“My maid will bring you whatever you need during the labor and birth,” Lyda said with a calm smile. “And Mr. Osgood says we should summon the carriage should we need a doctor in attendance.”
I’d assisted at her prior births as an apprentice, but I was confident to be the lead midwife this time around. “I doubt we’ll need a physician. Thy previous births were quite easy, as I recall.”
Her brows knit together. “Mr. Osgood is very much in favor of having a male doctor attend me. But I don’t agree, and I’ve put my foot down. The birthing chamber is the realm of women, is it not?”
I smiled. “I believe it is. And I will take good care of thee.” It was an honest answer. But how was I going to raise the issue of what Elbridge Osgood, her husband, might know about Rowena? As it happened, I didn’t need to.
“Rose.” Lyda lowered her voice. “I heard Mrs. Felch was killed. And that you found her body yesterday morning. Is it true?” Her eyebrows drew up.
“Why don’t you lie down and I’ll assess thy progress.” I led her to the bed and fetched my satchel. Talk of murder wasn’t exactly the calming topic one would wish for a near-term mother-to-be, even though it was the one absorbing my thoughts. After she reclined, I went on. “I did find her, sadly. I was returning at dawn from a birth.”
“Mr. Osgood said she was bashed in the back of the head. What a terrible death.” She brought her hands to cover her mouth.
“Any violent death is a terrible one. Rowena was a lawyer, like thy husband. Was he acquainted with her?”
Lyda’s nostrils flared. “Acquainted? Why, she stole his job!” Lyda suddenly looked neither surprised nor saddened about Rowena’s death.
Oh? Stealing a position was quite the accusation. I took a moment to listen to the baby’s heart, which sounded good. “How so?” I kept my expression even, despite my keen interest to learn more about this story. I took her wrist and counted her own beats, watching the clock on the mantel.
“They’re both employed by Bixby & Batchelder, or were. When my Elbridge was up for promotion, they chose that woman, instead.” She nearly spat the word woman. “And sacked Mr. Osgood.” The anger slid off her face and sorrow crept into her voice. “Just like what happened to my papa when I was a girl. He was a wrecked man after being fired.”
“I’m so sorry, Lyda. I trust Elbridge will find a new position soon. I’m going to check inside you now.”
She drew up her dress and shift. She wore the older fashion of split drawers, so she didn’t need to remove them. “Maybe, if people about town stop laughing behind his back.” She rubbed at a spot on the back of her hand. “Not only did Mrs. Felch rob my husband of his livelihood, then she makes plans to up and leave her own husband high and dry. There’s just no decency in this world, Rose. What have we come to?”
eleven
I cycled past the police station after I left Lyda and penned a note for Kevin to look into Elbridge Osgood. If Elbridge harbored a grudge against Rowena, he should be investigated. For that matter, Lyda should too. I hated the thought of a woman with murderous intents carrying an unborn child, but I’d seen it earlier this year.
A stiff wind had commenced, and I watched clouds scud by as I remounted my bicycle. Fall was already giving way to winter. The business with Frederick and the tavern weighed heavy on my mind. I checked my pocket watch. It was one o’clock, a good time to pay John Whittier a visit. The elderly Friend had helped me with weighty matters in the past, mostly by being a good listener, and he’d always welcomed my visits.
A few minutes later I sat in his study. Warmth radiated from the coal stove and a poem in progress lay on John’s small desk. His bookcase was full of his own works as well as those of his good friends: Longfellow, Emerson, Celia Thaxter, Lucy Larcom, William Lloyd Garrison, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and others.
“I see something troubles thee, Rose,” he said, tenting his fingers. “Is it in connection with the recent murder in our fair town?”
“The murder is truly troublesome,” I said. “But this is more personal. A disturbing thing happened yesterday.” I explained the conversation with Frederick after our First Day dinner and how he stormed out. “He was gone the rest of the afternoon and early evening. Betsy was upset at his absence and Faith told me he’d been frequenting the tavern.”
