seven

I awoke in the dark to the sound of wailing. Sitting upright, I found my spectacles and lit the lamp. The clock read six. Had I slept through until the morning, or was it six at night? I was still fully dressed, but being clothed wasn’t a clue, as I had laid down after David’s departure. The memory of our last words flooded back. He’d apologized for offering me a way out of our engagement, saying he was only thinking of my feelings. But now he’d planted a seed of doubt. Had he really been offering himself a way to extricate himself ? I would not blame him if he had. He had many reasons not to marry me. His mother’s approbation. His much more elevated position in society. His thriving professional life. Even our own differences in faith. Having an odd-speaking Quaker for a wife, a wife with her own business—delivering children, no less—and one who somehow kept enmeshing herself in murder? None of these would further his career or his relationship with his mother. He might be feeling more outside pressure than he had let on to me. I knew he loved me. But that was the only thing I was sure of.

I sighed deep and long, then shook my head to clear it. I ran my tongue over my teeth, hoping to clear it of the taste of fatigue and stale dinner. When the crying I’d heard started up again, I made my way into the sitting room. Betsy sat weeping on Faith’s lap. Both were clothed as they were at our First Day dinner, so it must still be the same day. The three boys were likely upstairs.

“What’s the matter, dearest Betsy?” I knelt in front of her.

“I want my papa,” she cried, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

Faith stroked her hair. “Father hasn’t returned,” she whispered.

Poor Betsy. She’d already lost her mother. She must live with the fear her father might die, too. So Frederick hadn’t come back from his impetuous storming out four hours ago?

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He must have had matters of business to attend to,” I told my little niece. “Dry thy tears now.”

She sniffed and swiped at her eyes, her downturned mouth trembling.

“Does thee have any idea where he could be?” I asked Faith.

She beckoned to me. I pushed to standing and leaned over so my ear was close to her mouth.

“The tavern.”

I rose and stared at her. Frederick Bailey, a Quaker father and teacher, at a tavern? What in the world was he doing at a drinking establishment?

“He’s been going down there of late” she murmured. “I don’t know if he imbibes or not. Can thee go find him and ask him to come home?”

I blew out a breath. “I will.” It was not an errand I wanted to do, but Betsy needed her father at home. And Frederick needed to stop acting like a pouting boy the age of the twins. Running off to the tavern, indeed. How had I missed Frederick’s absences? Maybe he only went out when I was at births or visiting with Bertie. Surely he knew I would be most unhappy with him if I found out.

As I went into the next room, Betsy asked, “What’s imbibes mean?”

The kitchen was redolent with moisture and a delicious smell. I lifted the lid on a big pot to see a rich pork broth quietly bubbling. Faith must have set the chop bones to simmer. With carrots, onions, and potatoes, we’d have a nice soup for supper.

“I’ll finish the soup when I return,” I called to her as I donned my outer garments. I drank a cup of water and went outside to relieve myself, then headed down the path on foot. It was too dangerous to bicycle in the dark. I could barely believe I was walking to Hoyt’s Tavern. Visiting a saloon on a First Day evening was entirely the last thing I wanted to do. My ire with Frederick began to rise again, but I banished it. If I were to have any luck bringing him home, I’d have to stay as calm and reasonable as I could. Maybe I should have brought Luke with me for male company. I didn’t want him to know his father was in a saloon, though, and he was only thirteen, with a cracking voice and no hint of a beard as yet.

I thought of swinging by the police station and leaving Kevin a message about Zeb’s fellow factory worker. But a message could wait until tomorrow. Family came first.

Luckily, the tavern was only a few blocks distant, on Water Street near the Boston and Maine Railroad depot. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. A cacophony of boisterous voices and clinking of glasses filled the lamplit room. The fumes from alcohol and pipe tobacco nearly overwhelmed me. A polished bar ran the length of the space on the right, with stools in front and a mirrored wall behind. Tables spotted the rest of the room. The noise quieted as the people inside spied me.

I scanned the faces of the drinkers, which were almost completely male, but didn’t spy Frederick. A rosy-cheeked matron behind the bar dried her hands on her apron and waved me over.

“Are ye after lookin’ for someone, then, miss?” she asked in a heavy brogue, her green eyes taking in my bonnet. “Because I’m thinkin’ yer not here to drink.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. I need to find my brother-in-law, Frederick Bailey.” The noise in the saloon returned to its previous level. I was relieved to be able to speak with a woman, whose presence likely kept the rowdier customers in their place. I didn’t feel at all threatened, and it was a brighter and cleaner environment than I’d expected.

