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

be so kind.” Kevin put a stubby pencil to paper and gazed at me.

“Hmm.” I tilted my head and gazed back at him. “Does thee remember the case of Akwasi Ayensu two years ago?”

“Yes.” Kevin wrinkled his nose. “I was sorely mistaken about the culprit.”

Yes, thee was. “He’s now married to Esther, a calligrapher producing signage for the Spring Opening. It was she who overheard the disagreement.”

“Think she’d talk to me?”

“I’m not sure. She’s due to give birth very soon, likely within the next week or two.”

He let out a miserable sigh.

“But I’ll ask her if she’s willing,” I said. “Or to speak on the telephone, perhaps.”

“I would greatly appreciate you doing so, Miss Rose. Also keep your ears open for talk of some kind of plans. The elder Mr. Bailey claims papers of his have gone missing.”

“What kind of plans?”

“For a new carriage design, he said. To tell the truth, I’m not sure he’s all there upstairs.” Kevin tapped the side of his head with a finger. “If you get my meaning.”

“I will listen for such talk.” But the patriarch of the legendary Bailey family going dotty? That would be a shame.

The clock on the wall ticked over to two o’clock. “Oh, Jesus and . . .” He clapped his hand over his mouth. “Forgive me, Miss Rose. It’s just that I have a meeting at Town Hall I’m about to be late for.”

I laughed. “I wish thee luck. I will help in any way I can, thee knows.”

“I do know, and I thank you.”

“I’m sorry I neglected to ask about thy family.”

“They are well, thanks be to the saints. My wife always loves your visits.” He stood and grabbed his hat.

“I’ll try to go see her soon, and the children.” I rose. “And Kevin? Good luck.”

Chapter Six

I stood with my bicycle on the walk outside the police station, undecided as to my direction. I could ride home, put my feet up, and have a quiet afternoon. I could pick up a few items at the Mercantile, pay a visit to my niece Faith in the newspaper office where she now worked as a reporter, or stop by Mary Chatigny’s office to ask her more details about Orpha’s health. Or all of it. We still had a plentiful amount of a hearty beef stew David had concocted on First Day, so I didn’t need to worry about preparing dinner.

My husband insisted he found cooking relaxing, and he’d developed quite the talent for it. On days when he wasn’t overly busy with his responsibilities as a physician, he often prepared a big pot of something that we could dine on for more than one meal. I loved that he was willing to share the domestic chores. I’d hired the sister of the kitchen girl in my former home to come in mornings to clean the kitchen and the house so neither David nor I had to take time away from our work. We also sent out the laundry every week. We both knew once the baby arrived, I would be busy nursing him—or her—and David had insisted we could well afford to hire out cleaning and laundry.

For now, I resolved to first visit Mary’s office on Elm Street. I’d noted the address in an advertisement for her services in this morning’s newspaper. I walked my bicycle down Main Street toward Market Square, passing Nayson Druggist, John F. Johnson Books and Stationery, and the Wendall Barber Shop, among other establishments. The road was too lively with carriages of all sorts pulled by horses in all hues for me to ride alongside. The rushing Powow River flowed under Main Street at one point, and then partly through more Hamilton Mill buildings, providing power as it descended to the lower millyard. I made my way past the square and the busy railroad depot, then pushed the bike up Elm toward Carriage Hill.

When I was nearly to the address, a woman approached on the walk. I took a second look as she drew closer. Yes, it was Marie Deorocki, an Amesbury lady I’d met on Cape Cod last fall.

“Good afternoon, Marie.” I slowed and smiled at her.

“Rose, hello.” She was thinner than she had been half a year earlier, and her woolen coat was buttoned right up despite today’s milder temperatures and sunshine. She turned her face away and coughed into a handkerchief. “Pardon me.”

“Is thee unwell?”

“I admit to not feeling as well as I might, yes.” A faint crackling rale came from her chest as she breathed.

“I hope thee recovers soon. It was good to see thee.”

“And likewise, you, Rose.” She bobbed her head and continued down the road.

I found the large new house on the corner of Marston Street. It featured a hip roof, ornate trim, a bow window on the front, and a glassed-in front entryway. A discreet sign reading Dr. M. Chatigny hung outside a side door. Mary herself opened it after I rang the bell for the office.

“Mrs. Dodge.” Her pale eyebrows went up. “Did you come about Mrs. Perkins?”

“No. Well, in a way. I don’t want to disturb your business, but I wondered if you have a moment to talk.”

She glanced to her side at a clock hanging on the wall. “My next patient is not due to arrive until three o’clock. Do come in.” She showed me into an office with a large desk under a tall window, a comfortable armchair, and an examining table. A small sink was attached to the wall near the table. “Please sit.” She sank onto the swivel chair at the desk and turned to face me.

“I thank thee,” I said. “Does thee bear the brunt of disagreeable treatment for being a lady doctor? I shouldn’t think there are many of both thy sex and training.”

“Good heavens, there are not. We are few and had to fight every step of the way to get as far as we have. It’s the plight of women everywhere, isn’t it?”

“Certainly, any who wish to do work normally