"She couldn't have killed him. She never would have done that." Charlotte's voice sounded angry although she was trying to be very calm. The thought of anyone suspecting Abigail made her wretched, even though a little doubt kept wriggling into her mind.
"No, I don't think she could have" Daniel agreed, "but who else would have known the story and perhaps threatened him? That's what we have to find out."
"We ought to find out whether Quaker weddings are legal in Massachusetts," Charlotte added. "If they are and Reverend Hopewell knew it, at least he couldn't be blackmailed about Timothy. He still has a lot to be ashamed of. It was cruel to go off and leave Abigail no matter how much he wanted to be a minister like his father."
"If he had been a real man he would have stood up to his father. No one should leave a girl like that. That's cruel and sinful too. Sure I don't think much of a man who hides behind his father's anger as an excuse to philander."
They had had the parlor to themselves for almost an hour, but now Fanny Gray come bustling it. She looked at Daniel with a little frown, "You've been spending a great deal of time here, Mr. Gallagher. Have you been thinking of joining us? A fine, strong-looking man like you would be an asset on the Farm. Have you ever been a farmer?"
Daniel looked a bit alarmed at the suggestion. "No, ma'am, I never have, although I did work a bit on my father's patch of land back in Ireland. But my father was a schoolteacher and something of a poet, not a farmer at all."
"You're young and strong, you could be a great help on the Farm," Fanny insisted. "And if you've planted and harvested vegetables we could use your strong arms. I'm going out to hoe the pumpkin patch myself this afternoon. There aren't a great many vegetables left, but there will be a few still coming in. Think about it. We are starting a whole new plan of life here. You can help with the farm work and have time for your poetry and newspaper writing too."
Daniel stood up and said politely, "I will certainly think about joining your community. I can see that you are doing great things here and perhaps you really will change the world. But I must be leaving now to get back to Boston."
As Daniel turned to leave, Charlotte told him, "I'm going to Miss Peabody's bookstore on Wednesday afternoon. Perhaps I can find out more about these Quaker weddings and what they mean."
On Tuesday there was a slow rain all day, but Wednesday came in bright, clear, and chilly. Charlotte was able to get a ride into Boston on Jonas Gerritson's wagon and was at Miss Peabody's shop early in the afternoon. The shelves looked more crowded than ever with books of every size, some in leather bindings and some in paper. She searched first for the section on religion. That didn't look very promising. Volume after volume of collected sermons and books with titles like
A Christian Liturgy
and
German Writings on the New Testament—
those certainly wouldn't tell anything about Quakers and the law. She sighed with irritation because nothing looked promising.
"You sound discouraged," said a quiet voice behind her. Charlotte whirled around and saw Margaret Fuller. She was examining the books through her lorgnette. "What was it you were looking for?"
"I am looking for a book that would tell me more about Quakers and how they are different from other people. I've never known any Quakers except for Abigail Pretlove at the Farm and I don't know much about their rules and customs."
"You can ask Miss Peabody whether she has any Quaker books, but I rather doubt it. Most of the books on religion here are about Biblical scholarship and quarrels between Unitarian ministers about the nature of God. Perhaps you should go to the New Thinkers Convention next Saturday and Sunday in Dedham. Representatives from most of the newer or more radical groups will be there and I wouldn't be surprised if some Quakers attend."
The bell on the bookshop door jingled as someone came in; it was Daniel, looking very serious and wearing a bright green cravat. He smiled and walked over to join Charlotte. Miss Fuller remem
bered him, "You are the young reporter who listened to my talk at Brook Farm last week, aren't you? Did you find the talk of interest?"
"It was of great interest indeed. It is very gratifying to hear someone as important as yourself say such kind words about those of us who came to this country from Ireland." Daniel sounded very much like a gentleman despite his brogue.
Charlotte told him quickly about Miss Fuller's suggestion, but he looked doubtful.
