A Death in Utopia (22 page)

Then there was a voice. "Hello? Hello anyone?" It was a woman's voice. Fanny stood still and peered around. The light was closer this time and she saw a dark figure holding it, a bulky figure bundled in a long skirt or cloak and very big on top. Finally she was only a few feet away and she could see it was a woman carrying a baby. What was she doing out here in the storm?

There was no time to ask questions. When the woman got quite close they peered at each other's faces. Fanny gasped as she realized it was the black face of the African runaway, Lily. "What are you doing here? Where is your husband?"

"He got caught. He must have. He went out and when he didn't come back and didn't come back, I knew I'd have to take the baby to Canada myself. You're Miz Gray that's a friend of Miz Whitelaw?"

"Yes, and I'm your friend too. We'd better walk together. I'll take you to Dedham and you can stay with Reverend Carter until the snow lets up. You can't walk far in this snow."

They moved on. It was a little better with two lanterns. Fanny could see more of the road, but the ditch was so filled with snow it looked just like road. One time she stepped in snow up to the top of her boot just where she thought the road would be. Snow was stinging her face and she worried about the baby. Lily had him wrapped in some sort of shawl, but it wasn't warm enough. Fanny pulled off
her red scarf and wrapped it around him. Then the snow came creeping in around her collar and her neck and shoulders were cold. But she was strong and could survive a lot of snow and troubles too. A big, strong, strapping girl they used to call her.

Lily's head was bowed. She sobbed as she walked and muttered prayers under her breath. Fanny started singing a hymn and Lily joined in with a quiet, sweet voice:

Oh God our strength in ages past

Our rock upon the sea

Protect thy children now we ask

And let us come to thee.

The snow was getting deeper and it tangled their ankles and in some spots was above the tops of their boots making the skin raw under their stockings. Fanny's skirt was soaking wet and it got heavier and heavier and icy cold against her legs. How much further did they have to walk?

"Look," Lily cried. "There's a clear space with no trees. We can walk across there." She veered to the right and struck off past a few pine trees toward a large patch of clear snow. Why was it so clear? Why no bushes or undergrowth? Suddenly Fanny knew.

"No, Lily, that's the pond. Don't go there. The ice may not be strong enough." But the wind was blowing toward her and it blew the words away from Lily. She kept going, clutching the baby in her arms.

Fanny started after her, struggling to catch up. Lily was so small and light she was faster on the snowy ground. Fanny couldn't quite catch up.

"Stop, stop!" Fanny shouted, leaning so far toward her that she stumbled and fell into the snow. Up again she pressed on. Lily
was past the last tree now and on the snowy pond. Fanny strained to hear any noise. And then it came—a groan as the ice started to give way. And then a sharp crack as it broke. Fanny was out on the pond now, racing toward Lily.

"Give me the baby! I have to save the baby! He mustn't die. He mustn't."

There was another loud crack and the pond suddenly opened up in front of her. Lily and the baby were sliding, sliding. Fanny reached toward them stretching her arms. Another sharp crack and then a widening path of dark black water...

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Charlotte Learns the Truth

November 20, 1842

After Fanny left the parlor, Daniel and Charlotte stared at each other. Minutes passed.

"What do we do now?" asked Daniel.

"Fanny must have been there," Charlotte answered. "She looked so guilty. She knows we've found out. How did it happen? We must tell Mr. Ripley about it. That's the first thing."

Charlotte usually found George Ripley an easy man to talk to. His face shone with kindness. But this was different. Charlotte dreaded telling him about Fanny. What if he didn't believe her? How could she accuse his wife's best friend of killing someone?

Her stomach hurt and she wanted to rush back to her room, throw herself on the bed and pull the blanket over her head. This was like the moment when her ship pulled out of the harbor at Southampton and she left her whole life behind. But it had to be done. She looked out the window, the sun had disappeared and the snow was getting heavier.

"You had better go back to Boston" she told Daniel. "It may take a while to find Mr. Ripley and speak to him privately. This is something I have to do myself."

