The Miser of Cherry Hill

by Scott Mackay

  I looked up with a jerk. ‘She’s gone to Keenan?’

  ‘I’m afraid she has.’

  I stood there for a few more seconds, my emotions at war, then came up with a plan. ‘On my behalf, could you send the parcel? That way, you won’t have to divulge her address.’

  She thought this through and after she was done with some momentary reluctance, gave me a timid nod. ‘I suppose that would be all right.’

  ‘I would like to write a letter to her as well. Could I impose upon you for writing materials?’

  Freda now entered more heartily into my amorous plot. ‘Of course, doctor. If you would kindly follow me. We’ll put you at my secretary.’

  She showed me to her bird’s-eye maple secretary in a back room – her own office.

  ‘My nieces and nephews, doctor,’ she said, when she saw me looking at the photographs on the wall. ‘I’ll be taking the three-o’clock train to Albany to see them. You caught me just in time.’

  She left me to my letter.

  I tried to explain to Miss Wade how, though I felt a brother’s tenderness toward Miss Gregsby, my connection to my nurse had never been anything more than one of collegial regard. I admitted that Miss Gregsby had suffered a small – or perhaps not-so-small – infatuation for me while employed at the surgery, but that I had rectified matters with a letter to the Booths, and had subsequently packed her off to Wisconsin permanently. I finished by telling her that I wanted to marry her, that I was in fact offering a proposal of marriage, and that I hoped she would take my apology and proposal in good faith and return to me at once before Edgar Keenan made her life miserable again. I then put the letter in an envelope, packed the engagement ring and the pearl necklace in the hat box, and presented the whole to the housemaid for mailing.

  FORTY-ONE

  On December twenty-seventh, Stanley and I discussed the Daisy Pond arrest with Judge Norris.

  At this time of the season, his honour was out of his robes. A man of sixty, he was considerably shorter than me or Stanley, his bodily design taking as its inspiration a cannonball; he was exceedingly round, so much so his arms and legs were like afterthoughts to his general rotundity.

  Perhaps I was biased. Perhaps my own recent misfortunes with love were making me take a more compassionate view toward Daisy than I should have. Having given the judge an overview of events on the night of the murder, particularly stressing how Mrs Swinford’s misguided attempt to take her own life had coincided with Daisy’s altruistic efforts to protect the life of the man she loved, I now did my best for the unlucky young maiden.

  ‘The facts of the case are unique, Judge Norris. We have Ephraim Purcell making several threats against Billy Fray’s life prior to the murder. We have him actually shooting at Billy on three different occasions, the promissory note episode being the most recent. Miss Pond knew Mr Purcell wanted to kill Mr Fray. She couldn’t let that happen because she’s desperately in love with Billy. When Billy called her from the hotel, Daisy feared for his life. She tried to telephone the Sheriff but the town operator has confirmed the line was engaged. Rest assured, we’ve spoken to Deputy Mulroy about that. Daisy felt she had to take matters into her own hands. I’ve given you the circumstances of how she obtained the Henry rifle and gained access to the hotel roof. I’ve explained to you how things happened so fast once she got there. I’ve outlined for you how there came a shot out of the Wileys’ bedroom window – Mrs Swinford’s attempted suicide – and how Daisy misconstrued this as a shot fired from Mr Purcell’s revolver at Billy. She was under the dire misapprehension that Billy’s life was in danger. She did what any good citizen would do – she tried to protect him. Since such is the case, I believe that what we have here is a justifiable homicide.’

  The line on the judge’s brow deepened. ‘I don’t doubt for a minute that Miss Pond was prompted to shoot Ephraim Purcell in defense of Billy Fray, Clyde.’ He now lifted himself from the edge of his desk and looked out the window where he got a good view of the church grounds. ‘What I don’t like about the whole thing is how she attempted to blame Marigold afterward. Yes, I realize she was scared, and that she didn’t want to go to jail for fear that she would never see Billy again. But she told you Marigold rode across the drawbridge with her rifle to deliberately kill her stepfather when it’s abundantly clear by the evidence that she didn’t, and it’s put rather a stain on the whole thing, hasn’t it? She saved Billy’s life only to forfeit Marigold’s. Her love, as you call it, went a little too far.’

  ‘Desperation often nurtures contradictory impulses, judge.’

  ‘I know it does, Clyde. But it often nurtures criminality as well.’

  ‘It was plain bad luck, Mrs Swinford trying to kill herself at that exact moment. Without the suicide attempt, it’s unlikely Daisy would have fired.’

  ‘Yes, but we have to view the case within the defined framework of the criminal justice system. The shot wasn’t fired in defense of another. We know this because Ephraim’s revolver was still fully loaded when you found it on his person. And so, disregarding Mrs Swinford’s sad attempt on her life, we have to decide who’s criminally responsible for Mr Purcell’s death. I would have to think that Billy Fray is.’ Judge Norris let Stanley and I mull on this for a few seconds, then continued. ‘He was the one who conspired to lay in wait for Mr Purcell. He was the one who telephoned Miss Pond, prompting her to her rash actions.’ He tapped his chin a few times with his fingers. ‘Tell me, has he shown any remorse at all for his part in this?’

  ‘Yes, judge, he has,’ I said. ‘He’s been down at the jailhouse every day since Daisy’s arrest, visiting her. He’s apologized to her in a most profound way. As much as he might have originally been in love with Marigold, it appears he’s now transferred his affections to Miss Pond.’

  The judge nodded. ‘I guess he thinks she saved his life.’

  ‘He’s been disabused of that notion, and so has she, but the affection persists.’

  ‘Well, well, well. Love conquers all.’

  Stanley broke in. ‘Judge, you’re not thinking of letting Daisy go, are you? The town won’t stand for it. Ephraim Purcell was an important man in Fairfield.’

