Page 31 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

I nodded and set to work. I was careful to count out four tiny seeds to each pot. Before long, my fingertips were encrusted in dirt and my fingernails were black. I glanced over at Emily, and I saw she had the same, and there was a streak of dirt on her forehead where she must have brushed a stray hair away. There was another streak on the plaid silken skirt of her day dress. The dress was a lovely navy and orange plaid. It pained me to see it marred in any way. Emily seemed not to even notice.

“I have been thinking a lot about the letter you received and what we have learned about Henry’s death. There must be more to the story. There is an important piece that we’re missing. I believe Henry knew something or saw something that could get him in a great deal of trouble.”

I thought of my brother’s diary, which I had hidden inside of my straw mattress in my little room at the top of the house. I opened my mouth, because I believed now was the time to tell Emily about it.

“However, we cannot discount another possibility for a motive.”

“What is that?”

“Catherine Dwight, the minister’s daughter. What if her brothers or father were afraid that she would marry Henry after all? He was very poor. It would not be an advantageous match for the family. Perhaps one or all of them went to the stables to speak to Henry and spooked the horse, and that’s how he died.”

“But,” I said, “what about the burn marks on Terror’s flank? That cannot be an accident.”

“Maybe they were brandishing a poker to scare Henry and accidentally injured the horse.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe it. Reverend Dwight is a man of the cloth. It would be impossible for him to do such a terrible act.”

“Nothing is impossible. Is he not a sinner too? His collar does not remove his humanity.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I have put out some inquiries in letters to friends who know the Dwights better than me. I asked how serious Catherine was about Henry and what the family’s feelings were on that.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble in your family’s church.” I started a fifth pot of tomatoes.

“There is always trouble in the church. It does not start with us.”

I wanted to argue with her more, but I didn’t know if it was much use if she had already sent the letters. I feared the gossip that would come from this.

“My friend Susan Gilbert will be coming over tomorrow.” She plucked dead leaves from a potted sword fern. It was clear the plant was many years old, as it was the size of Carlo’s head. “Susan is quite brilliant. I think you should tell her what has happened to your brother. She is well-connected in the town, and she might have some theories.”

I kept my head down. I wasn’t sure that I was ready to share what I knew about my brother’s death with another person, and certainly not to share his diary with anyone new.

“You can trust Sue,” Emily said as if she could sense my hesitation. “There is no one else that I trust more in this world. She is my dearest friend.”

I went to my last tiny pot and gently pressed four tomato seeds into the rich dirt. “If you think that it’s the right thing to do.”

“I do,” Emily said without hesitation.

I decided that I would wait to tell Emily about the diary until after I met Susan Gilbert.

Emily turned to me. “You look like there was something that you wanted to tell me, Willa. What was it?”

I concentrated on tucking the remaining tomato seeds back into the brown envelope to save to be planted later. “Nothing, I had nothing else to share.” I didn’t look at her, because if anyone could sense a falsehood, it was Emily Dickinson.

Chapter Twelve

There were cheerful voices in the foyer the next day while I was polishing the silver in the dining room. It was actually a duty that I enjoyed because Miss O’Brien allowed me to do it while seated at the table. As a housemaid, anytime that I wasn’t on my feet was welcome rest. I also liked to polish the silver to such a high sheen that I saw my reflection in it.

In that reflection, I saw a sturdy, blond housemaid with dark brown eyes. My eyes in truth were my one vanity. I thought they were well spaced and well shaped and sat behind a clear brow. But that day while I polished the silver, I could not look at my reflection. Henry had had the same blond hair. Despite our differing eye color, my mother said many people thought we were twins and I wasn’t two years his senior. I believed it was my larger size and my height that was just an inch shy of my younger brother’s and not just my coloring that made them think this.

“Austin! We didn’t know you were coming!” I heard Emily cry.

I set the serving fork I had been polishing back onto the table and crept to the dining room door. I was grateful I had left it open a crack. I had done so because Miss Lavinia’s cats liked to visit me when I polished the silver. They sat on my feet at every opportunity they could find. They were a comfort to me. If only their mistress would warm up to me as well.

I peeked through the crack in the door and saw a handsome young man smartly dressed in a black suit and overcoat with silver buttons running down either side. In his hand he held a top hat that appeared to have been brushed free of dust that very morning. I could still see the etching in the wool where the bristles had swept across it.

The young man, who I had taken to be Austin Dickinson, the only son in the family and a person of whom they all spoke with excitement and high regard, was not alone.

---