The next morning Emily paid for her sins by washing a mountain of laundry. She looked down at her red, chapped hands. With a sigh, she went back to rubbing her skirt on the ridged washing board. At least this was the last dress. Now she had only to wring the heavy, wet clothes and put them on the line to dry. She glanced toward the house and met her mother’s watchful gaze from the kitchen window.
Vinnie came out of the chicken coop, wiping her dusty hands on her apron. She watched Emily for a few moments. She dipped her hands in the rinse water and picked up one of the dresses her sister had already washed. “I’ll start wringing these,” she said.
Her hands pushing hard against the fabric, Emily said, “No, Vinnie. Mother said I have to do this myself. I’ve taken advantage of you long enough.”
From the kitchen door, their mother’s voice was an uncanny echo of Emily’s. “Vinnie, let Emily do the laundry. She’s been far too lax lately, and you’ve done more than your share.”
“Mother, I don’t mind,” Vinnie called. “And I want to go for a walk with Emily later, so the quicker she finishes, the sooner we can go.”
Mrs. Dickinson shrugged and closed the door.
After checking that their mother was out of earshot, Vinnie asked eagerly, “Emily, have you thought of anything else we should investigate?”
The aching in Emily’s shoulder seemed to ease. Vinnie’s help with both the laundry and her quest for justice was like a tonic. “The will. Mr. Wentworth has a sister, Violet Langston, from Boston.”
“That doesn’t do us much good,” Vinnie complained.
“The file showed a new address for the Langstons in Amherst.” Emily smiled slyly. “On College Street.”
Vinnie looked alert, like one of her cats spying a bird. “Ursula Langston’s mother?” Ursula had recently become a classmate of theirs at Amherst Academy.
“It must be!” Emily said. “I think it’s time for an intimate conversation with Ursula.”
“But you can’t stand her,” Vinnie pointed out as she wrung the water out of the last dress.
“That’s not true,” Emily protested.
“Didn’t you say all she thought about was fashion and society?”
“I did, but in spite of that she could be interesting. She was wonderful in botany class. You should see her herbarium.”
Their botany instructor had encouraged the girls to keep herbariums, handmade books that categorized every flower and plant they saw on their botanical walks.
“Emily,” Vinnie said excitedly. “Why don’t you look for that odd flower in your herbarium?”
Emily groaned and rubbed her temples with her wet fingers. “I did this morning. It isn’t in there.”
“Maybe Ursula can help with that,” Vinnie said. “What else will you ask her?
“Ursula must know what happened with her uncle’s will.” Emily explained. “Her mother must have inherited a lot of money.”
“But the Langstons are rich,” Vinnie said. “Or, at least, they always seemed to be.”
“Perhaps they didn’t need the legacy, but perhaps they did. I think I’ll visit the Amherst Savings Bank today. Cousin Stanley should be there and I’ll bring him some of my gingerbread.”
“But he won’t tell you about the Langstons’ finances, will he?”
Emily threw a dress over the washing line and began to clip it in place. “I’ve found that when you engage people in conversation, they often tell you more than they intend. That’s why I avoid idle conversation whenever I can—I like to keep my secrets!.
“You are entirely too secretive,” Vinnie said with a glower. “Now let’s finish this laundry so we can get started.”
With Vinnie’s help, the rest of the laundry was on the line before noon. The sisters went inside to remove their aprons and put on bonnets to shelter their faces from the sun. Mrs. Dickinson sat in her rocking chair near the window, reading the
Hampshire Gazette.
“There’s a horrible story about two children in Michigan who ate a toadstool instead of a mushroom. They died immediately.”
Emily and Vinnie exchanged glances. “Fortunately, Mother, we know the difference between the two,” Emily said.
“You needn’t worry about us,” Vinnie chimed in.
“I always worry,” Mrs. Dickinson said. She looked up and noticed their bonnets. “Where are you two going?
“Just around the shops,” Vinnie answered.
“I thought I might bring Cousin Stanley some gingerbread at the bank,” Emily said virtuously. “His wife is away, and I’m sure he would appreciate some home baking.”
“That is very thoughtful of you,” her mother said, eyeing her suspiciously. “Especially since you have been so remiss about your duties lately.”
“Mother, I will do anything to make up for my thoughtlessness.”
“If only you really meant that.”
