I shook these thoughts from my head as I heard the two men leave Mr. Howard’s room. The sound of their footsteps receded down the hallway and then down the stairs. I waited a few more minutes before I left the nursery.

  I stepped into Mr. Howard’s room and found that his bedclothes did have a bit of blood on them, likely from the bloody nose that Paulo the peddler had given him. As far as I could tell, that was all that was amiss. I changed the linens quickly and left the room, carrying the dirty bedclothes with me to take to the laundry.

  For the next several hours, I helped Katie as best I could to prepare, as it was clear to me she was out of her depth. Just a few minutes before the dinner hour came, the Dickinsons from the homestead walked into the Evergreens parlor. At the moment, I was the only person in the parlor ready to greet them. Mrs. Dickinson slid into one of the chairs as if she were exhausted from the stroll between the two homes. Very possibly, she was. Her skin was pale, and she anxiously twisted her small white hands in her lap.

  Mr. Dickinson strode around the room, stopping every few feet to look at one of the adornments Susan had selected for the space. He’d frown at it and move on to the next one.

  Emily went to the window and looked out, and Miss Lavinia continually smoothed her hair as if she were trying to reassure herself that she wasn’t going bald.

  No one spoke to me.

  “How wonderful that you are all here,” Miss Susan said as she came into the room. She was followed by Austin. “We are just waiting for Isadora and the Thayers, whom Emily invited to dinner. I am looking forward to making their acquaintance.” She glanced back at the doorway. “I’m sure Mr. Emerson and Mr. Howard will be down shortly as well.” She glanced at me as if surprised to see me in the room. “That will be all, Willa.”

  I nodded, as I had been dismissed from the parlor. I tried to catch Emily’s eye as I went, but she stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts.

  I went back to the Evergreens kitchen and was surprised to see Margaret there. It seemed that she felt the need to oversee her roast after all.

  “Willa!” Margaret snapped. “Where have you been?”

  “I—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Get into the dining room. Katie needs help. Incompetent girl. I don’t think she will last long here,” she said.

  By the time I made it to the dining room, the entire Dickinson family, Ruben and Cate Lynn Thayers, Mr. Howard, Mr. Emerson, and Isadora Foote were all seated at the table and starting their meal with a summer squash soup.

  “Mrs. Thayer,” Mr. Dickinson said. “I am quite grateful to have you and your husband at our party. Had I known that Myron and Beth Anne Mortimore’s daughter was back living on their old estate, I would have invited you sooner. How is Pleasant Hill?”

  “It is—” Mrs. Thayer was about to answer, when her husband interjected.

  “We have renamed it Thayer Manor. We thought that was more fitting and would work better for the children we plan to have in the future.”

  Across the table from Mr. Thayer, Isadora Foote made a face in her soup course.

  Mr. Dickinson turned to Mr. Emerson. “Myron and Beth Ann Mortimore were very passionate about the abolitionist movement from the start. Myron was in the railroad business and gave thousands of dollars to help the cause.”

  Mr. Emerson lifted his teacup, but he didn’t take a sip. “I admire that very much.”

  Mrs. Thayer nodded. “Thank you, and I am continuing my parents’ work by donating and raising money. I will not stop until slavery is gone forever.”

  Mr. Dickinson pressed his lips together. “Yes, quite.” He changed the subject and looked to Mr. Howard. “Mr. Howard, how is your nose?” he asked. “Your under eyes are beginning to turn an impressive shade of purple.”

  Mr. Howard chuckled. “It’s quite all right. That old peddler really gave me a wallop.”

  “Do you have any idea why that man hit you?” Mr. Thayer asked. “I still couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. Things like this just don’t happen in Amherst.”

  “Peddlers and travelers like him have to be a little bit off to do the work that they do,” Mr. Howard said in a dismissive way. “They are alone on the road for days on end. The only time that they spend with society when they are is trying to convince others to buy products that they don’t need, and then the peddler moves on before the person can realize that he has been fooled. He was deranged. It’s the only explanation that can make any sense.” He forced a laugh. “But then again, how do you make sense of a senseless act?”

  “That is quite a harsh statement to make about a man that you don’t know,” Emily interjected. “I don’t believe that it is right or fair to make that kind of judgment on the state of any person’s mind, and that is all the more true about someone you do not know personally.”

  “Emily, there is no reason to raise your hackles,” Austin said. “Mr. Howard is probably quite correct that this Paulo fellow isn’t of sound mind. His behavior was that of a madman.”

  Emily looked as if she wanted to argue with her brother, but then Mrs. Thayer spoke. “Emily, Isadora tells me that you went to school together.”

  “We did. We attended Mount Holyoke together. I stayed only one year, at my father’s command.” She glanced at her father.

  Mr. Dickinson scowled slightly as if he was attempting to determine whether his eldest daughter had slighted him in some way.

  Mrs. Thayer shook her head. “What a small world it is.”

  “Where do you hail from, Ms. Foote?” Miss Lavinia asked.

  “I live in Boston now in a home that was my parents’. They left me with a comfortable life, and I work here and there in offices in the city as a notetaker or correspondent when I need additional funds. However, that isn’t often. My father was a very successful businessman and made good investments.”