  Norris stared out the window some more. He finally scratched his right temple and turned to us. ‘I know she did it for love, Clyde. But she also betrayed Miss Reynolds. And I can’t easily overlook that. In my opinion, I don’t think it was a justifiable homicide.’ He lifted his index finger. ‘But neither do I think it was capital murder. I believe it was a crime of passion. And so I think the best we can do for the poor girl is a lesser charge. The same goes for Billy. If they love each other, they can wait for each other.’

  On New Year’s Eve I went to the Welland Street Club for supper at six. I tried to be as convivial with other club members as I could, but as I hadn’t yet received a response from Miss Wade, my spirits were struggling as 1902 counted down its final hours.

  Present among the company was Professor Herschel Purcell. He spotted me and Stanley. He came over, a tired smile on his face.

  ‘Happy New Year.’ He motioned at an extra chair. ‘Do you mind?’

  Stanley said, ‘Be our guest.’

  He sat. I poured whisky for him. He accepted gratefully.

  The professor said, ‘I thought I’d let you know that we had a big meeting with the lawyers today. It looks like we’ve come up with an arrangement to avoid a trial. Judge Norris has decided that no one is entirely blameless in the matter. Daisy, after all, pulled the trigger and conspired to get my step-niece to take the blame. Billy was there behind the garbage cans, the powder-keg who set the whole thing off. After having a good long discussion about it, Daisy has agreed to do the sensible thing and serve ten years. With good behaviour, she might be out before she’s thirty. I’m afraid Billy must also serve ten years, for conspiracy to commit murder. The pair of them have grown desperately in love, and have vowed to wait for each other. Considering he’ll be surrounded by men and she’ll be surround
ed by women, true love should prevail.’

  I wasn’t happy with these sentences, susceptible as I currently was to the idea of love, but they did instil in me the notion that I might have to wait for Olive Wade. Surely if Billy and Daisy could wait ten years, I could endure whatever indefinite period I faced while Olive came to her senses and realized I was the man she should marry.

  I didn’t feel like celebrating the New Year much, so left the Welland well before midnight.

  At home, I found a note from Munroe and Jeremiah – they had taken their skates to the Green and were going to stay at the rink for the fireworks at midnight.

  I also found a package addressed to me, a late delivery, waiting in my study. My heart sank. It was the hatbox. On the label, I recognized Olive’s fair hand, just my own address, with no return address. My hands began to shake. Love. It was like a strong medicine. It could induce in the patient adverse physiological effects, and even worse psychological ones.

  I tore the package open and found first the hat, then my pearl necklace, and finally the engagement ring.

  Fishing further, I pulled out a letter.

  Trying to quell the trembling in my hands, I read.

  Dearest Clyde:

  It is with great regret and sadness that I must decline your proposal of marriage. My father, before he passed away last year, used to say that timing was everything, and it’s tragic that the timing wasn’t right for us. He would also say, ‘Olive, keep a level head.’ I must confess, I’ve found this advice hard to follow, particularly in the last few years, when I’ve had to contend with not only the passing in quick succession of my dear parents but also the unfortunate demise of my beloved Aunt Tabitha in Fairfield. Add to this my emotional entanglement with first Edgar Keenan, then Everett Howse, then you, and you might understand why I’ve found it difficult to keep a level head.

  Clyde, I have never felt for a man what I feel toward you. To put it succinctly, I love you, and love you still. If it hadn’t been for my own erroneous misconceptions – and lack of level-headedness – in regard to Miss Gregsby, maybe the timing would have been right for us. But because I so obstinately misconstrued circumstances, I’m afraid I’ve gone ahead and done a rather rash thing.

  As you know, Mr Keenan’s cousin arrived in Fairfield shortly before Christmas. He came to tell me Edgar had recently undertaken divorce proceedings against his wife. Edgar has begged me for his hand in marriage and because I believed I was losing you, I accepted. I now find myself engaged to Mr Keenan, even though the current divorce proceedings haven’t yet been finalized. Consequently, I’m not in a position to accept your own proposal. To that end, I return the ring, the pearl necklace, and the hat.

  Please forgive me, Clyde. We are so often the inventors of our own misfortune.

  In a more practical vein, I should tell you that I will be returning to Fairfield on January fifteenth. It is my sincere desire that you will continue to count me as one of your friends. Edgar will be coming with me and taking rooms at the Grand Hotel. He feels he cannot stay in Boston at present, as the scrutiny and censure he now endures for launching these proceedings against his wife have become intolerable. I beg you treat him kindly, with compassion, and a selfless heart. It is my hope that with time, you and Edgar might become amicable.

  I wish you and Jeremiah the best for a happy 1903.

  Sincerely, Olive.

  My hands stopped shaking.

  I repeated her words in the stillness of my study. ‘I love you, and love you still.’

  Yes, I understood she was engaged to Edgar Keenan, and that the man would be taking rooms at the Grand Hotel, but that didn’t matter.

  It didn’t matter because I was passionately convinced there remained a chance.

  She loved me still!

  I poured myself a large bourbon and drank it in one go. I walked to the window and looked outside. The clock in the parlor chimed the hour of midnight: 1902 ended and 1903 began. Through the window I heard the band in the park strike up ‘Auld Lang Syne’ just as the church bells started peeling. I heard people cheering. And then fireworks lifted into the sky. A moment later, several booms shook the house, and the sky brightened in a myriad of colours.

  As far as I was concerned, the time was right.

  She was coming home.

  As far as I was concerned, I had a level head.

  She would be here on the fifteenth.

  As far as I was concerned, she would be mine, come what may – even with Mr Keenan staying at the Grand Hotel!