The Refuge

by Ann H. Gabhart

  She was unhappy over more than a horse. He knew that. Her husband gone. A baby on the way. Straining against the hold of the Shakers. Flynn shook his head. He had no way of knowing that. Her tired look probably had more to do with her condition than Shaker life. He was the one imagining living in the Shaker village as less than good, but he could be completely wrong. The many hands to do the work had to be good.

  Right then, he wouldn’t mind a brother sharing his chores. At least when he did get through at the barn, the kitchen would be warmed by the fire. A second supper sounded like the very thing to finish off this day. He wouldn’t worry about Silas. He’d come home when he was ready.

  Flynn didn’t go back to the Shaker village the next day. He had to catch up on his work at the farm. Besides, he was keeping an eye out for Silas, but another night came without his father-in-law showing up.

  After the morning chores were finished on the third day, Flynn banked the fires in the fireplaces and left Silas a note in case he came home and found them missing. Leatrice was excited about going back to the Shaker village, even though he warned her the Shakers might not have time to entertain her every day.

  “Sister Faye said I could come be her sister anytime. Remember, she’s going to let me sweep the hallway and stairs. They have lots of stairs. They have to have two. One for the sisters and another for the brothers. I don’t know why, do you?” Leatrice’s forehead wrinkled as she thought about that while wrapping the Shaker cloak around her shoulders.

  “It’s just their way.” Flynn wasn’t ready to explain why the Shakers went to such lengths to keep the men and women apart. Leatrice wasn’t anywhere near old enough to know what being celibate meant.

  When they got to the village, Sister Faye did come and collect Leatrice again. Same smile. Same welcome. Flynn made his way to the barn where Brother Andrew pointed out one of the calmer mares. Flynn took both the horses out into a corral to see if a bond might form between Sawyer and the mare. The day was cold, but the sun was shining. Snow remained in the shadows. He didn’t try to make Sawyer do anything. He just watched the horses.

  The mare paid neither Flynn nor Sawyer much attention. She merely seemed glad to feel sunshine on her back. Horses needed fresh air the same as people. Winter had a way of dragging man and beast down. Flynn thought of their house, always closed up in the winter with the smell of smoke from the fireplaces and the windows covered with blankets to keep out the cold. Dark. Depressing.

  Funny how he hadn’t noticed that while Lena was living. She brought sunshine in every season. He supposed Silas felt the winter drear even more than he did. Silas had been under the weather so much during the cold months that he had hardly left the house where sad memories must assault him on every side. Maybe that was why he had escaped to town. But something about the man being gone so long worried Flynn. He’d have to ride into town to look for him if Silas didn’t show up soon.

  One thing at a time. Tomorrow was another day. The old farmer he’d lived with after his mother went back to Virginia tried to teach him that. To do what was in front of him without looking past it. If a man tried to live in tomorrow, he’d never know the satisfaction of a good day’s work.

  Later, back at the farm while doing his evening chores, Flynn wondered if that was how the Shakers tried to live. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Brother Andrew earlier that day before leaving the Shaker barn. Flynn told Brother Andrew he didn’t know how long he might need to work with Sawyer.

  The man looked at him with calm eyes. “All a man needs do is tend to the task given him. Our Mother Ann instructed us to do our work well with the idea that we might die on the morrow or as though we expect to live ten thousand years.”

  The Shakers had some odd ideas. Nobody lived ten thousand years. Not even Methuselah in the Bible who, according to Scripture, lacked a few years making a thousand. Of course few really expected to die on the morrow either. But that could happen. Had happened to Lena and her mother. Could happen to him, and then what would become of Leatrice?

  No reason to worry about that. He was healthy. He could handle whatever came his way. Hadn’t he already? His father deserting him. His mother leaving him. Lena dying. Ma Beatrice taken by the cholera. He’d handled it all. Silas’s warning that something might happen to Leatrice sneaked into his thoughts, but Flynn pushed it away. He’d keep her safe.

  Ma Beatrice prodded him then. At least her memory did. She was always asking the Lord’s help and guidance and told him he should do the same. She quoted him a verse after Lena died. Something about the Lord being a present help in times of trouble. But that he needed to ask for that help.

  Ma Beatrice believed in prayer, even though it hadn’t saved her from the cholera. Then again, when she knew she was dying, she had looked toward heaven where she said she’d see Lena again. Perhaps that was how the Lord had helped her.

  Before he went in the back door of the house, he bent his head. He was willing to give prayer a try, but he had no idea what to say. He’d heard preachers claim the Lord already knew what a person needed. If that was so, why hadn’t God known he needed Lena and kept her from hitting her head? Why was there even a terrible disease like cholera?

  “Dear Lord, help me.” Help him what? Who knew what dangers and troubles might be lurking in the road ahead. He’d best think about right now, not ahead. “Help me be a good father and keep my little girl safe.”

  He remembered again how his heart had almost stopped when she fell through the ice. “And thank you for keeping her from drowning in the pond the other day.”

  He raised his head then and looked up. He wasn’t good at prayer words the way Ma Beatrice was, but when he saw those stars spread across the night sky, he could feel the Lord’s presence even more than when he was sitting in a church pew. He might not understand everything that happened, but he could be sure the Lord put those stars in the heavens and made the grass grow in the springtime. One day followed another, and whatever happened, a man had to handle it.

