#Review & Excerpt - I Died for Beauty by Amanda Flower #Mystery #Historical

Series: An Emily Dickinson Mystery # 3
Format: Paperback, 352 pages
Release Date: February 25, 2025
Publisher: Berkley
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery / Historical

When a blaze takes both a neighbor’s home and his life, Emily Dickinson and her maid Willa have a burning desire to crack the case in this new historical mystery from Agatha Award–winning author Amanda Flower.

Amherst, 1857. The Dickinson family braves one of the worst winters in New England’s history. Trains are snowbound and boats are frozen in the harbor. Emily Dickinson and her maid, Willa Noble, have never witnessed anything like it. As Amherst families attempt to keep their homes warm, fears of fire abound.

These worries prove not to be unfounded as a blaze breaks out just down the street from the Dickinson in Kelley Square, the Irish community in Amherst, and a young couple is killed, leaving behind their young child. Their deaths appear to be a tragic accident, but Emily finds herself harboring suspicions there may be more to the fire than meets the eye. Emily and Willa must withstand the frigid temperatures and discover a killer lurking among the deadly frost.

"Long years apart can make no breach a second cannot fill; the absence of the witch does not invalidate the spell." Emily Dickinson

I Died For Beauty is the third and apparent final installment in author Amanda Flower's An Emily Dickinson Mystery series. This historical series features Willa Noble, maid to iconic American poet Emily Dickinson, who solves mysteries with her new employer, even though Emily's family tends to look down their noses at the relationship between the pair. This story takes place in Amherst in the year 1857. The Dickinson family braves one of the worst winters in New England’s history. Trains are snowbound, and boats are frozen in the harbor. 

Emily and Willa Noble have never witnessed anything like it. There is a sharp class distinction between Emily’s upper-class family and the hired help. Emily’s family, especially Emily's sister Lavinia, can’t understand why Emily is friends with someone beneath them. Willa's boss, Margaret O'Brien (who was a real person), is often curious, and maybe jealous that Willa spends too much time with Emily. Willa is stuck in an impossible position. She is well aware the Dickinson's see her as someone beneath their class. Emily loves her family but is headstrong, confident, and full of ideas and opinions. 

She is full of ideas and opinions that many consider bold. Her determination can be daunting to others. She doesn’t like rigid structures and has a keen sense of justice. As Amherst families attempt to keep their homes warm, fears of fire abound. As the Dickinson's are asked to help out a poor family in town by taking them food and other supplies, they are also awakened in the middle of the night by the ringing of bells – a house fire is blazing in the middle of town. Thanks to Carlo, Emily’s Newfoundland dog (a real dog who followed Emily all over town), Emily and Willa discover a child, Norah Rose, in the woods. 

Her parents appear to have died tragically in the fire, but Emily finds herself harboring suspicions there may be more to the fire than meets the eye. While Emily's sister-in-law, and likely only real friend Susan, takes Norah Rose in temporarily as they attempt to find relatives for her to live with, Emily and Willa must withstand the frigid temperatures and discover a killer lurking among the deadly frost. As with previous novels, Flower tends to add real-life characters to her story, like Lucy Stone, who was one of the first women in the US to travel around the country fighting for women's rights. But as always, it is not the men who are the problem but the women. 

Over the course of the story, and searching for the reason for the deaths of Norah Rose's parents, it seems as though Norah Rose will only speak with Willa, which makes for a very interesting dynamic later in the story. I found the ending to be pretty emotional. If you've read this series from the beginning, Emily seems to have had agoraphobia and only left the house with her dog, who she later penned a poem after he left this world. Meanwhile, Willa has been avoiding Officer Matthew, who wants more from her. With Norah Rose in the picture, could it be that Willa will finally take the plunge? 

Note: Each of the three books in this series was named after poems written by Emily Dickinson. 

I died for Beauty - but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining Room -

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied -
"And I - for Truth - Themself are One -
We Brethren are",  He said -

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —
We talked between the Rooms -
Until the Moss had reached our lips -
And covered up  - Our names - Emily Dickinson

chapter one

I'd never been this cold. Despite the three pairs of stockings on my feet, I no longer felt my toes. Nor could I feel my hands with two pairs of mittens on them. I looked down at my hands from time to time to reassure myself that I still held the market basket. It was not as heavy as I hoped nor as full as my employers would have wished.

The trains had stopped running days ago. Snowdrifts up to ten feet high blocked their path. It was the worst winter in my memory or in the memory of anyone I knew. We all felt the pinch from the Cold Storm of 1857.

December had been snowy, but it seemed that January was taking it upon itself to prove it could surpass the very worst of weather the last year or even the last decade had to offer.

Here in Amherst, the mercury was twenty degrees below zero, but I also heard that the same temperatures were crippling points as far south as Washington. The cold was torture here, but at least we expected harsh winters. It must have come as a shock to the Southern belles and fine gentlemen in the capital.

I was grateful Horace, the Dickinsons' grounds keeper, had shoveled a path from the street to both the front and back doors of the homestead. Without that cleared path, my skirt would have been soaked through in no time at all. Even so it was narrow, just wide enough for one man to pass, so I had to grip my skirts and hold the market basket out in front of myself like I was making some sort of offering to the winter gods that caused this weather. The way I held my arms out reminded me of the mummy illustrations in the volume of ancient Egyptian history in Mr. Dickinson's library.

Margaret O'Brien, the head maid at the homestead, met me at the back door that led into the laundry. She took the basket from my hands so quickly I felt a sharp pain in my stiff fingers. "Get in here before you let the heat out," she said in her Irish lilt.

