The Daring Ladies of Lowell (23 page)

Jeremiah Mason, who had been whispering to his client, stiffened, instantly watchful. Avery’s head snapped up, his eyes on full alert.

“There was a note she signed saying Reverend Avery would know where she was if she went missing. And some letters to her. We found all of them in Lovey’s trunk.”

Greene pounced, quick as a cat. “Notes linking Miss Cornell with the Reverend Avery, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Objection!” yelled Mason.

“Let’s see where this goes, and then I’ll rule,” said the judge.

“Those letters are unsigned, Your Honor,” said Mason. “He’s trying to get them into evidence, and he can’t do that!”

“Who were they written to?” Greene shot out.

“They were addressed to Lovey.”

“Your Honor, these letters are meaningless! What proof is there that they are in my client’s handwriting?”

“We will provide you with an answer to that, my dear Mason.” Greene was grinning as he thanked Mrs. Holloway and called his next witness, a man of small, stooped stature—Barnabas Leech, a postal clerk at the Lowell post office. Choosing his words slowly, he told of the tinted letters, particularly why the yellow letter was important—he had seen Mr. Avery drop it in the box, and when he retrieved it for delivery, he saw it was addressed to the unfortunate Miss Cornell. “Yellow letters aren’t so common, sir,” he said. “I know, my brother sold the only box he had of that kind the week before.”

“And who bought it, Mr. Leech?”

Leech pointed toward the now stone-faced Avery. “He sits right there, Mr. Greene.”

Mason slammed his hand down on the desk and jumped up. “Your Honor, this trickery is outrageous!” he bellowed.

“There’s no trickery about it! Your Honor, we have discovered the pages exactly match the stationery Avery owns and uses,” Greene shouted back triumphantly, drowning out Mason. “They conclusively show he had a relationship with this woman. They conclusively show he was reacting to her news that she was expecting his child. They conclusively show he was confirming the time for a meeting. It is clear he intended to do her harm!”

Now the chief justice was banging his gavel, calling for order. He beckoned both lawyers to the bench, where the argument continued. Alice tried to catch a frightened-looking Mrs. Holloway’s eye, eager to reassure her. You could tell, looking at the jurors, that they were impressed.

Finally both lawyers retreated. The judge cleared his throat and spoke to the court. “The note Miss Cornell wrote about whom to approach if she went missing will be admitted as evidence she was not contemplating suicide. But the letters purporting to be from Mr. Avery to Sarah Cornell are rejected. There is no proof they were written by him and are therefore circumstantial.”

Greene looked stunned. Still on his feet, he said nothing at first.

Alice held her breath. The most incriminating material against Avery was being dismissed. Greene would find a way to fight this.

She watched him sink into his chair, staring at the judge. After a long moment, he rose again and spoke in a strong but funereal voice.

“Your Honor, the prosecution rests its case.”

A gasp rippled through the courtroom.

And Alice could not miss the slowly spreading grin on Avery’s face.

T
he shouts of children playing drifted up from the playground as Alice made her way to the mill bridge—a careless, exuberant mix of voices that spoke of normalcy and safety, which she usually enjoyed hearing. But they were only faint background noise this evening.

She saw Samuel first. His form was in shadow as he paced back and forth in front of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back. His steps were quick and short, the walk of an impatient man.

It had been so long since they were alone. She felt her breath quicken as they approached each other.

“Hello, Alice,” he said.

The pause that followed was awkward.

“Something bad has happened?” she asked.

“No, on the contrary.” Samuel straightened his back. He must keep this calm. He could not think about more until after this trial.

“I was afraid you would tell me we were losing.” She stopped, watching his eyes shift away slightly, then come back. Something was wrong; there was reason for worry. Why had Albert Greene seemed to give up today? The evidence putting Avery near the crime scene was strong. Wasn’t it enough to convince the jury?

“There are new facts emerging,” Samuel said.

