Act of Injustice Read online

  “I do, Daddy. I love Cook.”

  “If you’re sure that’s what you want, Rosie, and Cook, if you can support her, then it’s all right with Mother and me.”

  Molly felt betrayed by her husband’s declaration. How many times would she be taken by surprise today? Molly was determined that if Cook was to be her son-in-law, Rosannah would at least have a Catholic wedding.

  “What priest will you have? Where will you get married?”

  Rosannah promised her mother all that would be worked out, not to worry about it. Molly, feeling somewhat better, started dinner preparations. James produced a bottle of Gooderham & Worts Bonded Stock whisky from the armoire and filled cups for himself and Cook. Rosannah and Cook sat arm in arm on the bench against the wall. She reached up and caressed his smoothly-shaven face. Watching her, Molly thought you had to admit it – blind or not, Cook was a well-turned-out man. Had a fair bit of money, must get it from the family furniture business. Lots of people bought their tables, their chairs, their chests of drawers from the Teets’s.

  Cook seemed quite ready to spend money on new clothes for Rosannah. “We’ll go and see Mrs. Carson and get her to make up a nice outfit for you,” Cook told her. “Would you like something new for the wedding, Mrs. Leppard?” Molly didn’t think so.

  James asked Cook if he’d made arrangements for the children in case anything happened to him or Rosannah.

  “It would be a smart thing for both of you to get some insurance so the children would be looked after,” he said.

  Perhaps Rosannah was on the right track after all with Cook Teets, Molly thought. But still she worried about them having a Catholic wedding. She’d have to talk to Rosannah tomorrow about the arrangements. More than anything, she wanted to make sure her daughter would share in God’s reward.

  That night, Bridget swept the house before everyone settled down. While Molly turned back the covers of her bed, she listened to Rosannah sing a lullaby to her children. A pretty voice, you have to allow her that. If only she behaved as well as she sang.

  When Molly awoke the next morning and crossed the room to check on Rosannah, there was no sign of her. The children played on the floor beside an empty bed.

  “That girl’s gone off and done something foolish,” she told Bridget, who had begun to dress the girls. Molly’s greatest fear was that Rosannah and Cook had run away together. The more she thought about Rosannah’s reckless behaviour, the angrier she became.

  Rosannah did not come home that day or the next. Molly spent the time speculating endlessly on what her daughter was up to. She hoped Rosannah and Cook hadn’t been married by some Protestant priest. That would be the end of her. On the second night after Rosannah’s leaving, just as Molly was about to bolt the front door, Rosannah showed up.

  “It’s me, Mother,” she said as she came into the house. She smiled and dropped her small carrying bag on the floor.

  There was only one thing Molly wanted to know.

  “Are you married now, Rosie?” she asked.

  “That’s all you care about, isn’t it, Mother. I may as well tell you, Cook and I got married in Toronto.”

  “Do you have your wedding certificate?”

  “Yes, here it is.”

  Molly hardly glanced at the official looking paper. Too bad she couldn’t read. She cared only if they had had a Catholic wedding.

  “Were you married by a priest?”

  “No, Mother, a Presbyterian minister married us.”

  Molly looked at her daughter, unwilling to believe what she’d heard. For all the years she had struggled at Vandeleur, what she had wanted more than anything was to pass on her Catholic faith to her children. Even as a child Rosannah had defied her, refusing to be the compliant and religious daughter Molly had always hoped for. A rage built within Molly as her sense of betrayal mounted. Her face flushed and when she spoke, her voice was high-pitched as her words tumbled from her mouth.

  “In that case, you can take Cook Teets and go to Hell. Because that’s where you’re going, anyway.” With a scowl, she ripped the wedding certificate into pieces. “Where’s Cook now?” she demanded to know.

  “He’s gone back to his mother,” Rosannah answered. “She didn’t want me there, and I know you don’t want Cook here. He’s going to find us a place of our own.”

  Rosannah went to her bed, drew the blanket that hung around it, and nothing more was said that night. The next day the household settled back into its quiet routine. Molly didn’t see Cook for several more days. When he did show up, it was to collect Rosannah to take her to Michigan for a visit with his brother’s family. When Rosannah came home several days later Molly thought she looked unwell. She was convinced her daughter was pregnant, but Rosannah denied it.

