Delivering the Truth (11 page)

The outer door slammed and shattered our domestic calm.

“That bloody copper. Can't stop asking me questions!” Jotham stormed into the bedroom.

Minnie grabbed her shawl and drew it hurriedly over the baby and her exposed breast.

Jotham stopped short when he saw me. “Oh, Miss Carroll. I didn't know you were here.” He took a deep breath and the red ire in his face began to drain away.

“Is thee speaking of the detective?” I asked.

“That's him. Donovan,” Jotham spat. “Bloody hell.”

“Brother, I'll ask you to watch your language,” Minnie said. “There's a lady and a baby in the room.”

Jotham glared at his sister for a moment as if he longed to refute what she said, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Has thy sister gone home, Minnie?” I asked.

Jotham muttered something under his breath and turned away, fidgeting with his hat.

“Yes,” Minnie said. “She has her own babes to look after. But she'll be bringing dinner by.”

“Excellent. I'll take my leave, then. Bring Billy by for a checkup in two weeks' time. And get thyself up and out of the house. It will do you both good.” I faced Jotham. “Might I have a word with thee?”

He raised his eyebrows but followed me out of the room.

“I understand thee found Thomas Parry dead. That must have been a terrible shock.”

He pulled his brows together and pursed his lips, nodding. “Yes, yes. A terrible shock.” He shook his head. “Never found a dead man before. Stabbed to death.”

“That was what I heard. Was the weapon at hand?”

“I didn't see it about.”

“Where was he attacked?”

“Down beyond Wing's Carriage Supplies. By the lower falls. The water makes such a noise, I expect no one heard him cry out.”

“I actually meant to ask where on his body was he stabbed? Thee must have seen a great deal of blood.”

“What, now you're interrogating me, too? You in cahoots with Detective Donovan or something?” His face began to redden again.

“Calm thyself. Thee needn't answer if thee doesn't care to. And no, I'm simply curious. I'm a midwife. I don't work for the police.” My curiosity about the murder had nothing to do with Kevin's investigation, since he had explicitly instructed me to keep out of it. Although if I learned something, I would share it with Kevin immediately, of course.

“All right, then. It was in his neck where he was killed. But the blood wasn't fresh when I found him. Sort of dried up.” His tone was matter of fact.

“I wonder who had cause to murder Thomas.” I busied myself with the handle of my bag.

He shrugged. “Not my job to find out.”

“Oh, Jotham,” Minnie called,“can you take your nephew for a minute?”

“Nice talking with you, Miss Carroll.” He rolled his eyes. “Now I'm the
nanny-uncle
.” I spied a smile before he turned back to the bedroom.

I let myself out and walked the few blocks home under a leaden sky. So Thomas was stabbed in the neck. Jotham said he hadn't seen the murder weapon. Perhaps the killer tossed it into the falls, or carried it away to bury or hide. How would Kevin solve the case? I found the idea of accumulating evidence and solving clues intriguing. But that was his job, not mine. I had a full practice and there was no shortage of new pregnancies in town. Unless I did something egregiously wrong, I was assured of steady employment for as long as I wanted it. And if I didn't pick up my step, I'd be late for my next client, who was due at my office any minute now.

After my last client left at two o'clock, I drew several jars of dried herbs off the high shelf in my office and brought them to the kitchen table. Carefully spreading out a clean white tea towel, I measured out portions of Saint John's wort and chamomile, with smaller parts of peppermint and licorice, according to Orpha's directions. I didn't have any star anise, unfortunately. I rubbed the dried leaves together between my palms, crumbling them to make an even-textured tea, then poured it all into a clean Ball jar. I hoped it would help to stabilize Nell Gilbert's mood and lighten her spirits. I'd ask Josephine to make sure Nell drank a cup of it several times a day.

After I stowed the herbs back in the parlor and tucked the jar into my bag, I opened the side door to set out for the Gilbert house. Instead I spied Kevin Donovan walking up the path as the church bells in town tolled three times. Why was he here again? To ask for my help with the murder, after all?

I beckoned to him. “Kevin, I am at the side here.”

He glanced up with a start then made his way toward me. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, tapping his hand on his leg, squinting at the afternoon sunlight reflecting off a window across the road.

“Has there been a development in the case?” I asked. I walked down to stand next to him.

“Indeed, Miss Carroll, there has.” He removed his hat and clutched it in both hands.

I clasped my hands in front of me and waited.