  “Oh,” Mr. Dickinson said, sounding intrigued. “What did he invest in?”

  “The railroad mostly. He was one of the first investors in it and did quite well. However, I don’t mind work when I need to take some on. I like to stay busy.”

  “This is true,” Mrs. Thayer said. “Isadora sends me long letters of what she does during her week, and by the look of them, it appears that she never sits still. I suppose a lot of women living alone are like that as they try to fill their days.”

  “You live in the city alone?” Mr. Dickinson asked.

  Isadora looked the patriarch in the eye. “I do.”

  “How do you get on?” Mr. Dickinson asked with shock in his voice.

  She wrinkled her brow. “I have already told you that I have the funds to take care of myself.”

  “But surely, you want to marry for safety and protection. A young woman like yourself should not be living alone.”

  Isadora sipped her drink and then said, “There was a time that I thought I would marry, but when all of that fell apart, I realized marriage doesn’t have any true advantages for me. The advantage would be to the man who by marriage has access to my position and wealth. The likelihood that I would marry a man in a higher position than I am is slim. Therefore, I see no need for it.”

  “That’s exactly how Vinnie and I feel,” Emily chimed in. “What are the advantages for a woman to marry when she is born into the status that we have?”

  From my spot in the corner of the room, I saw Mr. Howard studying Miss Lavinia as if he were seeing her in a new light. Miss Lavinia stared down into her soup. It was impossible to believe that she did not sense his gaze, as she seemed to be so aware of his presence.

  “It is a wonder how the young think today,” Mr. Emerson said. “Is it not? It was my understanding that a young woman married because of the pursuit of caring for a husband and children. It seemed that I have been wrong in that assumption all this time.”

  “Times are changing,” Mr. Thayer said. “However, I believe most women can be swayed into marriage. Isn’t that right, my love?” He smiled at his pretty wife. “It did take me quite a while to convince my sweet Cate Lynn that I was the man for her.”

  Mrs. Thayer smiled at her husband. “You were very persistent, my dear.”

  Emily wrinkled her nose at the two of them as if she didn’t like their conversation. However, she didn’t comment on it, and went on to say, “I wish to get back to the peddler. I don’t think he’s mad. He had to have had a reason to strike you, Mr. Howard. He seemed fine and cheerful until you told him your name. Do you know him? Do you have any idea why he would have such a reaction to you?”

  Mr. Howard laughed. “Those sorts of people don’t have to have a reason for their behavior.”

  “And what sort of people are they?” Emily asked with an arched brow.

  “Emily, please remember your manners,” Mr. Dickinson said sternly. To Mr. Emerson and the rest of the guests, he said, “You will have to forgive my eldest daughter. She is quite opinionated.”

  Emily frowned at her father, but there must have been something in his expression that told her he was serious. She said nothing more, and the conversation moved on to more mundane topics. Mrs. Dickinson asked Mr. Emerson about his travels, and he shared some of his observations. Austin spoke of the construction of his home.

  I noted that Mr. Howard was seated next to Miss Lavinia, and she had hardly touched her appetizer of onion tart. She smiled at every small comment he made. From across the table, Emily watched the pair of them with a frown on her face. Mr. Dickinson also seemed to take note of their exchange, and appeared to be as happy about it as Emily was.

  Mr. Howard sipped at his tea as he spoke to Miss Lavinia. He shifted in his seat and pulled at his collar. He took another long sip from the teacup.

  “Mr. Howard, are you quite all right?” Mr. Emerson asked, apparently taking note of the young man’s sudden discomfort.

  “I am, sir.” His voice was raspy. “I think I just need to step away for a few moments. I might have gotten overheated in the lecture hall today. It was such a warm day in an enclosed space.”

  Before anyone could argue, he got up from the table and went out the door.

  Miss Lavinia started to move as if she planned to follow him.

  “Lavinia, stay at the table,” Mr. Dickinson said. His voice left no room for argument.

  The youngest Dickinson settled back into her seat and stared at the doorway with a concerned expression on her face.

  The meal went on, and Mr. Emerson resumed the story he was telling about a visit to Liverpool, England. His description of the city and the people was quite entertaining, and I found myself engrossed in the tale. It took me a little longer than normal to notice that Emily was waving me over to her chair.

  I hurried to her side, and when she motioned me to move closer to her, I bent my ear to her mouth. “Can you please go check on Mr. Howard? He was looking a trifle green, and I’m concerned he might be ill. He’s been gone nearly twenty minutes now.”

  I nodded and stepped back from Emily’s chair. As I left the room, I felt Mr. Emerson’s eyes on my back. I couldn’t help but go over the conversation I’d heard between him and Mr. Howard. Was it possible Mr. Howard was so upset from being dismissed that he could not bring himself to sit at the dinner party as if nothing were wrong? I couldn’t say I blamed him. It would be very difficult to stay if I were in the same position.

  I went up the back servants’ stairs to the secretary’s room. All the doors in the corridor were closed but for Mr. Howard’s. I frowned. I distinctly remembered closing it when I changed the bed linens. Perhaps Mr. Howard was in the room.