  Two days after Rosannah’s return, Cook showed up at the Leppard place about four o’clock, in time for tea. Molly was standing by the stove when Rosannah went to the door to meet him. Molly wondered what her husband would think of this. He’d been away since Rosannah’s return home, finishing the new barn for Mr. Burns on the Tenth Concession. It would be good to have him back.

  “How are you, Rosie?” Cook asked. “I’ve been to Flesherton to buy some tools.”

  “I’ve been sick to my stomach all day,” Rosannah told Cook. She led him to the long bench backing against the wall. They sat down and she put her head in his lap. He stroked her hair while Molly set out a pot of black tea, a jar of her own strawberry jam, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. She hacked off several thick slices. A tin pail filled with milk drawn that morning from the Leppard’s cow sat in the middle of the table. Cook pulled the bench over to the table and returned to his seat next to Rosannah. Molly sat at the end in a Windsor chair, the one item of furniture in the Leppard house that had been crafted by a Teets workman. Rosannah nibbled a bit of bread and said she wasn’t hungry.

  “Cook, I’ve never felt the same since you gave me that glass of wine at Munshaw’s hotel.”

  “But that was a week ago,” Cook protested. “That can’t be what’s bothering you.” He sipped on his tea. No one said anything. It was getting dark – the onset of fall had brought an early twilight – when Cook got up and announced he had to get home to his mother. Molly glanced at her clock, saw its hands stilled at half past two, and remembered it had a broken spring.

  “Come over to Eugenia Falls with me, Rosie,” Cook said. “I want you to see a place we can rent.”

  “Cook Teets, I cannot,” Rosannah answered. “My head aches and I’m still sick at my stomach.”

  “Well, come a little piece with me then,” Cook pleaded.

  Rosannah slipped a shawl on her shoulders and went outside with Cook. They sat on a flat rock near the fence. Molly watched as the two hugged and kissed. A little later, Cook stood, untethered his dog, and turned to go home. Rosannah came back into the house.

  “We’ll be moving in a few days,” Rosannah said. Her voice faltered as she spoke. She stumbled toward Molly’s bed and threw herself onto the straw mattress. Holding her head in both hands she cried, “Mother, I have an awful headache.”

  “Take a spoonful of your medicine,” Molly told her. Dr. Griffin’s medicine would calm her nerves. Ease the “female hysteria.”

  “Let me have the bottle,” Rosannah demanded. “Don’t need a spoon.” She lifted the bottle to her lips and took several gulps.

  As Molly settled Rosannah into the trundle bed she shared with her children, she heard a knock on the door. “If that’s Scarth Tackaberry, keep him away from me,” Rosannah called out. “I can’t stand that man.” Molly fastened the blanket that shielded Rosannah’s bed and went to the door. She found Scarth standing there. He came in and sat down, saying he wanted to talk about ways to control the rabbits and raccoons that infested his garden. Molly was anxious to be rid of him.

  “I’m tending to Rosannah, she’s sick,” she said. “Better for you to come back another time.”

  Scarth Tackaberry wasn’t so easily put off.
He badgered Molly about the best way of getting rid of pests. How did strychnine compare with other poisons? Molly didn’t like his questions, or the way he kept fingering his beard, all frizzy and reddish brown, while he cast searching looks around the cabin. It took Molly an hour to get rid of him.

  Rosannah woke up shortly after Scarth left. She got out of bed and stood by the stove. Molly was darning a pair of her husband’s overalls. She worked by candlelight and squinted to follow the path of her thread. Rosannah said she felt hungry.

  “Put on the kettle,” Molly suggested. “Make yourself a cup of tea. It will settle your stomach.”

  “I don’t feel like tea. I’ll have milk.”

  It was impossible to satisfy that child, Molly thought. Whatever she suggested, Rosannah had a different idea.

  Rosannah poured milk from the pail and cut two thick slices of her mother’s bread. She spooned crabapple jam from the jar Molly had placed on the table.

