A Death in Utopia (20 page)

Charlotte could hear the grievance in her voice, but didn't want to say anything take her away from her memories of what happened that morning.

Finally she continued, "I looked over at the Community a couple of times, wondering what that man was doing walking into the woods. And I kinda thought I saw someone else. Might have been a woman, but why would a woman be out there at that hour? There's no chickens in that patch of woods."

A woman! That wasn't what Charlotte had expected to hear. Why would a woman have walked out there so early in the morning? Benjamin Whitelaw would never in the world have sent a woman to pick a quarrel with Reverend Hopewell. It made no sense at all.

"Do you think it might have been a man wearing a cape or something like that?" she asked.

"I've never seen a man in a long skirt, but as I say the morning was foggy and I wasn't paying all that much attention. I have my own family to take care of not to mention the chickens. I don't have time to pry into other people's business. I wasn't snooping."

"Oh, of course not. I understand that. Probably there was nothing at all to see. I didn't mean to bother you. You are a busy woman and you have a lot of work to do here."

Mrs. Platt had finished peeling her potatoes now and was putting the peels into a bucket. No doubt their pigs would feast on those. The little boy was sorry to lose his playthings and was pulling on his mother's skirt saying, "An apple. I want an apple?" It was time to go back to Brook Farm.

Back at the Farm she settled down in the parlor to read one of the books Mr. Ripley made available for everyone. She was tired of trying to solve problems that had no answers. Fanny was sitting at the desk on the other side of the room writing, probably a letter to her brother. Charlotte had scarcely started reading before Abigail
came in with Timothy. He wanted to look at some of the books too and chose one with pictures of insects and fish. He lay down on the floor and soon was poring over it while Abigail sat in front of the fire knitting winter mittens for him.

Charlotte soon began to tell Abigail about her visit with Hetty Platt. "I had hoped she might be able to remember seeing someone who had been in the area on the night that Reverend Hopewell died. She was friendly enough and tried to help, but I'm afraid she didn't see very much."

"It was very early in the morning," Abigail agreed. "It would be difficult to see people across the road and the lawn that lies between here and the Platt house."

"Mrs. Platt said she thought she saw a figure moving among the trees. That must have been Reverend Hopewell. Then she added that she might have seen another figure—a woman—but that that seems unlikely. How would a woman find her way out here at such an early hour? And why would she come? I suggested it might have been a man in a long cloak, but Mrs. Platt did not really agree."

"A man in a long cloak sounds a bit fanciful. Most likely Mrs. Platt did not see a figure at all, perhaps just a bush blowing in the wind or even an animal. Deer sometimes come down toward the trees early in the morning to forage."

"It's not easy to mistake a deer for a woman," Charlotte insisted. "Perhaps Mrs. Platt saw nothing but a bush blowing in the wind, but there must have been someone about in those woods. Someone who was willing to injure Reverend Hopewell."

A clatter across the room interrupted their talk. Fanny had stopped writing and stood up abruptly knocking her chair to the floor. Timothy ran over to help her right it, but Fanny didn't even
thank the child as she left the room. Abigail made up for the lack by giving Timothy a hug and a kiss and telling him he was a good boy.

"Fanny certainly seems upset," Charlotte commented. "Do you think we were making too much noise with our talk? Or maybe that's just Fanny being cross again."

"Don't be angry at Fanny. She's been on edge ever since this terrible thing happened," Abigail reminded her gently. "I think everyone at Brook Farm has suffered and no one knows what to do. We all have questions and no answers." Her voice hovered on the edge of tears and Timothy moved closer to lean against his mother's shoulder.

Charlotte had no answer to that and the evening ended on a gloomy note.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Daniel Asks More Questions

November 19, 1842
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Daniel worked all week for the sheriff. It wasn't until Saturday afternoon when the office closed that he finally had a chance to track down Rory O'Connor. Last month when he had looked, Rory turned up in no time working on the docks, but this time Daniel couldn't find anyone who had seen him. A light snow started falling as he tramped the streets and he was soon chilled to the bone. The light was fading over the docks and everyone had stopped working.

