A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (feel good books to read txt) 📕

as to see Orpha out? She mentioned to me it would give her great peace to be ushered into the next realm by her favorite midwife. You.”

My throat thickened, but I swallowed down the emotion. “It would be an immense honor, Alma. Traditionally midwives have always assisted at both ends of life. I have a telephone at home.” I could be a death midwife as well as a birthing one.

She nodded.

“I shall continue to stop by every day, but if her death seems imminent, please summon me.”

“And it won’t upset your condition?” She snuck a look at my waist.

“Of course not. This baby is safe inside for the duration. Thee should know, Alma. Thee has borne children. I’m not ill, I’m pregnant.”

I followed her into the room. Alma was obviously keeping my mentor clean and comfortable, as the space blessedly did not smell of urine or worse.

“She’s been sleeping most of the day,” Alma said. “And she’s barely eating, Rose. Wake her, if you can.”

I blew out a breath, then leaned down and touched Orpha’s soft cheek. Her lids drifted open.

“Rose. I’m glad you’re here.” She gave a faint smile. “Alma, dear, may I have some of that soup you offered me earlier? Perhaps Rose can help me sip it.”

Alma bustled off. I picked up the hairbrush on the side table and began stroking Orpha’s hair gently back away from her face. It wasn’t completely white, having dark grizzled through, and the texture was soft while still a bit kinky. Orpha had told me long ago she’d had a Negro ancestor generations earlier, which was one reason she’d never turned away any pregnant woman from her care, no matter her skin color.

“That feels lovely,” she murmured.

“Good.” I dampened a cloth from a washbasin and wiped her face and hands. “There. Better?”

“I am much refreshed. Would you mind terribly handing me that small jar?” Her gaze shifted to a squat container on the bedside table. “My skin feels parched.”

I opened the jar and held it for her to scoop out a couple of fingers of a white cream. I inhaled the scent as she gently rubbed it into her face.

“Calendula and lavender.” I smiled at her. “This is why thee always smells lovely.”

“Those herbs are healing, too.” She finished and said, “Help me sit up a little, please.”

I helped her, even though she winced at the effort. After Alma brought the soup, I stayed, feeding Orpha spoonfuls of a thick broth until she’d had enough.

“Did Alma tell you my request?” she asked, after I helped her get comfortable on her pillow.

“She did. Nothing would honor me more than being thy end-of-life midwife, dear Orpha.”

“Good. That’s settled, then.” Her eyes closed.

I slipped out, calling a goodbye to Alma as I went. And wiping my eyes.

Chapter Ten

My perambulation home took me by the Town Hall as the church bells tolled five times. Faith had said the Board of Trade meeting was open to the public, and David wouldn’t be home until six o’clock. I lifted my skirts and marched up the stairs. I might be able to learn something. I’d at least be able to report back to Faith on the proceedings.

I edged into the back of the hall. On a raised floor at the front sat an array of men. I spied the elder Bailey, mill owner Cyrus Hamilton, William Parry, and three other gentlemen. I thought one owned the highly successful hat factory down on the river. I peered at the man next to William and realized it was Jonathan Sherwood, the manager at the Lowell Boat Shop. I’d met him several times during previous investigations and had found him a quiet, intelligent, thoughtful man. The meeting hadn’t started yet, and the board members conversed among themselves, although Mr. Bailey was nodding off.

The audience was made up of shopkeepers and the owners of the many smaller factories who supplied parts and upholstery for the carriage industry. Some women occupied seats, although men comprised the majority. I didn’t know any of them well, but I’d delivered babies for a number of their wives. Ned Bailey sat in a row near the back. I slid into the wooden chair next to him. As I did, a mustachioed man seated behind him raised a dark eyebrow and gave me a rakish grin. His eyes were a startling green in a deeply tanned face.

I nodded at him and greeted Ned as I sat.

“Good evening, Mrs. Dodge. What brings you here?”

“Curiosity, mostly. I’m wondering how the murder of one of our visitors will affect the week’s events.”

“A tragedy, that death,” he said with a somber look, then his expression brightened. “Do you know, even though commerce seems to be flourishing for carriages, I think the future lies in self-propelled vehicles. Motorcars.”

“Is that so?” I asked. “What would propel them?”

“Why, a German put an electric motor in a carriage body only two years ago. It’s called the Flocken Elektrowagen. And another Kraut named Benz added an internal combustion engine to a carriage before that. Imagine it. We could do away with horse-drawn carriages entirely.” Ned’s eyes gleamed.

I gazed at him. He’d always seemed a silly man to me. This looking forward was a new turn for Ned Bailey.

“Even here,” I began, “the horse-drawn trolley is about to disappear in favor of the electrically powered one.”

“I know. I’m thinking Amesbury would be perfect for the new industry. We already build the best carriage bodies. Let us add a source of power and sell them to the world!”

“Will thee start the first Amesbury motorcar company?”

“You’ve read my mind, Mrs. Dodge.”

I remembered what Kevin had said earlier about the plans. “Ned, I heard a rumor about plans being stolen from thy uncle. Does thee know anything about that?”

He whipped his head toward me, his eyes narrowed. “Who did you hear that from?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned what the detective told me. “Oh, around town.”

“What kind of plans?” Ned asked.

“I don’t know.” That, at least, was the truth. Or . . . no—it