  “That’s more than I’ve seen you eat all week,” Molly told her.

  Rosannah ate the bread and drank the milk. When she was finished, she and Molly lit their pipes and smoked before going to their beds. They avoided any discussion of Rosannah’s marriage. Instead, they talked of the weather and discussed the vegetables that had to be put in the root cellar for the winter.

  When Molly went to say goodnight to Rosannah, she noticed a small purse hanging on the wall, over her bed. It was open and she could see it contained a carefully folded piece of paper. She said nothing about this to Rosannah. Later, Molly drifted off to sleep. She thought she heard some kind of singing coming from far away.

  At about midnight Molly heard Rosannah call to her. “There’s somebody at the latch,” Rosannah said. “I’m scared.”

  “It’s just the dog,” Molly called from her bed. “You know he rolls against the door in his sleep. Go check the door if you don’t believe me”

  Molly listened as Rosannah got out of bed, lit a lamp, and made her way to the front door. Rosannah found it fastened the way Molly had left it. To make the door more secure, she stuck a knife between the latch and the frame.

  “I suppose you are contented now,” Molly said.

  “Now I can sleep,” Rosannah answered.

  Some time about dawn – it was still dark – Molly was awakened by a scream from behind the blanket that sheltered Rosannah. Everyone in the house heard the cry. Molly stumbled as she struggled out of bed and hit her head on its iron frame. She found Rosannah tossing in agony, her arms and legs flailing as she arched her back against her mattress. One arm struck Molly and a coiled fist caught her in the face. Rosannah was foaming at the mouth and her eyes stared out blankly.

  It was Rosannah’s scream, mournful, drawn out and rising in pitch, that Molly remembered as Angus McMorrin’s voice jarred her out of her reverie.

  Chapter 7

  ‘POOR ROSIE WON’T SPEAK AGAIN’

  Morning, November 3, 1884

  The recess ordered by Judge Armour ended when Angus McMorrin stood up, called out “Oyez, Oyez,” and told everyone in the courtroom to rise. The jury filed in and the judge mounted his dais, bowing slightly as he did so. Leonard Babington wiped tears from his eyes at his remembrance of Molly Leppard’s testimony. He had memories of a different Rosannah, a happy young girl who enjoyed her farm chores, loved her chicks and rabbits, and had a flashing smile for any young man. He thought of the times they had been together, and of how he had hoped someday to marry her. Now, waiting to hear more of Molly’s account of Rosannah’s death, he lowered his head and gripped his pen so tightly he was uncertain whether he would be able to go on with his notes.

  Alfred Frost crossed his arms and and propped them on his chest as Molly returned to the witness stand. He brushed one hand across his forehead and looked down at his shoes.

  “I hope you’re feeling better now, Mrs. Leppard,” he said. He added he would ask her only a few more questions.

  “Can you tell us what you did when you heard your daughter’s cries?”

  Molly said she rushed to Rosannah’s bedside and found her frothing at the mouth. “I sprinkled her face with water and bathed her forehead with a cloth. Her mouth was closed tight. I tried to pry her mouth open with a kitchen knife but I couldn’t. Her teeth were locked together.”

  “So you just bathed her forehead?”

  “Yes, I put cold water on her. I could tell she was in pain all over. When I saw her stomach was swelling, I asked her did anyone give you poison? She motioned up and down with her hands five or six times and made a sign I took as ‘Yes.’”

  Molly appeared much calmer now than before the break. Leonard admired the way she had gotten hold of herself. He thought any woman who had endured the life she had led must be tough and resilient, and Molly was showing both these characteristics.

  Alfred Frost circled between the witness box and the jury after hearing Molly’s latest answer. Turning back to Molly, he asked if Rosannah spoke while in these spasms.

  “A few words after I brought her around with the water,” Molly said. “I applied hot cloths and flannels thinking she might be cold in the stomach. Then she went into another fit. She vomited, and messed herself. When I saw it was no use, and she was dying, I told Bridget to take word to Cook Teets. She stopped at Scarth Tackaberry’s house and Mrs. Tackaberry went on to the Teets’s place with Bridget. They got Cook. He came.”

