twenty-two

The afternoon post clacked through the mail slot in the door early, at a few minutes before two o’clock. Mother had just ridden off in the hack to Newburyport, and I hoped her mission to Clarinda was a successful one. I flipped through the letters, sorting out Frederick’s, then slit open one addressed to me but missing any return address.

I sucked in a quick breath as I read the message, written in blocky capital letters.

STOP SNOOPING WHERE YOU DON’T BELONG OR YOU WILL DIE NEXT. YOU ARE BEING WATCHED.

I let the plain white paper fall to my desk, my hands suddenly icy. The murderer was threatening me. I glanced out the window. The snow had started to fall. Was he watching me right now? My heart thudded against my ribs. Had I locked the door after Mother left? I shivered, feeling bolted to my chair, my feet leaden.

I swallowed hard. I would not let this immobilize me. I’d been threatened before, although not in writing. Not this directly. Still, I’d survived then and I would survive now. I couldn’t let fear govern my life. I clenched my hands into fists and then shook them out, trying to release the tension. Closing my eyes, I held myself in God’s grace, trying to calm down and trust He would protect me and reveal my way forward. But my agitation persisted.

I stood and hurried to the back door. I turned the key, and checked the front door, too. I paced in my room, too restless to do anything. I kept checking the front windows for someone lurking out there. I needed to take the note to Kevin, but thought it wiser to wait until a family member could accompany me at the end of the day, or until the snow ended. I wished once again for a telephone, and vowed to find a way to pay to have one installed.

As I paced my mind raced. Which of the suspects could have sent the letter? I sat at my desk and pulled out the paper where I’d written down what I knew about the case. Certainly neither Hilarius nor Leroy could have sent such a message from jail. I’d asked questions of all three of the rest: Zula, Elbridge, and Oscar. Of course, Rowena’s murderer might be someone else entirely.

A movement outside caught my eye. A man trudged along the path which served as our road. But he was in plain view, not trying to hide. This couldn’t be the letter’s author. He was both taller than Oscar and slighter than Elbridge. To my surprise he turned up the walk to our house and a moment later rapped on the door. This had all the signs of me being called to a birth. In the snow.

I opened the door. The fellow was barely older than Luke, although he was taller than I. His nose was covered with the unfortunate acne pimples of the teen years, and straight light hair poked out from his cap.

“Miss Rose Carroll, the midwife?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He handed me an envelope. “Gent paid me to bring it to you, miss.”

“Who was it?”

“Dunno, miss.” He tugged at his hat and ran down the steps.

“I thank thee,” I called after him and shut the door.

In my parlor, I puzzled over the note.

Please come attend my wife. She’s laboring with our first child and we have no family in the area. We’re in an apartment in the carriage house.—James Smith

I examined the note in a moment of fear, but the writing did not resemble the threatening note, and my heart slowed. This looked to be an authentic request for midwifery assistance. The man had added an address far up the steep hill on Powow Street. Interesting that they were in the carriage house. Perhaps the husband was the stable man, or a driver for the family who lived in the big house perched on the side of Powow Hill.

I didn’t have any clients currently with a surname of Smith, so his wife hadn’t received antenatal care from me. Had anyone else watched over her pregnancy? And I certainly hadn’t done my usual home visit. Maybe they’d recently moved to town. I groaned. I had no choice but to go. This was my calling, to help women birth their babies. Like the postal service, I could not allow bad weather to get in my way.

At least I’d had a nice lunch of beef stew and more bread and butter with my mother not too long ago, so if it turned into an extended labor, I would be fine for some hours. I’d wanted Annie to accompany me to the next birth I attended, but I had no way of contacting her at her workplace, and this weather didn’t permit me going to fetch her in the opposite direction from the laboring woman. One more reason to obtain a telephone.

I checked my birthing satchel and left the family a message on the table about my mission. I pushed the threatening note to the back of my mind for now, donning bonnet, gloves, scarf, and cloak. I exited the house and, with my hood up, clutched my cloak close around me and made my way a block away to Powow to begin my climb. The wind picked up, blowing the white weather sideways in front of me. When I was younger I’d once ascended Mount Wachusett, the state’s highest mountain, with my father. He’d said, “Be as a camel. One foot in front of the other.” His advice came in handy this afternoon.

As I trudged, I thought again about the name. Now that I pondered it, one of my clients had mentioned a pregnant friend with a last name of Smith. Had it been Emily? Or Lyda? I couldn’t recall. But there were Smiths aplenty in every town, and this must be a recommendation from a client of mine. Otherwise how would James know to send for me?

I finally arrived at my destination. The last neighboring home I’d passed was much farther down the hill, and had been a beacon of lamplight and chimney smoke. Here the house stood dark, unpeopled. The family must be away.

I headed around the right to the carriage house. It was one of the larger ones, to match the scale of its master house. Its architecture also matched that of the main residence, and it was certainly large enough to include a few rooms for a caretaker. I slid open the wide door and stepped in. A Bailey carriage was parked within, but I didn’t see any horses in the stalls. A set of stairs hugged the wall to the left, so the apartment must be above, partitioned off from the hayloft.

“Hello,” I called. “It’s the midwife.”

No answer. The door to the apartment must be closed since I couldn’t hear the woman’s labor cries and groans. I was about to slide the door shut and head up the stairs when I froze, hearing a small still voice inside my brain.

Danger, it whispered. Danger.

I had no time to heed it. A blow crashed onto the back of my head with a mighty force. I cried out and fell forward.