The Daring Ladies of Lowell (22 page)

The chief justice banged down his gavel. “Court is dismissed until tomorrow morning at nine,” he announced. He and the other judges stood, their black robes again swirling in unison, and filed out of the courtroom.

Alice watched them go, wondering, what were they feeling now? Were they capable of closing their eyes and imagining the sound of a poor woman screaming for help, when no help was to come? Or did they truly have the dry and dusty hearts of men of the law?

A
lice looked around one final time. No Samuel. She had seen Hiram at the prosecutor’s table, but Samuel hadn’t been in the courthouse since the morning. She felt—what? Strangely lonely. Yet waiting for something—and it was an uneasy feeling.

T
hat night, the corner of the dining hall where they gathered to eat was subdued. Alice read from her notes and answered questions as well as she could, her voice shaking slightly as they talked about Clara Borden’s dignified reaction to the man who yawned.

Delia clutched at Ellie and pulled her onto her lap as they talked, her fingers squeezing so tightly into the child’s shoulders, the girl protested. She kissed her quickly. No one teased; everyone knew Delia saw threats everywhere.

Mrs. Holloway let out a sigh and put down the heavy platter she was carrying. It hit so heavily, juice from the meat oozed over the side and onto her carefully scrubbed oilcloth. Uncharacte
ristically, she made no attempt to clean it up.

“I should have been more charitable to Lovey, I could’ve been. Maybe if I hadn’t fussed at her so much she would still be alive.” Amazingly, tears were inching their way down Mrs. Holloway’s dry, crepey cheeks.

Mary-o rose swiftly and put her arms around the woman. “Lovey didn’t mind. You make this place home for us,” she said. “Maybe we should stop complaining about the food and tell you that sometimes.”

“Oh my, this is all so sticky sweet,” Hattie said. “How did I get sent to this happy place?” She poked at the stew, moving it around on the plate. “I think the food here is usually awful, so I’m the fly in the ointment, I guess.” She gave a mirthless giggle. “Or in the overcooked stew.”

“Hattie, we know very little about you,” said Delia, still holding onto Ellie. “Where are you from?”

“A farm up in Maine,” Hattie said. “Don’t think I chose to come here.”

“Is that why you’re always so cranky?” Ellie piped up.

“It’s the company that does it,” Hattie fired back. The table fell silent as she pushed her chair back and stood. Her hair was braided so tightly it pulled the skin on her face taut, giving her a strangely doll-like appearance. “I don’t have to sit here and be insulted,” she said before marching out of the room.

Alice jumped up and followed her into the outside corridor. “What were you hinting at before?” she demanded.

Hattie whirled around and faced her. “I wasn’t hinting at anything, I was
telling
you that someone pretty important is involved in all this, that’s what I’ve heard. And you’re mixed up in it, too.”

“Who is it?”

Hattie appeared to be struggling with herself. But to hold a delicious morsel of information back clearly was not her style. “It’s Jonathan Fiske,” she said. “Now aren’t you surprised by
that
?”

“Jonathan?” Alice reached for the door frame, steadying herself. “What are you saying?”

“I’m hearing he was right near where the so-called murder was committed that night, but because he’s a Fiske, nobody who knows will speak up. Instead the whole county has gone after the Reverend Avery. They’d condemn an innocent man, they would.” Her eyes were burning now.

“What are you trying to say?”

“If Lovey was murdered, why couldn’t it have been Jonathan Fiske? He’d romance any tramp. That’s what my preacher says.”

The truth dawned on Alice. “You’re a revivalist, aren’t you—one of Avery’s converts. You’re saying this out of spite.”

“Oh, so the upright Samuel hasn’t told you about his brother?”

Alice opened her mouth to respond, but could bring no words out.

“You listen to me. Reverend Avery is a great man, being slaughtered by the likes of you and that whore who probably killed herself,” Hattie spat out.

Suddenly Mary-o emerged from the dining room, moving swiftly toward Hattie, her hand raised. With full purpose, she slapped Hattie across the face. “Lovey was
not
a whore, and you will never say anything like that around here again,” she said fiercely.

Hattie stepped back, eyes narrowing. “Mary, you’re the one who brought that woman to our meetings. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“And do you not remember the attention Reverend Avery gave to her? Did you not sniff out any hypocrisy then? Or are you one of those who not only would gladly prostrate herself in front of him, but turn over on your back as well?”

