Despite our being on an express train to Wood’s Holl, David had prevailed upon the conductor to make a stop in West Falmouth, as it was dark and our wedding night. The tracks passed directly past the West Falmouth station, so the conductor agreed with David rather than force us to hire a conveyance at the train’s terminus to come directly back to West Falmouth.
On our way, I kept hoping for a glimpse of moonlight shining on the ocean, but the tracks had been laid woefully inland. It was nearly nine when we stepped down from the huffing, steaming train. David carried both valises, while I managed my birthing satchel, into which I had wedged all manner of additional personal items, plus a new book each as gifts for my aunts. I also toted the dinner basket. We were fortunate to have arrived during a full moon. An owl made its “who-who-who-who whoo, whoo” query from a nearby tree and a cricket chirped away.
“Is it far?” David asked. He glanced around, perplexed. The railroad station was a small one, and ours hadn’t been a scheduled stop, so no one was about. “Will we need to hire a driver?”
“Not at all. My aunts live in a modest house on Baker Street, and it’s a mere fifty yards from here. If we’d stayed on the train, we would have ridden directly in back of their home in the next minute.” On the train I’d studied the map Tilly had sent last month when I’d told her of our plans. I thought I knew my way, despite never having been here before. “I wonder if they’ll have the local detective there to inform us of the facts of the case.”
“The telegram was certainly urgent in tone.”
Off we trudged, rapping the knocker shortly thereafter. Dru opened the door, spilling a flood of lamplight out onto the landing. Shorter than I, she was round of figure and her fluffy snow-white hair formed a nimbus around her face.
“My dearest Rose, I can’t tell thee how glad I am thee made the trip. And this gentleman must be thy new husband, David Dodge.” She extended a hand to each of us, but it was a bit awkward, as our hands were full, and David stood on the step below mine.
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Drusilla,” David said.
“Aunt Dru, can we come in, please?” I asked. My lids rasped against my eyes from my nap.
“Of course, dears. Silly me.” She stepped back and out of the way. “Please enter.”
We made our way into the sitting room, which was full with books, needlepoint supplies, and more tatted doilies than a person would ever need in two lifetimes. It was empty of any kind of law enforcement officer, however. We set down our burdens.
“Now, how about a proper greeting.” Dru held out her arms to me and enveloped me in a bosomy, rose-water-scented embrace. She let me go and beamed up at David. “Well, isn’t thee a handsome drink of water? Give an old lady a kiss, will thee?”
She was awfully chipper for someone whose sister’s ward had been murdered. I hadn’t seen Dru in years, since the last time she came up to Lawrence to visit. Her behavior seemed odd.
David leaned down to buss her cheek.
“Sit down, sit down, and I’ll put on the kettle.”
I cleared my throat. “Aunt Dru, I’d like to—”
“Oh! Visit the necessary, of course. Follow me, darling. It’s just at the back. Tilly came into a spot of money and insisted we install one of the newfangled water closets. It’s all the rage among the wealthy Friends around here. She did it for our comfort, of course, not for fashion’s sake.”
I followed her down a hallway. From the back I saw that part of her fluffy hair covered a bald spot almost like she was disguising a tonsure. She kept prattling on even after I’d closed the door, but I ignored her. I’d forgotten how chatty she was. She’d been to visit us in Lawrence perhaps a decade ago, and both she and Tilly used to come more often when I was small.
Much relieved and washed up, I returned to the sitting room to find my aunt fussing over David, offering him cookies, pouring his tea, and generally looking happy as a hen to have someone to take care of. One might think there hadn’t been a violent death in the family at all. Had I dreamed the urgent telegram? Or maybe this was Dru’s way of coping with grief, to simply shut it away and pretend it hadn’t happened.
“David, do you want to freshen up, or whatever men call it?” I asked him.
He stood. “Good idea.”
I pointed him down the hall. “Last door on the left. Dru, what happened to Frannie?” I asked when he’d gone. “How did she die? Was she in trouble?”
“It’s all a confusion, my dear. There is so much to tell, and so little, as well.” She blinked and smiled.
