A Death in Utopia Read online

  "Was if he is? Roger's a good honest man too. Trying to make a living like the rest of us Americans. If it weren't for all the foreigners coming in, we'd be able to do it. And the bankers too! They push a man around when times are bad. There's no justice to it. A man has to feed his family."

  "Have you seen your brother lately?"

  "None of your business! Now get off my property with all your questions. This farm is mine and there's no one welcome here unless I want them. Tell your newspaper and all the busybodies in the city to tend to their own affairs. We're taking care of our own."

  There was no sign of the second man, and Daniel didn't waste time looking for him, but just headed over toward Brook Farm. He was hoping to see Charlotte and tell her all this news. It seemed like they were getting someplace at last. It seemed likely that Roger Platt was hiding out on his brother's farm. He could have run into Winslow Hopewell and gotten into an argument about the debt he owed to his father. Abner Platt made those accusations about Rory to save his brother. Well that hadn't worked. Daniel was feeling pleased with himself as he walked across the road and up the path to the Hive.

  Everyone was in the dining room having dinner when he arrived so he stood outside on the porch until he head the them singing. That was a sign the meal was over and time for him to walk around to the kitchen door to find Charlotte. The red-haired student named Fred let him in.

  "You're the reporter," he said accusingly. "Are you going to write another story about us? Why don't you write about the great things we are doing here instead of about a tragedy that has nothing to do with us?"

  "The sooner people know for certain that no one on the Farm has anything to do with the Reverend Hopewell's death, the better off you'll be. I'm doing my best to find the truth."

  Charlotte was still sitting at the table talking to Abigail and another woman. Daniel hovered around the door waiting to talk to her and keeping an eye out for Mr. Ripley, so he could tell him about Abner Platt's brother. Charlotte's hands were fluttering as she talked to Abigail, who sat as still and serene as the Madonna she resembled. The two of them reminded Daniel of a lively wren flitting around a rock dove perched on a cliff. Pretty soon Timothy ran over to his mother and both the women stood up. Abigail went out into the hallway with the boy, and Charlotte walked toward Daniel.

  "You look quite satisfied with yourself," she said. "Have you discovered anything new?"

  "New and important both. Can we sit in the music room for a few minutes and talk about it or do you have to teach this afternoon?"

  "Today is Wednesday, our half holiday. I promised Fanny I'd help her with pickling this afternoon, but we can talk for a little while."

  Daniel told her about finding the broadside at the sheriff's office and about his visit to Abner Platt's farm. "Why did the second man run away from me and hide in the barn?" he asked. "That must have been Roger Platt. And if he escaped from the jail three weeks ago, he would have been here when Winslow Hopewell was killed.

  "He could have been out early in the morning doing some chores to help his brother and then he sees Reverend Hopewell. He probably recognizes him. After all, he's been borrowing money from Hopewell's father so he's probably familiar with the family."

  "But why would he kill Reverend Hopewell even if he did recognize him? It wasn't his fault that Roger couldn't pay his father back. What makes you think the man is a killer?"

  "But don't you see how it could happen? Abner Platt is angry at bankers, and I think he'd include anyone who was a moneylender. He was certainly upset about that brother of his who lost his farm in Pennsylvania and now here's another brother who's sent to jail because he can't pay his debts. These are bad times—rock bottom times—farmers like the Platts are angry at anyone who has money. Mr. Cabot says we're likely to have another revolution if times don't get better soon."

  "You might be right," Charlotte still hesitated, "but there's no proof of anything."

  "That's why we have to get proof. I'm bound and determined to do that. Are you willing to help?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Daniel Tries Spying

  October 19, 1842

  Daniel and Charlotte walked slowly down the path toward the road thinking their own thoughts. Neither of them knew exactly what had happened, but there were lots of possibilities. It would be natural for a man who broke out of jail to go to his brother's house to hide. And he could have seen Winslow Hopewell and recognized him. But what kind of man would become so angry that he would strike out at an innocent man because of something his father had done? He would have to be a violent and dangerous man.

