Children Of The Dressmaker

***The following story is historical fiction based on a crime that happened in 1865. Reference to violence and grief. Content maybe upsetting and not suitable for all readers.***

Boston, June 24,1865

I lay on the bed, focusing on a curtain that moves ever so slightly with the warm summer breeze streaming through the window. I hear the sounds of the streets below. The horse carriage trolleys with large amounts of people finding their way home from work or carrying on to evening plans such as the theatre. All the life of the world continuing. The world that has already forgotten. The world that has left me broken.

The late afternoon sun is still strong but moving towards the west and I know it will be night again soon. I hear the screeching of the barn owl outside in the trees just as I did the first night when we arrived here two weeks ago today. I remain still just trying to remember.

We came down from Lynn, a city north of Boston, where I had been working in a small women’s clothing shop. I lost my husband several months ago to an infection that took his breath so quickly. I was left alone with my two children Isabella and John to raise. I had to continue working so I could provide for them. I could not care for both and my son, John, only ten years old needed someone home to watch him. I brought Isabella, who had just turned fifteen, to help me and learn the skills in the shop she would need to work. John was still too young, so I sent him to live with my late husband’s mother and sister. I sent him here to be safe.

The barn owl continues to screech.

Through the winter, John wrote letters about his love of this place. He was happy to be in Boston with his grandmother and the school was really something. He spoke endlessly of his great adventures when riding the horse drawn trolleys. What did they call them here, “omnibus?”

He loved the woods and the endless parks where he could play and run. He was excited to show Isabella and couldn’t wait for us to visit.

Isabella asked again and again about when we would make the trip. She missed her brother and wanted to see her grandmother. I finally saved enough money to make the voyage possible. Although the work at the dress shop had dropped significantly in the last few months as our country tried to become one again after the war. We were also mourning the death our dear President Lincoln. I thought the fresh air and a chance to see my in-laws would do us both some good. I especially missed my son.

My sister in-law, Claire had also found me some work for several women in the area. My first appointment was for a wedding and would require me to leave the day after we arrived. The money the mother of the bride was offering was substantial. I brought my best silks, an exquisite hard to find line of pearl buttons with crystal rims and threads that were of the highest quality I could afford. I would be gone for three days, but then I would be back in time to spend time with the children.

We had talked about plans for picnics and visiting many new sights. Isabella and I were chatting all the way down on the train. My Isabella, she was turning out to be so lovely. Her hair was the same auburn color as mine and her eyes, green, the color of emeralds. I watched as the men on train looked at her. She was still a free spirit and did not take notice. I continued to let her wear her hair down, which fell in big curls past her shoulders. I knew in the next year she would need to start pinning it up in tight knot as all fine women must. The men on the train were mostly merchants and businessmen. I nodded at them cordially so to break their stare at my young daughter.

I was more concerned when we got on that horse drawn omnibus. While both men and women travelled, there were clearly some that were vagrant or labor workers. Men who if they had wives had not been in the company of a woman in an extended amount of time. I held tight onto Isabella as she clung to the wooden button-box she was carrying for me. Several young lads tried to extend their hand with introduction, and I moved each one away as they were not suitable for my daughter. Two men, I can still see their faces had sinister grins as they looked her over. My arm posed as a barrier to any unwanted touch.

As we exited the bus, an older man asked if we would like some evergreen oil to keep “a summer cold away,” which I kindly declined, but Isabella stumbled upon my tug of her arm and dropped the box. All the buttons scattered including the white pearls that were so difficult to access. The older man did stoop down and helped us gather them back. He again looked directly at me and asked about the evergreen. That is when I noticed the cool stare of his eyes looking at both me and Isabella as she apologized. I purchased his medicinal bottle out of sheer obligation and the hope he would move on.

“It will help with any ailments!” He yelled as I felt his eyes upon us watching us walk away.

I remember thinking how I needed to watch over Isabella more closely as we headed to my mother in-law’s brownstone on the corner.

