Page 8 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

All I could think about was the scheme that Henry alluded to the night he broke into my room. Was this way to make money what got him killed? He had been known to be in trouble before. Could I assume that his death was merely accidental like Miss O’Brien said? To me, it did not seem the way in which my brother would die. He knew horses: how to care for them and how to be careful around them. He’d worked with them in the stockyards every day, and he loaded and unloaded wagons and carts of goods. He would not put himself in a position where a horse could harm him. I didn’t doubt he would want to calm an agitated animal, but he would be vigilant while doing it. He would not have entered that stall without a very good reason. Rightly or wrongly, everything he did, he did with purpose. It was difficult to believe he would die without it.

I let out a breath and stood. What good did it do me to have these thoughts? They would not bring my brother back. Nothing would.

Miss O’Brien was right. I needed to work, and when the police came, I needed to be ready, because I had many questions for them.

I spread a white piece of muslin in front of the fireplace so that when I cleaned, the soot would not mar the carpets. I knelt on the fabric, picked up my stiff-bristled brush, pulled the bucket close, and began to move the grate. That was as far as I went before tears overtook me again.

One of my giant tears landed on the remains of the last fire, creating an inky black puddle that I wished would swallow me whole. I didn’t know if I could go on without Henry. I never thought I might have to.

I sat back on my heels.

“Why are you crying?” a breathy voice asked me.

I spun around on my knees and found Miss Dickinson standing behind me. I had no idea she’d come into the room or how long she had been watching me.

I scrambled to my feet and wiped the tears from my face. “I am so sorry, miss. I—I—”

“Please don’t tell me that you are tearful over cleaning the hearth. Is Margaret working you too hard? I know the woman is exacting, and she’s quite right that my mother and father expect a clean home. However, it should not bring you to tears. It’s just a fireplace.”

“No, miss, it’s not the fireplace or anything Miss O’Brien said to me.” I stepped to the middle of the white sheet. “She’s been very kind to me.”

“Then why are tears falling from your eyes and dripping from your nose?” She cocked her head, and again I was reminded of a bird. She was like the small herons that I had seen at the marsh with my brother, thin, almost frail-looking, but with a determined and keen eye that did not miss the slightest movement. They could also stab a fish with their beaks and eat it in one second.

I squeezed the bristle brush more tightly in my hand.

“If you are not crying over the fireplace or something your superior said, why are you crying?” Her voice was soft but direct. I knew right away that she was asking because she truly wanted to know, not for the sake of nicety.

“It is my brother, miss,” I said, wishing myself that I could stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “I just learned that he died last night.”

She studied me even closer. “Why are you working, then? Should you not be grieving?”

I didn’t want to cause trouble for Miss O’Brien by blaming her for encouraging me to work. “All I have now is work, miss. Henry was my only family. It’s best if I get on with it.”

“I do not know what I would do if my brother Austin died. I would not be able to get on with it. I would crumble like a centuries-old retaining wall and be nothing but a pile of dust.”

That was because she was in a different class than I was. It was because she lived in this grand house and had a father who had wealth and prestige. In the lower classes, like mine, we didn’t have the option to crumble. I was proud of myself when I didn’t say any of this aloud.

“Who told you of your brother’s death?” Miss Dickinson asked.

“Miss O’Brien. She said the police came to the house this morning to tell me. She asked if she could be the one to break the news. I am grateful to her for doing that. It was hard enough to hear from her.”

“Why would it be the police? I have not heard of the police telling of someone’s death if there was not a crime or accident involved.”

“It was an accident. He was trampled by a horse at the livery where he worked.” I swallowed as the words threatened to choke me. “He hadn’t been employed there long. He had always been gifted when it came to animals, but every creature is different. Perhaps he thought the horse would behave differently than it did. It’s the only explanation that I can imagine.”

She placed a finger on her cheek. “It is not.”

I opened and closed my mouth.

“It is not. You have another possibility in your head. I can tell by the look in your eyes. You wish to bury the other possibility and hide it deep in your heart. You wish to hide it from all, even your inner self.”

“I—I do not know what you mean, miss. With all respect, I do not know what you are saying.”

“You do,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I didn’t say anything, and she looked at me, waiting for a reply. I swallowed. “My brother... he had a way of finding trouble. He had a good heart,” I added quickly. “But he was always looking for a way to get ahead.”

“An illegal way.”

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