"Yes, he won't want an outsider like me to be in on the conversation." Daniel stopped talking and looked at her with a frown, "I'd rather stay, but I'd better go back to my boarding house now. I'll come out tomorrow to see how that talk went."

Daniel left and Charlotte cast a worried look at the sky hoping the snow wouldn't be worse tomorrow. What if a real storm blew up and they were snowbound, cooped up in the house with a secret so big it was weighing on her every minute? It would be like being trapped inside a barn with a wild horse, or a rampaging bull. Not that Fanny was anything like a raging bull, but she must have gone mad to have done something like this and there was no telling what a mad woman might do.

When Charlotte knocked at the door of George Ripley's study and was told to come in, she found him at his desk bent over a large ledger. He looked up and pushed his glasses up on his forehead before he spoke.

"What is it, Charlotte?" He rubbed his forehead as if he wanted to clear his mind. "You look perturbed. Is anything wrong? Did one of the children misbehave during lessons today? Sit down and tell me about it." His smile was genial, but it didn't erase the worry in his eyes. Did he really think he would be able to wipe away her troubles with a kind word or two?

"I wish it were only the children misbehaving, but I'm afraid it is much more serious. It's hard to say this." Charlotte paused and sighed then started again. "I am afraid that the person who killed
Reverend Hopewell is one of our members. It's dreadful, but...but I to have to tell you about it."

Mr. Ripley's smile disappeared. He slammed the ledger closed and gave Charlotte his full attention while she told him what she and Daniel had discovered. He knew nothing about the days they had spent tracking down all the people who might have been responsible.

"We thought for a while that Mr. Platt's brother Roger might have been angry at Reverend Hopewell. But we discovered that Winslow Hopewell had paid off Roger Platt's debt to his father. He would have been grateful, not angry.

"Then we investigated Mr. Whitelaw, whose wife had been very fond of Reverend Hopewell. But eventually we learned that he was in New York at the time.

"The person who was always close by was Fanny Gray. She had been at the Farm. She was at the scene immediately after Reverend Hopewell was discovered. And the more people we questioned, the more often someone mentioned that a woman had been seen in the woods earlier that morning. Tonight when I asked her about whether she was there, Fanny was frightened and ran out of the room."

By this time Mr. Ripley had gotten up from his chair. He was standing very still with his back toward Charlotte looking out the window at the darkening sky and falling snow. When she had finished he turned to her.

"I don't know what to say, or to think. We must talk with Fanny. Oh, poor Sophia, how she will suffer to hear that a lifelong friend has come to this!"

They were interrupted by the sound of the supper bell, so he added, "We will speak about this more after supper. Please do not mention it to anyone else, but of course you would not do that."

Supper was a dismal meal. Charlotte could scarcely eat anything. Fred teased her, saying "Are you dreaming of good British beefsteak, Charlotte, and scorning our New England baked beans?" She knew he was joking, but it hurt her face to smile back at him. She looked around the tables for Fanny, but could not see her anywhere. She was probably lurking in the kitchen, too embarrassed to come into the dining hall. After the final grace, the Ripleys stood up and left the room. George Ripley glanced back and shook his head. Charlotte knew he was going to tell Sophia the dreadful news.

Time passed slowly. When the kitchen was cleared and there were no tasks for her to bury herself in, Charlotte went into the parlor and sat in a corner. John Dwight was playing the piano and a group of students sat on the floor listening to the soothing strains. Lamps flickered on the side tables and a fire burned cheerily in the fireplace. Everything was peaceful except Charlotte's mind. She jumped every time she heard a footstep. Finally Sophia Ripley glided in and without saying a word, tapped her on the shoulder and beckoned her. They went to George Ripley's study.

Sophia looked pale as she explained. "When I heard the news, it took me a while to understand what had happened." She clutched a handkerchief in her hand and touched it briefly to her eyes.

"I had to speak to Fanny and I knew she had not come to supper. I went to her room and knocked on the door. There was no answer to all my knocking, so I finally opened the door and went in. The room was empty and cold, but Fanny had left a note on the table for me. Here it is."

She handed Fanny's note to Charlotte who read it slowly and carefully. By the time she was finished she was unable to hold back her tears. Sophia reached toward her and patted her shoulder.

