four

My niece Faith stood at the wide soapstone kitchen sink in the welcome warmth of the Bailey kitchen when I walked in. After my sister Harriet’s death the prior year, my moody brother-in-law hadn’t known what to do with five children. He’d invited me to use the parlor of the modest home as my bedroom and office, and I’d gladly accepted. The brunt of the housework had fallen to the eldest child, seventeen-year-old Faith, and myself. But Faith had taken over her mother’s job in the Hamilton Mills and I had my thriving midwifery practice. It exhausted us to cook and clean on top of our daily exertions, and I was away at births for hours, sometimes days, as well. I’d convinced Frederick last summer to hire a kitchen girl on weekdays, and we sent out the laundry, which greatly relieved our burden.

I hated to have to give Faith the news about Rowena, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it for long.

Faith turned, her hands still in a pan of sudsy water, and smiled at me. “Welcome, dear Rose.” She took another look, dried her hands, and hurried over to me.

I set down my satchel and removed my bonnet and gloves. “Good morning, Faith. Or not such a good morning, as it turns out.” I squeezed her hands in mine.

“Thee looks distraught. Did a baby die?”

“No, but a fine woman did. I came across her body as I cycled home a while ago after the birth.”

“What terrible news.” Faith’s eyes, brown like mine, drew down in concern. Escaped tendrils from her light brown braid framed her slender face. “It was someone thee knew?”

“I’d met her only last night.” I filled Faith in on the suffrage meeting. “And then I spied Rowena, lying under a lilac bush.”

“How dreadful for thee.” She took my cloak and hung it on a hook. “The police must have come.”

I washed my hands and then sat at the table. “Yes. In fact, Kevin Donovan gave me a ride home.”

Faith stared. “Does thee mean this woman was killed?”

“It appears so, I’m afraid. She seemed to have been dragged under the shrub.”

“What’s happening in our town? Will it be unsafe to even go out soon?”

I blew out a breath and steadied my voice. “No, it will not. Thee mustn’t fear, Faith. I’m sure Rowena’s death was at the hands of a troubled person with a grudge against her. Most are.”

“If thee says so,” she said, but it didn’t sound as if she quite believed me. She glanced at the stove. “The family has already had breakfast but we have plenty of porridge left. Has thee eaten?”

In response, my stomach gave off a loud gurgle.

Faith laughed. “Is thee planning on attending Meeting for Worship? I can give thee coffee unless thee plans to rest.”

I checked the clock on the simple pine sideboard and groaned. “I have not slept since yesterday morning.” It was already after nine o’clock, and Meeting for Worship began at ten. “But I believe God would want me to join Friends in silent worship today, and I know it will do me good. So thee’d better pour me coffee.” Friends gathering in quiet expectant waiting held a power that still surprised me. The experience was far different from when I spent an hour of silent worship alone in my room. It was if the Spirit joined us and multiplied our prayers in a greater unity than simply a collection of individuals.

Christabel, the fluffy gold and white kitten Faith had adopted as a mouser last summer, rubbed her back against my leg. I reached down to stroke her head. She was now six months old and still small, but she’d already shown talent at chasing down vermin in the house. Any murders she committed were perfectly legal and quite welcome. The world of humans was a different matter, though, and nowhere near as simple.

Two minutes later Faith set a blue bowl brimming with oat porridge, milk, and bits of chopped apple in front of me. She brought over a spoon, the sugar crock, and a full tin mug of milky coffee, then sat at a right angle to me.

“Thank thee.” I took her hand and we both closed our eyes for a moment of silent blessing. I opened my eyes and tucked into the porridge. Its warmth and hearty chewy texture were just what I needed. Somewhat revived, I thought of the next meal of the day.

“Faith, dear, what shall we do about our First Day dinner? I was to help thee prepare it this morning. I’m so sorry I was absent.” David was joining the family for afternoon dinner today. I hadn’t seen him in several days and was looking forward to spending time in the company of his sweet blue eyes and irresistible smile.

“Don’t worry, Rose. I made a potato casserole earlier, and we have a dozen pork chops in the ice box. It’ll all be ready by one o’clock.”

“And we have the apple pies for dessert.” Faith and I had spent yesterday afternoon making pies with the apples her steady beau, Zebulon Weed, had picked and brought over.

