Delivering the Truth

by Edith Maxwell

  “He’s concerned about the safety of our town. But, no, Mr. Pickard remains safely locked up where he’ll not harm anyone else.” Kevin patted his robust stomach in satisfaction.

  “What about Minnie’s killer? Has thy investigation led thee anywhere yet?” I watched him. “At least thee knows it wasn’t Ephraim this time.”

  He met my eyes. “We’re following up every lead, Miss Carroll.”

  “Minnie’s neighbor Therese said a woman came to call that afternoon,” I said. “Has thee discovered her identity? She could be the killer.”

  “You leave the detecting to us, now.” Kevin’s voice was stern. He set his fists on his hips, regarding me. “I’m serious. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger’s way. A killer runs loose in our town and my department has its hands full. The last thing we need is common citizens trying to help and getting hurt, instead.”

  “No one wants that, Kevin,” John chimed in, glancing from Kevin to me and back.

  I raised my chin. “Thee did ask me to keep my eyes and ears open, Kevin. I can’t help my inquisitive personality.”

  Kevin rolled his eyes as the bell on the Congregational Church next to us tolled eleven times. “Try,” he called over his shoulder, hurrying down the street.

  Having parted ways with John, I parked my cycle outside Patience Henderson’s home ten minutes later, my mind awhirl. I longed to return to a life consisting of the simple interactions of midwife and client. Explaining the age-old process of gestation, labor, and birth. Helping babies into the world. Assisting the natural union of mother and child at the breast. All this commotion and mystery surrounding violent death wasn’t to my liking, despite my strong Quaker need to see justice done, which led to my curiosity about who had killed and why.

  I set my foot on the first sun-splashed step of the outside staircase and rubbed my still-sore knee. I paused and smiled at the distinctive whistled notes of the cardinal—wheet, wheet, due-due-due-due-due-due—its song such a treat for the ears in early spring. Over it I heard a door slapping open. Jotham stood on the landing outside Patience’s flat with a blanket-wrapped Billy in his arms. All his attention on the baby, he rocked Billy and cooed at him. I watched in silence.

  “Bye-bye baby Billy, father’s gone a-hunting, mother’s gone a-

  milking …” He broke off his version of the familiar nursery rhyme, his voice quavering. He took a deep breath, then started anew, stroking the baby’s cheek with each rhythmic phrase.

  “Bye-bye baby Billy, father’s gone a killing, mother’s gone a-dying, uncle’s gone-a hunting, to find some true justice, to wrap the baby Billy in.”

  Billy let out a soft cry, and Jotham shifted him to rest on his shoulder, patting the baby’s back. As he did, he caught sight of me. The tender smile vanished. He opened his mouth as if to shout at me, glanced at his nephew, and shut it again.

  “I’ve come to check on Billy’s health.” I smiled, hoping to hide my nerves. Would he use his brass knuckles on me? No time like the present to find out. I continued up the steps until I shared the landing with them.

  Jotham held Billy tight against his chest. “You’re not taking him from me.” He took a step toward the stairs.

  I moved to block him. “Of course not. Thee is his uncle, his blood relative.” I stood in place. He’d have to push me down the flight of stairs before he’d get by. “But thee isn’t able to provide him the nourishment he needs. Only Patience can.” I saw movement behind Jotham. Patience appeared in the open doorway, alarm painted on her face.

  “I told him not to take the baby outside,” Patience said, her voice trembling. “I went into the kitchen for a moment and when I came back, he was gone.” She stretched her arms toward Billy. When Jotham turned his back, she dropped them and stared at me. “Rose, do something.”

  “Jotham, Billy needs Patience’s milk.” I kept my tone low and calm despite the agitation I felt. “If thee takes him, he’ll sicken and likely die. Thee can visit him here whenever thee likes. Isn’t that right, Patience?”

  Eyes wide, she nodded. She swallowed. “Of course.” The tone of her voice now matched mine.

  Jotham faced us again as Billy set to wailing. Jotham kept patting his back, but the baby was inconsolable. I had seen this effect before. Billy already recognized the smell of Patience’s milk, and possibly also the sound of her voice, even though he’d been with her less than a day. She was the only person he wanted.

