I took a deep breath as Hope knocked on Ann Pudeator’s door.
A servant answered and said that Goodwife Pudeator was at home. She showed us into the main room of the large house, and we waited for Ann to appear. When she did, she had a welcoming—if somewhat curious—smile on her face.
“Good evening,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Your father was married this day, was he not?”
I nodded. We didn’t have much time, so I needed to get to the heart of the matter.
“We are here to ask you a few questions,” I said, swallowing my nerves. “About our mother.”
Ann frowned. “Your mother?” She didn’t take a seat or offer one to us. “Why would you ask me about her?”
“Did you know her?” Hope asked.
Ann’s face was lined with wrinkles, and her brown dress was in stark contrast to her white hair and pale skin. But her blue eyes were sharp and clear. “Yes. I knew your mother.”
My breath hitched in my throat. “What was her name?”
“You don’t know her name?” Ann took a step into the room, concern and empathy on her age-worn face. “My poor child. Everyone should know their mother’s name.”
I tried not to let my emotions show as I waited for her to continue.
“Her name was Tacy Howlett—before she married your father.”
Tacy Howlett. I let the name roll around in my mind. It was a foreign name, one I’d never heard before.
“How long did you know her?” I asked.
“Only a few months. She visited me when she learned she was pregnant, and I helped bring you into this world. But I came to know her well in those months.” She pursed her lips—as if she’d said too much.
I took a step closer to her. “What can you tell us of our birth? How did she die? Was it instantaneous? Did she live for a few days afterward?”
Ann studied me, squinting. “I know your father doth not allow anyone to speak her name—and for good reason. But hath he told you nothing?”
Hope and I shook our heads. “We know nothing,” I confessed.
She took several moments, and then said quietly, “Your mother did not die when you were born.”
Silence fell over the room as the information hit both Hope and me. My heart pounded hard. Were the rumors true?
“Father said she died in childbirth,” Hope said.
Ann shook her head. “Your mother’s death had nothing to do with your birth.”
With that simple sentence, everything I’d ever believed about our mother in this path shifted. She hadn’t died when we were born? Then howhadshe died?
A noise in the hall startled all three of us, and we looked toward the sound. It was simply the maid, who had dropped a tea tray, but it had shattered the moment, and when I looked back at Ann, I could see she was worried. It was in the creases of her eyebrows and the set of her mouth.
“I’ve said too much.” She took a step back. “If your father knew what I’ve told you—” She paused and took a deep breath, shaking her head. “I mustn’t say more. I cannot say more.”
“You can tell us whatever you like,” Hope said, moving toward Ann.
Ann continued to shake her head and back up. “I know what happens to widows who step out of place.” She moved to the front door and opened it. “Pray, leave me. I cannot risk making Uriah Eaton angry. He hath the ear of the Putnam family.” She was trembling. “I’ve said too much. Do not tell him what I’ve said.”
I looked at Hope, and she was just as confused and upset as me.
“We won’t breathe a word,” I promised Ann.
“No one must know you’ve been here.” Ann looked out her door as if searching for prying eyes and ears. “No one.”
