Killing Gifts

by Deborah Woodworth

  “A man can say anything he wishes,” Aldon said. “He is judged by his deeds, which may be performed in secret.”

  “Well said, my brother.” Johnny’s response was edged with sarcasm.

  “Which brings me to my questions,” Rose said. “If Theodore was not the father of Dulcie’s child, who was?” She gazed expectantly at the men.

  “I’d say it’s obvious,” Johnny said. “Sewell. He has never been able to stay away from the women, and becoming a Shaker novitiate doesn’t seem to have helped him control himself.”

  “Do you have proof of your accusation?”

  “If I had actually caught him falling into the flesh, I would naturally have told the eldress. But he certainly seems compelled to flirt with every woman around.”

  “He is friendly,” Aldon said to Johnny. “Almost childlike in his innocence. Something you could learn from. He certainly does not possess your greed.”

  “How dare you—”

  “That’s enough,” Rose said sternly. “Johnny, I’m afraid I must ask you—why have you spent so much time in the attics and unused retiring rooms? You’ve been seen, at least once in the dead of night.”

  “Who is telling these lies about me?” Johnny jumped to his feet and stepped an inch too close to Rose. She felt the menace of his muscular body.

  “Take care, Johnny,” Aldon said, “or soon everyone will know you for who you are. They aren’t lies, and you know it. You’ve been taking inventory of everything in the village.”

  “So what? Someone has to do it.”

  “In secret, in the middle of the night? I think not. I have seen for some time that your purpose in joining the Society comes from the world and the devil. You are worse than a bread-and-butter Shaker, because you want so much more than food and shelter. You want everything. You perceive wealth around you, and you want it for yourself. That is why you spread tales about the others, especially the men. You hope we will all be denied the right to sign the Covenant, and you will be the only young man left in the village. Then it will all be yours, or so you think. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if you were the father of Dulcie’s child—if you sinned with both her and her sister—and you decided to get rid of them when they wanted a share of the wealth.”

  Johnny’s fair complexion flushed a deep red and his hands tightened into fists. Rose wondered if she would have to throw herself between the men to prevent violence. Then Johnny stretched out his fingers as if forcing himself to relax. “You have good reason to lie,” he said, his expression calculating. “You are the one with secrets. Poor Sewell, I’ve seen you pretend to be a friend to him, and then you turn around and say how weak he is, how lacking in faith. It suits your purposes, doesn’t it, that everyone sees Sewell as the carnal one. But it’s really you, isn’t it?” Johnny’s voice had dipped dangerously low.

  The air crackled with rage, and Rose’s mind raced. If she calmed them down—as indeed she should—she might learn no more. If she allowed the anger to escalate, she might be responsible for violence. She took a grave chance.

  “Aldon,” she said, “I had a recent chat with a Pittsfield police officer named Billy about your activities in your former church. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

  She expected fury, denials, almost anything but what happened next. Johnny looked puzzled but intrigued. Aldon moved not a muscle. His dark eyes burned through her as his lips curved into a smile. “I don’t have to do any such thing,” he said. “Billy told you nothing. And now, I have work to do. This conversation is over.”

  Both Rose and Johnny gaped at him as he picked up an oval box and began to sand the rough edge of a swallowtail joint. Doubts flooded Rose’s mind. How could Aldon have known she was bluffing? Did he know there was nothing to tell? Did Billy have his own reasons for insinuating what he did? She was certain of only one thing—that Aldon would not say another word to her, perhaps ever.

  The snow showed no inclination to stop or even to taper off. Rose had given up keeping herself dry below the knees as she plodded toward the Barn Complex, where she hoped to complete her questioning of the men. Then she could change into dry clothes and talk with the women, who were all in the Brick Dwelling House. The thought of dry, warm feet kept her moving toward what was likely to be another trying interview, this time with Theodore Geist. Perhaps Otis, too, though she had yet to find a compelling reason why he might have killed Julia and injured Dulcie. It would surprise her greatly if he proved to be the father of Dulcie’s child. She still favored Theodore. Aldon was right that words are easy to utter, and they prove nothing about the purity of one’s actions.