  Jotham, with his brow drawn in and his eyes dragged down, relinquished the baby to Patience. Patience drew Billy into her arms and hurried back into the house, with a worried glance behind her before she shut the door. The lock clicked.

  “Let me pass now, will you?” Jotham’s sad expression changed to a scowl, like a thunderstorm overtaking a gentle rain.

  “Thee will be Billy’s uncle his whole life,” I ventured. “Please let him thrive now under Patience’s care so thee can throw a ball with him in a few years’ time.”

  He stomped down the stairs. “I will. For now.”

  I watched him go. The cardinal began his song again, but all I heard was father’s gone a-killing, uncle’s gone a-hunting, to find some true justice. I shuddered at the meaning of those words.

  twenty-eight

  I left Patience a few minutes before noon, satisfied Billy was nursing well. I assured her she was doing the right thing, and that I thought I had convinced Jotham, as well. I didn’t speak of the foreboding nursery rhyme version he had sung. At a pang from my stomach, I decided to head for home and have a bite to eat before my first client arrived. I really needed to carry some kind of sustenance in my satchel to tide me over. A whole-meal biscuit, perhaps, and a bit of cheese. I decided I didn’t have it in me to visit Nell at this time. I must see her, but I could pay her a visit later this afternoon.

  I cycled slowly up Highland to Hillside, turning right. The clatter of horseshoes swiftly became louder behind me, followed by a streamlined black gig passing so close by I could have touched its shiny metalwork. Two men occupied the two-wheeled vehicle. The passenger threw back his blond head and roared with laughter, his hat flying off into the street. A moment later, he tumbled out of the gig and fell on the ground. I dismounted, letting my bike fall to the side, and rushed to him. The driver pulled the horse up a few yards away.

  “Young man,” I said as I knelt by the man’s supine form. He was indeed young, barely out of his teenage years. He wore a fine gray suit in the latest style, although his tie was askew and there was a wine-colored stain on his collar. I patted his cheek and took a closer look at his face. His eyes were closed, but I recognized him as Lillian’s brother Alexander.

  “Alexander Locke? Can thee hear me?” I laid my fingers on his neck to take his pulse. I let out a breath when I felt a slow but regular beat, although his skin was cool and clammy.

  His eyes popped open. “Hello, beautiful. Are you an angel?” His words came slowly. “I must be in heaven.” His smile was lopsided.

  “My name is Rose Carroll. I’m going to examine thy head. Please don’t move.”

  He winced slightly as I lifted his head from the ground, bracing it with one hand, and felt his crown with my other hand. I let his head down gently. My hand showed no blood and I had felt no lumps. I stretched open his eyelids one by one, then sat back on my heels. I rested my hands on my knees.

  “Does anything hurt? Thy arms or legs?”

  Stretching, he tested his limbs. “All as usual. Why d’you talk like that?”

  “I’m a member of the Society of Friends.”

  “So I’ve been rescued by a Quaker angel, it seems.” He smiled in a lazy fashion.

  “How did thee come to fall out of the carriage?” I asked as his dark-haired friend strolled up, a friend of about the same age who seemed not at all concerned about Alexander’s fall.

  Alexander extended a hand to the other man. �
�Lend me a lift, old bean.” The man helped him to sitting before acknowledging me.

  “I’m Alex’s classmate.” He suppressed what sounded like a giggle. “He’s always falling out of things. And into things.”

  They both burst into laughter.

  I stood, brushing off my knees. “Thee seems to be well enough, Alexander. Do see thy doctor if a severe headache comes on.”

  “Aren’t you a doctor, Miss Angel? You know everything and came out of nowhere.” Alexander’s lazy smile was back as he also stood. “You should call me Alex, you know.”

  “I’m a midwife, not a doctor. Thy sister’s midwife, in fact. And since neither of you appears to be carrying a baby, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Ooh, Lillian. Naughty, naughty Lillian.” Alexander shook his head slowly. “Good luck with her.”

  I mounted my bicycle and headed away.