Alice could hardly believe what she was hearing from the gentle, mild-mannered Mary-o. She put out a hand to steady her furious friend as the others, open-mouthed, clustered in the hallway door and listened.

Hattie had recovered, standing straight again, eyes hot as smoking cinders. “I’ll not forget those words, Mary,” she said. “And you will pay for them.” She looked around at the others. “I came here because it was my duty, and I’ve learned what I think is true, so I’ll not spend another night in this infernal house. You think you’re respectable—well you’re not, the people who run the mill just let you think you are. And you—” She turned to Alice. “I know what’s going on. And I know some people who will be very interested. You’d be wise to protect yourself.”

“What is she talking about?” Ellie piped up.

Mrs. Holloway pushed forward, standing now between Hattie and the others. “Get your things together,” she said. Her voice was firm. “I’ll arrange for a new place for you in one of the other boardinghouses tonight.”

The girls watched silently as Hattie exited the house, carrying her battered bandbox in one hand and a soiled looking pillow in the other—her own, she announced, and let no one accuse her of stealing from this godless place. She left with her chin up, her bony shoulders pulled back, looking oddly vulnerable.

“She wants to hurt us, too,” Jane said, watching her go.

“I thought she looked familiar,” Mary-o said with a quiver. “I couldn’t place her, it was always dark at the camp meetings—I should have known.”

None pressed Alice about Hattie’s accusations, for which she was grateful. Yet there were glances, some puzzled looks. As Hattie’s figure vanished into the night, Alice lowered herself into the parlor rocker, worn in mind and spirit. Could Jonathan be involved in this? No, no—Samuel would have told her. Wouldn’t he? She knew in her bones who had murdered Lovey, they all did. But there had not been surprise among the others at the mention of Jonathan’s name. Rumors must be going around, rumors she hadn’t heard. For almost an hour, she rocked, eyes closed, before rising to go in and join the others in the bedroom.

“A
lice?”

It was Mary-o, her voice gently cutting into the darkness.

“I have to testify tomorrow, and so does Mrs. Holloway, and I’m frightened.”

Alice managed a small smile in the darkness. “After confronting Hattie tonight? You don’t have to be frightened of anything.”

“Not even judges and lawyers?”

Alice laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. “Not even judges and lawyers,” she said, and started to drift off to sleep.

“Oh, I wish that were true.”

Alice turned on her back and stared up at the heavily shrouded ceiling. “So do I,” she whispered.

“W
here have you been?” Samuel slammed the door behind him as he strode into the parlor of the family’s rooms at the Lowell Inn and stared at his younger brother, slouched deep in a chair by the fireplace. “I’ve been hunting for you. You’ve been doing a vanishing act again.”

“I’m making an appearance, aren’t I? I don’t have to tell you where I am every minute.”

“This isn’t the time for some fancy smirking response,” Samuel said, eyes narrowing. “I’m hearing rumors about you, Jonathan, and I’m worried. I need to ask you some questions.”

“I’m always supposed to be in trouble,” Jonathan tried with a ghost of his usual insouciance.

“Where were you the day Lovey Cornell was killed?”

“Out trying to enjoy myself.”

Samuel couldn’t hold the anger back, not anymore. No sensible sternness, no knuckle-rapping. He grabbed his brother by the collar and pulled him to his feet.

“Don’t you fool with me. I’ve got to know. There’s a man on trial for murder, and whatever happened, you can’t hide behind the family. I need to know.”

Jonathan wrenched away, but his mouth was quivering slightly. “Some brother you are, where is your loyalty?” he managed.

Samuel stared at him, set back by his petulant, aggrieved tone. A time frame had slipped; this boy was not yet a man. Or was this the man he was to become?

“I need to know the whole truth,” he said. “Everything that happened.”

“Will you stand by me?” There was fear in Jonathan’s eyes.

The question gave him pause. He did not believe his brother had done harm to anyone, certainly not to Lovey Cornell. No matter how he obsessed, how he walked around the possibility that he might be wrong, he never could believe it. So it would be an act of faith, his reply.

“I will,” Samuel said. “But I won’t hide the truth.”

Jonathan lowered himself slowly back into his chair and folded his hands in front of him. He lifted a sober face, a face aged in a minute with the first recognition of what couldn’t be dodged or shrugged away. “Fair enough,” he said. “But no one will believe me.”

“I’m listening.” Samuel pulled up a chair, sat down, and waited.