“Zeb’s going to bring sweet potato fritters, too.”

“Good.” As I sipped the coffee, also perfect, my gaze was drawn again to the sideboard, on which sat a pale green envelope.

“Is the letter from thy grandmother?” I asked. Mother always used stationery and envelopes in unusual colors.

She rose and brought it to me. “Yes, it’s from Granny Dot. Thee must have missed yesterday’s afternoon post.”

“I suppose I did. Bertie invited me for supper before the suffrage meeting. I guess I’d already left.” After I perused the letter, I stared at Faith. “Mother is coming on the evening train tomorrow.” My parents lived on the outskirts of Lawrence, a mill city some twenty miles to the southwest, on the farm where Harriet and I had grown up. The train trip was not an overly long one, but Mother had plenty of obligations at home and in the suffrage movement, so she didn’t visit often. On the other hand, I hadn’t seen her in months. I would welcome her stay. “What a nice surprise.”

“Why is she coming?” Faith asked. “I love Granny, but what is the significance to her coming at the beginning of November?” She blinked and snapped her fingers. “I know why. Because it’s thy twenty-seventh birthday this week! That must be her reason.”

True, I was about to turn a year older several days after the election. “But thee knows we don’t make a fuss about birthdays in our family.”

Faith was nearly bouncing in her chair. “But she is thy own mother. I would do the same with my children. To celebrate the day they came into the world.”

I gazed fondly at Faith. It was looking very much as if Zeb would end up the father of her children eventually, and I couldn’t think of a better match for her.

I held up the letter. “Actually, no. Mother says she wants to support us in the Election Day demonstration.” I smiled my first smile of the day. “Says she wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Then I’m coming to the demonstration, too. Thee knows I want to support the suffrage effort. And I can write an article about it for the newspaper.” Faith had a great interest in becoming a writer, and had had several short articles published already. Her real goal was to leave the mill for a job as a journalist, but the family still needed her income from her Hamilton Mill shift.

“Thee will have to inform thy supervisor at the mill.”

“I will.” Her expression was determined and her eyes glowed. “I’m not going to miss this event. Maybe Annie and Jasmine will come, too.”

Annie Beaumont was now my apprentice, but I’d met her only because she and Faith had worked at the mill together and had become fast friends.

“We shall welcome thee, Faith, and thy friends. Thy grandmother, as well.”

I awoke with a start. I’d decided to rest my eyes in my room for just a moment after breakfast. Despite the coffee, I must have fallen fast asleep. The house was quiet and I was dismayed to see my grandmother’s clock read nine fifty. The family must have already left for the Friends Meetinghouse only half a mile distant.

Groggy rather than refreshed, I hurriedly splashed water on my face and tidied my hair. If I cycled, I could make it to worship on time. The elders frowned on members arriving late. Depending on the greeter, if one came too much after ten o’clock, one was forced to sit in the cold hall until worship had finished, which could be more than an hour. I knew no dispensation would be given even for a Friend who had been up all the night long—and found a body on the way home.

Cloaked, bonneted, and gloved, I mounted my metal steed and rolled down the path from the house. The earlier snow had been just a flurry, as it turned out. I’d made it around the corner onto High Street when I braked to a stop. The police wagon was pulled to the side of the road and police officer Guy Gilbert held a man by the collar. The fellow, a wiry clean-shaven man in his forties, struggled to get away.

“Hilarius Bauer, the detective just wants to talk with you,” Guy said. “Calm down, now.”

To my surprise the man with the curious name relaxed and laughed. “Oh, sure. And then he’ll pop me in the clink. Just like last time.”

“If you had anything to do with breaking and entering a home on Greenwood Street last night, he certainly will.”

The smile slid off the man’s face and pearls of sweat popped onto his forehead despite the chilly morning. “Now why would you say a thing like that?”

“Detective Donovan will explain everything. My job is to get you to the police station.” Guy opened the back door of the wagon. “Now, in with you.” He ushered the man in and fastened the latch.

I hailed him. “Guy, does Kevin have reason to believe this man is our culprit?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. He just asked me to go find Mr. Bauer.”

“What an unusual name he has.”

“I’ll say. But a Saint Hilarius lived a long time ago, you know. I learned about him from the nuns when I was young. Too bad this one doesn’t act so saintly. He’s known for being light-fingered around town.” He tipped his hat. “Good day, Miss Rose.”

