A Death in Utopia Read online

  "Oh, it's too long a story to tell you. We struggled in Boston. Patrick never could get a job anywhere except on the docks. He wanted to be a clerk, and his writing was beautiful, but no one would hire an Irishman for that, so he worked on the docks until it killed him. His lungs were never strong and one winter he just got so sick he couldn't get out of bed. Finally God took him. His last wish was that Ellen could go to school, so I promised him I'd do that no matter what. She was already quite a scholar because he taught her all the reading and writing he knew. I worked as a kitchen maid for Mrs. Ripley, and when she and Reverend Ripley started Brook Farm they were willing to take me as a cook. They promised Ellen could go to school here and so she has."

  By this time dinner was over and people were bringing the plates and tableware out to the kitchen to wash. Charlotte was surprised to find Daniel chatting with Mrs. Geary.

  "It's nice to see you," she said. "I've something to tell you but not until after I've given my class their afternoon lessons. It won't be too long and you can help wash up the dishes and clean the kitchen to pay for your dinner."

  She laughed when she said that and went off quickly to gather her class together. Daniel was just as happy to stay and work with the cleaning group in the kitchen. They sang while they washed the dishes. Fred was very interested in working on a newspaper and while he and Daniel dried the dishes they had plenty to talk about.

  Finally Charlotte came down from her classroom after having delivered her students back to their parents. She and Daniel found a quiet corner of the parlor. He told her about visiting Thomas Hopewell and what he had said about his son paying Roger's debt.

  "I was sure we had found the murderer when we learned that Roger had escaped from debtor's prison," Daniel admitted. "But by the time Winslow Hopewell died, Roger must have known that the debt was paid. He was just staying with his brother until the judge had officially freed him. Now I don't know where to look for another suspect."

  "You're not the only one who learned something new," Charlotte said. "Yesterday I was talking with Mrs. Ripley and she told me Reverend Hopewell was very troubled these past weeks. He was being considered for a new position as minister at the largest church in Salem."

  "He must have been pleased by that," Daniel said. "He was an ambitious man I'm sure."

  "But he was troubled. Mrs. Ripley said he talked about a secret and how he was afraid someone might learn about it. He talked about mistakes made in youth that come back to haunt a man."

  "Youthful mistakes!" Daniel echoed. "Do you think he was afraid someone would reveal them and then he wouldn't be offered the position? Someone was blackmailing him, was that it?"

  Charlotte seemed to consider this for a minute. "I think that might have been the trouble. There was something he didn't want told to the congregation. He thought they would disapprove."

  "We have to find out what these youthful indiscretions were." It was hard to believe that Reverend Hopewell, who was always described as almost perfect, could have had a guilty secret. "We need to find out what he did that he was ashamed of. And especially who it was who knew his secret."

  Charlotte gave him a strange, strained look. She was twisting a handkerchief in her hands as she spoke, but she stopped talking and stared absently at the bookcase for a few minutes. Finally she said in a very quiet voice, "I've heard something else too, something I promised not to tell anyone, but perhaps it's important. Perhaps I have to tell you." She stopped talking and sat very still.

  "If it helps us find out who killed Winslow Hopewell, don't you think you'd better tell me?"

  "Yes, I suppose I should. You see, I know what his secret was. And I know the person who knows about it."

  CHAPTER SIXTEENS

  Charlotte Visits a Bookstore

  October 24, 1842.

  The parlor was deserted except for two of the younger students sprawled on the floor reading a book of Greek myths and whispering together. Charlotte drew in her breath and decided she had to tell Daniel about Abigail's secret even though it felt like a betrayal. Her throat was tight when she started talking and she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the students weren't close enough to hear anything.

  "Abigail and Winslow Hopewell knew each other very well," she started "because the Hopewells were friends of the aunt that Abigail lived with in Boston and they used to visit the house. Winslow Hopewell came very often. He told Abigail he wanted to marry her, but he was afraid his father would be very angry. He was supposed to become a minister like his father, and marrying a Quaker was not something a minister should do. I guess they are too radical for respectable Unitarians."