A
lice firmly settled the lunch basket Mrs. Holloway had packed onto the empty space next to her in the courtroom. It was late, almost time for the day’s testimony to begin. It had been difficult to elbow her way past Avery’s supporters passing out pamphlets proclaiming his innocence. They were growing more aggressive, pushing face-to-face, chins jutting, insisting on acceptance of their message.

Alice craned her head above the crowd, looking for Samuel at the prosecutor’s table. Again, he wasn’t there—but she recognized instantly the hat on a woman’s head in the row just behind the table. The woman turned, and her profile left no room for error—it was indeed Daisy Fiske.

The judges were filing in. Was it her imagination, or did they look impatient and cross? No matter. The day’s testimony had begun.

“M
r. William Pierce, you are a ferryman, is that right?”

The first witness, a short, stout man with muscular arms, nodded. “I do the Cooper Island Ferry run, sir. Have now for years.”

“And you know Ephraim Avery?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve ferried him over at that spot several times.”

“Did you take him over on the day before the murdered girl was found?”

“Objection,” snapped Mason. “No—”

“I know, you still are calling this, laughably, a suicide,” Greene rejoined.

This time, a cackle from one of the jury members, quickly suppressed. It was Eleazer Trevett, the man with the pox scars serving as foreman. Greene gave him a jaunty grin, then turned back to his witness. “Just eliminate the word ‘murdered,’ sir. The question is the same.”

“Yes, I took him over to the island. Thought it was strange he wore no cloak.” The ferryman resolutely avoided looking at Avery.

“He says he never left the mainland that day.”

“Well, I’m sorry, sir, but he was on the ferry to the island,” said William Pierce firmly.

Avery let out a snort. Alice heard the sound of the pencil in his hand snapping in two. His fingers grabbed at a sheet of paper, crunching it into a tight ball as his lawyer leaned over with a whispered warning. Avery said something sharp and settled back in his seat.

“Which takes a passenger directly to the town of Clayville, near the farm where the girl was found?”

“Yes.”

Greene looked triumphant, and Alice was thrilled. Now they needed eyewitnesses in Clayville. But surely the jury would note that Avery had been caught in a lie.

One by one, Greene called witnesses to the stand who could help establish Avery’s presence near where Lovey had been found. The keeper of the Bridge Tavern in Clayville said he saw Avery in town, dressed in a box coat and hat, but no cloak, walking very fast, perhaps to ward off the cold. “Somebody said, ‘There goes that Avery preacher again,’” he said.

“And this is a positive identification?” Greene’s eyes were hopeful.

The tavern owner hesitated. After a long pause, he said, “I do not swear positively that he is the man, but I say he very nearly resembles him.”

Greene pulled at his collar, sweating in his jacket, though the courthouse was drafty and cool. He looked enormously frustrated. Then, determined.

Alice looked over at the jury members, wondering what they were thinking. The barber kept scratching his head and moving restlessly in his seat. Was he listening or just hoping to soon get home, back to his business of cutting hair and shaving affable patrons? The legal clerk, what was his name? Horace Brewster. He kept stifling yawns and spent most of the time looking slightly confused. Another juror, sitting in front and dressed all in black, seemed quite dour and severe. There was no reading his face; it looked always the same.

D
aisy was standing at the bottom of the courthouse steps, frowning, her eyes searching the exiting crowd. She was dressed in a silk gown of pale blue and hugged close a cape of the softest white wool Alice had ever seen. People walking by were mostly giving her respectful greetings, the men tipping their hats. But there was an edge to some glances, a sharpness in some eyes, a few whispers. Not all today were dutiful admirers of the Fiske family, not with the rumors circulating.

Daisy pretended not to notice and brightened with relief when she saw Alice approaching.

“It’s quite exciting to be watching all this, don’t you think? I wonder—” she said in a rush, stopping when she saw Alice’s blank look. “I’m sorry, I know, this was a friend of yours who died, what a dreadful thing for me to say. Now you’ll just think I’m a vapid idiot again.”

Alice held her tongue. Her impatience with this woman had softened; it seemed no longer to matter. She tried to stop herself from looking around for Samuel, but Daisy caught her search.

“He’s not here,” she said. “That’s why he asked me to come, so our family always has someone in the courtroom.” She glanced nervously at a scattering of men, obviously mill workers, standing outside the crowd, walking back and forth, shouting about safety at the mill. Her mouth tightened in distaste.