“I'm holding Ephraim Pickard on suspicion for Thomas Parry's murder and for the factory arson, as well. I thought you might want to know.” He tucked his hat under his arm and rubbed his hands together. “We've got our man.”

“Oh, gracious.” Sadness crept through me. “Is thee sure? What is the evidence against him?”

“A witness came forward and placed him at the site of the murder at the correct time.”

“Who is the witness?”

Kevin frowned. “That's for the police to know. I had a thought the killer might have been someone else, but the witness account changed that. We have also learned that earlier in the evening Pickard argued in the tavern with the victim. And you, as well, said you saw someone limping right before the fire was set on Carriage Hill. Pickard limps from an old injury.”

“I told thee I didn't see the person clearly.” I shook my head. “It was only a shape, nothing more. And doesn't thee need evidence?”

He cleared his throat. “We're still searching for the Parry murder weapon. But I have no doubt it will be found. No doubt at all.”

“I heard conflicting stories at the mercantile about the stabbing. Can thee now share with me the method of death?”

“I guess it won't hurt to tell you. The news will be about town before long, anyway. It was some thin, sharp object to the neck. That's all we know.” He threw his hands open.

“Was Thomas drunk? The gossips at the mercantile said he was, and had been brawling outside.”

“The autopsy hasn't been completed yet, but my officers did detect quite the smell of alcohol on him, it's true. Still isn't cause for someone to kill him.”

“That isn't what I meant. I simply wondered how the killer got close enough to stab a grown man in the neck. Ephraim sheds no light on the subject?”

“He claims he's innocent, of course. Don't they all?”

sixteen

After I delivered the
herbal mixture to Nell's mother-in-law, I spent the end of the day worrying about Ephraim, to no avail. The Bailey family and I had just finished eating supper when a driver arrived in the Parry carriage. I answered the door and the driver handed me a note. I opened it to read that Lillian Parry was experiencing pains and asked that I come right away. I grabbed my satchel and cloak and ran to the conveyance. The murder must have affected Lillian more than she had let on in the morning. I closed my eyes and held her in the Light of God as we drove. A baby exiting the womb so early would likely not survive. I prayed the pains were only false labor brought on by the terrible news.

For the second time that day, I trudged up the steps of the Parry home. The maid opened the door before I could knock, her eyes wide.

“It must be the shock. She says she's having pains. Please go up, Miss Carroll.”

With the doors to the library and parlor still closed, I put away my thoughts of greeting William and hurried up the stairs. I composed myself in the hall for a moment before walking quietly into her bedroom.

William sat in a chair by Lillian's side holding her hand in both of his. She moaned once and then was quiet, her eyes shut. When I cleared my throat, William turned his head and rose.

“Miss Carroll, thank you for coming. Is she having the baby?” His eyes were anguished. “It's too soon, isn't it?”

I touched his arm. “Let me examine her, William. It's common to have a semblance of labor pains at this stage. Don't worry yet,” I said. I didn't need him more upset than he already was.

“If I were to lose her, too, I don't know what I'd do.” He wrung his hands over and over. “Should we call Mr. Douglass? Or don't you have a doctor friend we can consult with?”

“I'm sure that won't be necessary, but, yes, my friend David Dodge will consult with me if I ask him to. Please leave us for a few minutes. I'll call thee as soon as I finish checking her.” I'd welcome a chance to see David, since it had been two days since the tea with his parents, but under happy social circumstances, of course, rather than with a difficult client.

William cast a glance at Lillian but she kept her eyes closed, and he left the room. I shut the door after him, then I drew out my listening tube and moved to her side.

“Lillian, it's Rose. Can thee open thine eyes and tell me what thee is feeling?” I took William's place in the chair, pulling it closer to the bed. “Lillian?”

She peered under heavy lids at me and then pulled herself up to sitting. “Oh, Rose. My back hurts. And I feel a pressure down there.”

“How often are the pains?”

“They're not regular. It feels like a big cramp, you know, like when I used to have my monthly. Except worse.”

“If they're not regular, that's good. The labor of childbirth comes along like clockwork. I'll take a listen.” I pulled down the coverlet and bent over her belly. The baby's heartbeat was strong, as it had been all along.

I glanced up. “I'm going to check thee inside. I don't believe we've done this before. My hand will go inside the passage, and I'm going to feel the opening to the womb. If thee feels any discomfort, try to breathe down into my hand. It sounds odd, but it works.” Despite not being taught about instructing women to breathe down into pain, I had found it helped them, and I now made counseling women in this method part of my practice.