John blinked several times under his snowy white eyebrows. “Friend Frederick has been indulging in alcoholic spirits?”
“Apparently so. I went down to Hoyt’s to find him, where he was in his cups. A friendly fellow helped me get him home. Thee knows, perhaps, that Frederick is a difficult man.”
He nodded slowly.
“His manner has worsened since my sister’s death. I have to share a house with him, and I’m worried about the children. Now, with intoxication in the mix, I don’t quite know what to do.” I paused, thinking. “The bartender, a kindly woman, as it turned out, mentioned she thinks Frederick is lonely. Does thee know of any widows in need of a grumpy man with five children?”
“Let us pray together on this matter, Rose, for a short time.”
I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind of thoughts. It was my nature to want answers and want to act on finding them. Friends’ practice of waiting until way opens, until one discerns what God wants one to do, was difficult for me.
After John cleared his throat, I opened my eyes, having neither heard nor felt a message of any kind.
“I have been wondering about Friend Frederick,” John said. “Perhaps it’s time for him to be eldered in the matter of his drinking. His first responsibility is to his family, and he cannot care for them well under the influence of spirits.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean for him to get into trouble with the Meeting. I was looking more for counsel for myself.”
“Worry not, my dear. I’ll speak with another Friend who has a good way with people. The eldering will be gentle, I promise. He need not know we spoke of this. And I shall also consider whether I know of a kindly lady who might be willing to take him on as husband. Along with the children, of course.”
“I thank thee. Speaking of eldering, I received a dose myself yesterday.”
“Hmm.” He stroked his beard as if he already knew what I was about to say.
“Ruby Bracken warned me marrying out will certainly result in my being read out of Meeting.”
“And how does thee feel about this prospect?”
“I feel I have discerned the path God wants me to take, and it is to marry a fine and gentle man who loves me and supports my wish
to continue my midwifery practice. So I will accept the consequences. It won’t be easy and I won’t be happy having to stay away from Friends. But I’ll do it.” The lapse of a day had somewhat softened the sharp edge of yesterday’s news. David’s note had confirmed I would have him at my side during my time as an expelled Friend, and his support would make the process easier to endure.
“And I shall do my own gentle prodding to make sure thee is reinstated after the prescribed time,” he said. “I believe the stricture against marrying out is an outmoded custom, dating from the time when Friends were persecuted for our faith and we needed to keep our numbers strong. However, this danger is no longer the case and I think it’s time for a change. I am not sectarian, and I have good fellowship with people of all denominations. I think more highly of practical piety than of mindless adherence to doctrine.”
I smiled. What a good and generous soul he was.
“But as thee knows well, it’s not the purview of the men at Amesbury Friends Meeting to make these decisions.” He tapped his knee.
“I do know. And I thank thee for thy support.”
“Now, is thee ready for tomorrow?” he asked, his dark eyes now twinkling.
“Does thee mean the demonstration? How does thee know—”
“Elizabeth Stanton paid me a br
ief visit yesterday afternoon. I was happy to see her again.”
Of course he would know her. Two great champions of different versions of human rights.
“She’s very inspiring,” I said. “I was at a gathering with her last evening. So I suppose I’m ready. I have my sash, at any rate. And my mother is coming to town tonight to join us.”
“Splendid. I shall stand with the group for a time after I vote.” He smiled.
“I hope there isn’t any trouble. I find it worrisome that Rowena Felch, a prominent suffragist, was the murder victim. I’m afraid her killing is tied up in the movement, or in someone’s angry reaction to it.”
“I trust thee is helping the detective again?”
“I’m trying to. But the case is confounding. Nothing is clear.”
“Thee will discern the path with sufficient prayer. And now it’s time for my afternoon rest, Rose.”