  Charlotte shivered when she thought about it. The sky was gray and filled with threatening clouds making the whole world look threatening. Neither she nor Daniel said anything until they reached the Platt's kitchen yard.

  Oliver Platt, the ten-year-old son was in the yard half-heartedly pulling up weeds from the cabbage patch. He watched the two of them approach out of the corner of his eyes. Daniel turned to walk along the road past the Platt's cornfield.

  "We can't ask Abner Platt to let us search his house or his barn," he muttered. "Not when he just ordered me off his property. All we can do now is try to find a place where I could watch the house and see who goes in and out. If Roger Platt is staying there, he'll surely come out to help with chores."

  "Do you think you could crouch down behind a chokecherry bush?" Charlotte teased him, hoping to lighten the mood. "There aren't even any leaves left on those at this time of year."

  "I'm not daft enough to try to spy on them when it's broad daylight. Roger Platt is likely to stay indoors until after dark. I just want to find a place where I could see the house and the path to the barn."

  It wasn't easy to find a likely spot. The Platt farm lay in a little depression between the road and the cornfield that rose up on a small hillside the other side of the house. Anyone walking, or even sitting, along the road or beside the cornfield would stand out against the sky, visible to anyone coming out of the house. Aside from a few maple trees alongside the farmhouse, there was no patch of trees closer than the pines behind Brook Farm. Oliver was not even pretending do any weeding now. He was staring straight at the two of them. No doubt he'd tell his father about their behavior—strangers walking slowly along the road looking at the fields.

  Finally they found a sheltered spot behind a large rock on the hillside near the cornfield. Daniel said he was going to get some work clothes and a quilt so he'd be able to stay all night and watch the farmyard.

  "It would be a waste of time for you to go back to the city to get yourself some clothes," Charlotte pointed out. "I'm sure I can find some at the Farm. Fred would probably lend you his. You're not too different in size."

  Fred was willing to lend a pair of trousers and a blue, Brook Farm tunic. He would have liked to join in the spying himself, but the Ripleys were very strict about having the students stay in their rooms at night. Charlotte had to smile when she saw Daniel dressed in Fred's clothes. She'd never seen him before except in a suit and cravat so the blue tunic and farmer's trousers made him look much younger. He couldn't be much older than she was, she realized.

  By this time it was getting dark. Charlotte gave Daniel a couple of apples to take with him and an old quilt to wrap around himself as he set off for his hiding place. She was impatient having to stay at the Farm and not tell anyone what was going on, so she settled down to read the book of Mr. Emerson's essays that Mrs. Ripley had recommended. But she couldn't keep her mind on the words. Was Roger Platt really hiding in his brother's farm? What would Daniel do if he saw him? Maybe the man would strike him too. Maybe the man was a cold-hearted murderer. They knew nothing about him. She remembered seeing a mob of farmers protesting back in England. They smashed a thrashing machine their landlord had brought in to replace them. And they attacked the foreman at the farm too and beat him badly. She recalled how he held his hand up to his bleeding face and pleaded, "Let me be! Let me be!"

  Wit
h those pictures in her mind, she didn't sleep much that night and was up long before dawn. The wind had an edge to it and there was a bit of frost on the ground as she walked carefully over to the Platt farm. Light was just creeping up the horizon and she could barely find her way. She should have had a lantern, but had been afraid to take one for fear the Platts would see her.

  Daniel was flung out on the ground with the quilt wrapped round him. He looked fast asleep, but he sat up abruptly when she got close.

  "What a sleepyhead!" Charlotte whispered to him. "How do you expect to see Roger Platt if you can't even stay awake?"

  "I wasn't asleep," he protested. "Well, maybe I dozed off for a minute. But I swear there was no one going into or out of the house or barn last night."

  It was very quiet, but dawn was creeping up the sky. The roosters would be crowing soon—and sure enough there was one now. Then the cows started lowing and they heard a dog give a sleepy bark.