I stepped into the laundry and made sure the back door was firmly closed behind me. I placed the heavy blanket back in its place at the foot of the door to keep out the draft. I removed my bonnet, cloak, mittens, boots, and two pairs of stockings, which I tucked into the boots. When I was out of the boots, I changed into my house shoes. It was a relief to not be buried under so much fabric, but much of the cold that the cloak held at bay hit me like an icy wave crashing into Boston Harbor.

In the kitchen Margaret unpacked the basket. "Where is my molasses? And where is the cinnamon I asked for?"

Emily Dickinson came into the kitchen just then, quietly and lightly as she always did. She moved around the place like a house wren that popped up here and there on an unexpected branch in the garden.

Emily was the eldest daughter in the house and the most puzzling of the Dickinsons. While her sister, Miss Lavinia, was straightforward and direct, Emily tended to weave her thoughts into verse and she felt no need to explain in common language their meaning or purpose.

"Willa," she said with a smile. "You're back. You must be frozen to your very bones. Margaret, set a stool by the stove, so she can warm herself."

Grudgingly, Margaret started to walk to the stool.

I hurried on unsteady feet stiff with cold. "There is no need. As soon as I start working, I will warm up quickly."

Emily eyed me as if she was not so sure of that, but to my relief, she didn't argue with me. It was my wish not to annoy Margaret any more with my unusual friendship with Emily than she was already. The more special treatment that Emily gave me as her friend, the more Margaret O'Brien resented me.

I knew a second maid claiming an upper-class educated young lady as a friend was unexpected to say the least. However, over the last two years that I had worked in the Dickinson home, Emily had become my friend as much as she could be, considering our stations in life, and I was appreciative for the bond. She was there when I lost my brother, Henry, and I would always be grateful to her for that.

Emily looked over the items that Margaret unpacked from the basket. "Where is my coconut?"

I started to boil water on the stove to wash the breakfast dishes that I had left undone to run to the market. Usually, the market boy delivered to the homestead. With the harsh weather, all deliveries save the milkman had stopped. That was a blessing as it was so cold that our cow had stopped producing milk.

"I'm sorry, Miss Dickinson," I said. "But the grocer told me that there was no coconut in all of Amherst. With the cold, the trains can't make it in. The rails are too icy for clear passage, and the ones that are not icy are blocked with fallen trees or feet of snow."

Emily sighed. "I suppose there go my plans to make a coconut cake for supper in order to raise all of our spirits. I was very much looking forward to doing that. Baking is the very best way for me to let my mind wander and discover new poems that are waiting to be written. Baking and being in the garden at least. It seems with this weather that option is off the table as well."

"We have the ingredients for your black cake," Margaret chimed in. "I believe there is just enough molasses left. You can bake that and let your mind wander to your heart's content." She added this last bit with a touch of disapproval in her voice that Emily either didn't notice or simply didn't care about. I guessed the latter as there was very little that my mistress missed.

"Are we nearly out of molasses too?" Emily asked. "What is the world coming to?"

Margaret shook her head. It was times like this when I longed to be able to read her thoughts. I was certain that she had a few things that she wished she could say about Emily's comment.

Emily clicked her tongue as if in dismay. "What will become of us when there is no molasses or coconut?"

I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from saying many people live without these luxuries. In fact, I had never even known of coconuts until I began working at the Dickinson home. They were so exotic to me. Having grown up with nothing gave me a perspective that Emily didn't have. I did not hold it against my friend, but it was a painful reminder of the vast chasm between our life experiences.

"I'll make some sort of pound cake instead," Emily declared. "Something simple, yet bright and festive. We should save the molasses as there is no telling when we will get more."

"Surely, this cold can't go on for more than a day or two more," Margaret said.

"You have said that for two weeks, Margaret, and it has given no indication of stopping. The papers say it could go into March. Father has been watching the barometer in his office and makes doom-filled pronouncements about the weather to come."

Margaret sniffed. "I don't know how that gadget of gears and dials can predict the weather. Only a well-aged farmer can do so accurately." She said this like that was all she had to say on the matter.

"It's science, Margaret, and is much more reliable than an old farmer licking his finger and holding it up in the wind. Father sounded quite confident about the weather to come."

Margaret crossed herself. "Let's all pray that it doesn't come to that."

Margaret would have never made that gesture in front of any other member of the Dickinson family because it would only be a reminder that she was Irish Catholic at heart. It would make their Calvinist sensibilities most uncomfortable. As Emily had no interest in organized religion and followed a belief system of her own creation, it had no effect on her. She didn't even mind that I was raised Baptist, which some members of the Dickinsons' church found appalling.

Margaret caught me listening to their conversation. "Willa, get on with the dishes and when that is done, dust and polish in the parlor as long as the family is not in the room."

I nodded and set to work. The hot water seeped into my frozen skin, and it was both painful and welcome.

Shortly after Margaret and I returned to our daily tasks, Emily left the kitchen, saying she would be back in the late morning to bake her pound cake, as they did not take as much time to make as her coconut cake would have.

When I finished the dishes and had dried them and tucked them away, I went through the dining room into the parlor. I was happy to see that everything in the dining room was polished and put away. Typically, that was my task, but Margaret had taken it upon herself when I was at the market. I would thank her for it later even though she would outwardly scoff at the gratitude while inwardly enjoying it.

I was just stepping into the family parlor when the terrifying scent of smoke tickled my nose. I hurried inside the front parlor to find an ember from the fireplace had made its way through the screen and smoldered on the edge of the carpet.