"What shall we do?" Charlotte cried. The thought of going to the sheriff was almost unbearable.

"Tomorrow morning, Charlotte, you and I will go to see the Reverend Carter in Dedham," Sophia answered. "Perhaps Fanny will be willing to talk with us and we can think about what can be done."

The next morning the sun was out and the clouds had all but disappeared. Charlotte could hear the drip of melting snow falling from the eaves as the sun warmed it. Streaks of frost on the window dimmed the sunlight, but it too was melting, turning into drops of water sliding down the pane as though even the house was weeping. Ellen must have gone downstairs early to help in the kitchen, but Charlotte hated the thought of getting out of bed and facing the day. Finally she climbed out, dressed and splashed her face with the icy water from the water pitcher.

There was enough snow on the road so Mrs. Ripley and Charlotte could take the sleigh to drive to Dedham. The trip didn't take long and they were warmly welcomed by Reverend Carter and his wife, Sarah, who were astonished to see them so early in the morning. Charlotte saw no sign of Fanny and when they asked about her, the Carters looked at one another in surprise.

Sarah Carter turned to Sophia and said, "Fanny Gray did not come here yesterday. We haven't seen her now in several weeks, although she often comes to Sunday services. We thought the bad weather must have kept her away."

"But she left a note saying she was coming here," Charlotte insisted. "Where could she have gone if she did not come here?"

"Have you asked any of your neighbors? Perhaps she decided Dedham was too far to travel in the snow." suggested John Carter.

"That might be true," said Sophia bravely. "We'll certainly inquire. I am sorry we bothered you. It is very early in the day for calls, but we have been rather worried about Fanny. If she should arrive, would you please send someone over to let us know?"

The Carters promised they would help as much as they could and sent them on their way with smiles and assurances that the Lord would certainly watch over such a godly woman as Fanny. Charlotte did not find those words reassuring. The horse was eager to get back to the barn so the trip home was even faster than the one over, but it was much gloomier.

"What could have happened? What could have happened?" Sophia repeated several times

"I have no idea," Charlotte answered, although she had a horrible vision of Fanny losing her way as the darkness came and perhaps falling in the snow and freezing. She didn't want to think about that. Perhaps Fanny had gone somewhere else. Perhaps she had found someone who would drive her to Boston. She could have gone to see her friend Tabitha Whitelaw. Tabitha would have taken care of her. Charlotte was sure of that.

They drove the sleigh into the barnyard and unhitched the horse. Several men and boys were in the barn mending harnesses under the direction of Mr. Platt. When they heard the story, everyone tried to figure out what might have happened.

"She might have walked into the Cow Island Pond," said Mr. Platt gloomily. "That road runs right by there and it's easy to miss your way in the dark."

"No, that's not possible," gasped Sophia. "I will speak to Mr. Ripley and see what he suggests." She moved quickly toward the house, while Charlotte lingered behind.

"Perhaps we should walk over to the Pond," she said quietly to Mr. Platt. We must find out what happened."

Neither of them said anything as they made their way along the soggy road. Snow was melting from the center, but it lingered in the ditches and in shaded places under the trees. Sparrows twittered in the branches of the pines and tiny nuthatches crept up and down the trunks trying to find something to eat. Loud cawing of crows made Charlotte shiver. What had they discovered on the snowy fields? Only a dead rabbit or two she hoped.

At the place where the road curved to the left toward Dedham, Mr. Platt veered to the right, although it was impossible to see the pond. In summer the blue water was visible through the trees, but everything was white today. They crunched through the snow toward the bare white expanse that was the pond. Mr. Platt walked ahead, clearing a path of sorts and Charlotte tried to follow in his footprints. Then she heard his voice raised in a harsh cry.

"God Almighty! Look at this!"

Charlotte's heart pounded and she felt dizzy as she caught up to him to see what he was looking at. There it was half-buried in the snow, a black leather satchel. Maybe it's not Fanny's she thought desperately, and pulled at it to free it from the snow. There they were—clearly visible on the leather tab—the initials F.L.G. Frances Lucinda Gray. It was Fanny's satchel.