Delivering the Truth

by Edith Maxwell

  I said, “This baby is coming out now. Jotham, I need clean cloths. Sheet, towel, whatever thee finds. Clean water, a shoelace, a razor or scissors, some alcohol. Rum, ale, anything.” I glanced up at him. He’d let his gun hand drop to his side and he was sweating.

  “Go,” I urged. Too bad I couldn’t take a chance and grab the gun out of his hand, but my priority was helping this baby out safely. It was bound to be tiny, being so early, if it was even alive, and it would need care I wasn’t sure I could even provide, but I had to try. Jotham hurried to a bureau on the right side of the room and rummaged in a drawer after setting the gun on top. He tossed me a clean sheet, then disappeared out the door.

  After laying the sheet on a corner of the bed, I knelt and pulled down Lillian’s drawers. I slid my hand up her birth passage and didn’t go far before I felt the baby’s head. I brought my hand out.

  “Lillian, with the next pain, I want thee to bear down with all thy strength.”

  She regarded me through glazed eyes, but nodded. A moment later she grabbed her raised knees and started to push, this time with a gravelly grunting sound that grew louder and louder until the baby’s tiny dark-haired head slid into my waiting hands. I swept out its mouth with my pinkie and wiped its nose free of mucus.

  “One more push, please.”

  As she bore down, one shoulder appeared and, with the other, the baby’s body slid free. It—she—was one of the smaller newborns I had ever held, only a bit longer than my two outstretched hands that held her and feeling as light as a bag of feathers. I’d be surprised if she even weighed four pounds. Lillian must not have reported the date of her last monthly correctly.

  “Thee has a baby girl, Lillian,” I said with a smile, but I didn’t feel like smiling. The baby was limp. I patted her face and, laying her on the sheet, rubbed her all over with my warm hands. She let out a weak cry and began to breathe, but her muscle tone was still lax and she wasn’t pinking up well. I kept rubbing her tiny torso, her feet, her hands. Sometimes it took several minutes for a newborn’s body to come alive.

  “A girl?” Lillian asked. “I have a daughter?”

  “Thee does.” I held the baby up for her to see. “Thee will have another pain when the afterbirth comes out. Push with it, and then I’ll give thee thy baby.” I laid the baby on the corner of the bed well out of the way of Lillian’s feet and pulled the sheet over the tiny body.

  Jotham burst in carrying a bowl of water. He stopped short, making water slosh over the brim of the bowl, and gawked—at Lillian’s private parts displayed, at the baby, and at Lillian’s bodily fluids staining the bed cover.

  “Mother of God,” he blurted. He set the bowl on the floor near me and turned his back.

  “I need scissors or thy knife, Jotham. A bottle of alcohol. And one of thy bootlaces. Right now.” I had to make do and was grateful at least he was cooperating for the moment. I pushed my glasses up with my arm.

  He rushed out and returned almost immediately. Without looking at me or Lillian, he extended a pair of rough scissors and a bottle of rum, then knelt and removed his bootlace and handed it to me, as well. He remained bent over kneeling on his heels, facing away, head in his hands. I didn’t have time or concern enough to ask him how he was.

  I cut the long lace in two and tied off the baby’s cord, then again an inch distant. I poured rum over the scissors—that would have to do for cleaning them­—then snipped through the cord between the ties, once again marveling at the thick strength of the membrane. I poured a bit more rum over my handkerchief and daubed the cut end of the cord attached to the baby, hoping to avoid infection from the scissors that harbored rust and who knew what else. Then I swaddled the baby tightly in the sheet.

  As Lillian let out another grunting cry, the afterbirth slid onto the bed. I sighed, having not even a vessel to put it in as I examined it. The last thing we needed was a hemorrhaging mother, but the membrane appeared intact. I wetted the kerchief that had served as Lillian’s gag and wiped her as clean as I could. I wrapped the afterbirth in the kerchief, then washed my hands in the basin of water and stood, glad my legs held me. This had been the most tense birth I had ever attended, and under the worst conditions. I took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Lillian, move to the other side of the bed.” She had been mostly on the left side and the right was marginally cleaner.

