Rose stifled her first impulse, which was to ask whether they’d thought about how many innocent cats they might have poisoned, along with the rats.
“Where are the other tainted buckets?”
“I put them all in an empty stall, with a note warning the other men not to use them to feed the animals.”
They turned at the sound of footsteps in the hall.
“Goodness, you two are early for breakfast.” Fannie’s smile turned to puzzlement as she saw the bucket in Theodore’s hand.
“Oh dear, it’s just like the old days,” she said, when he had explained the situation to her. “We’ve gotten along so well with the world for so many years. Why should this be happening again?”
“This has happened before?” Rose asked, horrified. North Homage’s neighbors had been unfriendly almost to the point of violence on occasion, but they had never resorted to mass poisoning.
“Well, it has been quite a long time,” Fannie said. “At least a century, as I recall. I remember reading about it in Elder Amaziah’s journal—someone had put arsenic in the buckets and on the water pump. He couldn’t say who’d done such a thing, just that he assumed it was a few of the village’s neighbors, angry over something or other.” Fannie’s small frame began to shiver, and Rose led her to a chair. “I thought those days were far behind us,” Fannie said. “And now this, so close to Mother Ann’s Birthday.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Rose promised. “Are you all right? I feel I must act quickly, but I don’t want to leave you alone, if you are unwell.”
“Run along, Rose. This is far more important than my shakes.” She shooed Rose with her hand.
A group of sisters was descending the stairs, and Rose wanted to avoid hysteria. She turned to Theodore.
“We’ll delay breakfast,” she said, “until we are certain it is safe. I want you to make sure everyone understands that the pails mustn’t be used. Then check all water sources and the food stores for any sign of this powder, although I fear the snow would have washed off anything outdoors. We must warn the children not to eat any snow,” she murmured to herself. “Also, try to locate the rat poison. Leave it where it is until I get there, and don’t let anyone touch it. I’ll call the police, and then I will join you in the Barn Complex.”
Leaving Fannie, who had regained her composure, to explain why breakfast would be late, Rose made her call to the police. The officer named Stan said he’d be along as soon as possible, but the roads were getting difficult because of the snow. Rose didn’t argue; she still couldn’t imagine how the East managed to carry on with anything approaching normal life in such a climate. She grabbed her cloak and heavy palm bonnet, and headed for the Barn Complex. By the time she reached it, her bonnet and the bottom edges of her cloak and work dress were caked with fresh, wet snow.
Inside the barn, Theodore had gathered the hired men, including Otis, and the male novitiates. Aldon, Johnny, and Sewell stood apart from the others, separating themselves from the world as much as possible.
“Did you find the box of rat poison?” Rose asked Theodore. He shook his head.
“Where was it kept?”
“Over there.” He jerked his head toward an untidy stash of farm implements piled against one of the long concrete walls of the rectangular building.
“Do you mean to tell me that an opened container of rat poison was simply tossed on the floor, along with all that equipment?” She clamped her teeth shut to quell a tirade about the importance of tidiness. Now was not the time, though she couldn’t believe the novitiates hadn’t ordered the area straightened up long ago. “Was it at least kept out of sight?”
Theodore shrugged. “We were using it a lot lately—the rats come inside for the winter, and they were getting to be a real problem.”
“Who was in charge of spreading the poison?” Rose was struggling to keep the disapproval out of her voice, and she was losing the battle.
“No one, really,” Theodore said. “We all knew where it was. Anyone could have taken it.” He glanced over at the novitiates, who scowled back at him.
“Young man, if you think that any one of us could have engaged in such destructive behavior, you know nothing about our faith,” Aldon said, his booming voice filling the two-story structure. “It was most certainly someone from the world.”
“You’ve got no right to go accusing my men,” Theodore shouted. He grabbed a nearby pitchfork and started toward the novitiates.
“Stop it, instantly,” Rose commanded. “There will be no more violence, not if I can help it. The police could arrive at any moment, and if you don’t control yourselves, you will all look guilty. Theodore, put that pitchfork away, now.”
Theodore hesitated just long enough to convey defiance for Rose’s authority, then he stabbed the pitchfork into a nearby hay bale. He crossed his thick arms over his chest and glowered at Aldon.
It was Sewell who broke the tension. “The eldress is right, you know,” he said. “If we lose our tempers and go around accusing each other, we’ll all end up looking like we have something to hide. I think we should answer her questions. After all, maybe it wasn’t one of us. Maybe someone from a neighboring farm sneaked in and did this, to teach us a lesson. I know I’ve chatted with folks in the area about the rat problem this year, so probably lots of people would know we had poison about—and we didn’t exactly hide it, did we? Maybe it was just a prank.”
“It’s a prank that might have cost lives,” Rose said.
“I know,” Sewell said, “but it could have been just a couple of kids, who didn’t really know how dangerous the stuff is.”
“Farm kids know about rat poison,” Theodore said.
“I think we can assume,” Rose said, “that whoever did this meant to cause harm. Who was the last person to leave the barn yesterday evening—besides the person who did this, I mean?”