After I arrived home, had a bite to eat, and set the bread to bake, I busied myself with paperwork at my desk. I liked to keep my records up to date: my various clients’ due dates and health concerns, who needed a home visit, and who owed me money. After a birth I made sure to jot down notes about the date and length of the labor, the vigor of the baby and its name, and if the newborn had any health problems.
I pushed back my chair once I was caught up. I’d never gotten around to writing down my thoughts about the murder case because I’d been summoned to the tea party, so I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and listed everyone I could think of who had a connection with Rowena’s death. Sometimes matters clarified themselves to me by the simple act of writing.
I started with Elbridge Osgood. Knowing about him losing his job was a new piece of information. Where had Lyda said he’d worked? Yes, Bixby & Batchelder. Perhaps I could pay them a visit soon if Kevin didn’t have time. Next I entered Zula Goodwin’s name and what I knew about her. Maybe I should pay her a visit, too. I added Hilarius Bauer, Leroy Dunnsmore, and Oscar Felch. Then I crossed out Oscar. He’d been at the medical convention, David said. But … what if Oscar had hired someone to kill his wife? He would still have the convention as an alibi. I scribbled his name again.
It was only two o’clock. I had time to head downtown and act the sleuth. I could stop by the post office on my way. Bertie would know where Zula lived. But what could I hope to find out from her? And what would be my reason for the visit? I supposed paying a social call would not be remiss—but on a Second Day afternoon? I shook my head. I’d think of something. I always did.
I’d just stood when I heard knocking at the door. I opened it to see Annie standing on the stoop, her hand securing her velvet hat from flying away with the wind.
“Annie, come in. What a nice surprise.” I led her into my parlor. “Please sit down.”
“Thank you, Rose. I wanted to talk with you about my apprenticeship.” Annie sat and removed her gloves. She tucked her curly red hair back up under the floppy hat. “Attending the birth on Saturday with you confirmed my desire to become a midwife. Mrs. Roune is very nice, but I don’t want to be a companion to a rich old lady in a mansion on Elm Street the rest of my life.”
“I’m glad thee has started, and that the birth observation affirmed thy sense of being called to the profession.”
“It truly did, Rose.”
“Last night I thought I was being summoned to a second birth, and I was still exhausted from the first one. Once thee acquires more experience, thee could at least sit with the woman during the first part of her labor if I needed to catch a few hours of sleep.”
“I’m so pleased.” She clapped her hands in delight. “I’ve started reading the midwifery book you gave me—the one by Dr. Leishman.”
“A System of Midwifery. It’s quite the tome, isn’t it? But he covers so many of the complications and disorders we see, as well as the normal process of pregnancy and birth. And as it was published only nine years ago, the information is still quite current.”
“It’s rather slow going for me.” Despite being seventeen, Annie had learned to read only earlier this year, with Faith and Betsy tutoring her with enthusiasm.
“Keep at it as thee can. Jot down words thee doesn’t know and I can help.” I made a mental note to buy her a small dictionary to assist with her studies. “What is thy work schedule with thy elderly employer? And what is her Christian name, by the way? In case the next birth takes place on a weekday and I need to contact thee.”
“Mabel. Mabel Roune. I am usually with her at her home on Elm Street every weekday. It’s on the right just past Washington Street. But this afternoon, for example, she was having a morning session and she let me go early.”
“Well, next time I’m called to a birth I’ll let thee know. If Mabel doesn’t need thy company, thee can come to the labor again and help me. Thee will need to observe a goodly number of births to learn the necessary techniques and see all the different birthing positions.”
Her entire face lit up. “Thank you, dear Rose.”
I cocked my head. “What did thee mean, a morning session? How can she have that in the afternoon, and what is it?”
Annie laughed. “Mourning. As in sadness. Don’t you know? Mrs. Roune was Rowena Felch’s grandmother.”
My goodness. “No, I didn’t. How interesting.”
“Mrs. Roune is Mrs. Felch’s mother. Mrs. Roune said her granddaughter was named for their family name, that Roune is just a different form of Rowen.”
