Delivering the Truth (5 page)

“I'm pleased to meet thee. It was good of thee to bring provisions for Minnie.”

He folded his arms. “When's that fool sister of ours coming back?” he asked Minnie with a scowl.

I raised my eyebrows at his sudden change in demeanor.

“Sometime soon, I hope,” Minnie said. “She's helping me out and don't you forget it. I don't understand why you can't get along with her.”

“Well, and you won't understand, neither, because I'm not explaining it again. And I suppose you still don't want me bringing my nephew's daddy to account? I can think of a couple of ways to do it.”

“No.” Minnie's tone was firm. “Brother, that is my business and not yours.”

“Even though he's brought shame upon our family?” His nostrils widened like he'd smelled a rotting fruit. “And humiliated you?”

Minnie sighed. “Jotham, leave it be, will you?”

He seemed to shake off his mood. “I'll be off, then.” He looked at me and then at the baby. “I thank you for helping get my little nephew out into the world,” he said in a softer voice as he moved to the bedside. He leaned over the baby and touched his cheek. “We'll be playing ball before you know it, laddie.” He set his hat on his head and walked out.

“The two of you share a resemblance,” I said to Minnie. “What's his name again?”

“Jotham.” She bit the side of her lower lip. “He means well. And I wish he and my sister were more friendly.”

“No one chooses their blood relatives.” Every family had its intrigues, its members who feuded either silently or with great noise. And a brother and sister who didn't get along wasn't my business.

“Ida accused him of stealing from her.” She wrinkled her nose. “Nobody ought to steal, related or not. I don't know if he did, though. And he's always been good to me.”

“I'm glad,” I said. “Now, how is thee feeling? Has thee been up? Is thee passing water?”

She nodded. “I'm a bit sore down there. But I'm hungry, like always. And I have a wicked thirst, too.”

I told her that was normal with a suckling babe. “Thee must drink frequently. Even some ale will help the milk flow. Can I get thee something now?”

“A drop of ale would be fine. It's in the kitchen there.”

I located it and brought her a tankard half full. “I'll be going, then. Send word if thee has any problems. And Minnie?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Thee can make the father be accountable. I can help thee.”

She shook her head, hard. “I'm fine. Thank you. But I am taken care of.”

I let myself out, looking forward to an hour or two of rest before Isaiah's memorial service this afternoon. As I rounded onto Market Street, a
well-appointed
carriage passed me. I glanced back down the street a minute later to see William Parry disappear through Minnie's door. I didn't know for certain why the owner of one of Amesbury's most successful carriage factories would be paying his respects, but I could guess, especially given Lillian Parry's suspicions. And if he was the father of Minnie's baby, he certainly wasn't making any secret of it.

six

I trudged through Market
Square. Perhaps I should pick up staples for the household. I paused outside Sawyer's Mercantile and swayed a little with fatigue. As I covered an unavoidable yawn with my hand, I caught sight of a thin woman hurrying up Friend Street away from me. It looked much like Nell Gilbert, whom I had delivered of a daughter the year before.

“Nell,” I called out. She stopped short but didn't turn around. I opened my mouth to hail her again, then shut it when a man stepped out of the doorway of Skeel's Fish Market. It was none other than Jotham O'Toole. I watched them converse, tall Nell gazing down on him a little, but they were too far away for me to hear, even if I hadn't been standing at the edge of the noisiest, busiest area of town. He laid his hand on her arm and she shook her head with great vehemence. I hadn't realized Nell and Jotham knew each other, but Amesbury was a
well-populated
place with nearly ten thousand inhabitants. I was sure there was much I didn't know.

A large cart filled with squealing lambs clattered by in front of me. When it had passed, Jotham no longer stood with Nell. She seemed rooted in place, so I made my way toward her.

“Oh, Nell.” I waved as I called. I stepped around two men smoking cheroots. Keeping my eyes on Nell, I nearly stepped in a pile of vegetable refuse.

She turned toward me and waited.

“How is thee?” I asked when I reached her. “And baby Lizzy?”

