“Don’t take it that way, my boy.” The old man gave him a deeply sympathetic look. “Don’t blame her, please. We have it easy, we men. We take our pleasure, but we don’t have to endure the consequences. Giving birth is called ‘labor’ for a reason, you know. You might find it easier to forgive your wife if you could see what I see every day—women having babies, one after another, and having the worst hard time you can imagine.” He scratched his head. “I’ve heard it said that if men had babies, there wouldn’t be any babies. I can’t quarrel with that. It’s not an experience I would voluntarily undergo. Nor would you, I wager.”
Adam let the silence lengthen. At last he said, “So we know why Delia took the seeds that killed her. Has anybody figured out where she got them? Mrs. Duncan, next door, said she didn’t believe they came from Mrs. Crow.” He got up to get a saucer for Grogan’s cigar ash, hoping the doctor hadn’t noticed the softening in his voice when he spoke Annie’s name.
If Grogan heard, he gave no evidence. He tapped his ash into the saucer Adam set in front of him. “Your neighbor is correct, as I understand it,” he said. “I believe I should let the sheriff fill you in on that, though. I’m not sure—”
“Don’t make me wait, Grogan,” Adam said gruffly. “You said it was an accident. So tell me the rest of it.”
For a moment, he thought the old man wasn’t going to answer. Then he let out a long breath and said, “It appears that your hired girl was the one who made the mistake. The girl told Sheriff Atkins that your wife sent her to the empty lot behind Purley’s, where she would find a stand of wild carrot, with seeds ready to gather. Unfortunately, there was also some poison hemlock growing nearby. I know, for I’ve just come from there. I saw the plants myself. To the unskilled eye, the two species look very much alike, as do the dry seeds. And once they’ve been gathered, it’s hard to see the difference without a magnifying glass.” In a different tone, he added, “I’ve told the sheriff to send someone out there to destroy the hemlock. I don’t want to see any more such accidental deaths.”
But Adam persisted. “Greta, as she was gathering the seeds, did she know what to look for? Was she aware that this other plant, this poison hemlock, was growing there, too?”
The doctor puffed on his cigar in silence for a moment. “She says not, Adam. She told the sheriff that Mrs. Hunt said nothing about there being any ‘bad’ plants there. Your wife told Greta to buy two yards of pink ribbon for her at Purley’s, then go to the vacant lot behind the store and gather some seeds from the plants there. She showed the girl the few seeds she had, as an example, and gave her a paper bag to put them in. Greta simply followed instructions, she says. She gave the seeds to Mrs. Hunt. And that’s all she knows—or will say. She’s distraught, of course.”
Suddenly aware that he was holding his breath, Adam let it out. “And you believe her?”
The doctor met his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t profess to understand all that goes on in the human heart. But whether I believe her or not is irrelevant. The girl may not have liked her mistress very much. She may even have resented her and wished to do her harm. But to arrest and charge her, Sheriff Atkins must have evidence that she deliberately gathered the wrong seeds and gave them to your wife with the intention of poisoning her. There simply is no such evidence.”
“So she’s not going to be charged,” Adam said, trying to hide the new surge of relief he felt. And it appeared that there was no indication that he was suspected of having something to do with his wife’s death.
“As I understand it, no,” the doctor said. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out his watch. “It’s late,” he said. “Mrs. Harrison is expected to deliver this evening. I must be on my way.” He finished his coffee and stood up, holding out his hand. “I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such terrible news, Adam.”
Adam shook his hand, managing a crooked smile. “I suppose it’s part of your job, isn’t it, Grogan?”
“Too often, I’m afraid,” the doctor said ruefully. He put on his hat. “Far too often.”
Adam walked with the doctor to the front door and stood on the porch, his hands in his pockets, watching the old man trudge out to his buggy. When he had driven off down Crockett Street, Adam turned toward the house next door. Across the garden and through the workroom window, he could see Annie moving around, see his daughter, seated, with a piece of needlework in her lap. Annie was bending over her chair, one hand on the child’s shoulder, showing her how to do something. Caroline looked up at her and smiled, and Annie smoothed her hair.
Adam watched silently. Caroline would miss her mother. Yes, that was natural and right. But time would dull that loss, and Annie would love the little girl and care for her as if she were her very own. He, too, would miss Delia—or rather, would miss the Delia he had imagined was true and faithful to him, and try to forget that she had ever been anything other. He could never forget that he had betrayed her, and never forgive himself. But he had to carry on, for Caroline’s sake. And there was something to hope for.
After a respectable period of mourning, he would ask Annie to