His voice was curiously flat for a man conveying good news. “What is it? What’s happened?” she asked.

“My brother is the missing witness,” Samuel said heavily. He nodded toward a bench by the rushing river. “Sit down, Alice.”

A
lice was unaware of holding her breath as she listened, only of the stinging waves of pain radiating up her arms from her tightly clutched hands. She anchored herself on Samuel’s face, noting the stubble on his usually well-shaven chin as he spoke. He held her gaze, never flinching as he told the story.

The always restless Jonathan had been heading for a tavern on the path toward the Durfee farm the day of the murder, when he spied Lovey. Abandoning his original plan, he had approached her and begun trying to coax her into joining him for the evening. But he was greeted with no ready smile, no flirting or teasing. She seemed tense, oddly controlled. “You’re meeting someone else,” he had said, the truth dawning. She nodded, then looked past him and asked him to leave.

At that point, Samuel said, Jonathan saw a tall, thin man wearing green eyeglasses striding toward them, a wary, hostile expression on his face. He almost didn’t hear Lovey’s wry comment: “So the Reverend Avery shows up on time today.”

“What did your brother do?”

“Turned on his heel and got out of there,” Samuel said. “The last thing he wanted was an encounter with some pious fool who might see fit to denounce him to Father.”

“He saw them
together
? Why hasn’t he come forward to testify?”

“He thought no one would believe him,” Samuel answered. He heard his own voice, watched the impact of his words reflected in her eyes. Could she see it from Jonathan’s point of view? “He wasn’t brave, Alice. Father had already warned him to stay away from the mill girls—told him if he didn’t, if he got into any more trouble, he would cut off his monthly stipend. But he kept pursuing Lovey. He wasn’t wrong about one thing—it would be easy for the revivalists to accuse
him
of murder. They would celebrate that, oh, quite jubilantly. Anything to taint our family with scandal.”

Alice barely heard him. “He would do that? He would let Avery get away with murder?” She was stunned. All along, through all this pain and grief, it was Samuel’s
brother
who could have convicted Avery? She stood, unable to sit still. “Greene gave up today. What now?”

Samuel didn’t know why Greene had rested his case, but he hesitated to admit it.

“The trial is far from over,” he said. “We have solid evidence of Avery’s guilt. Don’t discount the fact that Greene always has a backup plan. He knows how to play a jury. And now he has Jonathan as his star rebuttal witness. It will work.” He stood, too, reaching out, then stopping, not sure whether she would welcome his touch. “I want to assure you, Jonathan
will
testify.” It had taken long hours of persuasion, but it was done.

“And how did you get that promise from him?”

“He gave me his word.”

There was a tightening at the side of Alice’s mouth that he couldn’t fail to notice.

“Are you sure you believe his version of events? There are other stories going around.”

“You’re asking whether or not he could be lying to cover his own guilt.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I know him, Alice—he is my brother. I’ve known him all his life. He is shallow and, yes, vain, but he is no murderer.” For once, Samuel felt he had said the right words to strengthen his brother’s backbone. Jonathan would face his dilemma, finally, like a man. He had mustered the strength to promise he would testify, regardless of the consequences.

“Alice, believe me. He’s not lying. He’s scared to death, but he isn’t lying.”

Relief flooded through her. Still, it nagged; Jonathan had not come forward voluntarily. “What would you have done in his place?” she asked.

“I would be afraid. But I hope I would have the courage to step forward. Look, I promise, we’ll get this done. But we shouldn’t talk about it, not yet. Not until the defense rests its case.”

The conviction in his voice was calming. “You will do the best you can to make it happen,” she managed.

“Yes,” he said, his voice steady. But he couldn’t stop there. “Though nothing is certain except my feelings for you.”

He had shifted the terrain, just like that.

Samuel reached out for her, pulling her gently toward him, inhaling the sweet scent of lemons on her breath. She yielded, resting her head against his chest, and he hoped she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. She lifted her face to his, and his nerves relaxed. It would be all right; she believed him.

