Killing Gifts

by Deborah Woodworth

  “Do as I say, and don’t argue.”

  “Hush,” Otis whispered hoarsely. “I hear something. Upstairs, I think.”

  Rose silenced the men with a hand gesture. There it was—a faint scraping, interspersed with a low rumbling that might have been a voice. Rose ran toward the stairs, and the men followed. They reached the hired workers’ floor without encountering any reason for the noises, so they climbed to the fourth-floor attic. The sounds had become louder. They were just above Rose, who was now halfway to the fifth-floor attic.

  She stopped and gestured to Otis and Theodore to stay behind. Theodore scowled his disapproval, but Otis put a restraining hand on his arm. Rose tiptoed up the stairs until she could just see over the landing. One light shone from the alcove to the left of the stairs, where she’d found the mysterious desk and chair. Aldon was bent over the desk with a paintbrush in his hand. The mingled odors of paint and kerosene assailed her nostrils.

  “You can see why this is for the best, can’t you?” he was saying. “You must understand that you are not like the others, not truly evil. I’ll make that clear to God, so you may enter His kingdom without a stain. That’s what I’m doing right now.” Aldon straightened a bit as if to view his handiwork. “The Father will understand when he sees this. It’s you as an angel—a true angel, not the cruel appearance of one. I’ve always known your soul was pure. That’s why your mind could not accept the evil I was tempted into.”

  Aldon was so engrossed in his task that he never looked up. Rose took a chance and eased up one step so she could look around the attic better. As she expected, she saw Honora to her left, tied to a chair against the side of the stairwell. Her head lolled to the side. Whether she was dead or just unconscious, Rose couldn’t tell.

  Rose edged up yet another step. Now she had a full view of Aldon’s secret corner. Next to his desk was a large pile of rags. She prayed to God she was wrong, but she suspected Aldon meant to burn down the entire dwelling house.

  A quick glance back at Aldon assured Rose he was still lost in his project, which looked like a doll. With all the strength she could muster, she charged up the steps. Aldon’s head jerked up. He jumped up from his seat and grabbed his lantern.

  “You can’t stop me. You can’t stand in the way of God’s will,” he said. His voice rang with the power of one who believed he was anointed by God.

  “Murder is never God’s will,” Rose said, matching his power with her own.

  “You don’t know. You can’t understand.”

  “Perhaps I understand more than you think,” Rose said. “You believe that God wants you to destroy evil.”

  “God has given me the ability to draw evil to me, so that I can identify it and destroy it. That is why He made me as I am.”

  Rose took two steps toward Aldon. He stretched out his right arm so the lantern swung just over the pile of rags. Rose stepped back.

  “Julia was evil, wasn’t she?” Rose asked softly.

  “Julia was a Jezebel, a Delilah. She threw herself at me and at other men. She couldn’t stop, so I had to stop her. But I am not without mercy. I gave her a chance to save her soul. I tried to show her how evil she was, so she could repent with her last breath and be saved.”

  “You showed her a doll—a Shaker sister, dressed for worship, but painted with horns.”

  “Yes! I wanted her to understand. It was to save her soul.”

  “What about Dulcie’s soul? And the soul of her unborn child?” She knew she might be goading him into dangerous actions, but she hoped to keep him talking, explaining himself, so she might catch him off guard.

  “Dulcie’s soul is weak, and she knew it. I didn’t have to punish her; she punished herself and kept her bastard from defiling the world.”

  “Her child was your child. Weren’t you angry that she killed it?”

  “I was tricked. Julia tricked me. She used to dress Dulcie in pretty clothes and flaunt her in church, all to trap me.”

  “Julia threatened to tell everyone that you had seduced Dulcie, didn’t she? So you killed her.”

  “Don’t you see? It was Julia. She drew on the strength of Satan. She had to be destroyed.” As Aldon closed his eyes, frantic to find the words to excuse his behavior, Rose completed her step up and moved closer to him.

  “And Sewell? How was he evil?”

  Rose caught her breath as Aldon’s lantern shook violently over the pile of rags.

