Chapter 6: Amelia Spills the Tea

But some of it is Overboard

Call Me A Bastard is a weekly serialized book that tells the true and scandalous story of Aimee Henry and Mary Martha Parker. New chapters are released each Tuesday beginning June 25, 2024. Subscribe for free today, and we’ll deliver Call Me a Bastard and a bunch of other fantastic free content to your email each week! 

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Chapter 1: Stitched Together

Release Date: July 30, 2024

After narrowly avoiding an attempt by her guardian, Mary Martha Parker Taylor, to have her committed to a Rhode Island insane asylum, Aimee Henry made her way to New York and the door of Amelia Wright, the one person she hoped could answer the questions that had haunted Aimee for as long as she could remember.

Amelia was 70 in 1912 and still on the Parker payroll despite having retired five years earlier when Mary Martha married Archibald Taylor. Nearly three decades of faithful service as Mary Martha's private nurse had earned her a generous retirement. However, in her heart of hearts, even Amelia must have known the payments were little more than hush money.

Despite the longevity of her service to Mary Martha, it's unlikely Amelia had any formal training as a nurse. The first nursing school didn't open in New Brunswick, Canada, until 1890, and by then, Amelia was already working for Mary Martha in Boston. 

Instead, she may have apprenticed under an older, experienced woman. Whether that apprenticeship was with a sick nurse — one who cared for patients who were ill or recovering from injuries, or a midwife — one who cared for women from early pregnancy through childbirth — or a ladies nurse — one who took care of women and infants during the early postpartum months, is unknown.

However, what is known is that throughout her service to Mary Martha, Amelia had filled all three roles.

In the late fall of 1890, Amelia had been contacted by one of the Boston private nurse registries about a job opportunity in the home of 59-year-old widower and successful Boston merchant Richard Parker. Amelia's patient would be his 26-year-old daughter, Mary Martha, who was suffering from nervous upset.

Forty-eight, single, and a recent arrival to America from her native Canada, it's likely Amelia had jumped at the chance to work for the Parker family — if for no other reason than the address the registry had provided — 175 Beacon Street.

Beacon Street represented everything that had brought her to Boston — wealth, society, and — most of all — opportunity.

Arriving early, Amelia had been greeted at the door by a uniformed butler and then ushered into a sitting room to wait for Mr. Parker. As she'd waited, she'd straightened her starched cuffs, perhaps tucked a few gray hairs back into her cap, then looked around, imagining what living in a place like this would be like. 

The interview had gone well, and Amelia was about to accept the job when Mr. Parker cleared his throat.

"You'll be the third nurse I've hired this week," he said quietly. "My daughter can be quite demanding."

Amelia smiled politely and asked when she could start.

In addition to Richard, Mary Martha, and 34-year-old James Parker, the Beacon Street house was also home to an entire staff of servants, including a butler, coachman, housekeeper, cook, and various maids. No census records exist for 1890, but other records indicate Richard Parker's homes usually included seven to nine members of a live-in staff.

As a live-in private duty nurse, Amelia held a unique position in the Parker home — not quite a servant, but definitely not a family member. And, although she would have been privy to staff gossip, it's also likely she would have been present during private moments and conversations between family members.

If any living person could share insights into the relationship between Mary Martha and Aimee it was Amelia.

The retired nurse and companion was probably not surprised when she opened the door of her tiny New York apartment and saw Aimee on the other side. There are no secrets time doesn't reveal, and Amelia must have realized the time had finally come for her to tell the young woman what she remembered.

Yet, it's well to consider that Amelia was already an older woman, and memories often ripen with time. Our minds have a way of reorganizing events and timelines, replacing what was once known with something long suspected, and tying up loose ends never meant to be tied.

The story Amelia told Aimee was, in many ways, a product of both. And likely, it went something like this:

The first time I sat down with Miss Martha, I knew what she was nervous about. She was in a family way. I could always tell — women get a certain look when they're expecting. Some call it a glow, but it's more like morning dew on a bright apple. Not enough to tell really, but a promise of something special ahead. Of course, it wasn't my place to tell her what I already knew — and I don't think she accepted the truth herself yet — so I tended to her the best I could. I recall she liked my ginger tea. 

She was a thorny one, though. High handed and used to people stepping out of her way when she walked. And so rude sometimes my eyes stung, and I had to look away. That first few weeks, I crawled into bed many a night thinking it was my last in that house.

Her brother, Doctor Charles, came home for Christmas that year, and right away, I remember he took Miss Martha aside and talked about her condition. And after that, everything changed. Mr. Parker spent more time at his office on the square, and he and Miss Martha had long conversations well into the night. My heart broke for that excellent man, caught as he was between the shame Miss Martha was bringing on the family and the possibility of a grandson to carry on the Parker name.

And Miss Martha. Miss Martha became cold like a block of ice fresh out of Jamaica Pond.