  "You know it's strange," Daniel added when she paused, "Reverend Thomas Hopewell mentioned that his son had once liked a Quaker girl. He said that of course marrying a Quaker was impossible. I suppose he must have been talking about Abigail."

  "That must be it," Charlotte agreed. "I don't know whether Winslow actually told his father he wanted to marry Abigail, or whether the father just suspected it. Anyway, the two of them decided—I guess it was Abigail who suggested it—that they would have a Quaker wedding. Did you know that Quakers don't get married in a church? They just declare to each other, usually in front of other people I guess, that they are married and then they are.

  "I don't know whether Abigail ever told her aunt about it, but she and Winslow Hopewell—he wasn't a Reverend then—considered themselves man and wife. At least Abigail believed that. Then, after he became a minister, Reverend Winslow Hopewell must have decided he couldn't continue having a secret marriage. He told Abigail he didn't believe they were really married. And he went off to serve as an assistant minister in a church up in Portland and Abigail never saw him again until he came to the Farm."

  "So that was his guilty secret?" Daniel muttered thoughtfully. "Do you think he would have been rejected for this new post if people knew he once had a secret marriage?"

  "There's more," Charlotte continued. "Reverend Hopewell was Timothy's father, although he never knew that until just a few weeks ago. Timothy was born after his father had gone to Portland and Abigail never told him about the baby."

  "But what about this Mr. Pretlove that Abigail was married to?"

  "There was no one named Pretlove. Abigail pretended she was a widow because she had to explain having Timothy. Her aunt helped her and told everyone the widow story. I guess no one suggested it wasn't true. I think maybe the two of them moved to Salem or someplace where no one knew them."

  "That puts a different light on it," exclaimed Daniel. "No church would want a minister who had a bastard son." His cheeks flushed scarlet. "Begging your pardon, I shouldn't have used such language in front of you."

  "I'm not a dainty lady like some of the people here, you know," Charlotte retorted. "My father and mother were plain-spoken people who weren't afraid to call something by its name. But if the two of them were married that makes a difference, doesn't it?"

  "Would the wedding be legal if no one saw it and it wasn't recorded at the courthouse?" Daniel wondered aloud. Neither of them knew the answer to that. Then he asked the question that had been bothering Charlotte. "Was Mrs. Pretlove very angry at Reverend Hopewell? You don't suppose they could have quarreled and then maybe she hit him and..." his voice dwindled away.

  "She couldn't have killed him. She never would have done that." Charlotte's voice sounded angry although she was trying to be very calm. The thought of anyone suspecting Abigail made her wretched, even though a little doubt kept wriggling into her mind.

  "No, I don't think she could have" Daniel agreed, "but who else would have known the story and perhaps threatened him? That's what we have to find out."

  "We ought to find out whether Quaker weddings are legal in Massachusetts," Charlotte added. "If they are and Reverend Hopewell knew it, at least he couldn't be blackmailed about Timothy. He still has a lot to be ashamed of. It was cruel to go off and leave Abigail no matter how much he wanted to be a minister like his father." />
  "If he had been a real man he would have stood up to his father. No one should leave a girl like that. That's cruel and sinful too. Sure I don't think much of a man who hides behind his father's anger as an excuse to philander."

  They had had the parlor to themselves for almost an hour, but now Fanny Gray come bustling it. She looked at Daniel with a little frown, "You've been spending a great deal of time here, Mr. Gallagher. Have you been thinking of joining us? A fine, strong-looking man like you would be an asset on the Farm. Have you ever been a farmer?"

  Daniel looked a bit alarmed at the suggestion. "No, ma'am, I never have, although I did work a bit on my father's patch of land back in Ireland. But my father was a schoolteacher and something of a poet, not a farmer at all."

  "You're young and strong, you could be a great help on the Farm," Fanny insisted. "And if you've planted and harvested vegetables we could use your strong arms. I'm going out to hoe the pumpkin patch myself this afternoon. There aren't a great many vegetables left, but there will be a few still coming in. Think about it. We are starting a whole new plan of life here. You can help with the farm work and have time for your poetry and newspaper writing too."