“But I do,” Emily assured her.
A smile played on Mrs. Dickinson’s lips. “Excellent. The Sewing Circle is coming here tomorrow, and you may help me host it. ”
“That’s not fair!” Emily complained. “I’ve been irresponsible, but I don’t deserve that!”
“Mother!” Vinnie echoed. “You are disciplining Emily by forcing her to entertain. What will you do if she is really naughty? Make her to go to a dance?”
“Vinnie, please don’t suggest any more punishment,” Emily said. “The Sewing Circle is quite deadly enough.”
“What am I to do with both of you?” Mrs. Dickinson sank into a chair and blew away a lock of her dark hair that had escaped her bun. “Vinnie, stop teasing your sister— it’s not attractive. And Emily, spare me your flippancy. Someday you’ll be married with your own household and you will have to entertain, just as I do.”
“But does it have to be the Sewing Circle?” Emily cried. “All those women do is gossip.” A thought struck her. Very casually, as though the suggestion were of no importance, she asked, “But if I have to, perhaps I could also invite a friend from school?”
“Who?” Mrs. Dickinson asked, wary of Emily’s sudden capitulation.
“Ursula Langston.”
“Must it be the Langstons?” Mrs. Dickinson sighed. “We can’t invite Ursula without her mother, who has a terrible reputation. She’s been here only six months, and she’s already tried to worm her way into every group of consequence.”
“Ursula invited me to tea once.” Emily was exaggerating. What Ursula had actually said was that perhaps one day all the girls from their botany class should have tea. “It is only right that I reciprocate.”
“Very well.” Her mother sounded unenthusiastic.
“They may not come,” Emily said. “It’s very short notice for an invitation.”
“Then let us hope that they have another engagement.” With a sharp nod, Mrs. Dickinson started to leave the room. At the door, she turned back and said, “I’m glad to see that you are taking your duties more seriously.”
After their mother was gone, Vinnie turned to Emily. “Well done! She didn’t suspect a thing.”
d
a
e
Emily led the way up the hill toward the Common. “I’ll go to the bank,” she said.
“And I’ll find out where Mr. Nobody’s clothes came from,” Vinnie said. Even though there was no one nearby, she lowered her voice. “Emily, mightn’t it be useful to see them for myself?”
“Absolutely not,” Emily answered sharply. “I don’t want you going anywhere near the church. You shouldn’t see. . . . It’s rather . . . upsetting.”
“It’s not as if we both haven’t seen lots of bodies,” Vinnie pouted. “We’ve sat with more corpses than I can count.”
“This one is different,” Emily said.
Vinnie looked searchingly in Emily’s face. “I mustn’t forget that he was your friend.”
Emily shook herself, as if to repel Vinnie’s pity. “You’ll have to rely on the description I gave you. And be careful. We don’t know how Mr. Nobody died yet.”
“I’ll be ever so subtle,” Vinnie promised.
“Bless you.” Emily embraced her.
Vinnie’s navy dress was trimmed with red and looked very well on her. She started toward Cutler’s with a confidence that Emily envied.
Trying to imitate her, Emily walked to the Amherst Savings Bank and pushed open the tall oak door. The first person she saw was Cousin Stanley behind the long counter.
Spying her, he beamed. “Emily!”
“Hello, cousin.”
“How is your mother?”
“Fairly well, although the heat brings on her neuralgia.”
“The heat—or her daughters’ mischief-making?”
Emily shrugged.
“What can I do for you today? Do you need a loan?” He laughed at his own joke.
“I’ve brought some gingerbread for you.”
He beamed. “Thank you, my dear; that’s very thoughtful. And your gingerbread is wonderful.”
“I’ve used a new recipe,” Emily fibbed. “My friend, Ursula Langston, gave it to me. Perhaps you know her family?”
“The Langstons? Of course I do.”
“Isn’t it lovely how they came into a legacy recently?”
“The money came just in time, too.” He nodded sagely. “That Charles Langston is a sly one—sharp at a bargain and even sharper at cutting corners. But all of his tricks wouldn’t have saved him from bankruptcy.”
“They weren’t always wealthy?” Emily asked casually.
He shook his head vigorously. “They’re very good at keeping up appearances.”
Emily was thoughtful. “That’s very important to some people.”
“My dear, you have no idea. There are families in this town who would kill to keep their good reputation.”