Still, he asked, “Do you trust me, Alice?”

“Yes,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Samuel, I do—but anything more for us is an impossibility, and we both know that.” With an effort, she stepped back. “I need time to think,” she said.

A jolt of alarm. “Am I not promising what you want?”

She smiled faintly, her voice slightly strained. “I want the man who killed my friend to spend the rest of his life in prison,” she said. “Please make it happen.”

“I will.” It was a vow like none other he had ever made. He pulled her back—one more kiss, deeper this time. And for a long, hungry moment, holding tight, they clung to each other, shielded from care.

Then together, they trudged back up the hill, silent, noting only the sound of crunching gravel under their feet.

T
ilda, bundled up, was sitting in a rocker on the porch at Boott Hall when Alice arrived back at the boardinghouse. She looked as tiny as a doll, her chin barely above the cocoon of blankets. Her face was gaunt after all the long nights of labored breathing. There had been less coughing lately, though, a good sign. She had seemed more engaged in the last few days, joking and laughing, playing with Ellie. The doctor had even said she might be able to go back to the looms in another week.

“Tilda, you look like an Eskimo,” Alice teased as she ascended the porch stairs. “Are you warm enough?”

“Of course, I am, I’m bundled up to my eyeballs,” Tilda said. She pointed upward with a hand grown scrawny from her weight loss. “It’s such a gorgeous night, look at all the stars, Alice. How could I stay inside on a night like this? Will you join me?”

Alice sat on the porch rail this time, gazing upward. “I used to sit out here with Lovey every night,” she said.

“I know. I was a little jealous of you both.”

“Really?”

“You seemed so comfortable with each other.” Tilda looked again at the sky. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to fly up there and visit a star? Buzz from one to another like a bee gathering pollen?”

“I love that,” Alice said. “And then we could visit the man and the woman kissing on the moon.”

“You seem happy tonight. Am I guessing correctly as to why?” Tilda said quietly.

She couldn’t share the news yet about Jonathan, not until there was a plan to get his testimony before the court. But that wasn’t what Tilda was asking about. Alice felt herself blush. “Is it that obvious?” she said.

“I think we’ve all seen it. Perhaps even sooner than you did.”

Alice straightened, bringing her gaze back to earth. “It’s true,” she said. “I think about him every day. But there is so wide a gap between us. And with all of what is happening at the mill—” She didn’t finish the sentence.

“You’re fearing disloyalty, Alice. It’s not disloyal to reach for a better life. Do you love him?”

Did she? Oh, it cried out from inside of her:
yes.

“I don’t know—I am overwhelmed.” Her words were false; no, they were true. It was hopeless, they were both. How strange to be talking about this with Tilda; she had shared her feelings only with Lovey before.

“Don’t be a coward,” Tilda said. “Take chances. We all have to do that, once in a while.”

There was a sharpness in her voice that surprised Alice. “You are feeling better, aren’t you, Tilda? You’ve been improving, the doctor says. Is it true?” she asked.

Tilda laughed. “You all keep asking that question in various polite ways, and I love you for caring, but I will not answer too politely. I feel closer to those stars tonight than I do to the friends sleeping inside this house, and that’s why I am out here. But that’s just tonight.”

“Should you be going home?” Alice tried to say it gently.

“There is no home to go to. Isn’t that the situation for you, too?”

It was true. She would never go back to the farm, to her father, to his determination to break her will. “Home” was a sentimental idea, no less ephemeral than those stars above her head; she knew that.

“Yes, it is,” she said.

“So we need to find new ones.” Tilda pulled her shawl closer and began rocking gently back and forth. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Let us both get going on that.” She sighed. “I love it out here.”

“It’s chilly, let’s go inside.”

“The doctor said if I was bundled well, I could stay out here longer. I love being under the stars.”