  Daniel stood up and said politely, "I will certainly think about joining your community. I can see that you are doing great things here and perhaps you really will change the world. But I must be leaving now to get back to Boston."

  As Daniel turned to leave, Charlotte told him, "I'm going to Miss Peabody's bookstore on Wednesday afternoon. Perhaps I can find out more about these Quaker weddings and what they mean."

  On Tuesday there was a slow rain all day, but Wednesday came in bright, clear, and chilly. Charlotte was able to get a ride into Boston on Jonas Gerritson's wagon and was at Miss Peabody's shop early in the afternoon. The shelves looked more crowded than ever with books of every size, some in leather bindings and some in paper. She searched first for the section on religion. That didn't look very promising. Volume after volume of collected sermons and books with titles like A Christian Liturgy and German Writings on the New Testament—those certainly wouldn't tell anything about Quakers and the law. She sighed with irritation because nothing looked promising.

  "You sound discouraged," said a quiet voice behind her. Charlotte whirled around and saw Margaret Fuller. She was examining the books through her lorgnette. "What was it you were looking for?"

  "I am looking for a book that would tell me more about Quakers and how they are different from other people. I've never known any Quakers except for Abigail Pretlove at the Farm and I don't know much about their rules and customs."

  "You can ask Miss Peabody whether she has any Quaker books, but I rather doubt it. Most of the books on religion here are about Biblical scholarship and quarrels between Unitarian ministers about the nature of God. Perhaps you should go to the New Thinkers Convention next Saturday and Sunday in Dedham. Representatives from most of the newer or more radical groups will be there and I wouldn't be surprised if some Quakers attend."

  The bell on the bookshop door jingled as someone came in; it was Daniel, looking very serious and wearing a bright green cravat. He smiled and walked over to join Charlotte. Miss Fuller remembered him, "You are the young reporter who listened to my talk at Brook Farm last week, aren't you? Did you find the talk of interest?"

  "It was of great interest indeed. It is very gratifying to hear someone as important as yourself say such kind words about those of us who came to this country from Ireland." Daniel sounded very much like a gentleman despite his brogue.

  Charlotte told him quickly about Miss Fuller's suggestion, but he looked doubtful.

  "Perhaps this meeting is similar to the one held at the First Church in Dedham last April?" he asked. "I went to one of those meetings and was startled at the people there. Although the meeting was almost over when I arrived, the pews were still half filled with an odd assortment of people. The man who was speaking from the pulpit wore a long white robe spotted with mud from the street. His hair was long and untidy, a wild brush of gray which became more untidy as he ran his hands through it. He was shouting in a loud harsh voice and I remember his words very well: 'Cease your worrying about wealth. Turn to the Lord! Our time is not long. The world will end in 1843 as has been prophesied. Why worry about slavery or economic woes? Our time is running out.' That was enough for me and I turned and left. I have many hopes and fears for the future, but having the world end next year is not one of them." Daniel's face was wreathed in a smile.

  Margaret Fuller smiled too. "Some of our so-called 'New Thinkers' have odd thoughts to be sure, but there are others who are concerned about the future have far more sensible plans. The Quakers, for example, differ from most of us in many ways but they are no longer fanatical as they used to be and they have been of great benefit to many in our society."

  "Well, perhaps it would be worthwhile to go to the convention," Daniel agreed. "Would you have any intention of going yourself, Miss Fuller?"

  "No, I think not," she answered, "although many interested people might attend. I believe that Ralph Emerson attended the one in April and your George Ripley was there too."

  "Was Winslow Hopewell at this meeting?" Charlotte asked eagerly.

  "I had not heard of his going. He may be conservative like his father. Thomas Hopewell has not welcomed new ideas and plans. That is why I was surprised that his son became interested in Brook Farm. Perhaps he was more accepting than his father of the idea that Boston has not reached perfection yet and that there is some sense in trying new plans of organizing society."