“Is Mabel grieving terribly? It must be awful to lose a granddaughter.”
“I believe she’s quite sad. But she’s the kind of lady who tries to hide her feelings, which I think is rather silly. I mean, if you’re sad, why conceal it? I can tell, though. She’s very distressed.” Annie narrowed her eyes as if she was thinking. “You might want to know this, Rose. Mrs. Roune mentioned something about Rowena’s husband. She said he was given to fits of jealousy and had a rather violent temper. She said she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d killed her himself.”
I filed this bit of information in my brain.
“Are you working with Detective Donovan on this case?” Annie asked.
“Not working with him, exactly. But yes, I am seeking the facts of the murder, in order to share with him.”
“I thought you would be.”
“Had Mabel mentioned Rowena was planning on leaving her husband?”
“Oh, yes.” Annie nodded.
It was remarkable and unusual that so many in town knew of, and were speaking about, the breakup of this marriage. Rowena must not have had any compunctions about sharing her status
“Mrs. Roune planned to make her a gift of money to make the departure possible,” Annie went on. “And she has loads of money.”
Mabel’s gift would have enabled Rowena to leave her husband. What a tragedy the departure had been one of a very different sort.
twelve
I walked into town with Annie after we finished talking, and after the bread had finished baking, as well. We parted ways at busy Market Square. I joined the back of the line at the post office, newly rebuilt since the terrible fire of last Fourth Month. Bertie and the young woman who acted as her assistant were busy selling stamps, fetching packages, and answering questions. Bertie waved at me when she saw me and pointed to a door at the side of the room. I nodded and headed into her small office.
“Eva can handle the counter by herself for a while,” she said. “What brings you here, my friend?” Bertie wore a neat striped shirtwaist with a dark skirt today. A jaunty bow in her blond curls picked up the bright blue stripes in the shirt’s fabric, and the tailoring of the shirtwaist was in the very latest style, full in the shoulders and close-fitting forearms leading to the wrists. Bertie was an avid follower of the latest fashions.
“First I wanted to thank thee so very much for the party last night.”
“It was fun, was
n’t it? Sophie and I both thought it was quite the success.”
“Exceedingly so. And please thank Sophie for me, too. What a brilliant woman Elizabeth is. And so inspiring.”
“You’ve got that right, Rose. Mrs. Stanton is a national treasure. It’s truly an honor she’s bestowed on Amesbury, traveling here to support us in the cause.”
I nodded. “My errand today is not quite a tea party. I feel moved to call on Zula and see if I can learn more about her and Rowena, and somehow discern if Zula could be our murderer.”
Bertie stared at me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “If she felt spurned, perhaps her anger rose up and she hit Rowena on the head. She’s tall enough to do it, and she looks strong.”
“She is. She’s always talking about doing her calisthenic exercises to stay healthy.”
I’d heard about this new craze, where women donned loose-fitting garments and ran through a prescribed set of movements to increase their physical well-being. It seemed better suited to the idle upper classes than to working women like Faith and myself. We received plentiful exercise of our muscles and joints by the mere tasks of living: cooking and cleaning, not to mention her work on four textile mills at a time, and mine, cycling here and there and assuming all kinds of awkward positions to catch babies.
“I sensed Zula was in love with Rowena and was crushed when her offer to share living quarters was rebuffed,” I said.
Bertie tapped her cheek. “I think you’re right.”
“Does thee know where she lives?”
“Yes. But if she’s a killer, it’s crazy to go see her alone.” Bertie folded her arms and eyed me. “You don’t want to get bashed in the head, too, do you?”
“No,” I said slowly. “But—”
She held up her hand. “Come back at five when I close the post office and we’ll go together. How’s that for a plan?”
“You always come up with the best ideas. That’s a very good plan,” I said. “My mother is coming in on the train tonight, but not until seven o’clock.”
Turning the Tide Page 8