She nodded.

“Raise thy knees up and separate them.” I pushed up my sleeve and found my way to her cervical opening, the
os
. She gasped a little as I felt it, but the opening was closed nearly as tightly as a nonpregnant woman's. I drew my hand out and wiped it clean.

“I think thee is fine. Sometimes women have what we call practice pains. It's the body getting ready to give birth. But these pains aren't doing any work at all. Thy baby is safe inside to grow as big as he needs to be before entering our world.”

Lillian leaned back, straightening her legs with a smile of relief. “But what can I do to stop having the pains?”

“Nothing, really. But thee will feel better by getting out of bed and moving around. Get dressed, move about. William needs thee at this time. And surely there will be callers tomorrow to express their sympathies about Thomas. Thee must be ready for them.”

“
William seemed like his old self just now. He was so sweet to me, and he seemed so afraid I would die, too.” She bit her lip and her eyes filled. “He hasn't been that way toward me for months. Since … well, never mind. I should be grateful he still cares for me.”

“Of course he does.” It seemed to be true. The loss of someone close often made the survivor better appreciate those still living. I patted her hand. “Now, how about getting up and sitting in that chair? Put on a pretty house coat, brush thy hair, and I'll call him back up here. Perhaps the two of you can have a bite to eat. He needs thy help in his own sorrow.”

“But what if I get another pain?” Lillian swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“Breathe down into it. It will pass. If thee tightens up from fear, it will be worse.” I bade her farewell and made my way down the stairs. William stood in the door to the library, his face a mask of fear.

“Lillian is fine, William. She's completely well and so is the baby. Her body is simply rehearsing for the birth. It's nothing to worry about.” I smiled at him.

His expression changed like a wave cresting into sunlight. “Truly? Oh, thank God.”

“Go on up and sit with her. I'll have the maid bring you both some supper.”

“And thank you, Rose Carroll.” He reached out and embraced me quickly, then stepped back. “Forgive me. I'm not myself. But I am grateful.”

“Get thee on upstairs, now.” I made a shooing motion until he trotted up the stairs. I shook my head in wonder at the complexity of humans. I had done almost nothing to cause such intense gratitude, only a simple visit and some commonsense advice. Now, where was that maid, anyway?

The Baileys departed for school and work the next morning: Frederick and Luke on Star heading to the Academy, the twins walking and Betsy skipping to the Whittier grammar school a block over, and Faith trudging down the hill to Hamilton Mill.

I had no impending births that I knew of, and no clients scheduled until the afternoon. Taking up one of the recently developed fountain pens, a gift from my father, I sat at my desk writing a letter to my parents, glad I didn't have to pause every line to
re-ink
the pen. I wrote of the news of the fires and of Thomas Parry's murder but told them a suspect had already been apprehended. Whether I thought Ephraim was the guilty person or not didn't belong in a letter. I paused for a moment. Maybe it had been an error for me to tell Kevin about the smudge on Ephraim's shirt. It was too late to take it back.

Returning to my letter, I included a few funny stories about their grandchildren and urged them to come for a visit before too long. It was hard for Father to find someone to mind his farm animals for a few days, and Mother was always so busy with her work for women's suffrage. Still, the children were growing up fast. The four youngest ones had been invited to the farm for the summer months, though, and that season wasn't so far off now. I was sure Faith would like to leave the city, too, but she had already said she wouldn't quit her position at the mill. She'd had to grow up fast after her mother's death. While I pined for Harriet, I knew the impact of her death on her children had been far greater.

I gazed around the room and smiled at the sunlight burnishing the wide pine floorboards. It promised to be a lovely day, now that yesterday's glowering clouds had blown away overnight. When I'd seen the children out the door a few minutes earlier, the air smelled fresh and was already warming. That would certainly encourage the trees to release their tightly furled baby leaves.

A movement in the street caught my eye. The police wagon pulled up in front of the house. Did Kevin have another revelation to share with me? I hoped it was news he had found the true killer and released Ephraim. As I watched, Guy Gilbert climbed out instead and ascended the front steps. I went to the door as he began to knock.

“Guy, what brings thee here? Will thee come in?”

The young man straightened his spine and clasped his hands behind him. He didn't remove his hat. “Miss Rose Carroll, I'm to bring you in for questioning in the matter of Thomas Parry's murder. Please get your cloak and hat.” A thin line ran down his left cheek, like a scratch that was healing.

