A Death in Utopia Read Online Free PDF Page A

1842
    Charlotte gasped. This was what she had been afraid of. She didn't want to hear the words. She had been half-hoping it would turn out that somehow Reverend Hopewell had fallen and hit his head. She just couldn't believe—didn't want to believe—that anyone had deliberately done something so horrible. Brook Farm had been her haven from the tumult of life in England. Here she felt safe among friends. Now it had become a dangerous spot where bad things could happen. Was anyplace ever safe?
    Daniel Gallagher jumped down from the wagon and stood in front of Fred, "How did Mr. Platt figure it out? How can he be sure? Who was it? What's his name? And why did he do it?" Daniel was half a head shorter than Fred and quite a bit thinner even though he must have been at least five years older. His black hair flopped across his pale forehead and his blue eyes peered intently at Fred.
    "Who are you?" asked Fred, scowling a bit. "What are you doing here?" He stared at Daniel suspiciously, taking in his dark city suit, thin blue cravat, and the pencil poking out of his jacket pocket. Before Daniel could answer, Mr. Ripley came out of the Hive and walked over to the wagon.
    "Are you a reporter, young man?" he asked Daniel. "We have no reason to speak to the newspapers about this. We don't want any scandal being spread. We'll take care of it ourselves. The sheriff is on his way."
    "Sure the newspapers will find out, sir," protested Daniel. His brogue gave away his background, but his voice was respectful and polite. "If you tell me the details, I'll give them the straight story. You won't want wild rumors flying around."
    Mr. Ripley looked at him seriously for a minute and then said, "Perhaps you are right, young man. Come with me. We can talk in my office." The two of them walked across the grass and into the building.
    "You tell us about it, Fred," commanded Ellen. "Why does Mr. Platt think he knows what happened to Reverend Hopewell?" She and Charlotte headed toward the kitchen with Fred while Jonas Gerritson drove the wagon toward the barn. The grass was wet and squishy and the girls had to lift their skirts as high as they decently could to keep from getting muddy.
    "Mr. Platt said he saw someone sneaking past his barn early this morning. Looked like he was just a tramp who'd slept there. Platt yelled after him and started to chase him, but the cows were hollering, so he figured he'd better do the milking. He just forgot about the man. It wasn't until he heard about poor Mr. Hopewell that he put two and two together. Who else would it be?"
    "But there's no way to know for sure," Ellen broke in. "Mr. Platt didn't see what happened, did he?"
    "He doesn't have to see it," Fred insisted. "It just makes sense. Don't you think so, Charlotte?"
    Charlotte didn't know what to think. She had seen lots of tramps walking the roads in England and everyone was quick to accuse them whenever anything bad happened. Trouble was, anyone who was down on his luck could look like a tramp. One time her father picked up some apples that had fallen over a farmer's hedge and onto the road. Next thing he knew, the farmer was yelling and accusing him of stealing fruit from his orchard. Lucky for him the landlord was driving by and set things straight or else he might have had the sheriff after him.
    By this time they were in the kitchen sitting at the large wooden table. Mrs. Ripley poked her head in from the laundry room "Charlotte, where have you been all this time? You had better gather up your primary class. Fanny has been tending them all morning. Everything is upset. Some of the children are crying. We need to get them back on their regular schedule. And Fred and Ellen, aren't you supposed to be in class? Mr. Dana's German class? I hope he hasn't forgotten. Where have you been? Nothing is going right. We want to keep everything as normal as possible."
    Mrs. Ripley was wringing her hands and looking harried, not at all like her usual serene self. She