“Ah, Freddy.”

Freddy? I’d never heard a soul call him by a nickname.

“Aye, he’s off in yon corner where he makes a custom of sittin’.” She pointed.

A custom. So Faith was right.

“He’s got a right brick in his hat again.”

A brick in his hat? “Pardon me?”

“Yeh know, three sheets in the wind. Soused. In his cups.”

“Ah, I see. He’s inebriated. I thank thee.”

She grinned. “Thought yeh was one o’ them Quakers. With the bonnet and all.”

“Frederick is, too.”

“Well, I’ll be.” She whistled. “I guess that makes him some kind of a snollygoster.”

As far as I knew, the term referred to a politician guided by his own interests rather than moral principles. I supposed it could apply to a Friend whose own interests included drowning his sorrows in drink instead of refraining from intoxicating substances so he could be clear to await God’s help for his concerns.

The woman smiled fondly. “If I didn’t have me own mister, I might think of setting me hat for old Freddy. Said he’s a widower with wee ones at home. I can tell he’s got himself a good soul under his loneliness.”

I took a deep breath and made my way across the room. My brother-in-law sat alone at a small table, a tankard in one hand and a book in the other. When he didn’t look up, I cleared my throat.

“It’s time to come home, brother.”

He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot. “It’s the high-
and-mighty suffragette, is it?” He squinted. “Care to join me in an ale, Rose?”

“Come along, now. This is no trifle. Betsy’s crying, wondering where thee is.”

His shoulders slumped. “My little motherless girl.” His gaze seemed to plead with me. “Does thee even know how much I miss my Harriet?” He slurred his words.

“I miss her, too. But she’s gone, and right now thy daughter needs thee.” It sounded heartless, but it was true. Nothing would ever bring Harriet back. “All the children need thee.”

“Faith doesn’t need me. Saying she’s going off to your women’s demonstration. What if she’s hurt, Rose? What then?” He coughed. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with thee earlier. But I would die if something happened to any of my precious little ones.”

I’d never heard him express emotions like this. It must be the drink. “I’ll watch out for her.” I pried the tankard out of his hand and took the book from him. I held out my hand. “Let’s go.”

“Thee is a regular rouser, Rose,” he protested. Still, he placed both hands on the table and pushed to standing, but listed to the side. I grabbed his arm. He was a stocky man and had to weigh eighty pounds more than me. How was I going to get him home if he was this unsteady on his feet? A wiry fellow hurried over and took his other arm.

“Whoa, there, Freddy,” the man said. “Steady on.”

“Thanks, Bauer.” Frederick gave the man a wan smile. “This is my sister-in-law, Rose Carroll. Midwife and guardian angel. Rose, Hilarius Bauer.”

I took another look. So it was, the man Guy had taken in for questioning. The police had obviously released him.

“Good evening, Hilarius,” I said. “I don’t suppose thee would be able to help me walk this man home? It’s only a few blocks.”

“Certainly,” he said. “And I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.” He tipped his cap.

“I, as well.” We made our way to the door. “Thank thee, ma’am,” I said to the matron.

“We’ll see ye next time, you old rascal,” she called.

I certainly hoped there wouldn’t be a next time for Frederick at this establishment. The night air was bracing, with bright stars peeking out between scudding clouds. It was a welcome change from the stuffy tavern. After we’d walked a little way, I said, “I heard thee has worked for the Dodge family in Newburyport, Hilarius.”

“That I did. Made them a set of shelves for their kitchen and did a few other bits of carpentry. Nice folks, pleased with my work. And Mr. Dodge paid me promptly, unlike certain others I’ve had occasion to be employed by.”

“David Dodge is … a good friend of mine. He mentioned thee.” I made a quick decision. “I happened to see a policeman take thee in for questioning this morning.”

Hilarius fell silent. The only sounds were the shuffling of Frederick’s feet and the clop-clop of a horse plodding by as we moved through Market Square.

“It’s true. He did,” he finally said. “I’ve had a few minor run-ins with the law in my past. I fell in with the wrong crowd and had engaged in a bit of thievery. But not anymore.” His voice was gravelly. “The detective accused me of breaking into a house and killing a woman. I told him I did no such thing.”

“And thee has a witness to affirm thy whereabouts elsewhere during the time of the crime?” I glanced over at him.

An electric streetlight illuminated his face as he stared straight ahead. Moisture dotted his forehead again and his nostrils flared above a mouth clamped in a grim line.