I stamped it out with my shoe with my heart beating out of my chest. Had I not been there at that very time, there was no telling what would have happened.

I pulled my foot away from the spot and there was the faintest of burns no larger than a penny on the colorful carpet. I wondered how I could remove the stain without anyone being the wiser.

My hopes to keep the incident quiet were dashed when Mr. Dickinson stormed into the room. "Do I smell something burning?"

Emily and Miss Lavinia were just steps behind him.

Mr. Dickinson was not a large man but formidable all the same. He had a receding hairline, and what hair he had on the sides of his head stuck out in triangular tufts. His brow was heavy and thick as were his sideburns. His nose was pointed and sharp, almost like a beak. He was the very last person that I would have wanted to find me in this current state.

The urge to place my foot back over the burn spot was overwhelming, but I stopped myself. I did not want to look like I was covering something up as though this was my fault.

"Willa, are you all right?" Emily asked.

"Yes, miss," I murmured, and kept my eyes pointed at my shoes.

"What has happened here?" Mr. Dickinson asked. "Have you burned a hole into the carpet, you careless girl?"

I could feel my body quake, and I willed it to stop. I was about to be sacked. I just knew it. Honestly, it was a miracle that I had lasted two long years. I thought most of that had to do with Emily's intervention when it came to her father.

She came to my rescue again. "Father, please. Willa would never do that!" She nodded to me. "Willa, tell us what happened."

"Thank you, miss." I took a breath and was determined to keep my voice steady. "I had just come into the front parlor to start the dusting when I smelled a hint of smoke. I saw an ember had come through the gate and fallen to the carpet. I stamped it out with my foot." I held up the toe of my shoe as if that was proof in some way. "It must have just happened as I was coming into the room. I was grateful I was here, miss. Most grateful."

"As are we," Emily said. "The whole of the house could have been lost!" She turned to her father. "See, she saved us all!"

"When was this hearth last cleaned?" Mr. Dickinson asked.

It took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me. The father of the home rarely addressed any question to me. If he wanted information from me, it was relayed back and forth through Margaret and at times, Miss Lavinia.

"Yesterday morning, sir."

"But not today?" he roared. "Why not?"

"The fires were made in haste, sir," I admitted. "I had to go to the market as there is no delivery due to the cold."

"That is not acceptable. Every hearth must be cleaned every day until this weather breaks. I will not lose this house after I spent a lifetime earning it back. More people die of fires than the cold," he snapped. "Remember that."

I swallowed. My throat felt swollen, but I managed to speak. "I can clean the hearth now, Mr. Dickinson, if it is your wish."

"I expect you to," he said, and left the room.

Miss Lavinia, who was dark-haired and petite like Emily, if a bit thicker, made a move to leave the room and stopped in the doorway. "Don't let Willa cut corners, Emily, simply because you think of her as your friend," she said snidely, and left.

Emily patted my arm. "Do not worry about them, Willa. I still believe that you are a heroine."

"I don't feel like one," I said.

"You cannot put a fire out a thing that can ignite," she said, and left the room leaving me to wonder what fire she meant.

chapter two

When the family left the room, I began to roll up the hearth rug and set to work. As there was already a fire in the hearth, I would have to snuff it out before cleaning. The fire's remnants would be hot, but I didn't believe I had any other choice in the matter but to set it to rights. I had to clean it quickly and set the fire again before the room grew too cold to stand.

In an hour, I scoured the hearth from top to bottom and front to back. I'd never done such a thorough job cleaning a fireplace before, but Mr. Dickinson's mention of fire scared me. In my mind's eye, I could still see that ember smoldering on the carpet.

Emily's large brown dog, Carlo, wandered into the room when I was in the middle of cleaning. He flopped in the family parlor in front of the piano. The pocket doors between the two rooms stood open. Until I was done with the task, no member of the family would come into the parlor for fear of getting soot on their clothes.

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#Revew - I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died by Amanda Flower #Mystery #Historical

Series: An Emily Dickinson Mystery (#2)
Format:  Paperback, 352 pages
Release Date: November 14, 2023
Publisher: Berkley
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery / Historical

When a literary icon stays with the Dickinson family, Emily and her housemaid Willa find themselves embroiled in a shocking murder in this new mystery from USA Today bestselling and Agatha Award–winning author Amanda Flower.

August 1856. The Dickinson family is comfortably settled in their homestead on Main Street. Emily’s brother, Austin Dickinson, and his new wife are delighted when famous thinker and writer Ralph Waldo Emerson comes to Amherst to speak at a local literary society and decides he and his young secretary, Luther Howard, will stay with the newlyweds. Emily has been a longtime admirer of Emerson’s writing and is thrilled at the chance to meet her idol. She is determined to impress him with her quick wit, and if she can gather the courage, a poem. Willa Noble, the second maid in the Dickinson home and Emily's friend, encourages her to speak to the famous but stern man. But his secretary, Luther, intrigues Willa more because of his clear fondness for the Dickinson sisters.

Willa does not know if Luther truly cares for one of the Dickinson girls or if he just sees marrying one of them as a way to raise himself up in society. After a few days in his company, Willa starts to believe it’s the latter. Miss Lavinia, Emily’s sister, appears to be enchanted by Luther; a fact that bothers Emily greatly. However, Emily’s fears are squashed when Luther turns up dead in the Dickinson’s garden. It seems that he was poisoned. Emerson, aghast at the death of his secretary, demands answers. Emily and Willa set out to find them in order to save the Dickinson family reputation and stop a cold-blooded fiend from killing again.