"Perhaps this meeting is similar to the one held at the First Church in Dedham last April?" he asked. "I went to one of those meetings and was startled at the people there. Although the meeting was almost over when I arrived, the pews were still half filled with an odd assortment of people. The man who was speaking from the pulpit wore a long white robe spotted with mud from the street. His hair was long and untidy, a wild brush of gray which became more untidy as he ran his hands through it. He was shouting in a loud harsh voice and I remember his words very well: 'Cease your worrying about wealth. Turn to the Lord! Our time is not long. The world will end in 1843 as has been prophesied. Why worry about slavery or economic woes? Our time is running out.' That was enough for me and I turned and left. I have many hopes and fears for the future, but having the world end next year is not one of them." Daniel's face was wreathed in a smile.
Margaret Fuller smiled too. "Some of our so-called 'New Thinkers' have odd thoughts to be sure, but there are others who are concerned about the future have far more sensible plans. The Quakers, for example, differ from most of us in many ways but they are no longer fanatical as they used to be and they have been of great benefit to many in our society."
"Well, perhaps it would be worthwhile to go to the convention," Daniel agreed. "Would you have any intention of going yourself, Miss Fuller?"
"No, I think not," she answered, "although many interested people might attend. I believe that Ralph Emerson attended the one in April and your George Ripley was there too."
"Was Winslow Hopewell at this meeting?" Charlotte asked eagerly.
"I had not heard of his going. He may be conservative like his father. Thomas Hopewell has not welcomed new ideas and plans. That is why I was surprised that his son became interested in Brook Farm. Perhaps he was more accepting than his father of the idea that Boston has not reached perfection yet and that there is some sense in trying new plans of organizing society."
After Miss Fuller left, Daniel and Charlotte asked Miss Peabody about books about Quakers, but the only Quaker book in the store was George Fox's Book of Martyrs, which told nothing about New England. But when she heard that Daniel and Charlotte were especially interested in Quaker weddings, Miss Peabody chattered on about the great controversy these weddings had caused. Only recently had people in Boston started to consider them real weddings. There were still some churches that would not accept a marriage as valid unless it was performed by a minister in a church.
Daniel and Charlotte decided they would walk out to Dedham on Saturday to see whether what there was to learn about Winslow Hopewell and what people thought about him. If his father and his friends thought that participating in a Quaker wedding was a sin, it was no wonder he considered his marriage to Abigail a guilty secret.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Charlotte Gets Unexpected News
October 29, 1842
.
Saturday dawned bright but cold. Charlotte had asked Ellen and Fred to go to the meeting at Dedham but only Fred went with her. He was always ready for a trip and the more unusual the meeting, the more he looked forward to it. At the last minute Fanny Gray decided to join them. She often went to the church in Dedham.
Charlotte wore her stoutest boots and warmest cloak, a red plaid woolen one with a fur-trimmed hood and Fred was bundled up in his heaviest jacket and on his head a warm toque his mother had knit for him. It wasn't a day for the light blue tunic he had been wearing just a few weeks ago. Winter had come with a vengeance, and although they still hadn't had a snowstorm, they were chilly even in their warm clothes. Fred starting singing to cheer everyone us up:
Cape Cod girls ain't got no combs,
Heave away, haul away!
They comb their hair with a codfish bone,
And we're bound away for Australia!
Cape Cod boys ain't got no sleds,
Heave away, haul away!
They ride down hills on a codfish head.
And we're bound away for Australia!
The wind was still cold, but singing a silly song made everyone feel better. Even Fanny had to smile; Fred's pleasure was contagious. As the sun rose higher in the sky the wind didn't feel so harsh and the walk became almost enjoyable. By the time they had reached Dedham everyone's cheeks and noses were red and their chins were numb from the cold.
The First Church of Dedham was a gray stone building with sparse strands of withered ivy clinging to its walls. It stood in a small churchyard close to the road and two oak trees overhung the burial plot where the gravestones clustered in family plots. A sign outside the door announced the "Convention on New Thinking for Universal Reform" and several people were walking toward the door. Fanny soon joined a group of friends and Fred and Charlotte stepped inside the church. Almost immediately they saw Daniel.