She gazed at me with dark eyes. “She's fine.” Her voice was flat, and her eyes, while on me, seemed to be out of focus, as if she saw something else than my face.

“That's good. Has thee been well, too?” I asked.

“I'm fine.” Her arms fell straight at her sides, her left hand clutching a canvas bag hanging as limp as her arm.

“Thee is out doing the marketing,” I said.

She finally seemed to see me. “Yes. The marketing. I'd better be getting on with it.”

“I think I'll pick up some fish while I'm here.” I gestured toward the fishmonger's door. “Say, was that Jotham O'Toole thee was speaking with? I delivered his sister of a baby this week.”

Her eyes became unfocused again. “I don't know him.” She turned and walked up Friend Street as if a machine governed her movements.

I watched her go with concern. Something was ailing her, I thought as I entered the fish shop, the bell on the door jangling, the smell of brine pricking my nose. I resolved to pay Nell a visit early in the week. For now, I'd bring home a nice cod for supper and then try to rest before heading to the sad event at the Meetinghouse.

The end of Isaiah's Memorial Meeting drew near as the bell at Saint Joseph's tolled three o'clock. The worship room at the Meetinghouse overflowed with Friends, townspeople, and Isaiah's family and friends. Even William Parry, owner of the factory, was there, clearing his throat constantly and checking his pocket watch with great regularity.

When I'd entered with Frederick and the children an hour before, I glanced at John Whittier, already seated with straight back in his customary seat on the facing bench, watching people stream in. Little Betsy's hand was in mine and I saw him wink at her. She looked up at me, delighted, and then waved at him before he closed his eyes. To the outside world he presented a serious, almost stern demeanor. From what I had seen, he loved young people and wasn't above a wink at them.

As Clerk of Meeting he had broken the initial silence with a welcome and introduction to worship after the manner of Friends, inviting those present to celebrate the life of Isaiah, whose spirit had been released to God. He asked attenders to leave a few moments of silence between each message. I sensed several
non-Quakers
' unease with the stillness. For me it provided a lifelong calming comfort.

Book in hand, the disturbed son of the mill owner, Stephen Hamilton, arrived late and squeezed into a
back-row
pew. I didn't know he was a friend of Isaiah's, but it was a public service, after all. He jittered in his seat and never seemed to settle into the quiet place that is Friends' worship. John Whittier opened his eyes and trained them on Stephen in a moment of unspoken admonishment.

During the service Annie bravely stood and shared a memory of Isaiah's warmth and humor as they had walked along the Powow one afternoon only a week earlier. After she sat, Faith held her hand while Annie wept softly into her kerchief. Seated across the rectangle of pews with his parents and younger siblings, Zeb waited until nearly the end of Meeting to talk about his brother. When he was finished, he sank back onto the bench and bent over with face in hands, shoulders heaving.

Afterward, mourners flowed out onto the grassy area in front of the Meetinghouse. The weather was mild for the season, with sunshine melting snow and encouraging new leaves to open. A gentle breeze ruffled the attenders' hair. I was glad to take a deep breath of such fresh air after our long winter.

Several older ladies and I laid out refreshments on a trestle table. The gathering continued on a somber note, with townspeople and friends of Isaiah's offering their condolences to his parents. A knot of young men gathered around Zeb and told stories about escapades with the brothers when they were younger, bringing a
much-needed
smile to Zeb's face. Stephen Hamilton stood alone on the periphery of the gathering, his eyes darting here and there.

Kevin Donovan approached the food table and helped himself to a gingersnap. The
ruddy-faced
detective wore a dark suit instead of his police uniform. Perhaps he was a friend of the family. I could tell him about the person I had spied near the factory.

“Good morning, Miss Carroll.”

“It's a sad day, Kevin Donovan.” I took a breath. “How is the fire investigation going? Has thee found a cause for it?”

He looked sharply toward me. “What business is that of yours?”

“I live in this town.” I folded my arms. “A young man from this Meeting died in the awful conflagration, along with other workers. And I heard talk yesterday of someone deliberately setting the fire.”