Amanda Flower's I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died is the second installment in the authors An Emily Dickinson Mystery series. This story is a retelling of Emily Dickinson's poem by the same name. The series features Willa Noble, maid to iconic American poet Emily Dickinson, who solves mysteries with her new employer. For Willa, it has been 1 year since her beloved brother was murdered, and she, along with Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), worked together to solve his murder. They also discovered the Underground railroad, and the Abolitionist movement.

It is now August 1856. The Dickinson family is comfortably settled in their homestead on Main Street. Emily’s brother, Austin Dickinson, and his new wife Susan Gilbert are delighted when famous thinker and writer Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) comes to Amherst to speak at a local literary society and decides he and his young secretary, Luther Howard, will stay with the newlyweds. Emily has been a longtime admirer of Emerson’s writing and is thrilled at the chance to meet her idol. 

 

She is determined to impress him with her quick wit, and if she can gather the courage, a poem. Willa Noble, the second maid in the Dickinson home and Emily's friend, encourages her to speak to the famous but stern man. But his secretary, Luther, intrigues Willa more because of his clear fondness for Emily's sister, Lavinia. Willa does not know if Luther truly cares for Lavinia or if he just sees marrying one of them as a way to raise himself up in society. Emily is also weary of Luther's request to read her poems.

 

After a few days in his company, Willa starts to believe it’s the latter. Lavinia appears to be enchanted by Luther; a fact that bothers Emily greatly. One afternoon, Willa overhears an argument between Emerson and Luther. Emerson accused Luther of stealing some of his works, telling him he was fired when their current visit ended. However, Emily’s fears are squashed when Luther turns up dead in the Dickinson’s garden. It seems that he was poisoned. Emerson, aghast at the death of his secretary, demands answers. Emily and Willa set out to find them in order to save the Dickinson family reputation and stop a cold-blooded fiend from killing again.

 

*Thoughts* The author uses plenty of historical figures in this story once again like Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) writer of Little Women. I honestly don't know much about Emily Dickinson's life, but understand she ended up spending a lot of time in her own mind, and has been thought of one of America's most talented writer of poems. Even though only 10 poems were released, it is said she may have written up to a thousand which were later edited for format and released. In this series, she's a bit headstrong and flighty, yet actually one of the only ones that treated everyone kindly. Especially Willa who she treats better than her sister most of the time.  

 

It is curious to see how much longer Willa continues to play keep away from Officer Matthew who has made his intentions known to her. Willa also has issues with Lavinia in not understanding why she and Emily are constantly getting involved in things that the police are supposed to investigate and solve. Willa and the Dickinson's head maid have a curious relationship. Willa never shirks away from doing the job she is supposed to be paid to do, not even when she is constantly pulled away by Emily to do more investigating. 

 

Chapter One

I thrust the tip of my spade into the earth and had images flash through my mind of digging a grave, a grave dug in stone. The tiniest bit of dirt came loose from the combination of my force and the steel blade. The small amount of soil hardly seemed worth the effort. I closed my eyes for a moment. Trying to plant these daylilies in August was a bad idea. This was the driest and hottest month of the year, not a good time for planting much of anything. However, when my mistress, Emily Dickinson, saw the lilies growing on the side of an abandoned road, she had to have them for her new garden at the Dickinson homestead. One way or another, I had to get them in the ground before they languished in the heat.

Sweat trickled down both sides of my face. My only recourse was to wet the ground and then plant the daylilies. I knew Emily would not want to change the location of the plants. When she made up her mind about something, it was as good as done. The only trouble being when I was the one who was supposed to make sure it got done. At least I wasn't alone on this particular assignment.

Cody Carey, the family's yardman, stood a few feet away and looked as hot as I felt. He wiped at his brow. The pair of us had toiled in companionable silence for a long while. Cody was a few years younger than my twenty-one years. He had a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. The blond mustache on his upper lip could only be seen when the light hit it directly. His attempt at a mustache was the same straw color of his hair. He had just started to work at the Dickinson home that summer, and Emily hoped to train him up as a proper gardener, both for the homestead and for the Evergreens, the neighboring property that was home to Emily's brother and his new wife.

"Willa!" a breathy voice called.

I jumped and dropped my spade onto the hard ground. The handle bounced and struck me in the ankle. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"Willa!" Emily called again. "Susan and Austin are home!" The jubilation in her voice was clear. My mistress Emily wasn't one to do anything by halves. If you were someone she loved, like her family, then it was wholly and fiercely.

Emily's brother, Austin, had married Susan the month before in a private ceremony. Not even the Dickinson family had been included.

Susan Dickinson née Gilbert was Emily's dearest friend, and I thought, as such, Emily would be thrilled to now be able to call Susan not just her friend but her sister. However, when she'd learned that Susan and Austin were to marry privately, she had seemed relieved.

"I don't think I could bear to watch. It's like a death. Death causes division and change, and I sense that coming," she'd told me.

To this day, I don't understand why she felt that way. Did she fear losing her brother to marriage or did she fear losing her friend? In any case, they were both with her now, living in a grand house that Emily's father had built for the newlyweds. I could not fathom what the loss, or "death" as Emily called it, could be.

Perhaps I was looking at this from the perspective of my own pain. Over a year ago, my brother, Henry, had been brutally murdered. He'd been the only family I had left in this world . . . the only family worth mentioning at least. I'd experienced real death and loss, so the comparison chafed at my own grief.

"We must go over to the Evergreens to greet them," Emily declared. "I know they will be tired from their journey, but it cannot be helped. I have to see them straightaway. I can't wait until the evening meal. That is hours from now."

