ten

The rosy-cheeked woman reclining on my chaise for her ante-natal exam had a slightly higher pulse than I would have liked. It was still within the normal range, though, but at the top end.

“Thy heart is beating a bit higher than usual, Emily, but I think it’s fine. Let’s check the baby now.”

“Whatever you say, Rose.” This was Emily Hersey’s third baby, and Zula’s sister knew the routine. She bent her knees and lifted her skirts and chemise above her nearly at-term belly, then pulled down her silk knickers.

I palpated her stretched-smooth skin with both hands to ascertain the position of the baby. “It’s nicely head down and already in a good position for birth. Has thee been having any practice pains?” Women often experienced a semblance of contractions in the weeks leading up to the birth, but they were irregular in timing and weaker than those of true labor.

“Oh, yes.” She waved off the idea. “But after bearing two girls, I know what the pains are by now. It’s nothing to stop me from going about my life. I still have my piano students coming to the house for lessons.”

“And your prior labors were easy, I believe thee said?” She’d told me she’d been attended by a midwife across the river in Newburyport, where she’d been living, for her earlier births. Now that she and her husband had moved back to Amesbury, she’d elected to hire me for her midwifery care. Her and Zula’s family was quite wealthy, so it had surprised me when Emily told me she taught piano, but said she loved it and it made her feel useful.

“The first labor was longer, maybe twelve hours. My second popped out in about an hour, though. That was nearly two years ago now.” She smiled. “I’m not sure little Zadie’s ready to be supplanted by a newborn, but she’ll learn.”

This pleasant maternal woman was quite the contrast to her single suffragist sister. I pressed the Pinard horn gently against Emily’s womb and listened. “Baby’s heartbeat is strong and healthy. I’m going to feel for the opening, if thee is ready.”

“I’m ready.”

“Remember to breathe down into my hand if it feels at all uncomfortable.” I pushed up first my glasses and then my sleeve, and slid my hand into her opening.

The end of the womb, the cervix, which in a nonpregnant woman is a tight little knob not much bigger than a plump cherry, begins a process in the last month or so of thinning and readying itself to open a whole fist’s worth, or more, at the time of the birth. It’s an efficient and miraculous process when things go smoothly, with the womb pulling up and away as the baby’s head presses down and prepares to emerge.

“Thy cervix is completely effaced and”—I felt more carefully—“beginning to dilate.” I slid my hand out and wiped it clean. Glancing at her face I spied a look of confusion. I sometimes forgot and used the medical terms with clients who didn’t know those words and didn’t care to learn. “I apologize. By that I only mean that thy labor could start at any time. Thy body is ready.”

“You don’t say.” She frowned.

I stood. “Thee can restore thy garments.”

She pulled up her drawers and lowered her skirts. “But I thought my due date wasn’t for two more weeks.”

I checked the paperwork on my desk. “That’s correct. But this is thy third child, and the baby is plenty big enough to thrive out in the world by now. I wouldn’t worry. I would ensure that everything is in place for the birth itself, though, because thy baby could be wanting to make its appearance soon. Thee has someone to care for the older children during thy labor?”

“Yes, we have a nursemaid. And my older sister will come to assist in the birth and with the baby. Zula, though, is far too occupied with her suffrage work, even though she loves her little nieces.” She shook her head, but it was with a fond smile playing about her lips, not a disapproving look.

“She’s quite active in the organization. I saw her several times recently.”

“Oh?” Emily cocked her head. “Are you a suffragist, too?”

“I suppose I am. I haven’t lifted a finger for the cause as yet, but I plan to attend the protest at the polls tomorrow.”

“Yellow sash and all?”

“Yellow sash and all.” I marked Emily’s status in my file and turned back to her. “Does thee have any concerns about thy labor or how thee is feeling?”

She thought for a moment. “No, in that regard I am well and content. I know other ladies have problems bearing their babies, but my body seems built for it. I am a well-oiled baby machine. I’m concerned about my younger sister, however. She’s quite torn up about the death of her friend.”

“Rowena,” I murmured. I chose not to mention that I had found her body. Well-oiled baby machine or not, a woman this close to term didn’t need to have an image of a violent death linger in her mind.

“Yes. They were very close.” She smoothed her pale plum-colored dress, of a fine wool weave, over her belly.

When she paused her hand I saw a bump move under it, a healthy baby’s kick. “Is that why she won’t also be attending thee in thy labor?”

This made Emily snort. “Zula? She’s my polar opposite, not interested at all in raising a family of her own. Why, as a child she would stage battles with our dolls instead of dressing and playing with them like a normal girl, and she’s always been something of a rebel. But I don’t mind, and she’s quite good with Zadie and her big sister Hattie, who adore their Auntie Zu. Besides, not everyone should be the same in this world, don’t you think?”

After my last client left at eleven o’clock, the morning post brought a note from David. I stared at it for a minute, then opened it with a trembling hand.

My dearest Rose,

I want to thank you for the splendid dinner yesterday. I always enjoy time with your family—and you, most importantly. I hope Mr. Bailey returned and made his peace with the family before too long. I could see he still suffers greatly from the loss of his wife, your sister.

I sat back, gazing at the linen paper in my hand. David really was extraordinary, to see that Frederick’s rage came out of grief, of hurt, which of course it did. I read on.