What? She had certainly confused me. “Where’s Aunt Tilly?”
Her smile slid completely away. “The poor dear. She’s a complete wreck. I summoned our friends Sadie and Huldah Gifford to fetch her. They know how to calm her better than I. We’ve lived together too long, Tilly and me. For someone who usually strikes others as cold and stern, Tilly’s heart is broken over poor Frannie’s death. Mine is, too, of course. We raised the girl together.” She sniffed back a tear. “But my sister had a special attachment to her ward, and she’s taking it hard.”
“What about the detective working on Frannie’s murder? Thy telegram was most urgent that we should travel tonight. I expected him to be here.” I sank onto a love seat.
“That will have to wait until tomorrow, dear.”
So we could have stayed in a plush hotel room in Lawrence tonight, after all, and enjoyed the physical delights of being married. I sighed inwardly but resolved to make the best of it. “I’ve never heard the story of how Tilly came to take charge of Frannie. My family never made the trip down here, more’s the pity.” I’d have to ask my father why we hadn’t come to West Falmouth to spend time with his sisters.
Dru blinked her rheumy blue eyes, so much like my father’s except for the rheum. “That’s a tale for another time, Rose. And it’s rightly Tilly’s to tell.”
I glimpsed a framed photograph on a side table. It portrayed a girl of about twelve with dark curls, big dark eyes, and a spirited smile. The cheerful expression was unusual in such posed pictures, where the subjects were normally instructed to maintain a solemn demeanor.
“That’s our Frannie, before she finished growing,” Dru said with a sad smile. “I wish we’d had a photograph made more recently. She was quite a beauty, Rose.”
David sat next to me on his return. “Is the girl’s death truly a case of homicide, Miss Drusilla?”
I smiled to hear him address her as “Miss Drusilla.” All on his own he’d come up with the same convention the rest of the village also used, at least the non-Quakers. If people called both her and Tilly “Miss Carroll,” there would be no end of confusion.
“Enough of this Miss business. Thee must call me Dru, David.”
He smiled. “Perhaps I shall, by and by.”
“At any rate,” Dru went on, “homicide is what the nice policeman said when he came here.”
A person’s death caused by another person, whether purposefully or not. “Will thee tell us all about it?” I selected a gingersnap and nibbled at its perfect spicy, crunchy sweetness.
“I’ll do my best. Thee will get nothing coherent out of my sister, that’s certain.”
“Dru told me Tilly is distraught and is being cared for by their friends nearby,” I told David. “And we won’t be able to speak with the detective until tomorrow.”
He raised his eyebrows in return. I knew he was thinking what I had about not having had to rush down here. I could only shrug.
Dru poured tea for us and herself, then settled into what looked like her usual armchair. “They found poor Frannie in the bay.”
“Today?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Could her death have been accidental?” David leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands.
“Apparently not, but the fellow didn’t give us any details.”
Killed and dumped in the bay? Or attacked and left to drown. Whichever, it was an awful way to go.
“Tell us more about Frannie, Dru, if thee will,” I urged. We would learn the horrible facts of the death in the morning, I was certain.
“It was like this. Dear Frannie had completed her school through eighth grade, what, two years ago? She didn’t really have the aptitude to go on to the Lawrence Academy in Falmouth, even though other girls from our Meeting attend there. For the last two years she’s been working for Mrs. Annie Boyce tying tags.”
“What’s that, pray tell?” David asked.
“Women formerly gathered in Annie’s living room or at other women’s homes. They add strings to the tags that label all kinds of goods. It’s become quite the successful industry for Annie and the ladies and girls she employs, and she has an actual factory now down by the train station.”
“We must have walked past it on our way here. So Frannie made a bit of money,” I said. “That’s good. Tell us more about her. Was she social or retiring? What did she enjoy doing? What was she like? I’m sorry I hadn’t seen her since Tilly brought her to Lawrence when she was little.” I would have been in my teen years then, as Frannie had been about ten years younger than I.
