A Death in Utopia (14 page)

"Is she one of the ones who talked about Winslow Homer?" Daniel asked hopefully.

She laughed, "Indeed no. Mrs. Smith is quite elderly and stern. I doubt she would ever have a frivolous thought about anyone, especially a minister. Now Mrs. Whitelaw, who wants the blue bonnet I'll be making tomorrow, she's a different kettle of fish entirely."

"What is she like?"

"She's young and flighty. Always changing her mind about what she wants. Should it be the blue or the green, and with the black fringe or the white feathers? She usually brings a friend or two with her when she comes and is always asking their opinion. She even asks my opinion. And then sometimes after she's gone home she'll send her maid around to tell me she's changed her mind again. She talks about the young minister all right. I've heard her say she wanted the white feathers on her bonnet so he'd be sure to look at her while he was preaching."

Daniel's spirits jumped when he heard that. A man whose wife picked out her bonnets to attract her minister could easily become jealous.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Charlotte Plays a Part

October 30, 1842
.

Many of the congregation smiled at Mrs. Ripley as she led the way to a pew near the front of the bare church. Soon a tall, thin man with coal black hair, blue eyes and unhealthily white skin mounted the tall pulpit. So this was Reverend Barlow. He was younger than Charlotte had expected and his voice was thin and reedy when he preached his short sermon about the dangers of celebrating the heathenish holiday of Halloween. Charlotte sighed listening to him, remembering guiltily that she was planning to help her pupils make a jack-o-lantern the next day.

Reverend Barlow paused to cough several times during his sermon, but he finally finished and it was time for the congregation to sing "Rock of Ages". An earnest man with a pitch pipe set the note and the congregation sang loudly. Charlotte heard Fanny's voice rise strong and clear just as it did when she sang with the children at the school.

When the service had ended, people moved slowly down the aisles toward the back of the church and lingered talking to one an
other. Charlotte looked closely at all of the women in the group, picking out the ones who wore bright and fashionable clothes. There were quite a few of them, but no one who stood out. Mrs. Ripley and Fanny had stopped to talk to a middle-aged friendly-looking couple and Charlotte joined them.

"Is your great enterprise out at Brook Farm thriving?" asked the man.

"It is doing as well as can be expected," Sophia Ripley answered gravely. "The members are working together to build up the farm and develop the school. It is difficult and wearying work."

"We need more members," Fanny burst in. "People like yourselves could benefit from sharing in the great dream of our Community. Have you ever thought of joining us?"

The man shifted slightly away from her as he replied thoughtfully, "My wife is not strong and we do not believe we could endure the rigors of setting up a new community."

Fanny's face grew quite red, "But how will society ever improve if those of us who have the means do not support important social efforts? Mr. Ripley and his wife are heroic in their effort to better the world. I do hope you will at least consider joining the enterprise."

Sophia Ripley tried to stem the tide of words. "Now, Fanny, not everyone can be a member of our Community. We must understand that. Important though it is, we can work slowly and gradually build. As time goes by, my husband has perfect faith that many will join. And other, similar communities will spring up all across Massachusetts, perhaps even further afield."

Her quiet voice soothed the couple. Finally the wife spoke up. "Yes, the Reverend Hopewell told us often about the great hope for
the future that Brook Farm represents. He was optimistic that more and more people would come together to form new clusters of hope as he called them, but not all of us can be active participants."

Fanny was not mollified. Her face grew even more splotchy and red as she muttered, "But the Reverend Hopewell was not prepared to work with us. He made promises that were not fulfilled."

Mrs. Ripley spoke up quickly. "His life has been cut tragically short. We cannot blame him for things left undone when he died." The couple nodded in agreement and turned away.

As the three women left the church to meet Mr. Gerritson for the trip back to the Farm, Ellen and Daniel joined them. Daniel whispered to Charlotte, "I will write to you tonight. I have learned a lot and I have a task you might be able to undertake on Wednesday."