  “What brings you out in this weather?” Otis asked, favoring her with an amused grin as she dripped clumps of snow on the floor. Theodore and Otis had returned to their pre-spring task of cleaning, oiling, and repairing the farm implements. “I’d sure stay warm and dry, if I had the choice.”

  Theodore glowered at Otis and then at Rose before returning to his work. He was chipping hardened dirt from the tines of a hay rake, a job that seemed to absorb his attention far more than was reasonable.

  “I don’t intend to stay out any longer than I must,” Rose said. “I have some questions for both of you.”

  “More questions?” Theodore rolled his eyes as if to imply that a smarter woman would have solved Julia’s murder and gone home by now. Rose ignored him.

  “Had you heard yet that Dulcie is awake and able to talk?”

  “Why, that’s wonderful news,” Otis said. “She’ll be all right then?”

  “It looks hopeful.”

  “You must be so relieved that your fiancée will recover,” she said to Theodore. He nodded. His face was unreadable, but at least she’d gotten his attention. “I am so sorry that the child did not survive.”

  Otis’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “Child? Theodore, you old rascal. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Shut up, you fool. It wasn’t mine.”

  “So that’s why Dulcie wore those big old Shaker dresses—to hide her condition. Theodore, I’m sorry about the babe, I really am, but you two were getting hitched anyway, so what’s the difference? Why didn’t you just marry her? She’s a sweet girl, she’ll make a good wife for you.”

  Theodore’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed the handle of the hay rake. With a furious growl, he flung the rake through the air. Both Rose and Otis hunched over instinctively, though the rake hadn’t come near either of them.

  “It was not my baby!”

  “Well, whose then?” Otis was asking just the right questions, so Rose listened.

  “She wouldn’t tell me, the little—”

  “She probably figured you’d kill the guy,” Otis said.

  “Damn right I would have. And her, too, if I’d caught them together.”

  “She didn’t want you in prison. You can hardly blame her for that.” Otis seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “Why, because she’s so sweet and good?” Theodore laughed without mirth. “I used to think so, too. A lot we knew. She’s a whore. I brought her to work here to keep her pure for our marriage—to get her away from her tramp of a sister. But Julia showed up working in the store and brought her whorish ways with her.”

  Otis laughed. “Well, Julia sure was Julia. She went after anything in pants, and it was more fun for her if he was married or celibate.”

  “She went after me,” Theodore said, “but I stayed true to my future wife, and how did she repay me?”

  “Did it occur to you that Dulcie might have been forced?” Rose asked.

  “She wasn’t. She admitted it, right to my face. Wanted to be honest with me, she said, so we could start our marriage without secrets. Hah! As if I’d marry her after what she’d done. I told her the engagement was off, and she could go crying to her lover. I’m not fool enough to take on a whore with a bastard.”

  “Theodore, it is vital that I know who was the father of Dulcie’s baby. If you have even a suspicion, pl
ease tell me.”

  “If I knew, he’d be dead by now.” He stalked past her and left the barn without stopping to pick up his coat.

  Fearing he might be angry enough to hurt Dulcie, Rose turned to follow.

  “Sister,” Otis called after her. “Could you wait a minute?”

  Rose turned but stayed where she was, ready to leave quickly.

  “It’s just that . . . Well, there’s something I wanted to tell you. It might not help, but I can’t get it out of my mind.”

  Rose nodded to encourage him.

  “I didn’t say this in front of Theodore because Lord knows what he’d do. I mean, I don’t mind teasing him a bit, but it ain’t smart to rile him too much, if you know what I mean.”

  “Are you trying to say that you think he might be the killer, because of his temper?”

  “No, no, not at all. He does have a temper and a half, that’s a fact, but I believe him when he says he doesn’t know who the father is. Not just ’cause he doesn’t lie worth a damn, either. Sorry, Sister.”

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Rose said.