Finally he stopped in a small tavern close to the docks to warm up. A steaming pot of oyster stew was bubbling on the stove and he was glad to buy a bowl. The landlord's wife, who was in charge of the stew, was friendly, so Daniel plied her with questions about Rory.

"I'm looking for a friend named Rory O'Connor. Do you have any idea where I might find him?"

"Is he a Kerry man?" she asked. "That's my county and I knew an O'Connor family came here from Kerry when my husband and I did, about ten years ago. But I think they headed West and I never heard from them."

"The Rory O'Connor I knew is from Galway. Kinvara I think. He might have signed on to a fishing vessel is what I'm thinking."

A few new customers came into the tavern calling for food and drink, so the landlady moved on to serving them and Daniel sat down at a table against the back wall. It wasn't easy to be patient when he was having so little luck. He should have asked Rory where he was living so he could find him again. He wanted desperately to have some news to give Charlotte when he saw her on Sunday.

His heart was slipping down into his boots as his mother would have said, while he slurped the oyster stew, but when he looked up who did he see but the very man he was looking for, Rory O'Connor. Maybe his luck was turning!

He jumped up and grabbed Rory's arm, "I'll stand you a treat, Rory, if you'll sit down and talk to me about what you saw out at Brook Farm."

Soon they were sitting together over pints of ale and bowls of stew and Rory was telling him again about the day he walked past the Platt farm and saw the group of people standing around in the wood.

"As I walked down the road, the sun was just coming up and that patch of woods looked dim and misty in the fog. I was moving slow and easy. I didn't want to be seen or heard. When you're wandering around a strange neighborhood, sleeping where maybe you're not welcome, and picking up any food that someone's carelessly left lying about, people can think you're a tramp. These Yankee farmers mostly think we're all tramps anyway. The minute I open my mouth I can see them reach for their purses as if they're afraid I'll snatch anything I can get.

"Anyway, I came down the road kind of cautious and slow, wondering why someone would be moving in the wood at this early hour. Strangest of all, it looked like someone in a long skirt—a woman, or maybe a priest in a cassock. Then the figure disappeared and I figured it was safe to move along a bit faster, but next thing I knew I saw another woman over there, a woman in a white dress that stood out against the trees. And then I heard a scream and the woman ran and people started running toward her—another woman and several men. I hid in a bush to see what was going on. Pretty soon there was a whole bunch of them standing around and talking, looking at something on the ground. I crept up closer to see what was going on. That's when I stopped behind that big bush they call the chokecherry. Then, like I told the sheriff, they weren't paying me no mind so I thought I'd skedaddle out of there and that's what I did."

"Would you tell the sheriff that whole story if he asks you about it?"

Rory nodded. "You're sure he's not thinking of arresting me again?"

"Not a chance." Daniel took out the paper and pencil he always carried. "Give me the address of your boarding house so I can find you if I need you again."

On Sunday when Daniel started out for Brook Farm the snow was starting to fall again, but not enough to bother him as he walked. The fields looked white and clean after having been brown and dying these past weeks. It made him think of a body laid out in a clean white winding sheet after being dressed in rags and dying in a foul hole of a room. Death can look a lot cleaner and purer than life, especially for poor people who spend their lives in hovels.

While he walked Daniel wondered what to make of Rory's story. He'd been hoping Rory would have seen someone Mr. Whitelaw might have sent out to the Farm. A man to pick a fight with Winslow or to lay down the law to him. Either way he would have chosen a good strong man to deliver his message, certainly not a woman. Maybe Rory was dreaming when he thought he saw a woman. At least the first woman. The woman in white who screamed must have been Abigail, but she ran off to get other people. She wasn't trying to hide anything. Was there a second woman? Did she really exist?

Charlotte was waiting when he got to the Farm. "I was afraid you weren't coming," she said. "They say this snow might bring a blizzard."

"A little snow can't keep me away," bragged Daniel. Charlotte gave him a sharp look and smiled as they went into the parlor.

"Did you have a chance to talk to Mr. Platt?" Daniel asked. "What did he have to say?"