  An uneasy feeling fell over me. If he really was ill, I didn’t think he would want me to intrude on his misery.

  “Mr. Howard?” I called tentatively when I reached the door that was open a crack and knocked. The last thing I would want to do was startle a sick man.

  There was no answer, and I knew I had to see if he was all right. I wished Emily hadn’t sent me on this mission.

  I stepped into the young man’s room. There was no one inside. However, most surprising of all, the room was a mess. And not in the way many young men make a mess of their rooms. I had worked in a boardinghouse as a maid before coming to the Dickinson home, so I had seen how many young people kept their rooms and how disordered they could all be.

  This untidiness was different. All the drawers were open in the bureau. Mr. Howard’s clothes were strewn all over the floor, and the pockets turned out of every article of clothing. Papers were scattered across the desk as if they had been examined and discarded in great haste. At the top of the pile, there seemed to be a manuscript of sorts.

  The bed linens had been ripped from the mattress, and the mattress itself was off kilter. Mr. Howard’s room had been thoroughly searched, and I guessed Mr. Howard himself hadn’t been the one to do it.

  From where I stood, I could see every inch of the room, and there was no sign of Emerson’s assistant.

  Where was he?

  I walked over to the window. It was eight in the evening, but the sun was just beginning to fall toward the horizon. I saw a man staggering in the garden. By his clothing, it looked like it was Mr. Howard. If he was ill, what was he doing in the garden? Was he so disoriented?

  I wasn’t the only one who noticed him. Cody came into view and started to walk toward him. I could hear his voice as he called out, but I couldn’t make out the words he said.

  I left the window and hurried down the back stairs. When I was on the first floor again, I went out the back door. By the time I made it outside, I could no longer see Mr. Howard or Cody. However, since they were going toward the homestead, I decided to follow the path leading from the Evergreens.

  Just as I reached the perennial garden at the homestead, Cody came running in my direction. He grabbed me by both my arms. “Willa, Willa, you have to help me.”

  “Cody, calm yourself! What on earth is wrong?”

  “It’s the young gentleman. The young gentleman who is here with Mr. Emerson.”

  “Yes, Mr. Howard. What about him?” I asked a tad impatiently.

  “He’s dead.”

  Chapter Eight

  I felt all the blood drain from my face. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “He is dead in the patch of black-eyed Susans.”

  “Show me,” I demanded. As much as I didn’t want to see what Cody described, I had to make sure it was true before I ran back and told the Dickinson family. Perhaps Mr. Howard was just ill and in his delirium fell over into the flowers. He might be sick or hurt and just need to rest. Maybe something he ate hadn’t agreed with him, but he couldn’t be dead. Dead was unbelievable.

  If he needed rest, why not go to his room for the night? Or had he, and then saw the state of the room and ran outside? But when he made the discovery, why didn’t he come back to the dinner and alert the party? Surely, Austin and Miss Susan would want to know if there was some sort of intruder in their home, because who but an intruder would ransack Mr. Howard’s room so horribly?

  No amount of rationalization could change the facts. When I reached the perennial garden, I realized Cody had been right in his description. Mr. Howard’s lifeless body lay in the patch of black-eyed Susans. His neck was turned to the side, and those bright blue eyes I thought had been so striking the first time I saw him were unseeing and dull. Their distinctive color seemed unearthly with no light of life within them.

  I put a hand over my mouth to hold back a scream. Even though I had been prepared for the sight, it was still so much to take in. My brother had been killed the year before, but I never saw his body after he died. This sight reminded me of when I found our mother dead in her bed after a long illness. In her case, she was withered and eaten away by disease and heartbreak. Mr. Howard was young and strong but just as dead. The only piece of his pale skin with any color was the bruise that had formed around his eye after Paulo the Peddler had hit him.

  Thoughts of Paulo made me wonder if he could have been the one responsible for Mr. Howard’s demise. He and Mr. Howard clearly had a history, and not a good one. Could he have killed the other man? But how? Other than the black eye from being struck earlier in the day, I didn’t see any wounds on Mr. Howard. He was just dead. Dead with no explanation at all.

  Cody stood behind me, twisting his hands so forcefully I was afraid he might break his fingers. “Willa, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?” His Irish accent was as thick as I had ever heard it.

  “Cody, you have to run to the Evergreens and tell the family. They will want to call the police.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m not allowed into the house.” He almost looked as pale as Mr. Howard when he said this. “You go, and I will stay here.”

  “I will stay here,” I said firmly. As much as I didn’t want to stand over a dead body, I couldn’t trust Cody not to disturb the scene with his pacing and frantic movements. There was no evidence a crime had been committed, but even still, we needed to be careful. Matthew taught me about the importance of physical evidence at a crime scene. He said it was becoming increasingly essential as the police departments advanced. More important than witness accounts even, which he claimed were unreliable.

  “I know Margaret has made a rule for all the servants that the outdoor workers aren’t allowed anywhere in the home other than the servants’ quarters and the kitchens, but, first of all, you aren’t going into the homestead, and, second of all, this is an exception. A man is dead.”