  "What do we do now?" Charlotte whispered to Daniel. "Are you sure you saw someone last night? Maybe his brother is staying in the house with the family. Maybe it's a different brother and not the one who broke out of jail at all."

  Just then the back door to the house opened. They saw Abner Platt coming out wearing a plaid jacket and a shabby hat and carrying a small lantern. Soon he disappeared into the barn leaving the door open behind him. They could see him moving around the barn in the lantern light milking the cows.

  "You'd think if he was hiding his brother, there would be two of them working," whispered Charlotte. But just then the back door opened again and a second man came out and walked toward the barn. Daniel had been right. Someone was staying with the Platts.

  "I'm going to speak to him," said Daniel. He stood up and moved toward the barn.

  "You can't go looking like you spent the night sleeping in a field," Charlotte protested. "The Platts will think you're another Irish tramp like Rory. Why don't you change your clothes and come back when you can persuade them you're from the newspaper?"

  Reluctantly he agreed and they walked back to Brook Farm where people were just beginning to get up and start on the day. Daniel went off to talk to Fred and find his own clothes while Charlotte helped the breakfast team set the table for breakfast. When Daniel came to the kitchen with Fred, Mrs. Geary took one look at him and offered to give him something to eat.

  It was an hour or more before the meal was finished and dishes cleaned away. Daniel and Charlotte finally got away and walked back to see the Platts. This time Daniel looked like a real gentleman in a suit, carrying sheets of paper to write notes on. With his dark hair blowing into his forehead from the wind, he looked both handsome and strong. She was afraid he might have to be strong if Abner and Roger Platt caused any trouble.

  This time they knocked on the front door of the farmhouse. A plump, red-faced woman opened it for us. She looked surprised, but she must have recognized Charlotte because she said "You are from Brook Farm, aren't you? What is it you want with us?"

  "We'd like to speak to your husband," said Daniel. He stepped into the kitchen and Charlotte followed him. Abner Platt was sitting at a wooden table with Oliver and a younger child they hadn't seen before. Abner Platt stood up when he saw them.

  "You're that young reporter who's been nosing around the Ripley's place, aren't you?" he asked. "Didn't I tell you yesterday to stay off my property?"

  "We have reason to believe you are harboring a wanted man," Daniel pulled out the broadsheet with the information about Roger Platt. "He has been seen lurking around your farm. Are you telling me he isn't here?"

  "Don't you threaten me, young man!" the farmer shook his fist at Daniel as he spoke. "My family's been farming here for four generations and we don't have to answer to the likes of you. You can go back where you come from and leave us honest folks alone. That broadsheet ain't worth the paper it's printed on. My brother will be cleared of all charges and free by the end of the day. Now get off my property. I don't want to see your face around here again."

  It was impossible to talk to such an angry man, but Daniel wasn't about to give up the fight. They walked slowly back to Brook Farm where the early morning work in the barn was still going on. Mr. Ripley was walking back toward the house carrying two pails of milk. He looked puzzled when he saw them.

  "Excuse me, sir," Daniel said to him. "Miss Edgerton and I have discovered something that might give us more information about the Reverend Hopewell's death. Could we speak with you for a few minutes?"

  George Ripley left the milk in on the porch and led them into his small office. Books were stacked on the floor around the walls and two ladder-backed chairs faced the bare table that served as his desk. How could one man have so many books? Charlotte knew that all the bookshelves lining the hallway outside were filled with Ripley's books too.

  "I don't have much time, young man," Mr. Ripley began, peering through his wire-rimmed spectacles. "The sheriff is investigating Reverend Hopewell's death and I don't believe a reporter should meddle with his work."

  For a moment Daniel looked taken aback, so Charlotte jumped in, "The sheriff has a great deal on his mind and many calls on his time. Mr. Gallagher is trying to help find the facts quickly so our Community does not suffer from the scandal."