“Why isn’t he here?”

Daisy pulled herself straight, reluctantly getting to the point. “I’m not happy about being his messenger, I must tell you. I think all of this between you two is ill advised. But he wants to see you. He asked if you could meet him this evening out by the bridge leading to the mill.”

“But—why isn’t he here?” Alice pressed.

“He wants to tell you about—some developments,” Daisy said firmly, clearly not intending to give any more information. “Good-bye.” She clutched her white cape close and turned to go back into the courthouse. She stopped, glancing back at Alice. And then, seeming not to know what to say next, she hurried away.

Alice stared after her with growing apprehension.

M
ary-o was next on the stand. Her face was pale. She kept biting her lower lip as she looked out over the crowded courtroom, constantly smoothing down the folds of her best gingham dress.

“You are Mary Dodd, is that correct?” Greene began, keeping his voice gentle.

“Yes, sir, and a friend of Lovey’s. I worked near her at the mill.”

“You were a member of Ephraim Avery’s flock and attended his revival meetings, I understand. And you were the first person to witness the initial connection between Avery and Sarah Cornell?”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“Tell us about that.”

“I could tell he liked her. He kept glancing at her when she stood with us because she wasn’t praying, just standing there watching, while the rest of us were moving back and forth, singing—”

“Prostrating yourselves before preacher Avery?”

Mason was on his feet, shouting an objection, but Mary-o, flushed, had already blurted her answer. “Yes, sir, though I would never do the like again.”

Haltingly, she told how Avery had come over to talk to Lovey after the meeting, how they had chatted conspiratorially.

“Did they go off alone together?”

“Not that night. But she thought he was good looking, and Lovey was a sort of a flirt, I guess. We went back a few nights later. I felt good, because I wanted her to be saved.”

A guffaw from the defense table.
“Sort of a
flirt?”
said Mason. “That’s an understatement.”

The chief justice glared at Mason. “Watch out, Mr. Mason,” he said. “That kind of outburst again and I’ll hold you in contempt.”

Proceeding slowly, Greene drew out the details from Mary-o. Avery sat still throughout the testimony, once again in the posture of a minister of God: head bowed, hands clasped on the table before him.

There were four visits for the two of them, with Lovey disappearing one night for a very long time, Mary-o said. And there was her darkening mood. Finally her announcement that all the fervor of the tent revivals was hypocrisy, that Avery’s evangelists were using God to drain money from people who didn’t have much and using power as seduction. “There were no jokes from her anymore,” Mary-o said firmly. She kept her eyes averted from the defense table, refusing eye contact with the line of Methodist church officials staring at her. Avery, hands still clasped, shook his lowered head slowly from side to side.

“Can you tell us a little about her last full day of life?” Greene asked finally.

“Well, we saw Alice off to Boston on the stagecoach. And then I asked Lovey if I could borrow pocket money to buy fabric for an apron,” Mary-o began. “Lovey dug in her pocket right away and gave me a handful of pennies and asked if I would get her some, too. I told her thank you, that my work apron was so stained and torn, I couldn’t wear it anymore. And then she laughed and gave me a kiss and said if I would wind a bundle of yarn for her that evening, she would make the aprons on the weekend.”

Mary-o stopped for breath and looked around. Alice caught her eye, and they exchanged wan smiles. The two of them were among the very few in that courthouse who knew how Lovey’s voice sounded when she laughed, who knew how lighthearted and generous she could be.

“She wasn’t sad that day,” Mary-o explained. “She seemed like whatever had been bothering her was taken off her shoulders, finally.”

“Thank you, Miss Dodd,” said Greene, sounding satisfied. No one surely could doubt now that this girl had every intention of living to the next day—and beyond.

A relieved Mary-o scrambled down from the witness chair as Mrs. Holloway was being called to the stand. How small the older woman looked outside the context of Boott Boardinghouse, number 52, Alice thought. There she loomed large; here in this court, she appeared almost fragile.

Greene began gently, asking what Lovey’s final day was like.

“She worked a half-day shift and had an early supper,” Mrs. Holloway said. “Then she changed her frock, putting on a better one she used for church, said she would be gone until very late. I left the door unfastened; shouldn’t do that, but I thought, just this one time.”

Greene was checking his pocket watch and hardly seemed to be listening—until abruptly changing the subject. “You found some surprising evidence at your boardinghouse recently, is that correct, Mrs. Holloway?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what was it?”