"The first speaker will begin in about half an hour," he told them. "Everyone here has been friendly to me, but I haven't found any Quakers yet. I am not sure how much we will learn."
People were milling around at the back of the church, drawing together in small groups to talk and then separating and moving on. Most of the participants were men, but there were several women, some with their husbands and others on their own. Fanny sat with an elderly woman wearing a black shawl. The two of them were soon whispering together in a back pew while they waited for the talks to begin.
Fred wandered off to talk to some young boys he knew and Daniel and Charlotte introduced themselves to a thin, pale young man with a flowing black cravat and a chestnut-colored jacket who was one of the youngest-looking men there,. He looked at Charlotte approvingly when she said she was a teacher at Brook Farm.
"Oh, I deeply admire George Ripley's innovation with that community," he drawled. "Sometimes I think of joining the group myself, but alas I am a poet and when the inspiration comes to me I must seize it and write. I cannot afford to be distracted by details such as a cow that needs milking or wheat to harvest. My friend Nathaniel Hawthorne tried living at Ripley's Farm, but farm work interfered with the flow of his thoughts."
"Yes, I had heard that Mr. Hawthorne lived for a while at the Farm," said Charlotte rather sharply. "How nice for him that he could choose whether or not to work. Some of us need to work so we can eat. And many of us at Brook Farm believe that the future of the country is lies with communities such as ours where everyone works and also has time to write poetry, or philosophy for that matter."
The young man soon wandered off to find more congenial company and Daniel turned to Charlotte with a smile. "You will never make a proper reporter." He shook his head in mock horror. "Perhaps we should keep our thoughts to ourselves and just ask questions."
"I'll try," Charlotte promised, "but I hope the others here aren't quite as pretentious as he is. Do you believe a poet has to be free of other work?"
"I certainly hope not or I fear my poetry will never see the light of day. But here comes our first speaker."
Daniel and Charlotte sat in the very last pew of the church where they could see the backs of the heads of almost everyone who was there. The heads were quite varied, most of them streaked with gray, some pure white, and a few glossy black or tawny blond. One heavyset patriarch had long, flowing pure white locks and massive shoulders that towered above everyone else in his pew.
The speaker was introduced as the Reverend Edgar Blackwell from Maine. He was a rather short, gray-haired man wearing a black clerical-style suit and large glasses. He opened a thick sheaf of notes and announced that he would talk about "Heathenish Attacks on Biblical Studies in the Modern Day". His theme seemed to be that Massachusetts was besieged by dangerous religious groups that did not respect the Christian traditions of the commonwealth. He talked for a long time and Charlotte's thoughts drifted off to the puzzle of Winslow Hopewell's death. They seemed to be learning nothing of any value here, but then she heard the Reverend Blackwell mention Quakers and her attention went back to him.
"Not only are ungodly freethinkers who deny the literal truth of the Bible dangerous, but also those who claim that every man can judge for himself the truth that God has given us. Those who call themselves Quakers refuse to accept the teaching of ordained ministers and believe God speaks to every human being and that each of us can choose his own truths. This can lead to schism and heresy. These people refuse to take oaths in a court of law. They refuse to remove their hats in our public buildings—even in churches." His voice sank to a low growl of disbelief as he said this.
"These Quakers do not believe in the sacredness of marriage. They allow a man and a woman to declare themselves married without the blessing of clergy. This undermines society and cannot be
allowed. There is talk now of accepting Quaker marriages as equal to Christian weddings, but we must never allow that in Massachusetts."
After a while the Reverend Blackwell ran out of steam and his sermon petered out into a list of innovations that can never be allowed. Many in the audience stirred restlessly. At last he sat down and a very different speaker came to the pulpit. This was Bronson Alcott the tall white-haired man Charlotte had noticed earlier looking conspicuous in a pew near the front of the church. His manner was calm and quiet, but his words were lively, jumping about from one topic to another.
"Engage in nothing that cripples or degrades you. Your first duty is self-culture, self-exaltation: you may not violate this high trust. Either subordinate your vocation to your life or quit it forever. Your influence over others is commensurate with the strength that you have found in yourself."