“What?” I stared at him. “What might I have to add on that matter? I didn't see the poor man killed. I know nothing of his assailant.”

“Miss Carroll, please get your things.” He kept his head high, but wrinkled his forehead and spread his hands. “I'm not to tell you why. I'm to bring you to the station with all due dispatch.”

I nodded slowly, my insides turning to ice. This was serious. “Give me a minute. I'll be right there.” I fetched my bonnet and cloak even as I puzzled at the reason for this summons. I closed the door behind me and followed him down to the wagon, my sunny mood dissipated in an instant.

“You can ride up front with me.” Guy extended a hand to help me up, then went around and climbed in.

Five minutes later I sat alone in a room in the station. How long would I have to wait? I rued not bringing my knitting to both pass the time and calm my jitters. Guy hadn't said a word as we drove, despite my questions to him. A folio of paper and a pen lay on the table across from me.

A somber Kevin Donovan entered the interview room. He carried a slender packet a foot long wrapped in cloth and set it on the table between us.

“Greetings, Kevin. What is the occasion for this interview?” I tried to smile, but a tic beat in my upper lip. “Have I been murdering people in my sleep?”

He frowned at me and rapped the table with his fingers as if playing the same notes on a piano over and over. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. He did it another time. He glanced at his package on the table and back at me, then finally spoke.

“When was the last time you knitted something, Miss Carroll?”

“When I knitted something?” I stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Why is thee asking me that?”

“We've found the object used to kill young Parry.” He watched me closely.

“Wonderful news. I still don't understand why I'm here, though.” I raised my eyebrows.

He heaved a deep sigh, one that sounded wrenched out of him. He unwrapped his package, presenting me with a long thin knitting needle. One of my own. I stared. How could this be?

He sat back. The pointed end of the needle was tinged with rust that ran halfway up the length, and it looked sharper than was customary.

I gazed at him and then back at the needle. I took a deep breath in to calm myself. “That isn't rust, is it? That's dried blood.” A shiver rippled through me.

“Correct. Is that your knitting needle, Rose Carroll?”

“Yes. It's one of a pair my mother painted for me as a birthday present.” I closed my mouth and sat with my hands clenched in my lap. This was the murder weapon. My own cherished knitting needle, used as an instrument of death to end Thomas Parry's life. This was too awful to contemplate. But I had to. I forced myself to unclench my hands.

Kevin regarding me sat in silence, as well. I'd read of this tactic in a serial novel, this silent treatment that was usually effective to prod guilty parties to talk. But I was a Quaker. I'd had a lifetime of sitting in silence. And I was guilty of nothing.

With an exasperated sound, he spoke at last. “As you might surmise, this long sharp object was the weapon of death less than two days ago. We located it on the bank near the lower falls where Parry was killed.”

“Does thee suspect me of murder?” I folded my arms across my chest.

“No, of course not. But how in the devil's name did this needle get from your blasted knitting bag, or wherever it resides, to Parry's neck?” His voice rose. “Did you bring your bloody knitting when you visited Ephraim Pickard at his home, as you said you did?”

“Thee need not speak of the devil, Kevin, or use offensive language.” I kept my voice level.

He let out a big sigh. “I apologize, Miss Rose. I admit to much frustration with the case. Will you please answer the question?”

“I didn't carry my satchel to the Pickards. I brought only some foodstuffs to them.”

“So there is no way Ephraim might have stolen the needle? Found it lying about?”

“I can't see how he could.”

“A local gent reported you were asking questions about the murder weapon down at the mercantile. Didn't I tell you to keep out of this investigation?”

“Yes. I have every right to be curious about a public event, though. How did thee learn the needle was mine, anyway?”

“It was actually Gilbert who recognized it. He said he'd seen you knitting during his wife's long labor with their daughter last year, and his wife told him of your fancy painted needles. RMC are your initials, correct?”

I nodded. “I remember knitting as Nell labored. I'd been working on a scarf to keep Luke's neck warm on the ride to school.” I peered more closely at the needle but didn't touch it. “It looks sharpened. Knitting needles are pointed but not sharp at all or they would split the yarn.”

“I'll consider that information, thank you.” Kevin cocked his head. “Tell me, what name does the M signify?”

“Margaret. Mother wanted to honor the lady authors of New England. She's very big on women's rights. So my late older sister was named Harriet—”

“Harriet Beecher Stowe?”