  After she scooted over, I pulled her dress down over her legs and leaned across to hand her the baby. I walked around the still kneeling Jotham and made sure the baby was still breathing, which she was, but the breaths were rapid and shallow. Lillian peered into her daughter’s dark eyes as the baby gazed back with the calm, mystical awareness all newborns have.

  “I’ll name you Emma,” Lillian said to the baby.

  My job as midwife done, I turned and grabbed the gun off the bureau.

  Pointing it at Jotham, I said, “Thee will stay there. On the floor.” I steadied it with both hands.

  He whipped his head toward me and began to rise.

  “No. I will shoot thee if I must.” My hands began to shake, but I willed them to be still. “Thee has done enough damage, and thee is a murderer.”

  “So’s she!” he yelled, but he plopped down on the floor.

  “I believe that is true,” I said, my voice calm and steady.

  Jotham scooted back as far from me as he could until he leaned against the wall. He raised his knees and rested his arms on them.

  Lillian glanced from Jotham to me. “I’m leaving. I don’t need to listen to this.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  I pointed the gun at her. “Back on the bed, Lillian. Thee is equally as guilty as Jotham.”

  “I’m not.” She glared at me, then glanced at the precious bundle in her arms and sighed, swinging her legs back onto the bed.

  “New mother or not, thee needs to be brought to justice, as does he,” I told her.

  But how?

  thirty-five

  The clock kept ticking. I was astonished to see it was nearly five o’clock. Lillian cooed softly at her baby. Jotham tapped his fingers on his knees. I kept the revolver raised and pointed it at whichever of them appeared more likely to rebel. I’d never fired a gun in my life, but if I had to, I hoped the Light of God would steady my hand and guide me to wound, not kill. And would let me aim half as well as the famous Annie Oakley.

  Five o’clock. David’s soirée. Poor David. I had no way to get word to him that he would be without a date tonight. I needed to make a plan on how to get out of this impossible situation. But even if I did … well, there was no point in dwelling on the idea of completing a last-minute toilet and being ready by seven. And then the thought of coping with his mother’s haughty airs—

  “Rose, she’s not breathing!” Lillian beckoned to me, anguish in her eyes.

  This could be a ruse to wrest the gun from me. I wouldn’t put it past Lillian to try such a thing even while holding her newborn child. She had ordered a woman killed, after all.

  Or it could be a prematurely born baby passing away. I transferred the gun to my left hand, praying that hand was strong enough to pull the trigger if need be, and sidled to the side of the bed. Pointing the gun at Jotham, I laid two fingers of my right hand on the little girl’s neck and watched her. Her eyes were open but gone was the light of life. No pulse beat in the silken skin of her neck.

  “I’m afraid her spirit has been released to God, Lillian. She was born too early.”

  “Noooo,” Lillian wailed, “No. She’s my daughter. She can’t die.” She held the motionless bundle in front of her face and kissed the baby’s cheeks, her little nose, her rosebud mouth. “Emma, come back to Mama. Please, baby, please.” She gazed up at me with tears pouring down her cheeks, now clutching the baby to her chest. “Can’t you do something? Can’t you bring her back?”

  I shook my head. “Bab
ies born so tiny often have trouble breathing. I’m so sorry. There is nothing anyone can do.”

  Lillian stared at Jotham. “You killed my baby! She wouldn’t have died if you hadn’t abducted me.” She wept as she returned her gaze to the bundle in her arms.

  At a noise from my left, I glanced sharply at Jotham, who had started to rise. I switched my voice from gentle to stern and the gun back to my right hand. “Get back down. Now.”

  A thundering pounding came from the hallway. Lillian gasped and Jotham jerked his head up. He sprang to his feet and took a step toward the window.

  “On the floor,” I barked at him. He took another step. I secured the gun with both hands, took aim, and pressed the trigger.

  Jotham cried out and fell with a thud even as my ears rang and Lillian screamed. My heart beat in my chest with the force of a steel driver. Had I killed him?

  From a distance I heard, “Rose Carroll! Are you in there?”