“We still seek answers,” he said in a terse voice.

“I have some information thee might want to hear,” I said in a low voice, gesturing to move away from others. “Before the fire began I was near Parry's factory. And I saw a shape outside the fence creeping in stealth, possibly limping. He held an object.”

“He?” The detective leaned toward me across the table.

I was startled. “The person might have been wearing a cape or a cloak. In truth, as it was darkening, I didn't see so clearly. It's possible it was a woman.”

“And what was the object?”

“It was flat and thick. About the size of a book. I couldn't see more.”

“Thank you, Miss Carroll. I assume you would have come forth with this information even if you hadn't seen me here?”

“Of course.” I wondered why I hadn't, then remembered how full the time had been since that evening, not yet two full days.

“If you remember, think of any other detail, or see anything suspicious, please let me know.” He smiled. “Alert citizens can be a great help in these kinds of cases.”

I nodded before he turned away, his head moving to scan the assemblage. Perhaps he was not here as a mourner, after all. And he seemed friendlier than in my past encounters with him.

I surveyed the table and combined two
half-full
plates of sweets into one. The punch was running scant, so I made my way around the back of the Meetinghouse where we had left an additional jug in the shade of the roof overhang. My feet rustled dry leaves from last autumn. I had hefted the heavy container when Stephen Hamilton rushed around the far corner. When he spied me he halted.

“Stephen,” I called. “We're happy thee could join us.”

He strode in my direction. “You Quakers should be quaking at the wrath of the Lord.” Scowling, he shook his Bible in the air.

I held up my hand, relieved he stopped three feet distant and surprised he was speaking. “Our God is a loving one and is in each person. Now, would thee carry this weighty jug for me?” I held out the container.

He blinked several times. The scowl disappeared, replaced by raised eyebrows and a small smile. “You want my help?”

I nodded. “If thee pleases.”

He nodded, then handed me the book and pulled the glove off his right hand. He hefted the jug with a hand marred by small red scars on the back. I tried to see what had caused the scarring but couldn't see clearly. It was likely smallpox, although these marks appeared more raised than indented. I followed him to the front where he set down the container and took back his book.

“May I help you with anything else, Miss?”

He seemed a different person from the wild ranter of a few moments earlier. Perhaps, as the man in town had suggested, Stephen did need a job, or at least an avenue to help others.

“Does thee know aught about who set the fire?” I thought it wouldn't hurt to ask.

He shook his head and strolled away, swinging the Bible.

seven

The women and I
were nearly done clearing up the food after the memorial meeting's social time. Many of the visitors had left and it was mostly Friends who remained in conversation with the Weed family. I looked up to see William Parry shaking Isaiah's father's hand. William shook his head sorrowfully and walked toward the street.

“William Parry?” I called. I hurried toward him.

He stopped and turned. He was an imposing man, tall, with a
well-fed
midsection and
rich-looking
clothing. His waistcoat fit snugly and his white collar stood up perfectly starched. A chinstrap beard framed his face under his high rounded hat.

“Rose Carroll.” I extended my hand.

He raised his eyebrows, but took my hand and shook it briefly.

“I thank thee for coming,” I said. “What a terrible accident, thy factory burning down.”

He frowned. “It's terrible, that is certain, but the police are telling me they think it might have been set. Not an accident at all. I can't think what dastardly soul would have lit a place afire that had men working within.”

“It's a sad time for all the families.”

“Mr. Clarke has decided to rebuild his factory. I shall rebuild, as well. I have resolved to do so.” He clasped his hands in front of him and raised his chin.

“That's wonderful news. What a benefit for the town, for all of us.” Indeed it was. So many relied on the business the carriage industry fostered. From the workers themselves, to the mercantile selling goods to the workers, to the seamstresses who finished off the insides of the finer vehicles, to the railroad that carried the
white-cloaked
new carriages away on the Ghost Trains—the entire populace was the beneficiary of a thriving industry.

He put his hand to his hat as if to doff it before leaving.

