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

“And yes, I have had quite my share of unpleasantness from those who feel threatened by me. I don’t care. I stand on my reputation, and my husband has always supported my efforts.”

I gazed at a poster hanging on the wall, which displayed an intricate drawing of the human respiratory system. “Does thee have a high number of tuberculosis patients?”

“Yes. I’m afraid the number is ever rising, and we have no treatment to speak of. Are you yourself feeling ill, Mrs. Dodge?”

“No, not at all. But I did want to talk about Orpha, if thee will. When I visited her yesterday, she told me she senses death approaching within her. Does she have a cancer of some kind?”

“I don’t believe so. As I think I mentioned, what she has is advanced age. All the body’s systems begin to break down with time. She has already lived more than four decades, which is remarkable. The apoplexy weakened her even though she survived it. You might know better than I what an intuitive being she is. I’m not surprised she understands she is dying.”

I only nodded. I truly wasn’t surprised, either. A bell clanged outside but slowly, not furiously as it would if it signaled fire. The doctor and I both glanced out the window to see a fire wagon followed by a procession of decorated carriages drive toward the town center.

She made a tsking sound. “I daresay Amesbury will see an uptick in tuberculosis in the coming month. So many strangers are here bringing their germs from all over the world.”

“I hadn’t thought of that aspect of the Spring Opening.”

“We now know the disease can be spread from person to person, via spittle or coughing, among other avenues. I understand the local commerce needs the sales, but medically it’s a pity.”

“And if the visitors associate closely with a resident who is sick, they might carry the illness home with them,” I said.

“Exactly. With neither a vaccine nor a cure available, it truly is a grim prospect. I’ve heard rumblings from Germany that Dr. Koch is developing a cure, but I imagine it will come to naught. Much of the populace is unfortunately opposed to the use of any vaccine. Even when one is developed, it won’t be easy to convince the common person of its necessity.”

The clock now read five before three. I stood and extended my hand. “I thank thee for thy time, Mary. I plan to stop in at Orpha’s before I return home this afternoon.”

She rose and shook my hand. “If Mrs. Perkins shows a marked change, please have her granddaughter telephone me.”

I nodded. “I’ll let myself out.” I closed the door behind me and heard a cough from farther down the side street. It was William Parry trudging up the hill that Marston ended in. I hadn’t seen the carriage factory owner since the murders two years ago, when he’d lost nearly his whole family. His factory, rebuilt after the Great Fire of 1888, sat along Oakland Street not far from here. I waited for William to arrive, then greeted him.

“Miss Carroll.” His cheeks above his chinstrap beard were flushed with the exertion. He didn’t look happy to see me.

“It’s actually Mrs. Dodge now. How fares little Billy?” I wondered why the factory owner hadn’t arrived in a Parry carriage, but I didn’t ask.

He brightened, beaming. “He’s a healthy strapping lad of nearly two, as you know.”

I did know, having delivered the boy. “I’m happy to hear it. How is the Opening going for thee and thy factory?”

“We’re having an excellent showing.” He scowled. “But the matter of that Canadian being murdered is casting a shadow on the whole affair.”

“I should think it might.” I was not surprised that William went straight to business rather than expressing sorrow at the tragedy or sympathy for the widow. I’d always found him a self-centered type of man. “Had thee done business with the Harringtons’ firm?”

“We were about to sign a deal, as a matter of fact. Now I don’t know what will happen, more’s the pity.”

A deal? I wondered what kind. “When I met them yesterday, it appeared that Luthera holds as much power in the company as her husband did.”

“Be that as it may.” He cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, I, uh, have a consultation to attend.” He glanced behind me at Mary’s office.

“Good day, then.” I stepped aside and retrieved my cycle. Did he have consumption, too? He’d looked as hale and well fed as he had two years ago. Well, it wasn’t my business. And he was certainly in good hands with Mary Chatigny.

Chapter Seven

“Good afternoon, Rose.” Store manager Catherine Toomey greeted me from behind the counter at the Mercantile. Besides being manager of the busy shop, she was a rosy-cheeked, friendly mother of three and the grandmother of a little boy I had helped into the world.

I waved and made my way to the notions area. I’d run out of black thread and needed to reattach a button on one of David’s coats. The store, which sold all manner of dry goods, also stocked hardware, paints, toiletries, tonics, and staples like flour and sugar.

From behind a row of shelving, I heard coughing. I hoped it wasn’t someone with tuberculosis. The ill should be home resting, not out making purchases in public, or worse, working at an establishment and possibly transmitting the bacteria to those shopping.

I added a new box of writing paper to my basket, since I was running low, and a supply of pencils for my bookkeeping. As I passed through a small section of children’s toys, I fingered a carved baby rattle. I scolded myself silently, setting it down. Our infant wouldn’t need a rattle until well into the fall, and I didn’t want to tempt fate by acquiring toys for him—or her—until after the birth.

Marie stood at the counter when I arrived with my basket.

“We meet again, Marie.” I smiled