  “Yes,” I shouted, never so glad to hear Kevin Donovan’s voice. To hear anyone’s voice except Jotham’s and Lillian’s. “Yes!”

  Then came a roar of crashing and splintering. A moment later Kevin burst into the bedroom, gun in two hands. Guy Gilbert followed him, also armed. As Kevin took in the scene, a slow smile spread across his face. Me still pointing a smoking gun. Lillian cowering in the bed with the dead baby in her arms. Jotham writhing in a ball on the floor, holding his leg. What a blessing I had not ended his life.

  “Well, well, Miss Carroll. It appears I’m not even needed here.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” I said. “I’m grateful for thy arrival.”

  Jotham held his knee to his chest. “She shot me. She tried to kill me!”

  “Quiet, O’Toole.” Kevin trained his gun on Jotham.

  “Jotham has said he not only set the carriage factory fire, but also killed Thomas Parry.”

  “I never said that. You can’t prove it,” Jotham protested. “And I’m hurt, I tell you.”

  I continued. “Jotham and I both deduced that Lillian put her brother Alexander Locke up to killing Minnie.”

  Kevin nodded. “We had arrived at the same conclusion.”

  “I didn’t,” Lillian cried.

  “Let’s get this man into custody, Guy.” Kevin moved farther into the room, letting Guy deal with Jotham.

  When Guy managed to haul Jotham to his feet, he pointed to a black streak on Jotham’s leg. “Lucky for you Miss Carroll here’s a lousy shot. Your trousers are singed and that’s the extent of the harm.” He cuffed Jotham’s hands behind his back, none too gently, either, and marched him out, Jotham still proclaiming both his injury and his innocence.

  “You can put that down now, Miss Carroll.” Kevin indicated the gun, which I still held, although it now pointed at the floor.

  I laid it with great relief on the bureau. “It’s Jotham’s. I managed to take possession of it.”

  “So you did, so you did. A good thing of it, too,” Kevin said.

  “What a blessing I did not kill him.” I suddenly felt quite weak in my legs and grasped the bureau to steady myself.

  “And it appears there is a new Parry in the world?” He glanced from Lillian to me and his smile faded away. “What?”

  “The baby was born prematurely,” I said in a soft voice. “She died only minutes ago.”

  Lillian began wailing anew. “My Emma. My little Emma.”

  “Oh, now that’s a pity, it is.” His tone was sincere as he removed his hat. “Didn’t get Last Rites, I guess.” He made a tsk-tsk sound as he crossed himself.

  Therese Stevens now filled the doorway. “I told him. I told the detective I saw that man bring Lillian in, and then come back with you. When I reflected on what I saw, it just didn’t seem right. Not at all right.” She folded her arms and shook her head.

  “You were correct, Mrs. Stevens.” Kevin nodded approvingly. “If only all citizens were as alert and responsible as you.”

  “Go on with you.” She batted away the thanks. “Who wouldn’t report such a thing?”

  “Many, I can assure you,” Kevin said. “I’m only sorry it took my men so long to find me.” He smiled sheepishly and lowered his voice so only Therese and I could hear. “I was out throwing a ball with my lad, who never gets enough time with his busy old da.”

  “I thank thee, Therese. Thee can’t even imagine.” I moved to her side and patted her arm. “I didn’t know how I was going to get out of here. One gun, two murderers, and a newborn.” When her face lit up, I lowered my voice. “Now dead, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, the poor wee thing.” Therese crossed herself, then moved to the bedside and stroked the baby’s head.

  Kevin turned his back on Lillian. “Is she strong enough to be jailed?” he asked in a low voice. “Mrs. Parry, I mean? My job is to apprehend criminals, and Lillian Parry qualifies with flying colors. Does she need medical attention first?”

  “She should have some days of rest. But I don’t believe she’s at risk of bleeding—the birth was easy, as births go, with such a small one, and—” My eyes widened as I glanced behind him. “What is thee doing, Lillian?”

  Kevin whirled to see Lillian thrusting the baby’s body into Therese’s arms with a quick move. Lillian looked around with the wild eyes of a rabbit caught in a trap. Without a word, she slid off the opposite side of the bed, knocking the wrapped placenta to the floor, and hurried out of the room through the open door.

