thirty-one

I was nearing the end of a prenatal appointment at nine thirty the next morning. My head seemed to be fine for this level of work, which included no physical exertion. “Now that thy baby is growing, it’s important for thee to eat nutritious foods.” This was the young woman’s first pregnancy, now four months along. She’d experienced the normal amount of queasy stomach during her first trimester, but she was past that now. I could talk about foods without needing to have a vomit basin at the ready.

“Like what?”

“Milk, meat, fresh vegetables when thee can find them. Thee is married to a farmer, so perhaps it will be easier for thee to obtain carrots, dark green leafy vegetables, and other brightly colored foods.”

“What does the color have to do with it?” She wrinkled her nose.

“They seem to carry a greater quantity of healthful properties.” At least my now-retired teacher Orpha maintained such. And a woman who had delivered hundreds of healthy babies had to be at least partly right.

My client giggled, the gap between her top teeth giving her a childlike look. “So God painted the good vegetables in pretty colors.”

“I suppose so.”

“My mother-in-law has a big kitchen garden. She’ll be happy to dig those things up for me, I’m sure.”

I spied a large Rockaway approaching the house. “Excuse me a moment,” I said to the woman, who nodded. I opened the front door and called out, “Yes?” I didn’t recognize the carriage.

“Are you Miss Carroll, the midwife?” the driver asked from his seat.

“I am.”

He hopped down and secured the reins to the post. He climbed the stairs and handed me a folded note. “It’s from Mrs. Elbridge Osgood,” he said.

The note read, in a flowing educated hand, Please come quickly. My pains have begun. Lyda Osgood. So her babe was arriving early. But not dangerously so, at all. It should be well mature enough, at only two weeks short of being full term, to survive the rigors of passing into the world.

“All right. I’ll need several minutes.”

He tugged at his uniform hat. “I’ll wait.” He trotted back down the steps.

Five minutes later I’d dispatched my client, donned my outer garments, and given Mother a kiss where she sat reading. “Not sure when I’ll be back.”

“Is thee sure this is a valid request for thy services?”

“It’s a very nice carriage. And it’s full daylight. If he doesn’t take me to Lyda’s home, I’ll jump out.”

“What about thy head?” She frowned. “Is thee able to do this work again so soon?”

“It’s not plaguing me at the moment. But I plan to pass by Annie’s place of employment and see if she can get away to assist me.”

“Good. I feel better knowing your plan.”

I turned toward the door, but paused. “Mother,” I said, turning back, “would thee do me a favor?”

“Of course, dear.”

“I might have mentioned Elbridge Osgood is one of the people whom Kevin suspects for Rowena’s murder. I think it would be prudent to let Kevin know I will be attending a birth at the Osgood home. Could thee walk down to the station and tell him, please? It’s not far, and having him know would set my mind at ease.”

“And mine as well.” She stood. “I’ll do it right away.”

I thanked her, gave her directions, and we said our good-byes. I made my way out and climbed into the conveyance. “I’ll need to make a stop on the way, please,” I told the driver.

He didn’t look happy about it. “Where?”

“It’s on Elm Street, near …” Where had Annie said Mabel Roune lived? I came up with it. “On the right just past Washington Street.”

“Very well.” He drove the horse along High Street, through Market Square, and up the hill Elm Street ascends.

Even though the carriage compartment I rode in had a roof and sides, I shivered from the cold. Today was again sunny, but a brisk breeze drove cold air through the open sides of the box and under my skirts. We passed Carriage Hill on the right, the site of the terrible fire last spring. All the rebuilt factories were now of brick, not wood, and the carriage industry was bustling again. After we passed Washington, the only house likely to be Mabel’s was a large square residence with a mansard roof.

I called to the driver in the front, “There.” I pointed.

The driver pulled to a halt in front of the house.

“I’ll be back out as soon as I can.” I climbed out and made my way to the double front doors, each with a tall arched glass insert. After I pulled the bell, a uniformed maid opened it.

“I’d like to speak to Annie Beaumont, please, if I may.”

She cocked her head like it was an odd request, but said, “Please wait here, miss.”

It was a well-appointed hall, with gleaming woodwork on the staircase and a gilt-edged mirror across from me. I gazed at my reflection. I was still more pale than usual, and I hoped I was recovered enough to undertake a labor of unknown hours and outcome. Annie bustled in from a door farther down the hallway, her red hair pulled back in a stylish do decorated with a green ribbon.

“Rose, what brings you here?” She smiled, took a closer look, and replaced the smile with a frown. “You don’t look well. Is everything all right?”

I guessed I truly didn’t look well. “I did have a slight accident two days ago. But now I’ve been called to a birth. Is there any way thee could come away to assist me?”

She stared at me. “Goodness. I want to help you, of course. But Mrs. Roune—”

A door next to us swung open. An imposing woman fully as tall as me, with a battleship bosom in a fine gray wool dress, appeared. Her white hair was done up in a knot on top of her head and she looked at us out of faded green eyes. “I what, Miss Beaumont?”

Annie started. She gave a small curtsy. “Mrs. Roune, this is Miss Rose Carroll, the midwife. Rose, Mrs. Mabel Roune.”

“I am pleased to meet thee, Mabel.” I extended my hand.

Mabel’s lips knit together and her nostrils flared. “Well, I never …”

She ignored my outstretched hand, so I dropped it. I didn’t know if she was shocked with my uttering her given name or at my use of thee.

Her voice trailed away as she peered down her nose at me. “Good heavens. A midwife? And you’re called Rose?”

I nodded slowly.

“You’re the kind soul who found my Rowie. The policeman told me.” She reached for my hand and took it in both of hers as she blinked away suddenly full eyes. “Do come in, Miss Carroll. Do come in.” She led me into a large sitting room. Books and newspaper were scattered on a low table and several large floral arrangements filled side tables.

“Thank thee. I will, but for just a moment.”

Annie lingered in the hall.

“Come along, too, Miss Beaumont.” Mabel beckoned. “Please have a seat, Miss Carroll. I can ring for tea.”

“Call me Rose, please.” I remained on my feet. I really needed to get to Lyda, although in truth it was rare the call to a birth was of great urgency.

“As you wish. Won’t you sit and tell me all about finding Rowena? We are quite devastated at our loss.” She frowned. “All except Mr. Felch, that is.”

Oh? I needed to move along to the birth, but I wanted to hear more. “I’m so very sorry thee had to lose thy granddaughter, Mabel. Annie has told me thee was very close to her.”

“She was my namesake in a way. I cherished her company, her wit, her intelligence.” She wrung her hands in her lap.

“I was quite impressed with what I saw of her the last time we met,” I said in soft voice. “The night before she died.” I hesitated. I needed to leave, to ask if I could have Annie’s time, but my need vied with my intense desire to understand Mabel’s comment about Oscar. I perched on the chair nearest Mabel. “What did thee mean saying Mr. Felch is not devastated, if I might inquire?”

“That man only pretended to care for her.” She tossed her head. “All he cared about was progeny. He didn’t love Rowena for herself, for her considerable mental capacity, for her passionate ambition. No, the only thing he wanted was a baby factory and she wasn’t having it. I do believe he hired someone to kill her himself.”