  “Yeah, I’m rambling, I know, it’s just hard to explain, that’s all. I’ve been thinking it’s not so unbelievable that Dulcie cheated on Theodore. She really is sweet, and she tries to be good, but . . . I watched those girls grow up, Julia and Dulcie. They had a rough life.”

  “I know that.” Rose thought of just walking away, but something kept her listening.

  “Julia, she grew up real tough, and she went after what she wanted. But Dulcie was different. I was a little sweet on Dulcie, I guess, so I kept an eye on her. Because of Julia’s reputation, lots of men thought they could get the same from Dulcie, and mostly she stayed good, but there was this certain type of man could get to her.”

  “What type?”

  “Well, really all they had to do was treat her gentle, at first, anyway, and maybe seem like they could take care of her real good—you know, someone who seemed real strong. If you’re looking for the father of her baby, it’d probably be a man like that.”

  “Do you mean someone like Theodore?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess.” Otis’s face crinkled in confusion. He shrugged and grabbed an oily rag, as if he’d done his best and that’s all he could do. Rose wasn’t sure she understood everything he had said, but she was inclined to believe his notion that Dulcie might indeed have strayed. However, it only meant she was right to believe Dulcie was still in danger.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ROSE PAUSED ONLY TO RIP OFF HER GALOSHES BEFORE RUNNING upstairs to Dulcie’s room. Fannie sat on a bench in the hallway, squinting at some knitting she was trying to do in the poor light.

  “All is quiet, Rose,” Fannie said. “I knew you were worried, so I posted myself outside the door. Abigail and Gennie are with Dulcie.”

  “Has Dulcie awakened again?”

  “Not a peep out of her, poor child.”

  “Has anyone else come up here?”

  “No one.”

  “The phones?”

  “Still out, but that’s not unusual. The snow should let up fairly soon, I think, and then the lines will be repaired. Run along and dry off now. I had one of the sisters put some clean dry clothes and shoes in your retiring room.”

  “Bless you.”

  Rose gratefully slid a dry wool dress over her head. Her retiring room smelled of wet wool and a hint of mildew, so she was glad to leave quickly. She went immediately to the kitchen, where the cakes and pies were getting more attention than preparations for the sparse evening meal. The fragrance of onion and potato was barely perceptible under waves of apple, cinnamon, rosewater, and yeast. For once, the kitchen was warm, with every oven fired up.

  Carlotta was grumpily stirring a cauldron of soup, and Esther was nearby, crimping the edges of a piecrust. Rose decided to question Carlotta first.

  “If you’ve come to tell me Dulcie woke up and that she was pregnant, forget it. I already know,” Carlotta said.

  “Obviously, but how?”

  “Did you really think Honora could keep her mouth shut? She couldn’t wait to make an appearance down here and tell us all how she lost a baby, too. Like anybody cares.”

  “Has there been any discussion about the father?”

  “Everybody else thinks it’s Theodore, of course. Not me. I’d bet money on Sewell.”

  “Why?”

  Carlotta gave her a pitying look. “No man and woman can be such good friends without it going a lot farther, not to my way of thinking.”

  “You sound jealous,” Rose said. “After all, Dulcie had two men paying attention to her.”

  Carlotta shrugged. “I didn’t care.”

  “Between them, Julia and Dulcie didn’t leave many men for you, did they?”

  Carlotta’s raised her sharp chin. “I do okay,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a boyfriend in Lenox. I don’t have to run after Shakers and married men. If you want my opinion, it was Dulcie killed her own sister, probably for going after Theodore and Sewell.”

  “Then who pushed Dulcie?”

  “Chances are, she did it herself. Probably wanted to kill the baby and herself, both, out of shame.”

  Rose was shocked into silence—not so much by the suggestion that Dulcie might want to kill herself and her baby, which was the sort of behavior she had encountered too many times in the world. Rather, she was stunned that the idea had not occurred to her before now. She tucked the notion away in a corner of her mind and left Carlotta to her work.

  Esther was already rolling out another piecrust when Rose arrived at her side. “Go ahead with your crusts,” Rose said, “but I have some questions that can’t wait.”

  Esther did not look pleased, but she nodded.