  “Ride safely,” he called after me. “And don’t run into any more crazy boys.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I replied, glad to get away from the two. From his constricted pupils as well as his behavior, I could tell Alexander was clearly drugged with something, perhaps morphine. Probably his friend was, too. No wonder Alexander fell out of the gig. But what had he meant by “naughty” Lillian?

  Josephine Gilbert opened the door as the nearby church bell rang four times, Lizzy on her hip. “Rose, come in.”

  “Is Nell here?” I asked, stepping in. I gave Lizzy’s round belly a little squeeze, making her laugh.

  Guy’s mother nodded, then pointed her chin toward the sitting room.

  “She’s still in a bad way,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  “The tea isn’t helping?”

  “It is not, more’s the pity. She’s been drinking it. At least I think so. Maybe she’s dumping it out the window when I’m not watching.” Her dark eyebrows were drawn together and she pressed her mouth into a flat line.

  “Mo!” Lizzy exclaimed, leaning toward me. “Mo.”

  Her grandmother’s face lightened and she chuckled. “She’s saying more—more tickling.”

  Lizzy nodded, repeating her request, so I tickled her behind her ear. After it produced more giggles, I gave her belly one more gentle squeeze.

  “Nothing like a baby to cheer the spirits,” Josephine said.

  I smiled in return. As I opened the door to the sitting room, I heard the demand for “mo” turn into a wail disappearing in the opposite direction.

  Nell sat in a rocking chair by the front window, gazing out. Her chair creaked with every forward rock and thadumped with every return. The room smelled stale, even sour.

  “Hello, Nell.” I pulled up a stool next to her, but she kept her eyes on the window. The stale scent came from her. “How is thee faring?” I patted her hand and kept smiling. “How do you like the tea I sent over?”

  She tore her eyes away from the view of the street and stared at me. Her eyes looked like they had seen a great darkness—or were still seeing it.

  “How should I fare?” She cocked her head. “I, who have brought death.” She stopped rocking.

  My heart sank. “What is thee talking about? Thee brought life. Lizzy is thriving.”

  Nell shook her head. “No, I brought death. I didn’t want to.” Her long fingers grabbed repeatedly at the cloth of her skirt, pleating the same piece again and again. Her unkempt nails caught at the fabric.

  “Whose death?”

  She gazed at me with wide eyes. “You don’t know?”

  I shrugged, hoping she’d explain.

  “You do know. You’re only pretending.” She snorted. “He said people would. Anyway, the Devil made me do it.”

  “Do what?” I leaned toward her.

  She shook her head again. She locked her gaze with mine. “You don’t understand.”

  “I’d like to.”

  “You can’t. He said so.”

  “Who, Nell? Who is he?”

  She laughed, a high-pitched warble, but the corners of her mouth were turned down. It wasn’t a laugh of joy. “The Devil, of course.” She focused on the window again and resumed rocking. Back and forth. Creak, thadump. Creak, thadump.

  twenty-nine

  That evening we joined hands around the table in silence, after the manner of Friends, before we ate. The entire Bailey family, plus Zeb and Annie, were gathered. My eyes closed, I felt Faith’s petite but strong hand on one side, her skin increasingly roughened by the hard work of a textile mill girl. In my other hand rested Luke’s slender fingers, still young and smooth, not yet developed into the hand of a man. The air smelled of savory comfort.

  “Blessings on this food, this family, and our friends,” Frederick said.

  In near unison we squeezed hands, opened our eyes, and fell to eating. After my antenatal client visits and my call on Nell Gilbert, I’d put together a meal for all—a white chicken stew with the end of last year’s potatoes perked up by some early ramps I’d found, plus fresh cornbread, and an apple grunt. The work of preparing supper had calmed my roiling brain, and I had tried to put thoughts of murder away for later. I’d laid the table with a cheery cloth and cut a few forsythia branches, which now sat in a vase broadcasting their happy yellow sunshine around the room. The only thing that would improve the scene would be David at the table again, but I knew I would see him tomorrow night.

  Now we passed dishes, ate, and conversed. The twins vied with each other to tell the story of a fight they’d seen at school, while Faith and Zeb seemed content to eat quietly next to each other.