  “I never wanted to punish Sewell, but he forced me to.”

  “You loved Sewell, didn’t you?” Rose asked, in a gentle voice.

  “Yea.” Aldon spoke in a whisper.

  “Your love was both pure and carnal, and the more you fought the carnal side of it, the stronger it became.”

  Aldon’s face twisted in anguish, and the hand holding the lantern spasmed. Rose heard quiet footsteps behind her and knew that Otis and Theodore were creeping up the stairs. She stretched out her arm behind her back to warn them to keep out of sight.

  “Sewell was a gentle soul,” Rose said. “He did not deserve to die.”

  “He fooled you, too. He was more evil than Julia. Julia tempted with her body, but Sewell—he tempted with his heart and his soul. How can a mere mortal fight such powerful evil?”

  “Surely you tried with all your might? You are a Shaker novitiate. You knew you must be celibate, and yet you sinned right here in the village, didn’t you.”

  “Satan worked through Sewell to tempt me into horrible evil,” Aldon said. “And now the entire village must be purified by fire and by sacrifice.”

  “Wait,” Rose cried, desperate to stop him. “You’ve already taken care of Julia and of Sewell. Why destroy the entire village? What have they done to deserve such a fate?”

  “They are tainted. We are all tainted by the evil we allow to live among us. It is God’s will that we all die.”

  “That is a lie. It was you alone. Did God tell you to try to throw suspicion onto Theodore and Johnny and the others? I think not.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she had pushed too hard. Aldon roared like a wounded lion. “You do not know the mind of God,” he cried. “We must all die.” Just then, Honora groaned and lifted her head, distracting Aldon for a split second. Rose leaped up the last two steps and dove for his arm. She was too late. He dropped the lantern. Rose fell on the pile of rags, and the lantern landed inches from her face. Oil leaked from the lantern onto the pile of rags, cutting a trail of fire. Rose rolled away and struggled to her feet. Aldon seemed mesmerized by the growing flames, but Rose knew there wasn’t much time.

  “Warn the others,” she cried. “Get everyone out.” As Rose turned to go to Honora, Theodore rushed past her, toward Aldon. He pulled Aldon away from the flames. Aldon swung at Theodore’s head and missed. Theodore countered with a blow to Aldon’s stomach. The struggle took the men away from the alcove and to the side of the stairwell across from Honora and Rose.

  Honora was conscious now, and shrieking. “It’s all right,” Rose shouted. “Stop wiggling so I can untie you and get you out of here. Honora, you’ve got to keep still and help me.”

  Honora tried to quiet her trembling. Rose could barely control her own fingers. The rope slipped out of her grasp. The rags had burst into a ball of flames that blocked the entrance to the stairwell. Honora writhed in panic, and her chair tilted sideways. Rose threw her body against it to stop it from falling toward the fire.

  After precious moments, Rose was able to steady the chair and slip the ropes over Honora’s head and under her feet. The delay had been costly. Flames had turned the pile of rags to ashes and leaped to the dry wood of the desk and chair. Rose looked over the banister. It protected three sides of the stairwell. At the landing, the banister twisted into two hairpin curves that slanted downward to form the railings for the stairs. There was a space between the upper and lower sections of railing through which Rose could see to the floor below. The opening was just big enough for a person to slip thr
ough and fall. Rose could easily jump over both banisters to land on the stairs, but Honora was so panicked she might not make it.

  In the seconds it took to assess her situation, Rose was vaguely aware that Otis was nowhere to be seen. Presumably he had gone to warn the residents to flee the dwelling house. At least, she hoped he hadn’t simply fled in terror.

  The flames were gaining power. It was now or never. Honora was a big woman, but Rose found the strength to drag her to the railing and lift one of her legs over it.

  “Honora, I want you to do exactly what I do. We are going to jump for those stairs just below. They aren’t far away, can you see them?”

  “I can’t do it.”

  “You must. Watch what I do.” She swung her leg over the banister, then lifted the other over, so she was sitting precariously on the thin length of wood. “You’re already partly there. Now lift your other leg, like I did. Come on.”