The next morning, I rose early and could hear the children already awake. As I descended the stairs John was the first to greet me. He was still sleepy eyed, but whispered “I love you momma, with all my heart.”

Isabella was helping my mother in-law start breakfast. She smiled graciously and made me so proud as she listened to her grandmother’s list of instructions for blueberry pancakes.

After breakfast I told them both I would be home in a few days and bring some penny candy. I kissed each on the forehead. Isabella smiled and responded “Don’t worry momma, John will keep me so busy with his plans” as she nudged her brother. I gathered my dress case, button box and my small luggage. My customers had sent a horse carriage for me, and I went on my way.

I am startled from my thoughts as Claire knocks on the door, “Kathleen, will you come down for dinner or shall I bring you a meal?”

“Thank you, I’m not able to eat.” I did not even turn to respond.

“You should eat something. You must keep your strength up for …” she caught herself before she spoke further.

“For the children is that what you mean?” I turn over on the bed. I am in my nightdress even at this early hour. I stare at her, as to speak further. “I would kindly ask you to leave, Claire and do not disturb me again this evening, there is no reason to.”

She nods, wiping a tear from her eye and shuts the door quietly behind her.

The owl stops screeching. The window curtain continues to flow again in waves as does my thoughts.

When I first arrived at the Johnson residence I was greeted with a large welcome buffet for lunch from the family and a cup of tea. However, it soon became clear that these women would be very difficult customers to satisfy. I was referred to more often as the Irish woman rather than Kathleen or Mrs. Joyce.

As I brought out each swatch of material the bride and her mother changed her color choice and went from silk to satin, no to velvet, no to silk again. I nodded accordingly and tried assist as best I could. She chose a golden satin sash to layer over the antique lace bodice that went up to her neck.

When I opened the button box, the pearl buttons with crystal rims caught their eyes as I knew they would. They both held each button in awe. The buttons would clasp on the bodice of the brides dress down her back. I exclaimed proudly that they were imported from France, and they smiled with glee. I then looked down at box and realized there were only eight buttons total. Not the ten I had purchased. I quickly covered my confusion as the bride was of small stature so eight would work. The other two must have been lost when Isabella dropped the box. Although I was sure we had collected all with that old man.

During the next two days I completed the brides dress as well as her mother’s. I sowed until my hands hurt, but I kept my mind busy with thoughts of my children and how I would a plan perhaps a trip swimming or see if we could all fit in a canoe at the lake. The dresses both fit marvelously around each woman's corset and hoop. I was starting measurements for the third dress of which was to adorn the bride’s younger sister when I heard the horses pull up through the front parlor window. Several men in police uniforms walked to the front door and I knew something was wrong. I watched as they came in and I stood up. They asked Mrs. Johnson about my whereabouts and then she pointed to me. I watched their mouths move and the sound went through my ears to my heart and my soul.

“Mrs. Joyce, I’m sorry to tell you, but your son, John and daughter, Isabella have been missing for two days. Shortly after you left, they decided to go for a picnic and have not returned. We have had men searching the woods, but we have not been able to locate them. It appears they took the horse drawn trolley, but we are unsure where they went from there.”

My eyes gazed at them in disbelief, “John had studies in the morning, Isabella does not know the area.”

“From what your mother in-law stated was that when John came home at about 11 o’clock in the morning. They begged her to go for a picnic and promised to be back by 2 in the afternoon. She gave them ten cents for the streetcar fare. They did not return, and we have been looking for them since.”

I nodded in disbelief and walked with them. One officer hoisted me unto another police horse, and I held on as they led me away. Mrs. Johnson yelled that she would send my things and she would pray.

I came back to my mother in-law’s brownstone and saw her crying in the kitchen. I held her but did not shed a tear. I waited and did not sleep. I knew my children were gone. I knew their breathe was no longer in this air. I felt their laughter had moved to somewhere in the distance. I heard them cry now. I felt their fear. My own body rattled with their terror. It was four days later when they found them.