  Leonard noted that nothing in Molly’s evidence had so far linked Cook directly to Rosannah’s murder. To convince the jury of his guilt, the Crown was going to have to rely on circumstance. That would include any damaging facts about Cook’s behaviour on hearing of the loss of his wife.

  “Now tell the jury, Mrs. Leppard, at what time did the prisoner arrive at your house on the morning of your daughter’s death?”

  “I’m not sure, I guess about eight o’clock.”

  “What time? What time did she say?”

  The interjection came from Cook Teets. He’d been squirming in his seat, changing the bandage over his eyes, leaning his head on his hands, and giving vent to deep sighs. Molly’s testimony was clearly disturbing to him.

  “I can’t hear her. I’ve got to hear those lies,” Cook said, standing up, his agitation apparent to everyone in the courtroom. He went as if to get out of the prisoner’s dock.

  Molly looked to Judge Armour on his dais, as if for protection from Cook.

  “Get the prisoner a chair,” Judge Armour said. “Let him sit beside his lawyer.”

  Angus McMorrin, the clerk, hurried to put a chair in place. Cook, with the help of James Masson, fumbled his way to the seat. Everyone was surprised at Cook’s outburst. Cook ran his hands over his face, scratched himself on the neck, and rubbed one arm. After a minute, Alfred Frost returned to his questioning.

  “What did the prisoner do or say when he came into the house?”

  “He came in and went across to the bed. He felt around her body and said, ‘Poor Rosie, she won’t speak to me again.’ He moved away from the bed and went to sit down. I got up to give him a chair but he said he would rather sit on the floor. He had his back to the window and he gripped his head. I don’t know if he was really troubled or was just pretending. He was saying as if speaking to himself, ‘Poor Rosie, it is me that caused this.’”

  “In what tone did he say this?”

  “Just a kind of a whisper to himself.”

  “Anything more?”

  “I was on the other side of the room, crying. Bridget was trying to quiet the children. They were bawling for their mother. Mary Ann kept running out the door, as if she wanted to get away.”

  Alfred Frost asked Molly how long Cook had stayed with Rosannah’s body. She said he’d stayed all day, even after Rosannah’s body was removed.

  “Did he say anything more about the deceased?”

  “I remember him saying to my husband, when he came home, ‘Mr. Leppard, my calculations is all done with. It’s all over.’”

  “Did the pris
oner ask you how Rosannah took sick or anything of that kind?”

  “He never asked any question about her death to my knowledge.”

  It looked to Leonard as if Molly, who had seemed strong at the outset of this latest round of questions, was begnning to wilt. He wondered how much more of this she could take.

  “Before your daughter’s death, did you say anything to the prisoner about taking his wife to their own home?”

  Molly admitted she was anxious for Cook to take Rosannah and the children to a place of their own.

  “He kept putting it off. He allowed he would have a place in a day or so. He said that a few days before she died. He calc’lated he would rent the old Pedlar place.”

  Alfred Frost took a moment to consider his next question. He stared at the ceiling, put his hands behind his back, and glanced at the jury before looking again at Molly.

  “Mrs. Leppard, I am sure the jury would be interested in hearing about the paper in your daughter’s purse, the one you mentioned at the inquest last year. Can you describe it for them?”

  Leonard remembered how that had come up at the inquest, but no one had paid any attention to it at the time.

  “It was a little paper folded at both ends like a doctor would give you with a dose of medicine. I found it in her purse on a nail over her bed.”

  “Did you see your daughter take anything in the way of medicine that evening?”

  “I never saw her take anything except what Dr. Griffin give her in that bottle. She was always into it. But come to think of it, she might have taken somethin’ else without my seeing her.”

  That poor girl would have taken just about anything, Leonard thought. He had wondered if whatever it was that Dr. Griffin was dishing out had addled Rosannah’s mind.

  At this point, Alfred Frost brought up the matter of strychnine. It was the first time in the trial that anyone made mention of the poison.

  “And what about the strychnine that you spoke of at the inquest?” he asked Molly.

  The question caused Leonard to reflect on a possible connection between Dr. Griffin’s medicines and whatever it was that had killed Rosannah.