I cycled on, bumping along the cobblestones. Now I would be even later to Meeting for Worship, but I hadn’t been able to help myself from watching. What if this so-called light-fingered Hilarius had killed Rowena while committing a burglary? He’d certainly looked nervous when Guy had mentioned Greenwood Street. At least then it would mean the killer was not targeting suffragists.

Five minutes later and breathless, I hurried up the granite steps into the Meetinghouse. I was relieved to see the greeter in the front hall today was the usually kindly Ruby Bracken, the gray-haired woman who’d asked the question about men interfering with the Election Day demonstration at the suffrage meeting last night. She frowned at my tardiness but moved silently toward the worship room entrance on the left. When she opened the door for me, I mouthed my thanks. I slid into a slim space in a pew at the back. The mother of the large family occupying it, Charity Skells, scooped a toddler onto her pregnant lap that already held a one-year-old and urged the other four young ones to scoot over, making room for me. I spied the Bailey family sitting together in the room on the right, the two large rooms currently divided only by a waist-high wall.

John Greenleaf Whittier, one of the designers of this large but simple building nearly four decades earlier, sat at the far end with the other elders on the pew facing the rest of the congregation, about two hundred in number. John opened his eyes for a moment and raised his snowy eyebrows at me before closing his eyes again in prayer. I’d consulted with the famous abolitionist and poet before on the murder investigations in which I’d been involved. His wise counsel had helped me, but I was surprised he was here in Amesbury today. Even though his home was just down the street, of late he’d spent weeks at a time at his cousin’s home in Danvers. He must have returned to cast his vote in the election Tuesday. It was just my luck he’d caught me coming in tardy.

I folded my hands and closed my eyes. The room was filled only with the small noises of people settling into worship: a rustle of petticoats, the creak of a bench, a soft cough, a whisper from a child to a parent. The air smelled of wool and leather, old wood, and gathered living bodies. The sunlight streaming through the eight-foot-
high windows painted wavy shadow pictures on the broad pine floorboards, reminding us of the Light within as well as without.

It was always hard for me to calm myself enough to allow God’s presence to fill me. I found stilling my thoughts especially difficult today, both from arriving in a rush and from the events of earlier this morning. My heart slowed at last, and I breathed deeply and evenly to try to slow my brain, too. But I couldn’t. I saw Rowena’s deadly still form under the bush. I thought about Zula’s glare the night before, and about her walking with Rowena after the meeting, a matter I had forgotten to relate to Kevin. I pictured the ransacked dining room. I heard Guy telling Hilarius he had to come to the station. I wondered about Oscar Felch’s whereabouts. And most of all, I asked myself, had any of these people killed Rowena?

This would never do. Friends came to sit in gathered worship to wait for a message from God. We were to empty our minds in expectant waiting. How could I empty myself of these thoughts and images? I blew out a breath.

John stood, supporting himself with his cane. “Walk cheerfully over the world, answering that of God in everyone.” He sank with care back onto the bench.

He’d received a message to share the words of George Fox, one of the founders of our faith. Fox’s command, over two hundred years old, still rang true for me. It was one of the basic premises of the Religious Society of Friends: there is that of God in each of us. Thus we are all equal and we must refrain from violence against each other.

But where was that of God in the person who had taken Rowena’s life?

Ruby touched my elbow as I filed out after Rise of Meeting. “I’d like to speak with thee for a moment, Rose,” she said in a quiet voice. “Let’s go upstairs where it will be private.”

What did the new clerk of the Women’s Business Meeting wish to speak with me about? Ruby had taken over for Althea, the previous clerk, earlier in the fall. Surely this conference wasn’t related to the Woman Suffrage meeting. I had no responsibility in the group. Last night was the first meeting I’d ever attended, and anyway, she’d been there herself. Faith, who overheard the exchange, cast me a glance.

“Go on home without me,” I said. “I’ll be along soon.”

Ruby waited with me at the bottom of the narrow spiral staircase leading to the balcony until it seemed people had stopped descending. The seating area upstairs at the front end of the building held more pews overlooking the two worship rooms. Our congregation was flourishing such that we needed the additional seats to accommodate the many Friends who streamed into the Meetinghouse on First Day morning.

