Page 11 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

“I was making no such judgment on your family, miss.” He pulled on his collar. “But she has only been your servant for a few days. That’s certainly not enough time for you to give her this level of protection and have such certainty in her honesty.”

“It is, sir, for I’m a great judge of character. I can see into a person’s very soul and find what others cannot.” She snapped her fingers again, and Carlo stood, pressing his large body against her leg. “We accept the condolences on the death of Willa’s brother, but if that is all, I believe it is time for you to leave.”

Detective Durben looked back to Matthew, who shrugged. Miss O’Brien appeared holding the detective’s coat. I hadn’t even known she was close by.

“Perhaps I will return when Mr.Dickinson is here,” Detective Durben said.

“Then you will have a long wait,” Miss Dickinson said. “My father is on important business in Washington as a United States Representative for the commonwealth completing the duties of his term. We do not expect him back for weeks.”

The detective frowned at this announcement. “I will be speaking to you again, Miss Noble,” he warned.

My stomach tightened.

“When you do, we will be ready,” Miss Dickinson answered for me.

Miss O’Brien cleared her throat. Matthew and the detective left the house, but I knew this wasn’t over. They would be back.

Chapter Five

When Sunday, my one day off of the week, came, all I wanted was to hide in my small room and cry. I didn’t see much reason for going to church. In my mind God had forsaken me by taking away everyone I loved, first my mother and now my brother. Unfortunately, Miss O’Brien would not hear of it.

“This Sunday more than any other, you need to pray. You need to pray for your brother’s soul and your own,” she said to me when I wouldn’t get out of bed that morning. “Now hurry, the family is about to leave for church. You do not want to make a poor impression on your new employer by appearing to be a heathen, do you?”

I got up and dressed. I only had one somewhat good dress, and it wasn’t much. It was the same brown gingham dress that I wore to my interview with Miss O’Brien. With diligent scrubbing, I had been able to get most of the mud off the skirt. I was grateful that it was a brown dress and hid a multitude of stains. I prayed that no one looked at it too closely because it was my mother’s dress and as such it was quite out of fashion. The bodice was too high, the buttons were too broad, and the skirt was too narrow.

I met Miss O’Brien at the servants’ entrance. She wore a red merino wool dress, black shawl, and bonnet with a green ribbon. I could tell it was her one good dress as well. At close inspection there were signs of wear from many brushings and mendings, but she wore it proudly as I would have if I had a dress so fine.

“The family has already left for church,” she told me. “I usually allow them to walk a bit ahead before I follow.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“I’m not a member of the family and cannot be viewed as though I believe myself to be.”

We walked around the house, and to my surprise, I saw Miss Dickinson sitting in the front window reading a book. “Is Miss Dickinson unwell?” I asked. “Is that why she is not on the way to the church?”

Miss O’Brien pressed her lips together. “The eldest Miss Dickinson does not attend service. She is not a member of the church.”

My eyes went wide. “But aren’t we going to the First Congregational Church? Her family is very involved in the church, is that not true?”

“The Dickinson family is. Miss Dickinson is not.” Her face was pinched. “If it were up to me, I would make her go, but Mr.Dickinson has other ideas about what to command his daughter to do.” She started down the sidewalk. “Now let us go.”

I glanced back at the house and saw Miss Dickinson watching me from the window. How peculiar was the Dickinson family. I felt I was going to learn more on that topic in the coming days.

The walk to the church, which was on Main Street, was pleasant enough. I realized whether I wanted to go to services or not, being outside was the best way to soothe myself even if it was on an overcast February morning.

Up until this point, I had attended First Baptist Church on the same street as the Dickinson home, North Pleasant Street. However, Miss O’Brien told me now since I worked for the Dickinson family I would have to go to and eventually join First Congregational. I wondered why that was a rule for me, but clearly not a rule for Miss Dickinson.

There was a line to enter the church as the minister, Reverend Edward S. Dwight, greeted each and every parishioner. I knew the head pastor through my brother, and not in the best way. I hoped that he would not remember me.

I shuffled into the church next to Miss O’Brien and was grateful he didn’t seem to notice me. The entryway was crowded as parishioners made their way through the front doors and waited in the small room outside of the sanctuary’s double doors as the church members in front of them found their seats. Through the double doors, I saw the pews in neat rows across the room with a center aisle that led to the altar and the pulpit. The floor was polished wood, and the windows that marched up either side of the nave were clear glass. A single wooden cross hung on the wall behind the altar.

The line began to move forward as a large family of seven found their seats. I let out a sigh of relief as I thought I had made it by Reverend Dwight without being seen. That relief was short-lived as a hand grabbed my arm just as Miss O’Brien was to step through the double doors. I was one step behind her. I turned to see Catherine Dwight, the minister’s daughter, standing in front of me. She wore a lovely blue plaid dress with a full skirt made with a minimum of three petticoats underneath it. Her bonnet could not hold back the beautiful curls that framed her delicate face. “Willa, is it true?”

I stared at her. I didn’t believe that Catherine Dwight had said a single word to me since I left the village school to work. She stayed on from what I heard and went to finishing school to learn how to be a good wife and mother. These were lessons that I would learn someday merely in practice, not in the classroom, but not a day too soon if it could be helped.

“Is what true?” I asked.

“About Henry?” Tears gathered in her eyes. “Is it true that he’s dead?”

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