Mr. Parker had his estate in New Hampshire opened early that next summer, but Miss Martha and I stayed at the house on Beacon Street so as not to cause a scandal. Somewhere along the line — although I don't recall any words being exchanged and don't know who did it— it had been decided nobody could ever know about the baby Miss Martha was growing.

After Mr. Parker left, how to do that fell to me.

After a bit, I had an idea, and I sat down with Miss Martha one afternoon and told her all about it. I said we'd take the train to my people in New Brunswick. My dad had died two years earlier, but I still knew plenty of folks there, and they would help Miss Martha keep her secret. 

And that's just what we did. 

While we traveled, Miss Martha had me call her Mrs. Percival. She said a society matron in the family way and traveling with her nurse would raise less suspicion. I have no recollection of where the name came from, but that's what I called her until several months later when we returned to Boston.

As Mrs. Percival, Mary Martha rented a small house in the village of Rothesay, about nine miles past St. Johns, and I set about making arrangements. There was an elderly doctor I knew from the old days, and I told him the delicate nature of Mrs. Percival's situation, and he agreed to come when the time came. His name was Doc Berryman, and, if memory serves, I recall he'd been a surgeon in the Union Army. I think he died a few years after — God rest his soul.

And, being a Presbyterian myself, I found a local minister willing to baptize you, a Reverend George Bruce at St. Davids. And I impressed upon him the need to come as soon as possible — even then, I knew you'd need more protecting than most. 

Occasionally, I convinced Miss Martha to accompany me on a drive around town in the phaeton we'd hired for that purpose. But I don't recall her ever being without a veil or scarf handy to conceal her face if someone drew near. She was still a handsome woman, back then, and certain someone would recognize her and news would get back to her society people in Boston. 

This whole time, Miss Martha barely said a word, choosing to let me make all the decisions, but most nights, I woke to the sound of her crying in the next room.

Then, one night, the crying sounded more like muffled screams, and sure enough, Miss Martha's time had come. Doc Berryman was called, and soon after, you were born. The date was June 19, 1891.

I placed you with friends in St Johns, and as soon as your mother was well enough to travel, we returned to Boston. ¹

About the time Amelia was telling Aimee the story of her birth, Archibald and hotel staff members were searching the grounds of the Narragansett Hotel for clues to her whereabouts. Unable to locate her, the police were brought in, and Archibald reached out to reporters — whether to broaden the search for Aimee or to ensure Mary Martha's side of the story got out first, one can only guess. 

Two days later, however, a follow-up story appeared in the Baltimore paper under the headline "Niece of Mr. A.H. Taylor roamed from Providence Hotel”.

Miss Aimee Henry, the Baltimore girl who disappeared from the Narragansett Hotel Tuesday evening, was later found that same evening with a family friend just outside of the city. 

Mr. Archibald H Taylor, the young woman's uncle, with whom she lives in Baltimore, and with whom she is staying in Providence, was reticent concerning the matter. He said his niece had been ill for some time past and that he had hoped the change would prove beneficial.

Miss Henry had been left in the parlor of their hotel for a moment while her uncle returned to his rooms for some papers. Before he got back, she had disappeared. The police were notified, but it wasn't until nearly midnight that a telephone message notified Mr. Taylor of his niece's whereabouts. 

"She simply wandered away. That's all there is to it, "said Mr. Taylor. ²

Despite Archibald's statement to the contrary, there was a lot more to Aimee's disappearance from the Narragansett Hotel than he — or Mary Martha, whose name was conspicuously absent from the article — cared to share. In fact, that event set in motion everything that happened afterward.

For the first time in her life, Aimee knew the truth — or at least a version of the truth — surrounding her birth and her relationship with the woman she called Aunt Martha.

What she didn't know — and never could have guessed — was just how far Mary Martha would go to keep her secret.

Copyright 2024 Lori Olson White

If you’re interested in the whole topic of family secrets from the past and how they can and do impact the present, I highly recommend The Lost Family: How DNA Testing Is Upending Who We Are by Libby Copeland. It came out in 2021 so is a few years old and much has changed in the world of genetic genealogy since then, but it is still a fabulously insightful look at the downside of DNA tests.

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Do you have any family secrets in your family, or have you come across any in your reading or research? How have you handled them? Let’s get a discussion going in the comments section.

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Chapter Endnotes

¹ National Feature Service, Inc. Great Britain, “Astonishing Secrets behind the Morecroft Fight for Millions — and the Bar Sinister; Sworn Statement of the Dainty Divorcee that She is the Natural Daughter of Rich “400” Widow, Whose Vast Estates She Would Share after Harrowing Experiences in Schools, Hospitals and Sanitariums while kept in the Dark,” Star Tribune, Minneapolis, MN. November 25, 1928.

² “Miss Aimee Henry Found: Niece of Mr. A.H. Taylor Roamed from Providence. Hotel, Baltimore Sun, Baltimore, MD, July 11, 1912. p. 7.