  After Miss Fuller left, Daniel and Charlotte asked Miss Peabody about books about Quakers, but the only Quaker book in the store was George Fox's Book of Martyrs, which told nothing about New England. But when she heard that Daniel and Charlotte were especially interested in Quaker weddings, Miss Peabody chattered on about the great controversy these weddings had caused. Only recently had people in Boston started to consider them real weddings. There were still some churches that would not accept a marriage as valid unless it was performed by a minister in a church.

  Daniel and Charlotte decided they would walk out to Dedham on Saturday to see whether what there was to learn about Winslow Hopewell and what people thought about him. If his father and his friends thought that participating in a Quaker wedding was a sin, it was no wonder he considered his marriage to Abigail a guilty secret.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Charlotte Gets Unexpected News

  October 29, 1842.

  Saturday dawned bright but cold. Charlotte had asked Ellen and Fred to go to the meeting at Dedham but only Fred went with her. He was always ready for a trip and the more unusual the meeting, the more he looked forward to it. At the last minute Fanny Gray decided to join them. She often went to the church in Dedham.

  Charlotte wore her stoutest boots and warmest cloak, a red plaid woolen one with a fur-trimmed hood and Fred was bundled up in his heaviest jacket and on his head a warm toque his mother had knit for him. It wasn't a day for the light blue tunic he had been wearing just a few weeks ago. Winter had come with a vengeance, and although they still hadn't had a snowstorm, they were chilly even in their warm clothes. Fred starting singing to cheer everyone us up:

  Cape Cod girls ain't got no combs,

  Heave away, haul away!

  They comb their hair with a codfish bone,

  And we're bound away for Australia!

  Cape Cod boys ain't got no sleds,

  Heave away, haul away!

  They ride down hills on a codfish head.

  And we're bound away for Australia!

  The wind was still cold, but singing a silly song made everyone feel better. Even Fanny had to smile; Fred's pleasure was contagious. As the sun rose higher in the sky the wind didn't feel so harsh and the walk became almost enjoyable. By the time they had reached Dedham everyone's cheeks and noses were red and their chins were numb from the cold.

  The First Church of Dedham was a gray stone
building with sparse strands of withered ivy clinging to its walls. It stood in a small churchyard close to the road and two oak trees overhung the burial plot where the gravestones clustered in family plots. A sign outside the door announced the "Convention on New Thinking for Universal Reform" and several people were walking toward the door. Fanny soon joined a group of friends and Fred and Charlotte stepped inside the church. Almost immediately they saw Daniel.

  "The first speaker will begin in about half an hour," he told them. "Everyone here has been friendly to me, but I haven't found any Quakers yet. I am not sure how much we will learn."

  People were milling around at the back of the church, drawing together in small groups to talk and then separating and moving on. Most of the participants were men, but there were several women, some with their husbands and others on their own. Fanny sat with an elderly woman wearing a black shawl. The two of them were soon whispering together in a back pew while they waited for the talks to begin.

  Fred wandered off to talk to some young boys he knew and Daniel and Charlotte introduced themselves to a thin, pale young man with a flowing black cravat and a chestnut-colored jacket who was one of the youngest-looking men there,. He looked at Charlotte approvingly when she said she was a teacher at Brook Farm.

  "Oh, I deeply admire George Ripley's innovation with that community," he drawled. "Sometimes I think of joining the group myself, but alas I am a poet and when the inspiration comes to me I must seize it and write. I cannot afford to be distracted by details such as a cow that needs milking or wheat to harvest. My friend Nathaniel Hawthorne tried living at Ripley's Farm, but farm work interfered with the flow of his thoughts."

  "Yes, I had heard that Mr. Hawthorne lived for a while at the Farm," said Charlotte rather sharply. "How nice for him that he could choose whether or not to work. Some of us need to work so we can eat. And many of us at Brook Farm believe that the future of the country is lies with communities such as ours where everyone works and also has time to write poetry, or philosophy for that matter."