"You should go," I said.

"I want you to go with me."

I picked up my spade and noticed that Cody had wandered off when Emily appeared. I hoped he didn't think I was going to plant all these daylilies myself. He was the yardman, not me. "I don't know why you'd like me to go with you."

"They will want to see you," she insisted.

I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, certain I would have dirt on my face. I doubted Austin Dickinson and the newly married Susan Gilbert Dickinson would be so eager to see me upon their return to Amherst.

Austin had spoken less than twenty words to me in the last year and a half I had been under the Dickinson family employ, and Susan scoffed at my friendship with Emily like I was her competition. This I could not quite understand. Susan was Emily's dearest friend and now her sister. I could never compete with that, nor would I want to. I was a maid. I knew my station. Emily may be amused by my friendship, but I was still a servant first. I was there to do her bidding and the bidding of the family.

"Please, Willa, come with me." Emily's small hands fluttered in front of her face. Emily was a petite woman with a tiny waist, reddish hair, and deep-set dark eyes. At the moment those eyes were afraid. Maybe not afraid, but certainly anxious. What could possibly strain her nerves about seeing her brother and Susan, two people whom she knew and loved best in the world?

"Are friends delight or pain? Could bounty but remain," Emily said.

I had become accustomed to Emily speaking so. When she spoke in that tone, she wasn't speaking to me but to herself. She was working through a poem. She murmured the words again and added, "Riches are good."

I picked up my spade and set it into the metal pail I used to carry my gardening tools around the yard. "I will come, miss. If it will be a help to you."

Emily's eyes cleared. The faraway look that seemed to overtake her every so often faded. "Thank you, Willa. You are a true delight."

I glanced at the large yellow house where I lived with the Dickinson family and their head maid, Margaret O'Brien. "I should go wash up. I have been digging in the garden for the better part of an hour. I'm sure I'm covered in dirt."

Emily waved this idea away. "Do not bother. It is my brother and Susan. There is no reason to keep up appearances. Now come. Just remove your apron and you will be presentable enough."

I glanced up at the house, where it seemed to loom over the garden. "I can't be long. Miss O'Brien was expecting me to come in soon to assist with dinner. She will be quite upset if I'm not there on time. Your father likes to eat at the same hour every evening for his digestion."

"I have already told Miss O'Brien that I have need of you and you will clean the kitchen top to bottom after dinner to make up for the lost time."

I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands. I typically cleaned the kitchen top to bottom every night, but with Miss O'Brien's help. Without her help it would take twice as long, which meant I wouldn't have any time to read The Scarlet Letter, the novel Emily lent me. When she'd learned of my love of reading, she'd given me access to her personal library. Many nights, I had to force myself to blow out the candle and go to sleep. I would have much rather stayed up and read, but the time I had outside of working was limited. My only day off during the week was Sunday. Often after church, I would walk through Amherst with a book under my arm.

At times, I would allow Matthew Thomas, a local police officer and friend, to accompany me on my walks. He would like to join me every Sunday, but as much as I enjoyed his companionship, I wanted nothing more than friendship from him. He felt differently and had made his intentions known. For his sake, I wished he would look elsewhere for a wife. I did not want him to waste his time on me when he could find happiness with someone new.

I removed my apron as Emily instructed, folded it, and placed it neatly onto the garden stool I used while weeding. Perhaps while I was gone, Cody would return and finish planting the daylilies. That would be a great gift.

Emily grabbed my hand. "Come, Willa. There's not a moment to waste." She pulled me along the grass and released my hand when we reached the younger Dickinsons' property. I slowed and took in the new house.

Just like the homestead, where Emily lived with her parents and younger sister Lavinia, the Evergreens was an impressive home. It was so new that the paint on the shutters gleamed in the sunlight. I'd heard Emily say it was an Italianate-style home, which made me think it must have been inspired by grand buildings in Italy. I'd never seen any structure like it. It was large, but the most impressive thing was the tower that rose out of the middle of it. It looked like a clock tower looming over the joint grounds of the Evergreens and the homestead.

Emily called the house a "bribe tied into a threat." Her brother had wanted to move west after his marriage to make his own way in the world and discover his fortune. Miss Susan had not wished for that. She wanted to stay in Amherst near friends and most of all near Emily. Mr. Dickinson made his son an offer that he couldn't walk away from: a grand new home and work at the family law firm. He would find nothing like this house in the wilderness. It was a gilded cage meant to keep him close, and Mr. Dickinson had succeeded.

Emily was running now. She was so eager to greet her brother and new sister. It made me wonder why she insisted I come along at all. It was clear she didn't need me. I had found Emily always had a purpose for everything she did, even if she was the only one who understood it.

Austin Dickinson stood next to a carriage and offered a hand to his new bride as she stepped out. Miss Susan looked up at the house, and her lips curved with pleasure as if some sort of dream had been fulfilled. It must have been a great comfort for her to know she was now secure and would always have a home. From the snippets I had overhead from the family, I gathered Miss Susan hadn't had the same upbringing as the Dickinson children. Her parents were dead, and she'd been handed off from aunt to aunt. As luck or providence would have it, she and Emily struck up a friendship several years ago, and from that relationship, Miss Susan became acquainted with Austin. Now, she was a member of one of the most prominent families in Amherst. It was a great change of fortune.

"You're home!" Emily cried, and ran to her brother and Miss Susan. "I thought I should die before you returned. It was so long, and you did not write me nearly as much as you should have."