Dru smiled sadly. “As I said, she didn’t seem to have the brains to continue studying. But that girlie was life smart. She was a dab hand at fixing anything. Frannie could listen to a song once, pick up the words and tune, and sing it back in her lilting voice like she’d been practicing for a year. She had lots of energy, and she was a strong little thing, and so graceful, too. And my, oh my, could she read people. I’ve seen her tilt the dark curls on her pretty head, regard someone—anyone, of any age or stature—and say something full of wisdom about them, or confront them about a false statement.”
“How about friends?” David asked. “Who did she spend time with when she wasn’t working or doing chores? Girlfriends? A young man, perhaps?”
My aunt tapped the arm of her chair. “There’s the rub, David. She’d been stepping out with young Reuben Baxter. Boy’s a clam-digger. He’s not a Friend and in fact is a full-blooded Indian.”
“Oh?” David asked.
“Yes. The local tribe is called the Wampanoags. In a way, you would hardly know its members to look at them. They have regular names and wear conventional clothing, although their skin might be a bit darker than us palefaces. With all the people in this area who spend their lives near or on the ocean, though, we have some pretty dark-skinned white folks, not to mention the more swarthy newcomers from Italy and Portugal. So the Indians can pass, as it were, unless you know their heritage for a fact. The boy’s father, Joseph Baxter, is a local businessman’s handyman—one of several servants he employs, with all his riches—and his wife is a midwife.”
An Indian midwife? That was a woman I wanted to meet.
“Was Miss Tilly happy about Frannie’s beau?” David asked.
“Not particularly. Thee must understand, my sister was only concerned for Frannie’s welfare, and rightly so, as it turned out. The Baxter boy has himself a temper.”
“Thee is saying the police think Reuben killed Frannie.” I leaned forward.
“They hinted as much.” Dru bobbed her head.
“But why?” I pressed.
“That’s why we asked thee down here, Rose. We need help getting to the bottom of this. It’s going to destroy Tilly if we don’t.” Dru stood. “Now, if thee will spare me thy husband for a few minutes, I’d like him to walk me over to Huldah and Sadie’s.”
David, ever polite, also rose.
“To fetch Tilly?” I asked.
“No. She and I will be sleeping there tonight.” My aunt blushed. “We thought, since you two missed your wedding night in a fancy hotel, the least we could do was give you this house to yourselves tonight. Sadie has plenty of beds.”
David glanced my way with a confused expression. “We were going to continue on to the Tower House Hotel in Falmouth, Miss Dru.”
I gazed back. “But we aren’t certain they have a room for us tonight, and it’s been such a long day.”
He squinted at me. “It is late.” He parceled out his words. “We may as well stay here.”
I tilted my head and smiled. “It’s a truly lovely gesture, Aunt Dru, and the best wedding gift thee could have given us. We both thank thee.”
“First door on the right upstairs.” She pointed up. “It’s my room, but the sheets are freshly clean, and I left out clean towels. You’ll find breakfast things in the kitchen, and an apple pie, as well. We’ll see you at Meeting for Worship at ten o’clock tomorrow, I trust? Thee can’t miss the Meetinghouse. It’s down the lane from here, surrounded by the burying grounds. We’ll save thee and David seats next to us in our usual pew. We sit in the front row, fair warning.”
So we’d be on display. Oh, well. My aunts were longtime members and deserved their preferred seats. “We will be there,” I said. “What about a key to the door of the house?”
She gave a laugh like small bells jingling. “It’s in the keyhole, but no one bothers to lock their doors in West Falmouth, Rose. There’s simply no need.”
“But what about talking with the detective?” I asked. “Won’t we be doing that early, perhaps?”
“All in due time, Rose.” Dru turned toward the door.
“I shall return, dear wife.”
My breath rushed in and I clapped my hand to my mouth. If Frannie was indeed murdered, where was the killer? Had he fled town, or was he lurking outside to do more harm?
“Be careful, will thee?” I murmured to David.
He touched my cheek. “Yes, wife, I will.” David held out his elbow to Dru. “Your carriage awaits, madam.”