On Monday evening teachers and students at Brook Farm gathered for a small Halloween celebration. Charlotte watched the children laugh as they went bobbing for apples in Mrs. Geary's big laundry tub. Timothy Pretlove was the boldest of boys and chased the largest apple around with determination until he finally caught it in his teeth; but, by this time, his clothes were soaked and Abigail had to fetch him dry ones. Catching the apple on a string kept everyone dry but the children became almost hysterical with hilarity as they watched one another chase the errant apple in circles. Despite the noise Charlotte was glad to see them so cheerful. It had been a somber few weeks and even the youngest child felt some of the strain.

On Tuesday, Daniel's note arrived in the mail:

Dear Miss Edgerton
,

My aunt, Bridget O'Reilly told me that several members of the Third Street Church bought bonnets from her. You remember that she is a
seamstress and a skilled one too. In describing some of the women, she mentioned one whose behavior made me think she might have aroused her husband's jealousy. This woman, Mrs. Whitelaw, is expecting to receive her latest bonnet on Wednesday afternoon. I have arranged with Mrs. O'Reilly to pick up the bonnet from her so that you can make the delivery. It seems to me that a clever girl like yourself might be able to learn a great deal from Mrs. Whitelaw in the course of delivering the bonnet. Are you willing to try?

I will come to meet you at Brook Farm at dinnertime on Wednesday and bring the bonnet. If you agree, we can walk to Mrs. Whitelaw's house together and you can make the delivery
.

Your respectful friend
,

Daniel Gallagher

Charlotte wasn't sure what she thought about the scheme. How could she ask questions about Reverent Hopewell without arousing the woman's suspicions? But maybe this would be the key to the whole thing. She was nervous, but willing to try.

Finally Wednesday came and Daniel arrived before dinner was over. Charlotte saw him walking to the kitchen door carrying a leather hatbox. The day was bright and Charlotte looked forward to a brisk trip. As they walked she had a chance to ask questions. "What have you been up to since I saw you? You don't spend all your time wondering about Reverend Hopewell's death, do you?"

"Oh no, I have to earn enough to pay my room and board to Mrs. Costello. This week I've been sitting in the Court House and writing up cases of thievery and cheating for the
Transcript
. I could make a better living doing that if Boston weren't so law-abiding. It's dull listening to people squabbling over whether the right weight of po
tatoes was delivered to a grocer or whether the surveyor cheated on the boundary of the lot for a mansion."

"Still, it's not a bad way to make a living at least compared to working hard on a farm like my father had to do. It wore him down a lot more than sitting in a courtroom like a gentleman."

"I won't argue with you. That's one reason I want to be a newspaperman. When the court is not in session I have to go down to the docks and find work unloading ships in the harbor. I'd a lot sooner wear a suit when I work."

They walked along companionably and soon were at the outskirts of Boston. Daniel knew the way to Mrs. Whitelaw's house, which was set on one of the most elegant streets in the city. They walked to the back door and found themselves facing a white-haired woman in a black dress.

"I've come to deliver Mrs. Whitelaw's bonnet," Charlotte said. "Mrs. O'Reilly said she wanted to have it today."

"Yes indeed, it's time you got here." said the woman, who must have been the housekeeper. "Molly will show you upstairs to Mrs. Whitelaw's sitting room. You can stay in the kitchen, young man," she added sternly to Daniel.

Molly led Charlotte into a broad hallway that faced the front door of the mansion. The deep-piled maroon carpeting felt soft as a cloud and Charlotte admired herself in the gold-rimmed mirror they passed. Molly knocked on one of the doors and then opened it letting a flood of light into the hall.

The room had blue and white paper on the walls and the furniture was white with blue upholstery. On a small sofa across from the door, a woman in a blue dress was reading a book. She looked up
and saw Charlotte carrying the hatbox and said to the maid, "Thank you, Bridget. You may go back to the kitchen now."

Charlotte winced when she heard her call poor Molly "Bridget" but most people called all their Irish servants either Bridget or Paddy as if it was too much trouble to learn their names. Still, Mrs. Whitelaw had a pleasant face and she smiled as Charlotte opened the box and brought out the blue velvet bonnet.

"Let me try it on," she cried happily, taking it and setting it on her blonde hair. Twisting and turning in front of the white-framed mirror she admired her image. "What do you think?" she asked Charlotte. "Should the bow be larger?"