"Emily." Her brother laughed. "We are to dine at the homestead tonight and greet you properly then. There is no reason to make a scene."

From the light shining in Austin's eyes, he was pleased to see his sister.

Emily hugged her brother and Miss Susan in turn. "I don't need a proper greeting. I could not wait one more second without seeing you. You can greet Mother and Father under the stiff confines of the dining table. But me, I want to be greeted in the open air with only heaven looking down."

"Oh, Emily, Sister," Miss Susan said. "I have missed you so. I'm certain I longed to see you as much as you longed to see me."

Austin wrinkled his brow. "Yes, we have both missed you, Sister."

The porter removed the couple's trunks from the back of the carriage, and Austin seemed to accept this as a time to escape. "I will show you where to put those. The house is still being put in order, and not all the furniture is in place."

"Yes, sir," the man murmured. His thick Irish accent was noticeable when he spoke. Austin led the green-eyed porter into the house. It was then that Miss Susan noticed me for the first time. "And why did you bring the maid with you?" Miss Susan asked. Her intelligent eyes bored into me.

"She was in the garden and wanted to welcome you home too. I see no reason to turn a warm welcome away, do you, dear Sister?" She sighed happily. "What a thrill it is for me to call you that. I feel as if I have been waiting for this day for so many years. I have dreamed it, prayed for it, and now it is here. We will be together each and every day, as we were meant to be."

Miss Susan's gaze softened when she looked at Emily. "This is what I have wished and prayed for too. I'm grateful to be married to your brother, but I wish . . ." She trailed off and then looked at me again. "It is no matter. This is the best solution." Miss Susan's demeanor changed. "We have news."

"You are with child already?" Emily gasped.

Miss Susan clapped her hands as if Emily's thought were a fly that must be squashed. "Heavens no. We're going to have our first guests to the Evergreens here in just a week's time. There is a literary society meeting at the college just before the new term begins, and Mr. Emerson will be the honored guest. I learned of this while we were on our wedding trip, and wrote to extend an invitation. He accepted, and he and his secretary will be staying here with us."

Emily laid a hand to her chest. "Ralph Waldo Emerson, the writer?"

Susan chuckled and lovingly touched Emily's cheek. "My girl, yes, is there any other Emerson of literary importance in this world? He will be arriving from Concord by carriage a week from today. As you can imagine, this does not give me much time to prepare. My own maid is in a complete panic over it because, yes, I expect everything to be perfect. I will not have my first esteemed guest reporting back to the wider world that I neither knew how to keep a home, nor was a proper hostess." She lowered her hand from Emily's cheek

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#Review - Because I Could Not Stop for Death by Amanda Flower #Historical #Mystery

Series: An Emily Dickinson Mystery (#1)
Format: Paperback, 336 pages
Release Date: September 20, 2022
Publisher: Berkley Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Historical / Mystery

Emily Dickinson and her housemaid, Willa Noble, realize there is nothing poetic about murder in this first book in an all-new series from USA Today bestselling and Agatha Award–winning author Amanda Flower.

January 1855 Willa Noble knew it was bad luck when it was pouring rain on the day of her ever-important job interview at the Dickinson home in Amherst, Massachusetts. When she arrived late, disheveled with her skirts sodden and filthy, she'd lost all hope of being hired for the position. As the housekeeper politely told her they'd be in touch, Willa started toward the door of the stately home only to be called back by the soft but strong voice of Emily Dickinson. What begins as tenuous employment turns to friendship as the reclusive poet takes Willa under her wing. 

Tragedy soon strikes and Willa's beloved brother, Henry, is killed in a tragic accident at the town stables. With no other family and nowhere else to turn, Willa tells Emily about her brother’s death and why she believes it was no accident. Willa is convinced it was murder. Henry had been very secretive of late, only hinting to Willa that he'd found a way to earn money to take care of them both. Viewing it first as a puzzle to piece together, Emily offers to help, only to realize that she and Willa are caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse that reveals corruption in Amherst that is generations deep. Some very high-powered people will stop at nothing to keep their profitable secrets even if that means forever silencing Willa and her new mistress....

  Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality…

 

According to Berkley, Because I Could Not Stop for Death is the first installment in author Amanda Flower's Emily Dickinson Mystery series. This book puts a real life historical character, Emily Dickinson, and her fictional maid, Willa Noble, on the cusp of a Civil War thanks to the 1950 Fugitive Slave Act which gave jobs to slave hunters to round up escaped slaves before they could escape to Canada and freedom via the Underground Railroad.

 

After leaving her former employers boardinghouse, and showing up in the middle of a rain storm for an interview, Willa is unexpectedly hired by the iconic American Poet Emily Dickinson, whose father is in his last days as a Whig Party politician. While Willa is getting her feet wet working for the Dickinson Family, she gets news that her brother Henry's death as been ruled an accident by the police, but not by her once admirer Office Matthew Thomas who as like a brother to Henry. 

 

Henry had been working at a Livery Stables taking care of horses when he was killed apparently by his own actions in hurting a horse. Upon further reflection, Willa ends up getting Henry's diary which reveals that Henry was involved in something that likely got him killed. Something is very wrong in Amherst, and with the ever Emily Dickinson her, Willa travels from Amherst, to Washington, D.C, and back in search for answers as to who really hurt Henry and why.

 

The author brings in real historical people and interesting fictional ones to the mystery. Willa is a very sympathetic main character. Based on my limited knowledge of the poet Emily Dickinson, she seemed to be well portrayed in this fictional portrayal of an early period in her life. Class distinctions, slavery, the underground railroad, and the perilous 1850's in Washington, DC and New England are written realistically. The story is moving and suspenseful at times, but the pace felt somewhat slow. 