"It was his wife I talked to. She was out early that day and saw part of what happened at the Farm. At least she thinks she did. She said it was a foggy morning and the light was dim, but she thought she saw someone. I don't know what to make of it because she thought it might be a woman—or a man in a long cloak—whoever she saw was wearing something that looked like a skirt. That can't be right, can it?"

Daniel jumped out of his chair and walked to the window when he heard that. "But that's what Rory said too. He said he thought he saw a woman in among the trees. And it wasn't Abigail, because he saw her in her white dress coming later and then screaming and bringing all the other people out. Is it possible there was a woman? If
both Mrs. Platt and Rory saw someone, there must be something to it."

"Could a woman have killed Reverend Hopewell?" Charlotte looked unconvinced.

"A strong woman could have. It wouldn't be so difficult," Daniel pointed out. "Someone hit Hopewell with a hoe and he fell. It could have been the fall that killed him. Lots of women are strong—they work on farms and handle cattle. All sorts of things."

"That's true," Charlotte admitted. "I've known women who could outfight most men. How can we find out who the woman might be?" Charlotte frowned. "First we should ask Abigail more. It's very important that we find out everything she saw that morning." She jumped up from her chair, "I'll go get her."

She was back in a few minutes with Abigail, who sank down into a chair with a worried look. Charlotte remained standing. "Did you see anyone else nearby when you found Winslow Hopewell?" she asked.

"No, I didn't see anyone there. Of course I was so confused and shocked I scarcely noticed anything," Abigail replied slowly, twisting a corner of her skirt in her fingers.

"When you screamed and people came running to help you that morning," Daniel asked, "Who were the first people there?"

"Let's see. Two or three people came and stared at Winslow lying on the ground. And then George Ripley was there and he put his arm around my shoulder and led me over to his wife. She took me back to the house. I was crying. I could scarcely see by that time."

Charlotte gently took Abigail's hand, "Can you remember who was there before George Ripley came?"

Abigail brought her hands to her face to cover her eyes as though she was trying to visualize the scene. "Let's see, Fanny was there and Fred rushed up with Mrs. Geary following him. Then George Ripley and other people and as I said, he led me away to Sophia Ripley and she and I came back here. Oh, I don't want to think about it anymore tonight. I've gone over it so often in my mind."

Abigail slipped out of the room and Daniel and Charlotte were left staring at one another trying to take in what she had said. Finally Charlotte spoke. "Why is Fanny always there? Why was she so angry at Winslow Hopewell? Remember what she said about him not investing in the Farm even though he had promised? You don't suppose she could have done it, do you?"

Daniel didn't know what to think. The idea of a woman being responsible hadn't really occurred to him before today. It seemed impossible. Charlotte started speaking slowly, thinking as she went. "Fanny's a tall strong woman who never has trouble keeping up with the men. She carries pails of milk back and forth to the kitchen as though they're nothing. And I've seen her chopping away at dead stumps clearing the fields for planting as well as any man—chopping with a hoe." She stopped talking and sat looking at the floor.

"You know," she continued, "I think it might have been Fanny. She could have done it and she was so worried about the Farm and whether it was going to succeed. She was half out of her mind with worry sometimes. Maybe it was an accident and she just happened upon Reverend Hopewell and confronted him with what she thought was treachery. One thing could have led to another and..." Her voice trailed off and then she continued. "When she realized what happened, she would have been shocked and hardly have known what she was doing. I don't suppose she ever would have
believed that she could do anything like that. She must have been terrified."

"But what do we do now?" Daniel asked. "We have no proof and we can't accuse her of anything. How can we be sure?"

"I'll talk to her," said Charlotte slowly. "Maybe there is some explanation."

Just then the parlor door opened and Fanny came in carrying a book.

Charlotte turned to her and quietly asked, "Fanny, why were you out in the woods?" She paused and drew her breath in sharply, trying to gather the courage to ask the question. "Why were you in the woods the morning Winslow Hopewell was found dead?"

Fanny looked stricken. Her pallid cheeks reddened. "You'd never understand! You don't understand anything." She turned abruptly and fled out of the room.