Too Soon for Flowers (24 page)

“Why do you ask?” Charlotte countered uneasily, hoping she would not have to reveal her uncharitable thoughts about Reverend Rowe.

“Because I sent him up the hill, after I gave him the news. For that, I suppose I feel some remorse; but the more I think of it, the more I’m disturbed by his quick condemnation of the girl. After all, I said nothing to suggest Phoebe played any part in her own death. Do you yourself suspect that Will was led, for one reason or another … ?”

“No,” said Charlotte, though her look was not entirely convincing.

“You’re sure he did nothing to her?”

“Possibly he did give her a slap. But more … ? Richard, her pillow was wet when I found her.”

“Was it?” Longfellow asked uncomfortably.

“Which suggested to me,” she explained, “that when Phoebe spoke to Will, something that was said set her to weeping. He couldn’t have stayed and argued for long; someone would have heard them. So, she must have been alive long after he left her. The young do tend to suffer excessively, I think … for they are still tender-hearted.”

“It is an interesting theory, though youth, in my experience, is a poor indicator of innocence. But what if Will returned later?”

“Have we reason to suppose he did? Do you think he could have planned to harm Phoebe, and done it quite coldly—without the heat of aroused passion? That, too, strikes me as unlikely.”

“Have you seen a wound fester, Carlotta? Does it not look angrier then, than before? I do see one thing that could be in the boy’s favor. An explosive temper will let venom out, before it has a chance to work itself deeper into the soul. So perhaps you’re right, at that.”

“Let’s suppose, though, that the girl actually
wished
to die, Richard. Someone should at least ask the question. Even though it is terrible to imagine that Phoebe—but would it have been
possible!”

“I presume she brought no poison with her, for why would she choose death, when she had agreed to the inoculation to ensure her future? And do you keep anything of the sort in your house? Bear in mind, such a poison would need to be subtle. Foxglove? No, your own heart is quite sound. Or henbane?” he asked, smiling at a memory they shared.

“I can’t think of anything—”

“But what about this?” Longfellow hurried on. “A firm wish for death may in itself achieve that end, and in a relatively brief time. Take an aging spouse, whose dame has passed on. How often will he follow at her heels? This sort of thing has led me to suspect mind and body are more closely related than scientific thought would have us believe …”

“Actually,” Charlotte replied, “I did wonder, since Phoebe sometimes seemed less than content—”

“But I wouldn’t say that kind of thing is likely to occur overnight, as we saw here. And those who exit life in this peculiar fashion are usually those who have developed
great strength of will. Now, fear can be another danger, and some peoples can wound one another with curses. We have only to look to the sugar islands, where what they call
voudou
can bring on a wasting sickness, or even a violent death. Nervous energy alone will encourage many maladies. Among our own young ladies, emotions are often believed to stimulate illness—though few die of their swoons and palpitations. Give them new gowns, and women will be greatly changed for the better.”

Mrs. Willett saw that her neighbor’s interest in her original subject had degenerated. “I only wish your sister were here to answer for our sex,” she countered. “For I hear she has begun to meet with some of the town’s intellectual ladies, including Mr. Otis’s sister Mercy—

“Diana, interested in things of the mind? And with Mercy Warren? I tremble to imagine it! You would never join such a movement, I hope, Mrs. Willett? Would you discuss philosophy or even politics, with a group of Amazons? Or perhaps you do so already, with your cows?”

Charlotte endured his teasing while she fanned a scented breeze through a tall
pelargonium
.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “that my hands are full at the moment. For I’m trying to keep one of my scientific acquaintances from being the first in the colony to be burned at the stake.”

“What have you heard?” demanded Longfellow.

“Nothing sure to convict you. But there is grumbling …”

“Is there, by God? That’s a nice turn of things, after all I’ve done for this blessed village!”

“If you were to do any more in the next week or two, we might both consider making an extended visit to Maine—or one of the sugar islands you mention.”

“I wonder how Cicero would take the idea? He says he’s heard talk of fining me at the next meeting for encouraging inoculation, with no license to do so.”

“Can that be done?”

“I’m not sure. I have half a mind to consult a lawyer myself, if I hear anything more. Blast them all! They rob me of my peace of mind!”

“But, Richard, seriously, there is one thing more that has been troubling me—”

“One thing, Mrs. Willett? You
are
a fortunate soul.”

“—and it is this. Dr. Tucker has died; and I wonder, for what?”

“How do you mean?”

“Could his death have had some unrevealed purpose? Or was it simply that he believed Phoebe’s death to be the result of his poor treatment? Surely, he must have lost patients before this?”

“He did tell me a curious story one evening, after consuming a large portion of several bottles that we shared. It led me to suspect his earlier experiences in Virginia might have been enough to have driven him, in the end, to despair.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was turned away by his influential patients in Williamsburg, after the daughter of one of the wealthiest among them died. It seems the girl was secretly with child, but refused to be examined when another complaint, probably a pellagra, became quite obvious. He prescribed a compound for this which tragically killed the child in her womb. And that soon resulted in the death of the mother, as well. The father was never discovered—but it was assumed Tucker had knowledge of the girl’s condition, and that he tried to help her lose this child, to keep her own father from discovering what she had done. This belief ignited the entire family, and a duel was arranged before the doctor fled with what funds he could scrape together, leaving his wife and children to the mercies of the few friends who stood by them. Tucker came to Boston, where he lost all he’d brought with him through land speculation—as did many others. Though none of this appears
to have been entirely his fault, how it all must have weighed on him! No wonder the fellow’s mind was finally shattered, when he saw his last hope decline with the death of yet another young woman. Of course, this is something I hardly felt it necessary, or wise, to make known.”