  “Elihu even got sent to the woodshed,” Mark announced, wiggling in his chair.

  “He hauled off and slugged Otis,” Matthew added, with excitement warming his voice.

  “Now boys, that doesn’t sound very peaceable, does it?” I said.

  “Rose, when can we try out thy new bicycle?” Mark asked.

  I laughed. “It’s too big for thee. And I need it for work. Luke or Faith can go for a ride on First Day if I’m not out at a birth, and they can teach thee when thee grows.”

  “Me, too,” Betsy said, bouncing in place.

  “Thee, too.”

  Frederick frowned at me. “How much did that cycle cost thee? Perhaps if thee can afford such a luxury, thee might want to start paying a monthly rent.”

  I held my tongue. He’d offered me the use of the parlor free of charge, for which I was grateful, but his recent moodiness seemed to be taking a miserly turn.

  “Father, she needs it for work, just as thee needs thy horse,” Faith said in a quiet voice.

  Frederick grunted out a low “hmph” but said no more.

  I’d had enough of his dark mood. “Annie, how are thy reading lessons coming along?” I asked.

  Annie sat across from me, between Frederick and Betsy, who glanced up and smiled at Annie.

  “I finished Betsy’s first reader,” Annie said with pride in her voice. “I’m on to the second one.”

  “You’ll be reading Alcott before you know it,” Faith said.

  “My friend Annie Webster at school says she’s going to be a policewoman when she grows up,” Betsy piped up. “Can she do that, Father?”

  I laughed, and Frederick gazed at his youngest without smiling. “Of course she can,” he said. “Thee has learned of the importance of equality, both here at home and in First Day School.”

  “But she’s not a Friend.” Betsy shook her head.

  “One doesn’t have to attend Meeting to practice equality,” Faith said. “As long as there isn’t a law against women in the police, your friend should follow her dream. And if there were a law, perhaps she can find a way to change it.”

  Betsy nodded. “I’ll tell her. And Father, may I invite John Whittier to my tea party next week on First Day?”

  “I don’t see why not. I imagine he’s quite fond
of tea.” Frederick’s serious tone was accompanied by crinkling around his eyes.

  I smiled at Betsy, glad to see Frederick’s caring side. I’d read my niece the poem John’s friend Lucy Larcom had written, “At Queen Maude’s Banquet,” which described a tea party the two had shared with a young friend of John’s, Carrie “Maude” Cammet. Betsy had been quite taken with the idea of tea with John.

  After the four younger children finished eating and were excused from the table, Frederick turned to me.

  “Is there any news about these killings in town?” He frowned, folding his hands on the table. “I know thy knitting needle was the instrument of death. Thee shouldn’t have been so careless.”

  “I wasn’t careless, Frederick.” How dare he accuse me of perhaps aiding a murder, even if inadvertently? I swallowed down my own temper. “I wish it hadn’t been so,” I said. “But I have heard no news.” I had been so enjoying a family evening of respite from worry and fear, I didn’t much want to begin hashing through my ideas about the crimes and their perpetrators.

  “What a week it has been,” Zeb said, his thin face suddenly drawn and pale.

  “Ephraim Pickard is in jail for the arson, isn’t he?” Faith asked.

  “Yes, and Thomas Parry’s murder, although I don’t believe he’s guilty. Kevin Donovan does, I’m afraid.” I sighed. “William Parry seems to be the hub of it all, but I can’t quite figure out how.”

  “Pickard is an interesting character,” Frederick said. “He consulted with me last year about his interest in astronomy. I lent him a book on the subject. He certainly does not seem like a murderer, if we even know what that type is.”

  “And what about the new mother, Minnie?” Annie asked. “She was killed, too.”

  I nodded, my heart heavy. “Yes. Fortunately, her baby is being well cared for by a mother in town whose baby also died this week.” As Annie’s eyes widened, I hurried on, “Of natural causes. He had a high fever and succumbed, but now his mother has plentiful milk for Minnie’s son.” I didn’t add, if Billy’s uncle doesn’t try to steal him away.