  “Wait,” I called, starting after her. I glanced back to Kevin, who leaned against the bureau showing no sense of urgency. “Doesn’t thee need to catch her?”

  “I’ve another officer stationed outside. I cautioned him.” He nodded with satisfaction. “He’ll have her by now.”

  I sank down on the corner of the bed, fatigued beyond measure. “Kevin,” I said, “how did thee learn of Jotham’s guilt? And of Lillian’s?” I removed my glasses and wiped them with a corner of my skirt, then rubbed the bridge of my nose before replacing them.

  “After you told me of Nell, I went to talk with her. Her insanity lifted enough for her to say Jotham was the one she called the Devil.” He frowned at the memory of the conversation. “She said she stole your knitting needle, but that she refused to kill Thomas. She saw Jotham do the deed, though.”

  I nodded. “He said as much. And he confessed to setting the fire. He must have thought I’d never survive to relay his confession.” I shuddered. “But how did thee learn of Lillian’s culpability in Minnie’s death?”

  “The note you left me. You’re a fine detective, Miss Carroll.”

  “Please call me Rose.”

  “All right, Rose.” He laughed.

  “But I’m not a detective. I’m a midwife. An overly curious one, I suppose.”

  He nodded. “Because of you, we interviewed young Miss Majowska, the maid at the Parry mansion, and were able to apprehend Alexander Locke. There’s a weak-spined man if I ever met one. He told the whole story, including assigning full blame to his own sister.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “It was a man in woman’s clothing I saw, then?” Therese said. She laid the bundle of baby on the bed but continued stroking the dead girl’s head.

  “Indeed,” Kevin said.

  “I thought the person was tall,” Therese said. “And I saw that light hair.”

  The clock dinged once, marking the half hour. My hands flew to my face. “I must get home. I have a … a … well, an engagement tonight.”

  “I’ll take you home in the wagon,” Kevin said. “You and your bicycle.”

  “My nephews will be delighted. I thank thee.”

  He offered me a hand. “It’s the least I can do.”

  thirty-six

  After I arrived home, I asked Faith and Frederick to sit at the table with me as I ate a bit of bread and cheese to tide me over. I want
ed to fill them in on the day’s events, at least some of them. And I’d never been so happy to be in a warm, clean, simple home with people who spoke truth and loved me.

  Bertie rapped on the back door as I began my tale, pressing her face against the glass and waving. I opened the door and invited her in.

  “I had a notion you were in trouble, Rosetta. Had to come and make sure you were all right.” She took a seat at the table, too.

  Frederick narrowed his eyes at the sight of Bertie. I knew he didn’t care for her and hoped he would act in a civil fashion. I couldn’t tolerate one more moment of tension in this day.

  “I was in a bit of trouble, as it happens.” I stared at a morsel of bread on the plate and stroked the grain of the long table, its smooth, worn lines a comfort under my fingers. How much of my grueling terrifying afternoon should I share with them?

  Frederick’s eyebrows went up, but he waited in silence.

  The twins wandered in. “Who’s in trouble?” Matthew asked.

  “When’s supper?” Mark chimed in.

  “I’m hungry,” Matthew added.

  “No one is in trouble, and thee is always hungry,” Frederick said in a sharp tone. “Take a couple of apples and run along, both of you.”

  “But we saw the police wagon bring Rose and her bicycle.”

  “Kevin simply gave me a ride home, boys.” I waited until the boys had left the room with their fruit before I continued. I told my companions of my conversation with Della that morning, and how I’d left a note for Kevin laying out my suspicions.

  “So Alexander Locke killed Minnie O’Toole,” Frederick said.

  “It appears so. On Lillian’s orders.”

  “That young man has been on an unhealthy path for some years. This news does not surprise me.” Frederick tented his hands on the table.

  “Oh, and earlier in the day I had told Kevin about Nell’s ill health, and her talk of the Devil. Well, it turns out the Devil was Jotham O’Toole all along. Nell told Kevin how Jotham pressured her to kill Thomas. It was she who stole my knitting needle.”