The Evening Spider (12 page)

           
November 1, 1879

               
Harry has kept his promise to visit more frequently. We had tea cake while he chatted with Matthew and me this afternoon. He was sour on the subject of the Great Trial, and he failed to bring me any newspapers. You see, yesterday was to be the testimony about the stomach experiment on which Harry assisted. And yesterday, the whole business was withdrawn! The difficulty arose when Mr. Watrous insisted upon knowing from whom the sample stomachs came. Dr. Johnson was unwilling to announce those names in open court, as donations of that sort are usually done with the solemn promise of discretion.

               
Matthew, for once, allowed Harry to speak freely in front of me about these matters—perhaps because he sensed Harry's disappointment. I tried to cheer Harry, saying that the results of the experiment were still useful generally, for the knowledge of poisons and how they affect the organs in different situations. He grumbled in response to this. Matthew gave him a sympathetic slap on the back and told him that Watrous was “impossibly tricky” and that it wasn't a scientist's job to find his way around people like him. It was upon the State's lawyers to do that—and
how unfortunate that they weren't able to find a way. He repeated the sentiment even after Harry took his leave.

               
I feel sympathy for Harry, but I think it seems he is moping more for himself than for poor Mary Stannard.

           
November 8, 1879

               
Today was a long baking day. Squash pie and the usual cider loaves. I walked to Louise to give her a loaf, although she likely didn't need it, given her own baking endeavors of late. There were such strong gusts, it feels winter is already upon us. I am glad I insisted on the walk as it felt a rare opportunity now that the weather has turned so soon. I hope for a gentler winter this year.

           
November 15, 1879

               
Harry has come again. There was time only for niceties between the three of us, and then he was off to visit Louise. They are indeed courting, it seems.

               
This time Harry did remember to bring me two newspapers. I was especially interested in the description of the testimony of a Dr. Treadwell, who informed the court of the science of blood corpuscles—in particular, how human ones are distinguished from those of animals. It is important to this case as blood was found on Herbert Hayden's knife. I suppose the motivation behind this testimony is to rule out any arguments of the knife being used for animal slaughter?

               
A human blood corpuscle falls within the range of
1/2,700 and 1/3,800 of an inch. (A dog or a pig's blood can sometimes fall into that range, too, but most other animals do not.) The blood corpuscles on Rev. Hayden's knife were all in that range.

               
The defense made sure it was known by the jury that Rev. Hayden's young son had a habit of taking his father's knife and playing with it. And of course, such a young boy was likely to cut himself accidentally.

               
I remember similar blood corpuscle testimony being used in the McFarlene trial. There it was perhaps more relevant, as John McFarlene actually said that the blood splattered across his woodpile—and on the shirt hidden in a crevice of that woodpile—were from a chicken his wife had slaughtered. The blood corpuscle testimony showed he was lying. In this case, it seems the defense has several routes around the testimony, no matter how certain they might be that the blood is human. I suppose every small bit of evidence helps the prosecutorial endeavor, even if the defense attempts to explain most of it away. The overall effect perhaps still convinces the jury.

           
November 16, 1879

               
I awoke last night with a fright.

               
I believe I'd been dreaming of Martha's fall. I dreamt it was not a fall at all, but something more deliberate. I had a strong desire to go to her, to wake her, to examine her, to assure myself that her scar had healed efficiently.

               
She awoke with a smile on her face early this morning, a full hour before Matthew rose. I adore these early private
moments between us. It feels like we have so many wordless secrets, Martha and I.

               
It is unfortunate that by nighttime, when I am tired and eager for her to fall asleep, it feels those delicious secrets have faded into burdens.

           
November 17, 1879

               
I awoke abruptly again—terrified again. This time it was not in the dead of night, but as the sun was rising. Matthew's leg was buried deep beneath the blankets. I removed them, one at a time, till I could see what was left of the old wound. It was still quite purple in tone. Not a single, neat slice, but a wide mass of scar, with several prongs outward.