“I guess I was,” Sewell said. “I’m in charge of repairing buildings, and I’d been so busy with the unused buildings, figuring out how to save them, that I hadn’t gotten around to looking at what the Barn Complex needs.”
Johnny snickered with contempt.
“Was the poison in its place when you left?”
Sewell spread his hands in a gesture of confusion.
“Think. Did you put away any implements once you were through with them?”
“Well, no. I suppose I should have tidied up a bit, but—”
“Never mind that.”
“Wait, though,” Sewell said, brightening. “I was examining a crack in the cement along the wall just next to where we usually kept the poison.” The frown lines already imbedded along the corners of his mouth deepened as he tried to remember. “It wasn’t there,” he said. “I’m sure of it; the poison wasn’t in its usual place.”
“Why should we believe you?” Theodore stepped toward him, and Sewell backed away.
“It’s true. I love architecture, and I’m very good at remembering what buildings look like, inside and out. Sometimes I dream about them.” Sewell looked startled and a little embarrassed by his own admission. “Anyway, I remember how that wall looked last night, and there was no box of rat poison on the floor.”
“Good, we’ll accept that for now,” Rose said quickly, to cut off further argument. “When did the rest of you last visit the barn?”
The men looked at her, at each other, then back at her. “We all left together,” Theodore said. “It was after supper and before the service. We finished up with the animals and put everything away, and then we left Sewell here alone. I sent the men to their rooms to get some sleep, and I decided to go to the service.” He turned back to Sewell. “I noticed you were slow getting to the service,” he said. “Just what were you doing all that time?”
“I wasn’t poisoning buckets, I just—well, I told you, I started taking some measurements, and the time got away from me.”
“All right,” Rose said quickly, to forestall another attack from Theodore. “Does
anyone remember seeing the rat poison while you were putting your tools away before the worship service?”
Some of the men shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders.
“We were in a hurry,” Theodore said. “We didn’t think about it.”
“When was the poison last used?”
“I guess it must have been night before last,” Theodore said. “We always used it at night, last thing, because that’s when the rats were more likely to come out.”
“I remember seeing it when I got here yesterday morning, just before breakfast,” Sewell said. “I just stopped by to pick up a couple of tools to take around with me while I looked at the other buildings, and the can was sitting right where it was supposed to be.”
“All right, then we’ll assume the poison could have been taken anytime from breakfast yesterday until sometime before the worship service.”
“If we believe Sewell, that is,” Theodore said. “He’s the one the police think killed Julia, so it stands to reason he could be the one trying to poison everybody. He could have taken the poison before breakfast, and no one would have noticed.”
“That’s enough,” Rose said. “We’ll make no assumptions about guilt—or innocence, for that matter. We will keep to the facts, as best we can. Now, Theodore, have you found evidence of the poison anywhere except in these buckets?”
“Nope. The food stores look fine, and so do the water faucets. Whoever did this probably didn’t have much time, so they settled for some buckets.”
“Perhaps,” Rose said. “Where any of these buckets used just before the worship service last evening?”
“Well, yeah,” Otis said. “I grabbed some to feed and water the animals. Didn’t see anything wrong with any of the buckets I used, and the cows didn’t get sick or anything. That was maybe half an hour before everyone left for the service.” His weather-worn face crinkled into a pugnacious ball. “I didn’t go to the service myself, but I was done with my chores well before it started. Anybody else could have gotten to those pails after I was done with them.”
“So the actual poisoning could have been done just before or during the service—or sometime overnight.” Anyone could have done it. Rose felt a wave of weakness and realized how hungry she was. “All right, that’s enough for now. The police should be here soon, and you need to get your breakfast. I know you’ve missed several hours of work already. Theodore, do you have a padlock you can use to lock away the tainted buckets? Good, then we’ll eat, since it seems clear the food supply was not touched. If any of you thinks of something else I should know, please tell me immediately.”
She led the way outdoors, where the snowfall had thickened and gave a ghostlike appearance to the Brick Dwelling House. She wondered how long it would be before the police managed to plow their way through the rapidly deepening snow.
FOURTEEN
IT WOULD BE A VERY LONG TIME, ROSE THOUGHT, BEFORE she again found a snowfall enchanting. The storm had finally tapered off by early afternoon, leaving nearly a foot of sloppy snow, already shrinking into a sodden mess as the sun appeared and pushed the temperature above freezing. Worry had frayed her temper, and stomping along Hancock’s cold, wet paths wasn’t helping. She prayed for patience, but even more than that, for a speedy resolution to the village’s troubles.
Rose had found no reason to suspect the Shakers themselves, but she could not yet eliminate any of the hired workers or the novitiates from her list. No one had an alibi for either Julia’s murder or the poisoning of the village’s buckets. Even Honora Stearn could have accomplished either or both. At first glance, she seemed a likely suspect for the poisoning, given her threats during the worship service. Rose had watched Theodore drive her toward Pittsfield, so she could only have done the poisoning before the service started.
Rose had no clear ideas about why any of the novitiates or hired workers would have dusted the buckets with poison. To distract or to divert suspicion to outsiders, perhaps? It didn’t make sense.
