Charity's Burden by Edith Maxwell

Author:Edith Maxwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: CVR05112018, charitys burden, rose carroll, quaker, quaker mystery, quaker midwife mystery, historical mystery, midwife mystery, call the midwife, midwife mystery series, historical mystery series, edith maxwell, mystery, mystery fiction, mystery book, mystery books, CVR10222018, CVR02012019
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2019-02-27T16:39:26+00:00

twenty-six

I yawned as I steered the buggy lazily down Whittier Street toward home at nine o’clock. The evening with Bertie and Sophie had been delicious, luxurious, and full of information, but I’d already had a long day and was ready for my bed. I let Peaches lead us—she knew the way. Clouds covered the waning moon. After we turned right onto Sparhawk Street, the night was especially dark. The road was a new one in town. When I’d first moved to Amesbury, the area was just a pasture. The town had constructed the road a few years ago and named it for Thomas Sparhawk. He had lived at the other end of the way, the same Sparhawk who had been John Whittier’s friend and physician until the doctor’s death fifteen years earlier.

Ahead of me was a quarter mile with nary a house on either side. To my left lay fields and a row of trees lining the way, to my right more of the same. The road was built up over a small stream that ran down to the Locke & Jewell factory and to Pattens Pond beyond. The stream was frozen and snow-covered at this time of year, of course. The night air was crisp, smelling of chimney smoke and warm horse.

I might have dozed as we clopped slowly over the stones. I jerked upright when a clatter rose up behind me. What was it? Was a horse out of control? It grew louder and my heart slammed against my ribs. One summer night last year as I walked, a criminal had nearly run me down. Maybe it was happening again. Maybe my sleuthing around town, asking questions wherever I went, had raised Charity’s assailant’s ire. Maybe the killer had followed me to Bertie’s, had waited patiently, and was determined to put an end to me.

Peaches was not known for speed. We could never outrun an attacker, even though the big Catholic church was not far away. I pulled the gelding as far to the right as I could, though the road was not a wide one. “Whoa up, Peaches. That’s a good boy.” We stopped. My palms sweated inside my gloves and my hands shook so I could barely hold the reins. The horse tossed his head, snorting in worry passed down along the reins from my nervous hands.

The hoofbeats grew louder, closer. I leaned toward the middle of the road. Would I be able to see who was driving in such a reckless manner, and if they aimed at us or were simply in an enormous hurry? A closed black wagon, pulled by an equally dark galloping horse, charged toward us at full speed. I screeched and pulled back into the safety of my buggy.

I had no time to act. I heard a thud and a crunch, felt a powerful bump. The jolt knocked the reins out of my grasp. It threw me out of the buggy. Peaches trumpeted shrilly. The vehicle sped past as I crashed down the snowy embankment.

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