 

I had no prior knowledge that this was part of a series. Especially since the story wraps up quite nicely, and there wasn't an actual need for a sequel.

 

 

Chapter One

Icy rain slapped the dirt road, turning it into mud. I did my best to protect my skirts, holding them as high as I dared above my ankles. It wouldn't do to go into my interview covered in mud. I had a feeling that Miss O'Brien would not look kindly on me for that.

A shrill whistle broke into my worried thoughts. "Move aside!" called a man who was driving a wagon loaded down with barrels and crates bound for the market uptown.

As the wagon rolled by at a fast clip, one of its rear wooden wheels fell into a rut in the road and splashed mud onto my side. I stopped in the rain and stared at my soiled skirts and cloak. My head hung low. Was there any purpose in going to the interview now? Miss O'Brien would never hire me to be a maid when I arrived in such a state. How could I claim to be able to clean anything when I was a mess?

I watched as the wagon lumbered down the mud-covered street. The rain fell in earnest then, so much so that I couldn't even see the stately homes that sat on either side of the street or the two-story brick primary school that I attended off and on as a child. I yanked at the hood of my cloak, pulling it farther down over my eyes. I couldn't turn back. It would be far worse to show up late than dirty. I marched ahead in soggy boots.

Through the rain, the great house came into view, and I realized that it was just across the street from my childhood school. It was a two-story white clapboard home that loomed above me. I had never been inside a home so large before. If I got the position, I would be able to live there. Possibly. It seemed to be a very far-off chance now.

With shaky hands, I removed the note I had received from Miss O'Brien. In delicate script, Come to the back door at half past noon. Do not be late. Mr. Dickinson does not abide tardiness. And then she signed her name, Margaret O'Brien.

Rain smeared the ink. I patted it and only managed to transfer the ink onto my hand. Mud-covered skirts and now ink-stained hands.

The worst part was I didn't need to read the letter. I had memorized it. It was only my nerves that made me remove it from my pocket to read it once more. Yet another mistake I made that day. Only I could have made such a mess of things.

There was no one at the front of the house, and the gardens, which stretched far into the backyard, were empty too. No one was silly enough to be out in this cold January rain. Ice slapped my face. The rain was beginning to freeze. It seemed fitting for the state that I was in.

I slipped and skidded on the cobblestone path around the grand home until I came to a plain door painted black with a brass handle and knocker. I swallowed and lifted the knocker.

Tap, tap, tap. It fell against the door. No sound came from inside the house. I waited a moment, wondering if I should knock again. Would knocking again aggravate Miss O'Brien and show that I was not only covered in mud but impatient? I knew she would already be dubious of me due to my appearance.

There was no cover outside the servants' entrance. The rain droned on, soaking me to the skin. I worried about the puddles that I would carry with me into the majestic home. I lifted my hand to knock a second time, and the door opened. My pale hand was suspended in the air. I dropped it to my side.

A thin woman with curly dark hair that was smartly tucked under in a knot on the back of her head stood in the doorway. "Miss Willa Noble?" She had an Irish accent like the men who worked in the warehouse with my brother. Although hers had a much gentler lilt to it than the men at the warehouse.

I nodded. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Come in, then."

I stepped over the threshold into a dark hallway. Two sets of stairs went up in either direction from this spot. I imagined one led to where the family lived and the other to where the servants worked.

"Don't stand there and drip," Miss O'Brien said in a voice that was firm but not harsh. "Take off your cloak there." She pointed at the wall. "There's a peg where you can hang it."

I did as I was told. Still, I hadn't spoken a word. I prayed my ability to speak would return before the interview began.

She looked down at my feet. "You can't walk through the house in those muddy boots. I will have to spend days scrubbing the carpets. Wait here."

She left me standing in the entryway and disappeared down the hallway. I dripped on the floorboards. She returned a minute later with a pair of old black shoes in her hands.

"These belonged to the previous maid. She left them when she took a new post. I have been meaning to mail them to her, but I am glad now I have not." She set the shoes in front of me on the floor. "Take those boots off and put these on."

I again did as I was told. The shoes were a size too small and pinched my toes, but I didn't say a word about the discomfort. "Thank you," I murmured.

"Good, you can talk. I was afraid we would have to pantomime this interview. Now, follow me, and I will take you to the room where we can discuss the position. Lift your skirts as we go, so as not to soil anything. Mrs. Dickinson prides herself on a clean home."

I lifted my skirts and followed her up the left staircase. I assumed this was the way that led to where the servants worked. She opened the door at the top of the landing, and I was astonished to see I was wrong. Instead of walking into a servants' hallway, we were in a large sitting room. Everything in the room was so elegant! A fire crackled and snapped in the hearth. The furnishings were fine. A velvet brocade sofa was on one side of the fire, and two matching chairs were on the other. A modest yet sparkling chandelier hung overhead, and a petite desk stood by the window. I didn't think I had ever been in a room this lovely before.

Miss O'Brien perched on one of the two chairs. "I hope it's all right that I ask you to remain standing. Please know it is only to spare the furniture from the state of your clothes."

I nodded.

"You must look such a fright because of the storm outside, so I won't mark you down too much for that. January is such a horrid month. It rains or snows or both almost every day. More weeks of foul weather lie ahead. I suppose that's why summer is so precious to us. The spring is unpredictable and can be ripped away by a whim of the wind." She said this all in her Irish lilt like she was trying to coax me to sleep with a bedtime story.