Her own mind now nearly overcome by their far-flung conversation, Mrs. Willett longed to be gone from the closeness of the glass house, and out in the freshness of the morning. She gave a final thought to the letters from Jeanette she’d seen in Tucker’s room, but decided to leave her curiosity about the disposal of these, and the rest of the physician’s possessions, for another time.

“Richard, the strawberries—?” she asked.

“Let us go and see. Tiger? What—
what
have you done?”

The cats had already discovered the first of the season’s piquant fruits; even now, Tiger could be seen slavering over the remains of a succulent specimen lodged firmly between her sharp teeth.

“Debaucher!” Longfellow shouted, lunging at the unrepentant feline as she bounded away. Eventually, she slunk under the cover of some fat squash leaves, imagining herself safe, while Tabby darted up the trunk of his master’s precious palm.

It would be best for her neighbor to deal with this latest dilemma alone, Charlotte decided, as she left Longfellow to rail against his own demons, and went to see to Sunday’s dinner.

D
IANA LONGFELLOW SAT
in a winged chair in Mrs. Willett’s great room studying David Pelham, who honored the Sabbath by again wearing his most splendid attire. As he sipped a glass of sweet wine, she offered him some Scottish shortbread from a tin Charlotte had earlier provided.

“I imagine you’ve noticed she is a plain person, Mr. Pelham, at least in terms of fashion; but you know Mrs. Willett has spent nearly all of her life in the country. Her husband was what they call a Friend, from Philadelphia. They are prevalent there, of course, though I know we have a few in Boston, too. She fell easily into his ways—it seems they were mostly her own, anyway—but she doesn’t make a religion of it. Still, Charlotte is unusually plain,” Diana repeated, glancing down at her own fine gown.

“Plainness may serve to enhance native beauty,” Pelham replied kindly. “It must also save a great deal of time. Imagine not being obligated to be at one’s toilette for an
hour or two, before going out the door! Yes, I think there is much to be said for the plain life, Miss Longfellow. And I suspect Mrs. Willett’s friends care little how she looks, of an afternoon,” he added with a roguish smile.

“Perhaps you’re right. I know I often feel a martyr to the requirements of town. My lady’s maid is forever complaining about the trouble it gives her! Patty especially hates to groom my animal, but one can hardly show one’s self to advantage, with a dog that is unkempt.”

“Is it a large dog?”

“No, quite a little one. That’s why I cannot understand why the foolish woman objects to bathing it, and fixing on its ribbons. Though I do recall she has received one or two small nips.”

“She should expect that, as a part of her job.”

“Exactly. She’s only required to walk him when I’m not at home, or when I don’t feel quite up to doing it myself. But this gives her plenty of time to see other servants who are out doing the same thing. I would think she would be grateful for a chance to improve her social life, which I don’t suppose is a very full one. Yet I have heard her curse the little dear, and call it a monster!”

“Quite beyond belief.”

“When I’ve returned to town, you and I might enjoy a walk with Bon-Bon, out on the Common.”

“A delightful prospect,” said David Pelham. He quickly turned the conversation back onto an earlier path. “You say your friend is plain—yet I would guess Mrs. Willett’s thinking is far from simple.”

“One could say that,” Diana agreed.

“In fact, I suspect she’s interested in many subjects.”

“Much like my brother, but Charlotte is far less critical. And a great deal more pleasant.”

“From what I gather; most people are.”

“Do you criticize my brother, now?” asked Diana, a little pleased at the idea.

“Only from a suspicion that he sometimes neglects you, my dear Miss Longfellow.”

“That’s so true,” the lady sighed.

“Do you know, your friend Mrs. Willett came and spoke with me yesterday, at the inn. I must admit I was intrigued when I realized she had told me almost nothing of herself.”

“Oh, Charlotte rarely tells much of what she knows about
anyone
. Unlike many women I could mention.”

“Reticence is, I believe, a fine quality.”

“Perhaps. She usually gets to the core of a question, once she puts her mind to it. She’s made things unpleasant for several villains, you know. Last autumn, for instance, when she discovered a murderer in our midst, here in this very village! Who ever would have thought such a thing possible?”

“Who, indeed?” Mr. Pelham asked thoughtfully. “Although yesterday, I felt she may wonder if there is a murderer here now. At least her questions made me suspect it.”

“Charlotte has not spoken anything of it to me! But other than the doctor’s undisputed death, I know of only one other here lately. Do you think it possible
Phoebe
was murdered, Mr. Pelham?”

“As you say, that would seem quite unlikely, in as small a place as Bracebridge. I suppose Mrs. Willett did mention that we spoke of the girl?”

“Yes, she told me.”

“As I confessed, I knew Miss Morris in Boston … briefly, and when I was more able to move about society without fear of being loved only for my fortune. I’m afraid Phoebe had some hopes for me, even when I could have none. And I believe she really did care—” He paused, his eyes becoming distant. “Do you know, in a way, I’m less happy now than I was then.”