My mother discovered, after she sent the six-year-old me out to harvest strawberries, that I do not see colors. Or at least not the difference between red and green.” He laughed. “She was well displeased when I proudly carried in a basket of hard unripe berries.”

  “Gracious, that is a funny story,” I said, then sobered. “I’m not as certain about my comportment at the event itself, but David Dodge assures me I’ll do fine.”

  “Good. There will be that of God in all who attend. Thee needs only to search for that sameness we all share.”

  I nodded. “True.” It would be a challenge, but I’d attempt to meet it for David’s sake.

  “And what about my visit with David’s mother that we discussed?”

  “So much has been happening I forgot all about it.” I cringed a little at my absentmindedness. “When is thee free?”

  “I could see her this afternoon. Not this Seventh or First Day, as I’m off to visit Hampton Falls, where my friend Celia Thaxter will join me. Or I could receive David’s mother early in the next week. Whenever she likes, if it helps thee.”

  I snorted. “I’m not certain anything will help me with that society matron who wants to see her son marry a young lady of his own class. But I’ll write her a note as soon as I arrive home from my visits.”

  “It sounds to me as if David has a mind of his own. Thee should not worry.” He patted my shoulder. “Where is thee off to now?”

  My smile disappeared. “To see a baby without his mother and a mother without her son.”

  “Minnie O’Toole’s child.” His twinkle also vanished. “Another murder in our fair town.”

  I nodded. “And Patience Henderson, whose infant son died only days ago. She agreed last evening to nurse tiny Billy, and I must check on them.”

  “I’ll accompany thee partway.”

  “I’d be pleased.” I dismounted my bike and we made our way across the busy intersection.

  John strolled at my side wearing a somber expression, his cane appearing more for show than for support. “Our Kevin Donovan must be feeling less than effective,” he said. “To have a suspect in jail and yet another killing occur. There are either two murderers or the wrong one has been arrested.”

  “I’m convinced of Ephraim’s innocence.” I steered my cycle around
a pile of manure.

  “Does thee have evidence?”

  “I’m afraid not. I simply don’t believe he would kill someone.”

  “The court of the land will need more than that, Rose.”

  I sighed. “I know. If I could find the real killer, I wouldn’t need evidence of Ephraim’s innocence. And yet …”

  John watched me for a moment. “And yet, what?”

  “I fear Nell Gilbert might have acted insanely.”

  “Young Guy’s wife?”

  “Exactly. She’s suffering from an acute depressive state and also had access to the murder weapon.” I winced at the thought of my mother’s lovely painted tool plunging into Thomas’s vein, bringing his life to a sudden close.

  “Thy knitting needle. But why would Nell kill Thomas Parry? She is a young mother and wife. Did Thomas wrong her in some way?”

  “It’s possible at some time in the past. Now she hasn’t a reason in the world to harm him. But insanity doesn’t consort with reason much, I think.”

  Kevin strode out of George Wendall’s barber shop directly in front of us, rubbing his newly smooth cheek with one hand as he placed his uniform hat on his head with the other. “What’s this about insanity?” A trace of shaving lotion trailed along his right jowl and lines were etched on his face despite smelling of a bracing tonic.

  “Good morning, Kevin,” John said with a smile. “Thee appears freshly shorn.”

  “I’ve been keeping some long hours and have an appointment with the judge before noon. Wouldn’t do to look a mess. And my long-suffering wife appreciates a smooth cheek, as well.” He grinned. “Now, what are the town’s most important Quakers discussing?”

  “What will thee talk with the judge about?” I asked. “Is it to free Ephraim Pickard?” I hoped so, and also hoped to avoid telling him my fears about Nell. If they were groundless, there was no point in her being accused of something she didn’t do. If she was guilty, it was a thought too hard to bear. For now. I wasn’t concerned about being thought too curious, as Kevin was accustomed by now to my questioning him.