A bit windblown and flush of cheek after our walk, David and I slid into a front-row pew next to Tilly and Dru in the West Falmouth Meetinghouse at a few minutes before ten o’clock. After I squeezed Tilly’s bony hand, she turned her black-bonneted head and gave me one of the saddest looks I’d ever witnessed. I bobbed my head once in understanding. She folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.
I gave a quick glance to my other side, where David’s eyes were also shut, his hands resting loosely on his thighs, his body still. My heart nearly burst at having married this man—a person with few prior experiences of silent worship, an avowed Unitarian—who was willing to join me at least occasionally in seeking for God’s Light after the manner of Friends.
Before settling into the silence, which was still full of shoes thumping and benches creaking as members hurried in, I gazed around the Meetinghouse. In construction, it was nearly identical to our building in Amesbury. It featured two sides full of pews with a center divider now raised but able to be lowered. It had a lofty ceiling and an upstairs balcony above the entry hall for additional seating. The lower part of the walls here, though, were lined with wood paneling where ours were plain, and the building had one fewer tall window on each side. Paned sliding windows could close off the upstairs, where ours was open above the half wall. The entire interior presented a more elaborate and darker face than Amesbury’s simple, light-filled worship rooms. The differences didn’t matter. I could sit in expectant waiting on God wherever I was.
When I worshipped in Amesbury, experiencing Friends’ gradually quieting was something I craved. West Falmouth Meeting was no exception. Latecomers sat. The rustling of clothing stilled. Benches ceased creaking. The children of the community were ushered out by a couple for First Day School. All around me breathing slowed and, as John Whittier so eloquently put it, the outer world fell away and left us God alone.
A pang invaded my quieting. For eight years I had been worshiping with Amesbury Friends. I knew the women’s business meeting planned to read me out—that is, expel me—because of my marriage to David, who was not a member of our religious society. The more liberal Lawrence Meeting, where I had worshipped growing up, had allowed our Meeting for Worship for Marriage to go forward under their care, but when I returned to Amesbury I would not be welcome in our beautiful and peaceful Meetinghouse. I could write a letter of appeal to be reinstated, and I planned to do so without delay. I knew John Whittier would argue my cause with the women. Still, I would have some weeks of empty First Days until they allowed me to return. I blew out a breath. That was neither here nor now.
But the rejection, on top of Currie bringing both strife and joy into our wedding reception and then my being called to solve a murder, tinged what should have been my day of joy. If I were a more negative person, I might wonder if it all added up to a bad omen for my marriage in the years ahead. On the contrary, I tended to go through life with a measure of optimism that things would turn out for the best. I would not let darkness shade my love for David and our life together. I settled my shoulders and my mind and returned to the worship at hand, beginning with holding Frannie’s soul in the Light of God.
My reverie was interrupted some time later when a sonorous voice dropped into the silence. I opened my eyes. An older man had risen from the facing bench, the seats reserved for the elders of the Meeting. He clasped his hands in front of a plain suit but one cut from very fine cloth, I could see even from here. His flat-brimmed hat and chinstrap beard marked him as a Friend. The quality of his shoes, the cloth of his shirt, the cut of his suit, every inch of him revealed that this was a Quaker with considerable financial resources. Except . . . was a button missing from the coat? I peered. Maybe he’d simply forgotten to fasten it. I imagined someone like him wouldn’t go too long without having a repair done, unless he was slovenly about his appearance.
“Some of us are blessed with long lives in which to do God’s blessed work. Others are placed on this earth for a shorter period of time. Our Frannie was one of those.” His voice was pious and somber. “May she rest in peace, and may we honor her memory as we continue without her.” He sat with a thump.
He’d brought the outer world right back inside. Tilly’s shoulders shook. Dru’s arm crept around her and I took my angular aunt’s hand in mine as I held Tilly in the Light. Being me, I also held the local detective in God’s Light, whomever he might be, that his investigation proceed with truth and all due dispatch. Finding Frannie’s killer wouldn’t bring her back, but it might provide some measure of solace to her devastated guardian.
The rest of the worship reverted to silence and ended with Friends exchanging the handshake of fellowship. Quaker after Quaker approached my aunts to offer condolences. David and I were introduced to each. A couple who were about my parents’ age hung back until the crush was over.
“Thee must be niece Rose,” the woman said when she drew near. “I’m Sadie Gifford, and this is my husband, Huldah.”
“I’m so pleased to meet thee, Sadie, and thee, Huldah. May I introduce my husband, David Dodge?”
They exchanged greetings, plus handshakes for the men.
“Rose, we hope thee and David will join us for First Day dinner whenever Tilly and Dru are finished here.” Sadie smiled at both of us. “We’d love to get to know the newly wedded couple better.” She lowered her voice. “And I don’t want the grieving sisters even thinking about cooking at a time like this.”
I glanced at David, who nodded, as I knew he would. “We would be honored, and I thank thee, Sadie,” I said.
“That’s settled, then. Huldah, shall we be off?” She took his arm and they bustled away.
I smiled to myself, resettling my spectacles on the bridge of my nose. She reminded me of my mother, warm and hospitable but with a no-nonsense air about her.
The man who had offered the sole message during worship came up to a still-seated Tilly and took her hand.
“My dear Tilly.” His beard was rust-colored, with the pale green eyes that often accompanied that coloring. The skin was puffy around his eyes, not from sorrow, I thought, but from excessive indulgences.
“Abial, we thank thee for thy words,” Dru murmured.
Tilly raised a gaunt face and stood, letting him help her up. “I don’t believe Frannie’s soul will rest easy anywhere until her murderer is apprehended.”
Abial’s eyebrows went up but he didn’t react otherwise. “Of course, Tilly.”
“May I present our niece, Rose Carroll, and her husband of less than a day, David Dodge? Or, Rose Dodge, I should have said. Rose and David, this is Abial Latting, one of this Meeting’s stalwarts and benefactors.”
“Many felicitations to thee, Rose, and to thee, David.” He and David shook hands. “It is a great blessing that Rose came to provide comfort and solace to her dear relatives, and that thee accompanied her, so soon after the happy occasion.” Abial didn’t quite smile but his expression was welcoming.
Or at least it seemed he wanted it to come across that way. I shook off a feeling of unease. The man appeared to be a successful businessman, and he was certainly a Friend. I didn’t need to indulge my suspicious tendencies. On the other hand, if the police were correct, someone around here had killed a young woman. Perhaps suspicions were exactly what I needed to dwell on.