They were further away than where they told their grandmother they would be, high on a hill off of Bussey St. The police said that there were two boarding houses 100 feet away, but the occupants did not take notice of their screams as “people were always in yelling and laughing in the park.”

No-one came to help my children. Isabella was found first in hollow of a rock stabbed so many times she was not recognizable. Her clothes were ripped open. She had been assaulted with her assailants’ seed upon her. Wreaths of flowers and evergreen were next to her as she had probably been making gifts for her family.

John was found further down in the woods. He had tried to run, to help his sister, but fell and then he too was cut with a knife to a degree indescribable.

Now I lay here a week later. A mother no more. A wife no longer. A woman to be pitied. I have lost anything of value. I told Mrs. Johnson to keep my supplies when she came with a meal. I am no longer. People from the church and the city offered rewards and sent food and donations for my care. My care, I am alone now. I have lost anything to care about.

The evening has bestowed upon me. I hear the street traffic and stand to look out the window.

The owl is screeching again and flies towards that hill where my children were taken.

I can hear my in-laws, washing dishes from dinner in the kitchen. I know that I need to go. I gather my shawl and tuck some change in my purse. I walk through the brownstone swiftly with no sound. I take a lantern that is in the hallway leaving the door ajar.

There are whispers as I board the horse drawn trolley and the conductor even states, “Mrs. Joyce it is late for a woman,” he is thrown off by my stare and does utter another sound. I take the trolley to Bussey St and somehow my heart knows where to go. I see the two houses with hill behind. I climb as the light of day turns to darkness. My lantern, my only guide, besides the light from the house’s windows. I come upon the spot where my son was attacked first. Townspeople have laid flowers, there is still blood stains on the leaves and dirt around where my son took his last breath. I pull the leaves close to my nose and mouth. “My child, I’m sorry.”

Then I scream as loud as I can. “My child, who took my child from me!”

I turn to see the owl facing me and it moves for me to see forty feet in front a blood-stained rock. I walk over to the rock to see where my daughter screamed and fought for her virtue. Where she cried in terror and died looking at an evil face. I can see the houses from this rock and shadows appear to be looking out the windows at me. I look down at the flower and evergreen wreaths that lay where my daughter dropped them. There are also more flowers left from on lookers to her grave and another scream leaves my lungs with tears that I cannot control.

Someone yells from one of the windows, “Are you alright Miss?”

Another replies, “That is the Irish dressmaker, it was her children!”

Every bit of rage that I have held back comes to the surface. “You hear my screams now! Yet you ignored my children calls for help! You do not know the difference between laughter and a child screaming who is being mutilated!” My hands clench the dirt.

“You are as evil as those who murdered them!” Through my cries I throw the dirt at them. I watch as I can make out a woman and then a man in each window look silently at me before closing their shutters.

I weep and hold the rock, asking my God to take me too! “Who has taken my children? My children!”

The barn owl is above and screeches louder than before. I watch as it flies over in circles and as a couple of rocks drop out of its mouth right next to me.

I take the lantern and look closer to what fell. It is not rocks. Instead, my eyes look closer as I can see there are two pearl buttons with crystal rims laying on top of the evergreen.

This is a story of historical fiction based a true unsolved crime in Boston, MA. On June 12th, 1865, Isabella (approximately age 15) and her brother John, (approximate age between 10 -12) kissed their grandmother goodbye and set off for a picnic in Bussey Hill section of what is now the Arnold Arboretum Park in Boston. They never returned. Their bodies were found 6 days later. Isabella had been stabbed 27 times and sexually assaulted. Her brother, John was forty feet away and was stabbed brutally as well. There were two houses in close proximately about 100 feet from where they were found. The residents of the homes said they did not pay attention to their screams as there were often loud noises coming from that area. Their mother was a dressmaker who had left them in the care of their grandmother while she worked the next town over. When told of their deaths, she was said to be distraught and became despondent. Although as many as seven suspects were questioned in their deaths including at least one that confessed, the case of who took their lives was never solved.