His words echoed in the empty bank; not that Emily needed to hear them more than once. She quickly said good-bye and went outside. She couldn’t wait to tell her sister what she had discovered.
“Emily!” Vinnie came rushing up, her pretty face flushed with excitement. “I found him!”
Several ladies, staid and respectable with their shopping baskets, looked askance at the girls, and Emily was certain they would inform Mother that Vinnie had made a spectacle of herself in public.
“Lower your voice, or all of Amherst will know you have a new beau,” Emily said loudly. Better to start a false rumor than have their mother find out the truth.
Vinnie crinkled her nose, as she often did when she was confused. “A beau? What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Who did you find?”
“The owner of your Mr. Nobody’s clothes. He’s a freed slave named Horace Goodman.”
“How did you find him?
“Mr. Cutler’s delivery boy recognized the description. But that’s not the most interesting thing. He’s a handyman. And who do you think he works for?”
“Not . . . ”
“The Langstons!” Vinnie supplied. “Isn’t it odd how everything we discover seems to come back to them?
“Good work,” Emily said, although she found her sister’s triumphant air irritating. This was her mystery. Vinnie was involved only because she had blackmailed Emily. “We must talk to him, but preferably not at the Langstons’.”
Vinnie preened. “He also works at the Amherst House on Wednesdays, and he takes his dinner in the tavern. He’s there now.”
“Let’s go,” Emily said, starting for the hotel.
“But we aren’t permitted to go there by ourselves!”
Emily didn’t hesitate. “Some things are more important than propriety.”
The Amherst House was the best hotel in town, and its tavern was a popular destination with students and workingmen alike. There was a ladies’ dining room where the Dickinsons dined occasionally, but Emily and Vinnie had never been in the noisy bar. In fact, their father was a prominent member of the Temperance Union, whose goal was to close every bar in town.
Emily pushed open the swinging door, while Vinnie hung back. As the patrons noticed them, silence spread like redcurrant juice on a white tablecloth. The barman glared at them and demanded what they wanted.
Vinnie was speechless, mortified at finding herself the object of so many masculine stares. Emily spoke up and asked for Horace Goodman.
The barman gave them a curious look. “He’s in the back.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, grabbing Vinnie’s hand to drag her along.
Horace Goodman was seated at a small table in the corner. His skin was dark, and his hair was a wiry gray. He was big—so big that his long arms seemed to need another table to accommodate their length. He was eating a meat pie and mumbling to himself.
“Mr. Goodman?” Emily asked. “May I speak with you?”
He pushed himself away from the table, his eyes darting around like a hunted animal’s. Emily noticed that they were rimmed red. When he saw it was only two young girls, he seemed to relax.
“What do you want?” he asked in a tired voice.
“Why did you gave your shirt, pants, and boots to a man who turned up dead in my pond?” Emily asked.
Vinnie shot Emily a startled glance, but Emily thought bluntness might startle some truth out of Horace.
“I didn’t hurt anybody,” Horace cried.
“I didn’t say you did,” Emily said. “But as I already know a portion of the story, don’t you think you should explain the whole?”
Horace was breathing quickly, and his giant fists clenched and unclenched on the table. “I didn’t hurt anybody.”
“I know you didn’t,” Emily said sternly. “But you must tell me what happened.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” he muttered. “I just do as I’m bid.”
“Did someone ask you for your clothes? Or to move a body, perhaps?” Emily asked shrewdly. Vinnie gasped.
Horace stared at her like a mouse might greet a hawk. Suddenly he panicked and stood up. He was short, especially compared to his long arms. Emily saw how easy it must have been for Vinnie to link the oddly proportioned clothing to its owner.
“Stay away from me.” He brushed past them roughly, almost knocking Vinnie down. Emily steadied her sister and watched him push through the patrons and run out the door.
The barman glared at them again. Emily and Vinnie took his meaning and quietly followed Horace outside. He was nowhere to be seen, but the townspeople in the Common were chattering about his abrupt departure.
On their way home, Emily mused, “That certainly looked like a guilty conscience.”
“Indeed,” Vinnie agreed. “But for what? Do you think he killed Mr. Nobody?”
“And then dressed the body in his own clothes? Why lay a trail that returns to him?”
“But he knows something.”
Emily nodded. “And it frightens him terribly.”