  Honora was whimpering with terror. Holding tightly to the railing with one hand, Rose reached over to coax her.

  “Rose, get out of the way. Now!”

  It was Theodore’s voice. She looked across to the other side of the stairwell. Aldon had one leg over the banister and was leaning forward. Theodore held his other ankle. Aldon struggled wildly and slid farther over the railing, pulling Theodore behind him.

  There was no time even for prayer. In one desperate move, Rose shoved Honora back and away from the railing, while she pushed herself forward. She felt her heels hit something thin and hard, and then she crashed against the stairs. The force of her fall rolled her sideways. The opposite railing stopped her from tumbling down an entire flight of stairs.

  As she came to a halt, she heard a piercing scream, and then a crash. She looked up to find Aldon hanging from the upper railing, one ankle still in Theodore’s grip. Aldon was wriggling to free himself.

  “Don’t move,” said a nearby voice. She obeyed. Otis jumped over her and ran up the stairs two at a time. She pulled herself up so she could see what was happening. Otis held something in front of him that momentarily hid the growing fire—a blanket or a cloak. With a leap, he threw himself on the desk and chair. All three crashed to the floor. Otis crawled and stomped with his hands, shouting a few choice curses.

  “Rose, I can’t—” Theodore cried.

  Rose looked up and saw Aldon falling right toward her. She rolled out of the way just as Aldon crashed on the stairs and crumpled into a ball.

  Theodore leaped over the railing and landed a few steps above Rose and Aldon. He bent over Aldon. “He’ll be all right, just knocked out. Maybe a broken arm.” He sounded disappointed.

  Rose limped to the top of the stairs, where Otis wilted against the railing near the quenched fire.

  “Sorry to ruin the furniture,” Otis said, with a feeble grin.

  Honora went to Aldon, knelt over him, and took his head in her lap. She stroked his forehead and murmured endearments between her sobs. “Let me take him,” she begged. “I can make him well again.”

  Rose sat on the step above her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. It would be cruel to say what was in her mind, so she did not. Aldon had taken human lives, and he would have taken many more. Honora could no longer help him.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  THE TRAIN RIDE BACK TO NORTH HOMAGE SEEMED SLOWER and quieter than the one to Hancock had been. Rose and Gennie sat side by side, each preoccupied with her own thoughts, silently watching the countryside gradually turn from white to brown. Rose spent hours in prayer as she considered her role in the tragedies that had befallen Hancock Village. Though Fannie had assured her she had saved all their lives, Rose feared that by pressuring Sewell to confess to her, she had also triggered Aldon to strike sooner than he had intended. Sewell must have warned Aldon of his impending confession to Rose. Perhaps he even urged Aldon to confess, as well.

  Dulcie had destroyed her own baby and almost killed herself. Rose felt deeply responsible for Dulcie’s tragic and desperate act. Perhaps she wouldn’t have leaped from the upper floor of the Stone Barn if Rose had not urged her to talk with Theodore. As a Shaker, Rose should not have forgotten how cruelly the world heaped shame on those who were different. An unwed mother would be given no mercy. She should have known.

  At least Dulcie had agreed to let the sisters care for her until she was fully recovered, and she could continue to work for them. Her future might yet be bright—Otis, the unexpected hero, visited her daily.

  Rose had done her best. Now there was nothing left but to pray—and to schedule a good long confession with Agatha once they were back in North Homage.

  When she came up for air, Rose sensed that Gennie was confused and unhappy. She had lost her normal sparkle, and she showed no interest in chatting or exploring.

  “Are you terribly angry with Grady?” Rose asked.

  “Grady? Yes, I am. I told him so the last time we spoke on the telephone. We had a dreadful fight. Imagine hiring Helen Butterfield as some sort of detective and bodyguard, as if I couldn’t take care of myself. And that detective he hired to watch me on the train nearly scared the life out of me. I’m glad I didn’t know that the man he talked to when he got off the train was yet another detective Grady hired to spy on me. How could he have done such a thing?”

  “He was worried something would happen to you. He loves you very much.”