The police had yet to arrive, but there was little that they could do, anyway. She had spoken by phone with Chief O’Malley, who had listened respectfully to the information she had gathered from the men. He’d promised they would send someone, when the road was passable, to pick up a bucket and see if a pharmacist could verify that it was rat poison. That’s all she could hope for at this point.
For now, all she could do was carry on with her questioning. She’d had no luck finding Johnny Jenkins, so she was trudging back to the Brick Dwelling House, where she knew there was a sewing room. Esther Jenkins was supposed to be in it. With Mother Ann’s Birthday close upon them, the sewing and cooking were in full swing. Esther had been assigned to make Shaker dolls, which were proving popular with worldly customers looking for Shaker mementos for their children. The Shakers were hoping to sell many more on March 1, when they expected crowds of visitors to come for the celebration.
Rose hung her heavy cloak on a wall peg just inside the dwelling house door, to allow it to dry after being dragged through the snow. She noticed that a collection of rags had been spread on the floor to catch the drips from soaked outdoor clothing; it was untidy, but efficient. She could already hear the chattering of female voices from farther down the hall. She followed the sound to a meeting room, converted to a sewing room.
Rose had begun to feel like an executioner. As soon as she entered the open door, conversation stopped and needles halted. Two elderly sisters smiled and nodded to her, then went back to their stitchery. Dulcie and Esther remained frozen in mid-stitch. Dulcie hunched over a Singer sewing machine, apparently putting a seam in a long length of red wool. Her right foot hovered an inch above the foot pedal. Rose gave her a reassuring smile and walked instead to Esther, who sat at a sewing desk, hand-stitching a small piece of butternut wool.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk yet,” she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. “Why don’t you leave your work for a moment, and we’ll walk in the hallway. It won’t take long. I know how busy you are.”
With obvious reluctance, Esther secured her needle in the wool and laid the doll dress on the desk, next to a cloth body with a dried-apple head. Rose studied Esther’s profile—fine pale skin, an upturned nose, and golden-blond hair pulled in a neat bun. Though an avowed novitiate, she wore neither an indoor cap nor a Shaker work dress. Her dress was worldly, yet shapeless, as if it were too large for her or had once been worn with a belt. She moved with smooth grace, and Rose wondered if at one time in her life she had been trained in dance. When she turned, Rose noted her perfect oval face and serious gray eyes.
Rose led her into the hallway, where they settled on a wooden bench backed against a wall. “You know why I am here,” Rose began.
“There is nothing I can tell you,” Esther said. There was a hint of command in her voice. “I barely knew Julia. I know her sister, Dulcie, only slightly better, since I did one kitchen rotation with her.”
“I understood that you grew up in Pittsfield. Is that correct?”
Esther shook her head. “I grew up in Boston and moved to Pittsfield as a young woman, after my marriage.”
“I see. I was led to believe that the novitiates and the hired workers all knew each other, at least to some extent, before coming to Hancock.”
Esther blinked rapidly, but otherwise did not respond.
“Was that information inaccurate, as well?”
“I knew the others, but not well at all. We . . . ran in different circles.”
“Do you mean because you were somewhat older, were married and had children?”
“In part.”
Something about the young woman’s demeanor led Rose to an unexpected line of questioning. “Are your people still living in Boston?”
“My family? Yes, they are.”
“Do you see them often?”
Esther’s lips parted to reveal teeth in need of care. “I don’t see how my family can be of any concern to you, or to this . . . this inci
dent.”
Rose could sense she was poking at a tender spot. In her experience, tender spots often proved quite useful. She poked from another angle. “Your people were wealthy, weren’t they? Did they lose their wealth in the crash, or are you estranged from them?”
Esther’s eyes flashed. “I have little contact with my family. That’s the way I prefer it. All this has nothing to do with Julia’s death. They never met her, and they would never have occasion to do so. I would never have had anything to do with such a person, if it hadn’t been for . . .”
“If it hadn’t been for the Shakers?”
One of the older sisters left the sewing room and walked past them, toward the sisters’ stairway. Rose nodded a greeting. Esther hardly glanced at the sister. Her straight back and elevated chin conveyed barely controlled anger.
When the sister was out of sight, Rose asked, “Your association with the Shakers has led you into contact with people you consider inferior, hasn’t it?”
“Is that a reason to suspect me of murder?”
“Nay, not yet.”
Esther’s eyes turned to granite. “But I suppose you will keep looking until you find a reason?”
“I only want to find the truth,” Rose said. “It troubles me that a novitiate so clearly despises those with whom she lives and works. That is all I meant. You might want to consider again whether you are called to this life.” She’d poked enough, and she’d only raised yet more questions. Class arrogance was not an obvious motive for Julia’s murder, yet Rose knew there was more to Esther’s story than she was willing to discuss. She had offered nothing about attending Aldon’s church in Pittsfield.
“I have just one more question,” Rose said, “and then I’ll let you get back to your work. Where were you last night between the evening meal and the worship service?”
“I had no reason whatsoever to poison anyone.”
“Then you won’t mind telling me where you were.”
Killing Gifts Page 14