  “I know that you’ve heard all about Dulcie. What I want to know is—do you suspect that Johnny might have been the father of Dulcie’s child?”

  “What? How dare you suggest such a disgusting thing.” She’d shouted, and several curious faces stared in their direction. Esther saw them and rolled her piecrust so hard she pushed the roller through to the table.

  “Then why does Johnny wander around in the middle of the night? Is he meeting you?”

  Esther’s shoulders sagged. “No, he isn’t meeting me, or our children. He cares little about any of us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Nay, of course not. I want to know the truth.”

  “The truth is that Johnny cares only for money. If he is wandering around at night, it has something to do with money.”

  “Would he kill for money?”

  “If you are asking whether he might have killed Julia, only if she threatened his grand plans in some way.”

  “Such as with blackmail?”

  Esther mashed the piecrust back into a ball and began to roll it out again. “I had six children with him,” she said, “and I never really knew him.”

  Bringing with her a small oil lamp, Rose took Fannie’s place on the bench outside Dulcie’s room. When she was alone in the hallway, she pulled her notes from her apron pocket and began to jot down answers to her questions. She now knew a great deal, but the final answer still eluded her.

  Rose closed her eyes to think. Theodore was probably not the father of Dulcie’s child, but who was? Otis and Johnny seemed least likely. Esther had confirmed the recurring accusation that Johnny cared deeply for wealth. Dalliance with a kitchen worker promised to another was surely something Johnny would avoid. At the least, such behavior would interrupt his single-minded pursuit of control over Hancock’s assets.

  The bell rang for evening meal, and doors opened and closed, but Rose sat still, willing the pieces to fall into order. Theodore had rejected Dulcie after discovering her sin. Had the real father turned her away, as well? Might she truly have tried to kill both herself and her child, out of shame and despair? Rose’s heart ached at the thought that Dulcie had been so alone in her torment—and that no one, including Rose, had been ther
e to help her.

  Rose heard a faint clicking sound and opened her eyes. Except for the light from her small lamp, the corridor was now in complete darkness. The room to Dulcie’s door opened, and a small figure peeked out. “Fannie? Are you out there?”

  “It’s me, Gennie. It’s Rose. It looks like all the lights have gone out.”

  “Abigail said this happens sometimes in a snowstorm. What should we do?”

  “You two must be hungry,” Rose said. “I’m sure they’ll have plenty of candles and oil lamps in the dining room. Why don’t you and Abigail have your evening meal, and I’ll watch over Dulcie.”

  Gennie disappeared inside the room for a moment, and then reappeared. “Abigail said that would be okay, but she will eat quickly and return to spell you.”

  “The poor dear’s been quiet,” Abigail whispered as she and Gennie turned the sickroom over to Rose. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Rose could no longer read her notes, so she watched Dulcie’s shadowy face and worked from memory. She thought there was one person she could eliminate from her list of suspects, and it was going to make Gennie furious. The recent conversation with Officer Billy had given her the clue. Helen Butterfield was surely not the killer. Rose had a strong suspicion that Grady had a lot to do with Helen’s convenient ever-presence. If so, he might find that Gennie was even less inclined than before to marry him right away.

  In the dark, quiet room, Rose found her eyes closing. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. It wouldn’t hurt to rest a few moments, surely. If the night held more surprises, she wanted to be strong enough to face them.

  The click and creak of an opening door jolted Rose out of a sound sleep. “Rose? It’s Abigail. I’m back. If you hurry, you can still have a bit of company for the evening meal. Has Dulcie said anything?”

  “Not a word,” Rose said, hoping it was true. She wished she hadn’t fallen quite so deeply asleep.

  “Well, you run along then. Fannie said we should all eat and go right to bed. The kitchen workers had to stop their baking, and Esther volunteered to take out the cakes and pies already in the ovens. We’re running low on oil, so Fannie told her not even to do the washing up, just wait till morning, she said. She’s certain the lights will come back on in the morning, so we can pick up with our work. We have so much to do, with Mother Ann’s Birthday just day after tomorrow.”