  By this time Daniel was his usual brash self and he continued, "Some information fell into my hands about Mr. Platt's brother, Roger Platt. Did you know that he had been in debtor's prison for the last two months? Furthermore the debt he owed was to Thomas Hopewell, father of Reverend Hopewell. Just three weeks ago Roger Platt broke out of the jail. The sheriff is looking for him now, but I believe I know where he is."

  George Ripley's eyebrows rose above his glasses and he looked skeptically at Daniel, who hurried on. "Last night I saw a strange man lurking around the Platt's place and I believe that is Roger Platt. When Charlotte and I asked about him, Abner Platt refused to tell us anything. He chased us off his farm."

  "Well, he did tell us something," Charlotte broke in. "He told us his brother would be cleared of all charges and that the broadside was a mistake."

  "Can you believe that?" demanded Daniel. "There's no way he could repay the money if he was in jail. But the important thing is he was free when Reverend Hopewell was killed—and he was hiding just across the road from where the crime was committed."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Daniel Solves a Puzzle

  October 20,1842

  After the talk with George Ripley, Charlotte had to go back to her classes. Fanny was hovering outside the office door and she scowled as she complained to Charlotte, "Do you think I can take care of all the children? I have enough work with the infants and no time to teach letters to your primary group. We are all supposed to share work here."

  "Yes, I know," returned Charlotte meekly. "I did not mean to leave you with my class so long. Thank you very much for your help." She nodded briefly to Daniel and left.

  Daniel started on the long, weary walk back to Boston pondering what he should do to convince George Ripley and the others that Roger Platt might be dangerous. The answer to questions about Roger Platt's debt and his time in jail could only come from the sheriff. As he walked Daniel sketched out in his mind the sequence of events. Roger Platt had borrowed money from Reverend Thomas Hopewell who, as everyone knew, was a rich man and a fairly generous one too. Banks weren't lending any money these days, but a man who held title to a farm could find private money.

  When Roger couldn't pay his debt, Hopewell grew impatient. He must have petitioned the court and the sheriff wasted no time sending Roger to jail. Small hope of his repaying the debt from there while his wife was probably struggling to keep the farm going. Many a man would be desperate enough to break out of jail if he could. It happened all the time. What would be more natural than for him to turn to his brother to hide until it was safe for him to go back home? But what was this talk about his being cleared? How could that happen? Then Daniel realized. The man he had to see was Thomas Ho
pewell, not the sheriff.

  First he would stop at the boarding house and get some fresh clothes. Maybe even take a nap. He certainly hadn't had much sleep the night before. No one could sleep crouched on that rocky hillside watching the Platt's farm. When he reached the boarding house, he must have looked as tired and hungry as he felt because Mrs. Costello, his landlady, offered to make tea and she gave him a thick slice of bread and butter to go with it. When he went up to his small attic room, he threw himself on the bed and was asleep in no time.

  Next thing he knew, he woke to growing darkness. Time to head toward Beacon Hill. Putting on his best suit, he headed out. The newfangled gas lights were just being lit on the street where Hopewell lived, lighting the way for the prosperous people who lived there. Someday, Daniel swore to himself, he'd live on a street with gas lights. Houses on this block were tall gray buildings that looked as though they would stand for years; quite a contrast to Daniel's neighborhood of ramshackle wooden buildings. The massive First Unitarian Church loomed over the houses and next to it the minister's manse where the Reverend Hopewell lived.

  Daniel knocked on the door, using the large brass knocker that had been wrapped in black cloth as a mark of mourning. It gave a muffled thump and he waited patiently for a response. Finally an elderly woman with a thin, bony face came to the door, a housekeeper he judged by her dull black dress and white apron.

  "What do you want, young man?" she asked in a clipped New England voice narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

  "I would like to talk with Reverend Hopewell. I have some information concerning his son's death that might be useful to him."

  "Humph!" she exclaimed, looking him up and down. "Reverend Hopewell is mourning. He has a great deal on his mind and better things to do than listen to an idle stranger."

  "Would you please ask him if I could talk to him?" Daniel persisted. "I have just been visiting Brook Farm and I believe he might be interested in what I have to tell him."