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

that I’d never asked if Esther was willing to speak with Kevin about the argument she’d overheard. It was too late, now.

I put in a call to Annie at Mrs. Perkell’s. “Esther Ayensu is in labor. Can thee meet me at the house?” I gave her the number on Carpenter Street.

“Yes. I’ll be there shortly.”

“I doubt it’s urgent. Take time to eat something. It’s her first, and we could be there for many hours.” I rang off and lettered a notice for my morning’s clients, saying I had been summoned to a birth, and we would reschedule their appointments. After I fixed it to the outside of my office door, I scribbled a note to David about my whereabouts, donned my shoes and cloak, and set off to do what I did best. I’d have to leave solving the murder to Kevin, and rightly so. And postpone my rest, as well.

I was halfway there, feeling lightheaded from my fatigue, when I realized my hands were also light. I’d forgotten my satchel. I shook my head in disbelief. I was on my way to a birth, after all. Reversing direction, I walked back down nearly the entire length of Whittier Street. A chickadee buzzed from an oak tree under the slate-colored sky. I sniffed the air, picking up the metallic scent of impending snow.

As I passed Bertie’s cottage, which was tucked behind a larger mansard-roofed home, she emerged from the back leading her horse, Grover.

“What ho, Rose?” She smiled at me. “Out for your morning constitutional?”

“Not exactly. I was on my way to a birth on Carpenter Street, but I forgot my birthing satchel.”

“Is this Rose Carroll Dodge or some alien being inhabiting your body?” She peered into my face. “You never forget your bag of tricks. Is your condition addling your brilliant brain?”

“That’s possible. But it’s more that . . .” My voice trailed off as my throat thickened with emotion. I swallowed it down. “Oh, Bertie. Orpha died last night.”

Bertie quickly tied the horse to a hitching post and held out her arms. “Poor Rosetta.”

I let her hug me. Her embrace felt nearly as good as David’s had. I sniffed and pulled apart. “She was old. It was her time.”

“I know. But she was a wise old woman, and we need those in our lives. And you loved her. I’m sorry, my dear.” She pulled a clean folded handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and handed it to me.

“Thank thee.” I dabbed my eyes.

“Say, did I tell you I reconciled with my own not-so-wise old woman?”

“Thy mother?” I knew Bertie had been estranged from her mother for some years.

She nodded. “I decided to let past hurts stay in the past where they belong. I’m quite enjoying getting to know the old bag again.”

“Thy mother must be a pip. Look who she raised.” I swiped away the rest of my tears.

“She is.” A black gelding clopped by pulling a late-model phaeton. Grover whinnied at the horse. “Sure are a lot of carriages around this week. The Board of Trade even hauled Sophie in to translate for a couple of the visitors.”

“Because of her Portuguese?”

“Yes. She grew up speaking it with her daddy. And now she’s interpreting for a handsome green-eyed Brazilian gent and a man from Lisbon. Although the Brazilian speaks English well enough, as she discovered.”

“I think I might have seen the Brazilian around.”

“He’s quite the charmer.”

With a start, I remembered my mission, as well as the time. “Bertie, why isn’t thee at the post office?”

“I was just headed down there. My assistant opens up on Thursdays. There’s no rush.”

I thought. Bertie had her finger on the pulse of the town. “Has thee heard anything of interest about the murder?”

“You haven’t solved it yet?” She elbowed me with a grin.

“Goodness, no.”

“As a matter of fact, I might have a tidbit for you,” she said. “I heard the Parry factory might be closing down. They’re in some kind of financial straits.”

“Interesting. What kind of straits?”

“Don’t know.” Bertie cocked her head. “Maybe despair pushed Mr. Parry to kill the Canadian.”

“But why?”

“Ah, that’s for you and your detective to ferret out.”

“I was at the Parry open house yesterday,” I said. “All seemed well with the business. If they close, Faith’s Zeb would be out of a job, more’s the pity.”

“Zeb Weed. Prudence’s son.” Bertie frowned. “I read the name in the newspaper just now.”

My eyes widened. “Zeb’s or Prudence’s?”

“No, not the Quaker sot.”

I nearly reeled from the description. “Thee knows she drinks?”

“Everybody does. Once upon a time I would enjoy a spot of sherry with her. But her spot always turned into the whole bottle. She can get unpleasant under those circumstances.”

“I wonder how I only learned of her predilection this week.” It was truly curious I’d never heard even a whisper about Prudence’s overindulgence in drink.

“Because you’re a good Quaker, Rose, who refrains from imbibing, and you have other things to do with your life than gossip. At any rate, it was her son whose name I read in the Amesbury Chronicle,” Bertie went on. “The article said Zebulon Weed is a person of interest in the homicide.”

“But Faith said he hasn’t been detained by the police or charged with anything. Thee knows they must be wrong about him.”

“I don’t know the fellow, Rose. Everyone has their dark side. I hope for your family’s sake he’s innocent, though. Now, I thought you had a birth to get to.”

Chapter Twenty

Esther’s labor was going along much faster than labors progressed for many first-time mothers. Annie and I exiled Akwasi out back to his carpentry shop after he hovered in the bedroom, looking worried and helpless. Esther said she wanted to walk. Annie and I took turns walking circuits through the small home, stopping with her to concentrate on a contraction when it came. She was quiet and stoic about the pain, focusing inward on her body.

I pushed any thoughts of Zeb having a dark side into the back of my brain. I was here to