“But I have another matter to bring up with thee,” I said, looking him directly in the eye, even though he was a good half foot taller than my five feet eight.

He blinked as if annoyed, but stayed put.

“I attend thy wife. In her pregnancy,” I added when confusion crossed his face. Surely he should know this, but apparently he didn't. I went on. “It's important for her health and that of the baby that she feel happy and at ease in the last weeks before the birth. She mentioned how occupied thee has been of late with thy business.” Or with Minnie O'Toole. Much as I'd like to ask him about that, now wasn't the time. I wanted to keep the conversation about Lillian.

“I have. And now with the fire—” He pursed his lips and tapped his leg with one hand.

“I hope, though, thee can find time to dine with her regularly.” I knew I was overstepping my bounds but I wasn't afraid of this wealthy, powerful man. He had no hold on me.

He looked at me as if he hadn't quite seen me before now. “I will conduct my family business as I see fit, Miss … Miss …”

“Rose Carroll. Of course. I'm only thinking of thy wife's health. That and thy baby's.”

“Good day.” This time he did tip his hat, ever so slightly, before striding away to his carriage and the driver who stood waiting.

I watched the carriage roll down Greenleaf Street. Perhaps he was on his way to visit Minnie and her baby again.

Faith and I were washing the dishes in the wide black soapstone sink after supper that evening. It was such a blessing in this house less than a decade old to have a pump right at the sink instead of needing to carry water in from the pump outside every time we needed some. What modern time-saving device would they invent next? Betsy came running into the kitchen.

“It's that handsome man thee is sweet on. He's here. The doctor!” She nearly jumped up and down with excitement.

I dried my hands. My heart suddenly thudding and with cheeks also suddenly flushed, I followed her down the hall to the front door, where Frederick stood speaking with David Dodge. David wore, as usual, a modest coat and carried a simple derby in his hands, even though I knew his family's finances could afford him much fancier attire. His face lit up like a spring sunrise when he saw me.

“Rose, I wondered if you'd be willing to go for a buggy ride with me on this fine evening.”

“David, how nice to see thee. I was just—”

Faith spoke up behind me. “I'll finish it. Thee should go for a ride.” She poked me in the back and whispered, “Go.”

I turned and thanked her, then fetched my bonnet and cloak. Twenty minutes later I rode with David in his
single-horse
buggy along the wide Merrimack River. The air continued mild and I needed no more than my cloak for warmth. The buggy was new and provided a comfortable ride, and its roof provided shelter from both sun and rain.

“I scarcely feel the bumps in the road.” I gazed to my right at David as I stroked the fine leather of the seat we shared.

“Bailey's buggies are the finest to be had.” David made a clucking sound in his mouth and did something with the reins he held in both hands. His handsome roan mare began to trot. “Isn't Ned Bailey some kind of cousin of yours?”

“He's a distant cousin of my
brother-in
-law.” I sighed. Ned had tried to court me in the past, but I wasn't interested. “He's of the family branch who fell away from Friends.”

At a wide spot near Lowell's Boat Shop, David pulled over. The full moon shone on the water like a silver pathway.

“It's beautiful,” I said. “I feel like I could walk right across.”

“Yes.” He stared at the horse, who gave a snort and tossed its head.

I glanced at him. “What's the matter? Thee seems pensive.”

He wrapped the reins around the whip holder and removed his gloves. He stretched his arm across the back of the seat and turned those deep blue eyes toward me. “Rose, I mentioned to my mother I was keeping company with you. Now she wants to meet you. And Mother is, well, she's a force of nature.”

I returned my eyes to the moonlight. “I see.” Meet his mother? Were we so serious? I'd known him as a colleague for a year. Our relationship had gradually become one of courting, and we had been spending quite a bit of time together in the last several months. My heart fluttered when I thought of him. But what if his mother didn't like me?

“What do you think? Is my Rosie feeling courageous?”

I cringed a little. “Rosie? No one has called me that since I was a child.”

“May I call you that?” His voice turned low and husky. “I care very much for you, Rose Carroll.”