I nodded again.

"Where are you working now?" Her tone told me that pleasantries were over and she was getting down to business.

"I clean at Mrs. Patten's Boarding House on South Pleasant Street. I have been there for two years," I said, grateful that I had been able to utter the words so clearly.

"Do you not like working at the boardinghouse?" she asked. "Is that why you applied for this position?"

I swallowed. "No, it's fine work. Good work for a girl like me to find, but I saw the advert in the paper for this position. It's an opportunity to move into a new challenge. I believe working for a family that is so vital to the community would be quite an honor."

"You are right in thinking that working for the Dickinson family would be a new challenge. They are an exacting family and hold a very high standard. Mr. Dickinson especially so. He is finishing his term at the United States House of Representatives," she said with pride. "He served his country, the Whig party, and the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts well. It would be your privilege to work for him and his family, if you're granted the position. When he finishes his term he will be here overseeing the renovations of the family home on Main Street. He is in the process of buying it, and renovations will begin as soon as everything is finalized. It is right that the Dickinson family would move back to the home that Mr. Dickinson's father built. They have been away from it far too long."

"The Dickinsons are moving?" I asked.

"Yes," she said in a crisp voice. "It has been Mr. Dickinson's goal to return to the homestead for many years. His father ran into a bit of financial trouble and lost it. He fled to Ohio in disgrace." She looked around with bright red cheeks. "Don't repeat that."

"I won't," I promised. My hands began to shake. I clasped them in front of me and pressed them into my skirts.

"Was the boardinghouse your first position?" Miss O'Brien asked, getting back to the task at hand.

"No, I've been in domestic work for the last eight years."

She frowned. "Eight years. You can't be more than sixteen."

"I am twenty, ma'am. I started work when I was twelve."

"What made you work so young?" She eyed me. "Should you not have been in school? The Dickinsons put great value in education, even in the education of girls such as yourself."

"My mother died, ma'am, and I had to provide for my younger brother and me. I had to go to work. Our mother taught us to work hard, so it was no trouble to take over that role."

"Haven't you got a father?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Not that I know of," I said and pressed my clenched hands deeper into my skirts. My father was not a topic for conversation even if it cost me the position at the Dickinson household. I would not speak of him, ever.

"How much younger is your brother than you?"

"Two years, ma'am," I said. "He's an adult now, too, and works just as much as I do. He works even harder, I should say, because of the physical labor required for man's work."

Miss O'Brien stood up. "I'm interviewing several more girls for this post. I will let you know by mail by the end of the week if we choose you." She looked at my wet, muddy skirts again.

My heart sank. If there were several young ladies applying for this position, what chance did I really have at winning the spot? I was the girl who came to the interview covered in mud and who was too young without the proper experience for the post. Why did I think I was the only one who would have been interested in the ad? As I told Miss O'Brien, the position was a chance to move up-this was true not just for me but for anyone in domestic work. There were many young women in my place that would want to do so.

"Thank you for your time," I said. "Would you like me to let myself out?"

Before Miss O'Brien could answer, a breathy voice said, "There will be no more interviews. Margaret, you have found the right maid."

I turned and a small woman stood in the doorway. She was petite and wore a brown dress that was cinched around her small waist. Her chestnut red hair was pinned back in a fashionable knot and her dark eyes shone with interest, but there was a faraway look about them too. She was a very pretty woman, but there was something birdlike in her movements as she stepped into the room. Her hands fluttered like the tips of wings.

Miss O'Brien jumped to her feet. "Miss Dickinson, can I help you with something?"

"You have helped. You have found our new maid. I'm very grateful to you for that. Mother wants us to keep a clean house, especially when she is in the middle of one of her episodes."

Episodes? What does she mean by this?

Miss Dickinson studied me with an exacting gaze. "She looks like she has a strong back too. It's something that we will need if Father insists on pulling us up and moving us back to the place of my birth." She said this like she wasn't very keen on the idea.

"Very well, Miss Dickinson." Miss O'Brien dipped her chin.

"Thank you, Margaret." The small woman looked me in the eye. "I like someone who would sacrifice herself for her family and duty. That's just the kind of person I want on our staff. I think there have been enough questions. Margaret, please show the young maid to her room and cancel the rest of your interviews for the position."

Miss O'Brien pressed her lips together as if she were unsure. "If you are certain, Miss . . ."

"Very certain. I like her, Margaret. If I like her, Father will agree."

Miss O'Brien nodded. "Please follow me, Miss Noble. I will show you to your room."

I blinked; it was all happening so fast. I glanced back at Miss Dickinson, but she was no longer there. She was gone.

"Do not be surprised that she seemingly disappeared. She comes and goes through the house in silence. She's so small and light she floats from room to room. The only time I do hear her come is when Carlo is with her."

"Carlo?" I asked as I hurried to keep pace with her in my too-tight shoes.

"Don't tell me that you haven't seen Miss Dickinson walking through Amherst with that beast of a dog. He's big and brown and has curls just like a woman. He weighs nearly as much as she does."

"He's a beast?" I asked with a slight tremor in my voice. I wasn't very keen on dogs. The only ones I knew guarded the warehouse where my brother worked and took their position of protecting the property quite seriously.

"I just say that because of his size. He's a kind dog, but we have to mind any paw prints on the carpets. That will be something you will have to contend with as a maid in the house. All paw prints must be removed immediately, if they are from the dog or from Miss Lavinia's cats. Mrs. Dickinson does not abide by them." She continued walking. "You will see Carlo soon enough and understand."

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