  “He’d better find a different way of showing it,” Gennie said, her pretty mouth puckered in a deep scowl.

  “I suspect Grady has begun to realize he made a mistake. If he had asked me ahead of time, I would have warned him off. However, you must admit that Helen proved useful in the end.”

  Gennie relented with a slight laugh. “Yes, I nearly fainted with surprise when I saw her clumping along on those snowshoes behind two police officers, after you all had already captured Aldon and saved the village. I thought she’d never catch her breath.”

  Rose laughed, too, and the atmosphere lightened—but only for a moment.

  “Is there more bothering you, Gennie?”

  Gennie nibbled her lower lip in silence for a minute, then turned to face Rose. “It’s Aldon and Sewell,” she said. “Carlotta told me all about it. She said they were . . . well, you know.”

  “That they fell into the flesh together?”

  “I never heard of such a thing before.”

  “You have not been out in the world for very long, Gennie.”

  “Carlotta said they were wicked and unnatural and both deserved to die.”

  “Carlotta is wrong.”

  “Well, obviously Aldon went completely mad, but Sewell was a dear. He didn’t deserve to die, did he?”

  “Nay, he did not.” Rose sighed. Indeed, celibacy was a blessed state, but so difficult for some people to live. “Gennie, would you like my thoughts on the matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “I believe that the true evil in Hancock—excepting among the Believers, of course—was pride. Wretched, overweening pride. Aldon could not bear for the world to see him as anything but perfect and holy, nor could he bear to think of himself in any other way. The more he fought his impulses, the stronger they became. He needed to believe that he was the pure one, that it was the others who tempted him.”

  “Did he leave his church because he believed it was full of folks trying to lead him astray?” Gennie asked.

  “In part, though I suspect he also feared that exposure was near.” Rose thought about Billy, who had finally confided in her his horror at Aldon’s attentions to him. He was too embarrassed to talk about it publicly, but someone else might be more willing to expose Aldon.

  “So is he truly mad?”

  “In the end,” Rose said, “he began to see himself as God’s instrument for destroying evil. He believed God condoned the killing of anyone Aldon deemed impure. Indeed, he is surely mad.”

  “But he deliberately planted evidence to incriminate other people,” Gennie said. “He even made Sewell bring poor Honora to the village t
he night he poisoned the buckets in the barn. He knew how she’d act at a worship service. He made his own wife look guilty—along with practically everyone else.”

  “It’s hard to know at what point his cunning veered into madness,” Rose said. “Perhaps he began to believe that the others he was incriminating deserved the blame more than he did.”

  After a moment of quiet, Gennie said, “Now that I think of it, a certain Grady O’Neal has a bit too much pride. He seems to think he knows better than I do what’s best for me.”

  “You’re probably right,” Rose said. “Will you be able to forgive him?”

  Gennie grinned. “Oh, I suspect so—but maybe not until he’s had a good long time to think about it.”

  Rose closed her eyes and finally relaxed. She was heading for home, spring was on the horizon, and little Gennie was all grown up.

  Praise for the

  Shaker Mysteries by

  DEBORAH WOODWORTH

  “A complete and very charming portrait of a world, its ways, and the beliefs of its people, and an excellent mystery to draw you along.”

  Anne Perry

  “Bits of Shaker lore add a fresh slant to a historical novel that also offers a neat plot. But it is Rose herself—intelligent, compassionate, and very strong—whom readers will especially want to see again.”

  Star Tribune (Minneapolis, St. Paul)

  “A marvelous heroine with wisdom and charm to spare. Woodworth writes with grace and intelligence.”

  Carolyn Hart

  “Readers are treated to a vivid look into a fascinating culture while enjoying a first-rate mystery.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “I look forward to the next episode of Sister Rose!”

  Molly Weston, Meritorious Mysteries

  Other Shaker Mysteries by

  Deborah Woodworth

  DEATH OF A WINTER SHAKER

  A DEADLY SHAKER SPRING

  SINS OF A SHAKER SUMMER

  A SIMPLE SHAKER MURDER