His arm was warm along my shoulders. In a flash my irritation with the nickname vanished. I knew it came out of his affection. Right now all I wanted to do was sink into his arm, but I was afraid if I turned toward him I'd lose myself, give myself over to these feelings I hadn't let myself experience since the first time I fell in love. I had been a teenager smitten with a boy who had violated me and then abandoned me as soon as he realized the depths of my emotion for him. His actions had hurt me, and I'd kept my heart carefully guarded since. Until now. David had won me over with his smiling eyes, his gentle manner both with me and the ill patients he treated, even with the simple clothing he wore despite his family's riches. He lived much like a Friend, I sometimes thought with an inner smile.

“And I for thee, David Dodge.” My voice shook.

He reached over with his right hand and turned my head toward him. The feel of his skin on mine was the spark that lit the tinder. Could I trust him with my feelings? He had always acted the gentleman. A warm wave rolled out of my control through my body. I looked into his eyes with the moonlight revealing their startling blue. And laughed when one of them winked.

“Thee is a delight, Mr. Dodge. For that wink alone I must kiss thee.” I leaned in and carefully planted a kiss on his cheek. I savored the slight rasp of stubble and inhaled his clean scent of soap and some kind of tonic mixed with the hint of a healthy man's sweat. I sat back.

“What? That's all I get?” He laughed, too, lowering his hand to take mine.

“For now.” I felt a somber mood take over. “I confess I'm a bit worried about meeting this mother of thine.”

He grimaced. “Yes. She's asked me to bring you to tea tomorrow afternoon. Can I fetch you at four o'clock?”

“Of course. What's her given name, by the way?”

“Clarinda. Clarinda Chase Dodge. My father is Herbert Currier Dodge.”

I gulped at the family names
well-known
for industry and wealth as well as art. “I suppose I should wear my good frock, such as it is. Does she know I'm a Quaker?”

“Not quite yet. I thought you might be the best person to tell her.”

I nodded. “I'm capable of that. I have been explaining the odd ways of Friends for twenty some years, ever since I became aware of our differences from the rest of the world. Will thy father be at tea, too?” David had told me his father ran a successful shoe business in Newburyport.

“He will, and he'll adore you, and you him, although I must tell you Mother rides roughshod over us all. But you, Rosie, give me strength to be my own person. That's one reason I adore you so. You speak your mind. You're independent and a successful businesswoman.”

I tried to wave the compliments aside.

“No, truly,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I admire your fortitude in following your calling. Many women are neither so strong nor so determined.”

“Our society makes it difficult for my sex. We're not allowed to own property in our own names. We can't vote, except for school committee members. Why, even officers of the law allow a husband to abuse a wife with impunity.” I told him about my earlier disagreement with Kevin Donovan.

“I have seen such maltreated wives in my practice. One last week came into the hospital sorely beaten, but claimed she'd merely fallen down the stairs. I think she was afraid if she told the truth, the news would get back to her husband and she'd be beaten worse when she returned home. Such treatment should be a crime.”

“I've seen this, too, and I agree with thee.”

“Any wife of mine would be treated with tenderness and respect.” His voice grew husky again, and he stroked my hand with his thumb, a simple gesture that sent a thrill through me. “Always.”

A cloud passed over the moon, darkening the river and bringing the fingers of a cold breeze with it. I pulled my shawl more tightly about me as I mused about what my life would be like if I married outside my faith. Amesbury Friends tended to be more tolerant of individuality than other Meetings, probably influenced by John Whittier's expansive view of life. I didn't foresee a problem, should a union with David come to pass, from the elders in the Meeting. I imagined David's mother could present a much larger obstacle.

I sniffed smoke and peered past David to the left toward town.

“I fear another fire,” I said. “They must catch the arsonist who burned down Carriage Hill.”

“I'm certain your Detective Donovan and the others are working on it even tonight.” He put both arms around me and drew me into his embrace.

It was a comfort, but it didn't change the fact that an arsonist walked our streets and could strike again.