I was able to discover a portion of the information you sought. My colleague here at the hospital has told me that, indeed, Oscar Felch has been attending a medical convention in New York City. But it ends today, so he should be back in Amesbury tonight or tomorrow. I have written separately to Detective Donovan of Mr. Felch’s whereabouts.

So the husband’s absence was explained, and the convention very likely gave him an alibi for the murder.

I saw how much my words hurt you yesterday, Rosie, and I can’t adequately express my chagrin at having said them. I only wish I could withdraw the moment from your memory. I truly want to marry you, create a family with you, grow old with you. Nothing will make me happier. Please believe me. We shall face your Quaker women together and endure whatever may come with hands joined, if it is your wish.

I shall take my leave of you now, as I have patients awaiting my services.

I remain ever

Your adoring servant,

David

I caressed the paper once before folding it and stowing it in the carved box where I kept all his correspondence. He was trying to make amends with me, certainly. I had trusted him with my feelings from the beginning of our relationship, or nearly so. Now, with these words of his echoing in my brain and with a bit of distance between yesterday and today, my doubts began to shrink again. I hoped they would never have occasion to revive themselves, although I did wonder why I didn’t feel more secure in his love. I didn’t wonder long. I knew it was based in the long-ago horror from my teenage years, when I’d been abused and abandoned by my first love. I’d thought with my engagement that I had put that nightmare firmly behind me. Apparently not. But I resolved for the rest of today, and going forward, that I would. I would take one day at time in my healing.

I sat and thought. I could spend the next hour wandering off into reveries about my intended husband or into whatever grim scenario the Women’s Business Meeting might present me, but what I really needed to do was learn more about who might have had cause to kill Rowena. Bertie had said Rowena was a lawyer. If I knew where she practiced, I could visit the firm. I snapped my fingers. I had a home visit with Lyda Osgood scheduled for today. And her husband practiced law.

Twenty minutes later a young maid led me up the stairs at the Osgood home, which sat on a hill heading north on Market Street. Lyda, cradling her eight-month-pregnant belly under a floral-print fabric that strained at her full bosom, opened the door to her airy and spacious bedroom and invited me in.

“Will this do, Rose?” Lyda asked, waving her arm to encompass the space. A four-poster bedstead draped with creamy brocade curtains held position of honor. Two upholstered armchairs nestled near the east-facing window and a marble-faced fireplace was tucked into the opposite wall. She smoothed chestnut-colored hair off her brow with a faint whiff of violet. The color was high in her creamy skin, as befit her late stage, and her breaths were slightly shallow, also normal for her condition. A woman’s lungs could become quite compressed by a full womb pushing up on them.

“It will do quite nicely, Lyda.” I made home visits to every client, whether the wife of a mill owner or the young mill worker, herself. I thought it passing odd Lyda had even asked if it would do, since she’d given birth here twice before, although my teacher Orpha Perkins had attended her.

“My maid will bring you whatever you need during the labor and birth,” Lyda said with a calm smile. “And Mr. Osgood says we should summon the carriage should we need a doctor in attendance.”

I’d assisted at her prior births as an apprentice, but I was confident to be the lead midwife this time around. “I doubt we’ll need a physician. Thy previous births were quite easy, as I recall.”

Her brows knit together. “Mr. Osgood is very much in favor of having a male doctor attend me. But I don’t agree, and I’ve put my foot down. The birthing chamber is the realm of women, is it not?”

I smiled. “I believe it is. And I will take good care of thee.” It was an honest answer. But how was I going to raise the issue of what Elbridge Osgood, her husband, might know about Rowena? As it happened, I didn’t need to.

“Rose.” Lyda lowered her voice. “I heard Mrs. Felch was killed. And that you found her body yesterday morning. Is it true?” Her eyebrows drew up.

“Why don’t you lie down and I’ll assess thy progress.” I led her to the bed and fetched my satchel. Talk of murder wasn’t exactly the calming topic one would wish for a near-term mother-to-be, even though it was the one absorbing my thoughts. After she reclined, I went on. “I did find her, sadly. I was returning at dawn from a birth.”

“Mr. Osgood said she was bashed in the back of the head. What a terrible death.” She brought her hands to cover her mouth.

“Any violent death is a terrible one. Rowena was a lawyer, like thy husband. Was he acquainted with her?”

Lyda’s nostrils flared. “Acquainted? Why, she stole his job!” Lyda suddenly looked neither surprised nor saddened about Rowena’s death.

Oh? Stealing a position was quite the accusation. I took a moment to listen to the baby’s heart, which sounded good. “How so?” I kept my expression even, despite my keen interest to learn more about this story. I took her wrist and counted her own beats, watching the clock on the mantel.

“They’re both employed by Bixby & Batchelder, or were. When my Elbridge was up for promotion, they chose that woman, instead.” She nearly spat the word woman. “And sacked Mr. Osgood.” The anger slid off her face and sorrow crept into her voice. “Just like what happened to my papa when I was a girl. He was a wrecked man after being fired.”

“I’m so sorry, Lyda. I trust Elbridge will find a new position soon. I’m going to check inside you now.”

She drew up her dress and shift. She wore the older fashion of split drawers, so she didn’t need to remove them. “Maybe, if people about town stop laughing behind his back.” She rubbed at a spot on the back of her hand. “Not only did Mrs. Felch rob my husband of his livelihood, then she makes plans to up and leave her own husband high and dry. There’s just no decency in this world, Rose. What have we come to?”