I followed Ruby up and perched on a pew next to her. Above us was the trap door to the attic, where a giant wheel controlled a mechanism to raise and lower the central divider. The divider was kept raised except for the monthly business meetings, when it was lowered to allow the women to conduct their own business without the counsel or interference of men. I wasn’t in the habit of attending business meeting, as I was neither the clerk of a committee nor an elder.

Ruby faced me, hands laced in her lap, her expression a serious one. “As clerk, I have been delegated by the Women’s Business Meeting to speak with thee. We are aware of thy betrothal to a gentleman from Newburyport.”

Oh. So that was what this was about. The Women’s Business Meeting was in charge of overseeing marriages. I was about to be eldered, admonished for my choice of a partner. My heart sank.

“A gentleman who is not a Friend,” she continued, “a man who worships at the First Religious Society of the Unitarian Church while his mother is a well-known Episcopalian.”

“True. His name is David Dodge.” Also true that David displeased his mother, Clarinda, by attending services with the Unitarians in Newburyport. He’d told me he didn’t care for the trappings and beliefs of Clarinda’s church.

“We have been waiting for thee to bring this matter to the attention of our monthly meeting for worship with attention to business, but thee has not.”

Oh dear. Had my choice to wait offended the women?

Ruby went on. “We want to be sure thee knows thy marrying this man will result in thee being read out of Meeting.” She sat with an erect back, her black dress severe against the pale, lined skin of her face.

I swallowed. I knew being essentially expelled from Meeting was a possibility, but I’d hoped the women would be lenient with me. Weren’t times changing? And if I had spoken to them earlier, would they have been more understanding? I considered my words.

“I’m aware of this practice, yes. And it’s why I’ve been slow to bring the matter to thee and the rest of the women. I intend to remain faithful to my Quaker values and to the teachings of our community, despite marrying out.”

Ruby opened her mouth to speak, but I held up my hand. “If I might finish? David is a good soul of the highest integrity who believes in equality and embodies a simple, peaceful way of life despite his wealthy upbringing. I hope he might join us in worship one First Day soon.” My hands were damp with sweat despite the cool temperature up here.

“Be that as it may. We are obliged to follow our long-established custom.” Her expression was cast in iron, perfectly matching the color of her hair.

Were the women harboring resentment against me I wasn’t aware of ? Did they think it was unseemly I had helped the police solve more than one case of murder? “If this comes to pass, may I not appeal to be reinstated?” I’d heard of this possibility.

She dipped her head once. “After a period of time passes, thee may write a letter making amends and we shall consider it.” She stood. “It’s highly irregular, what thee is considering, Rose. Thee must search deep in thy heart, and sit with this choice in prayer to discern whether this is God’s plan or thine.” She edged past me and disappeared down the staircase.

I thought I’d searched deeply enough already. How could a love as strong and true as ours not be God’s plan? I could no longer imagine life without David.

But could I also imagine life without my spiritual anchor, my lifelong faith, my community? If I were read out, my First Day mornings would be spent in solitary worship, and I’d be banned from this graceful structure that was so much more than a building. I’d always felt the walls themselves were infused with the Light of God. I’d likely not be called to deliver any Quaker babies during my expulsion, and I would have to hold my head high in the face of widespread disapproval. Even after David and I wed and I’d spent the requisite months on the outside, my letter of amends had no guarantee of being accepted. I doubted appealing to John Whittier independently for help would be taken well by the women. He was a liberal soul, not overly strict in adhering to practices that made no sense in these modern times. But marriage, for Friends, was the business of the women. Maybe there was a more sympathetic female elder I could ask for support.

I closed my eyes and sat in prayer, per Ruby’s instruction. After several minutes I sighed and yanked them open again. It was no good. I felt I had waited for discernment long enough and my way was clear. Or was it? It was a way that would diverge from two hundred years of practice. Was I strong enough to brave the coming expulsion? Would David still want me if I was shunned from my faith? I’d been positive he would, but now I felt sure of nothing. My stomach churned, and my heart and mind were even more turbulent.

I gazed down at the now-empty room, at the wooden pews polished by Quaker cloth, at the sixteen-foot-high ceiling. This edifice, now nearly two-score years old, had been built to last. Were both my faith and my love as sturdy?