               
It was such an angry scar. Surely I'd done it deliberately. I'd thrown that heavy goblet at him. Something had possessed me. Something Matthew did not wish to acknowledge—not in the light of day, or in my presence. And yet he'd acknowledged it silently when he'd had me take my long rest in the early summer.

               
Now that I consider it again, I realize the scar's shape. It is a spider. God forgive me, it is a spider. They are all connected—the wounds I have created.

               
Now Martha is up and crying.

           
November 27, 1879

               
Thanksgiving Day. Matthew and Martha are asleep. I am tired but too troubled for sleep.

               
The feast was at Clara's, but I did my best to help. I baked two pies and cornbread, arrived early this morning to assist with the turkey and the oyster stuffing. I believe Clara was grateful for the company, at the very least.

               
I did not have an opportunity to speak with Harry privately until nearly dusk, after I'd helped Mother and Clara and her girl with most of the cleaning. On my insistence, we took a walk down to Kingsley's Orchard and back.

               
Harry was morose when I asked him for news of the trial. He has been bitter about the whole business since they decided to throw away the stomach experiment.

               
He said he had not been attending much of late since his Yale colleagues were finished with their testimony. He told me he heard a terrible story from yesterday's trial, that he heard from a friend. Dr. Treadwell—the very man who testified about the blood corpuscles—was on the stand again to talk about Mary Stannard's face. His claim was that some marks on her face were potentially made by a boot heel. He'd presented diagrams of the location of the markings on the face and those of the nails of Rev. Hayden's boot heel and showed how they matched.

               
The face had been removed from Mary's skull and preserved in a jar of alcohol. He'd had to re-drape it over her skull in a lab to make these observations. The defense eventually insisted that if these claims were to be made, the face itself would need to be shown in court! The face and skull were sent for, and after much quibbling between the lawyers, the prosecution decided to throw out this argument
rather than present these materials in court. Harry is not certain if the lawyers were hesitant to make such a grisly spectacle of the dead girl, or simply weren't sure if the whole show would, in the end, be scientifically sound. Likely they would've risked the former if they were confident of the latter.

               
“That should demonstrate to you what a circus that trial has become,” Harry grumbled.

               
When I asked if he was becoming rather like Matthew in his treatment of me, he said no. He reminded me that Matthew would never have told me about something so grotesque. And perhaps for that Matthew was a better man than himself

               
“It is not about your femininity,” Harry said. “It is about humanity. That trial is becoming an insult to humanity.”

               
He did not wish to say anything more about it.

           
December 5, 1879

               
I must put more effort into planning the Christmas festivities. As I look backward in these pages, I see that I had grand plans last year. This year they ought to be even more so, as I can anticipate the sparkle in Martha's eye at the sight of her first decorated tree, or her first taste of fancy plum pudding. I have notions, too, of going to New Haven for a rocking horse. Martha is too small for one now, but will not be for very long!

               
Matthew will likely agree that another visit to Mother is appropriate.

           
December 10, 1879

               
I went to the courthouse today and saw Mrs. Hayden on the stand.

               
Am I a strong wife and mother? Is she?

               
Am I asking the most pertinent question?

           
December 13, 1879

               
We have a tree cut down from Wiggins Hill. I've spent most of the day stringing popcorn and berries. It seems a somewhat silly endeavor, but I suppose it is a restful activity compared to some. Perhaps repetition is good for the soundness of the mind. Corn corn corn berry berry corn corn corn. As long as one doesn't allow too many stray thoughts to interrupt the pattern. And yet—the thoughts keep flooding in, despite my efforts to dam them. After hours of stringing, Tessa asked me if I was feeling well. She has noticed, perhaps, all of the housework that is being sacrificed for this decorative endeavor.

           
December 17, 1879

               
Reviewing the articles from Harry. Perplexing that Hayden might have given that girl so much arsenic at once. Surely he knew he didn't need nearly so much to kill her?

               
How much would be enough for someone significantly smaller than Mary Stannard? A mere dusting? Perhaps an amount so small the doctors and scientists would not be able to find it?