Charlotte was at a loss. She had no idea how a fashionable bonnet should look. Mrs. Whitelaw impulsively placed the hat on Charlotte's head and tied the bows. "Now let me see how it looks on someone else. Oh, tilt your head a little flirtatiously. You stand like a block of wood. I wish my sister were here to help me."

Charlotte smiled and twisted her head around, trying to feel like a lady. She glanced in the mirror. The bonnet made her look quite fetching, but she quickly shook her head at those idle thoughts and turned to her task.

"This is a beautiful bonnet, Mrs. Whitelaw. I'm sure Mr. Whitelaw will admire you in it."

"Oh, husbands never notice what their wives wear! Mr. Whitelaw has his nose buried in his account books all day long—most evenings too. He'll never even know I have a new bonnet."

"I am sure that many people will admire your bonnet, Mrs. Whitelaw."

"My friends will admire it no doubt, and be jealous that it looks so well on me. I will certainly wear it to church next Sunday..." she
broke off and sighed deeply. "But even at church there is no one to truly see me anymore. Since dear Reverend Hopewell is gone there is no one. Poor Reverend Barlow is a callow youth scarcely out of the schoolroom. I cannot bear it that Reverend Hopewell is dead."

Mrs. Whitelaw pulled a handkerchief out and began sobbing into it. Charlotte stood dumbly waiting for her to recover herself. Instead the woman threw herself down on the sofa again and sobbed more loudly, waving her hand toward the door. "Leave! Leave! You can tell Mrs. O'Reilly I will send her money in a day or two. And tell Bridget to bring me a cup of tea. I am not at all well."

After that firm dismissal, Charlotte turned and went downstairs to the kitchen. She told the cook that Mrs. Whitelaw wanted tea and then she and Daniel left. Out on the street again the darkness was coming quickly. Charlotte didn't fancy the long walk back to Brook Farm, but there was no choice. Daniel, however, was playing the gentleman. He informed her that he had arranged to borrow his landlady's wagon so he could drive her safely home.

"I'll not have you wandering along the road at night," he insisted. "Not after what happened to Reverend Hopewell. And after all, you can't trust those Irish ruffians on the roads these days." Charlotte laughed and told him he was quite enough of a ruffian.

As they rode back to the Farm she told him about Mrs. Whitelaw and her grief at the loss of Winslow Hopewell.

"Those tears are enough to tell us that her husband might be jealous," said Daniel. "We must find him and ask a few questions. As the owner of such a mansion he must be well known in the city. I asked the cook a few questions and found out he owns several whaling vessels. I'll go down to the docks tomorrow and find where he spends his time. We may be solving this mystery at last."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Daniel Searches the Docks

November 3, 1842
.

Daniel woke to a gray and threatening morning, but he felt rested and happy. His talk with Charlotte the day before made him think they were finally moving ahead on finding answers. Charlotte understood how important solving the crime would be to his future. She was becoming as close a friend as the ones he had back in Galway; for the first time since coming to Boston he had an American friend. It wasn't someone who shared his heritage but someone who shared his hopes and ambitions.

As he pulled on his work clothes, Daniel decided he'd nose around the docks seeing what he could find out about Mr. Whitelaw. If he owned whaling ships, he would surely have an office somewhere in the dock area. Daniel could locate the office and maybe talk to a couple of the officers on his ships. He could pretend to be looking for a berth, not too convincingly though or he might find himself shanghaied and off on some long voyage.

As he got near the docks the smell of fish hung over everything. The street alongside the water was dirty with muddy footprints and half-gnawed dead fish that had been worked over by the dogs. A
torn, discarded newspaper blew listlessly across the brick pavement. Daniel could recognize the whaling ships by their equipment—the brick furnace on deck and the whaleboats hanging over the sides. He stopped alongside of one called
Lark
to talk to a wizened old sailor sitting on a barrel mending a rope.

"Have you been out on the
Lark?"
Daniel asked. "Is she a good ship? I need to earn a packet of money so as to pay off some debts."

"She's made a lot of money on this last trip," the seaman spit into the water. "Whales were running off Patagonia and the price of oil is high right now."