  “Amen.” He sent the word skyward without worrying about what more he should say. The Lord did know. Hadn’t he already supplied food from the Shakers? With the promise of more in the days ahead for a few hours working with a horse. And if he kept taking Leatrice with him, she might learn a little discipline too. The Shakers seemed to have discipline corralled.

  11

  Sister Ellie kept telling me the nausea would ease, but here I was in my eighth month and the smell of breakfast cooking still made my stomach heave.

  “If you’re going to lose your breakfast, find a bucket to do it in.” Sister Reva scowled at me when she turned from the skillet over the fire.

  She had little sympathy for my churning stomach, only concern for her clean kitchen floor. She took the Shaker rules of cleanliness seriously and perhaps all the other rules as well. That could be why she had no welcome for me in her kitchen. I couldn’t say she totally lacked compassion. She often gave me chores I could do sitting, and she never asked me to bend over the fire to stir the pots. She may have been concerned I’d catch my apron afire since the baby’s growth was pushing my skirts away from my body. My increased girth was making everything more difficult and draining my energy.

  That could be, Sister Ellie warned, because I took little out on my plate at mealtimes. At the Shaker table one had to eat whatever one dipped out on her plate, and since I never knew when the nausea might hit, I dipped lightly. While I had not heard it spoken, I had no doubt there was also a rule against fleeing the table to lose whatever one had already eaten.

  I tried to summon up a pleasant look as I handed Sister Reva the diced potatoes for her to dump into the skillet, while bracing myself for the sizzling release of more grease into the air.

  Sister Nila, the other kitchen help, dared a small smile. She was young, not yet twenty. A pretty girl who had confided in me she couldn’t imagine being a Shaker forever. She had little worry about that, since I had noted a few of the Shaker broth
ers letting their glances linger on her as she set the bowls of food on their tables. Once she chose one to return his look, she would have a way to go from the village and start a new life.

  No such door was open for me. Even the most wayward Shaker brother would surely think twice before making eyes at one so heavy with child, no matter how fair of face he might think me. Besides, my heart still mourned Walter.

  I returned Nila’s smile before I answered Sister Reva. “I have eaten no breakfast to lose. The smell of cooking is upsetting my stomach.”

  Sister Reva made a sound. Perhaps of disgust. Certainly not of sympathy. “I don’t know why Eldress Maria did not let you stay in the sewing room.”

  “She could not know I would have trouble with the cooking odors.”

  Sister Reva sighed. “I suppose not. She has ever been with the Shakers with little experience of childbearing. I tried to tell her, but she is very firm on rotating the duties to keep the workloads fair.”

  “You never work other duties, do you?” I tried not to swallow in order to keep the sickness at bay, even as I glanced around for that bucket Sister Reva had told me I should find.

  Sister Nila grabbed an empty wash pan to hold out toward me. I placed it in the chair nearest me.

  “That is because being head of the kitchen is my duty. And you as a helper are my duty too. I do not mean to be unsympathetic for I know the upheaval in your stomach, but the work must be done to get meals on the tables.”

  “So you have borne children?” I hoped if we talked of things other than food, I might yet control my stomach.

  “Nay, but I saw my mother carry ten babies. I took care of enough babies to last me a lifetime. Coming to the Shakers was like moving into paradise.”

  “You do not like babies?”

  “I did not say that. I loved every one, but even a saint would get tired of dirty bottoms and runny noses after a while.” Sister Reva shook her head a little. “And no one ever accused me of being a saint. My mam used to say if the babies were my own, I would not tire of caring for them, but I noted she often left them with me and spent much time in the garden.” She turned and stirred the potatoes into the grease. “Yea, I’ve never regretted not finding out if my mother was right.”

  I put my hand over my nose and tried not to breathe in the smell.

  Without looking around, she heaved another sigh. “My mam had the sickness all nine months with some of hers. I never understood why she kept having them, but she was fond of saying the Lord sent every woman the children she should mother. I made sure he sent me none.”

  I dared a few words. “May I step outside for a moment? Sometimes fresh air does help.”

  “Go.” She waved her hand at me without turning. “Take the potato peelings to the hens, but if you’re not back when the bell rings, don’t expect me to save you breakfast.”

  “Yea.” I had learned to use the Shaker words. It was a small thing to say yea and nay. A rule to follow that made it seem I was fitting in. I was not. I had heard nothing of their beliefs other than their Christlike kindness that I could accept. Of course, it was due to that kindness I was sheltered here while carrying a child, something contrary to the Shaker way.

  I stepped out the back door and pulled in a deep breath of winter air and felt better at once in spite of the cold. I had no coat, but shivers were better than nausea.

  As I headed for the chicken yard, Sister Nila ran after me. “Wait, Sister Darcie. Sister Reva says to wear her cloak.”

  She wrapped the wool cape around my shoulders and took the potato peels from me while I tied it. The cloak smelled of the kitchen and Sister Reva, but more of onions and apples than grease. Its warmth was welcome.

  “I will be sure to thank Sister Reva when I return from my task.”

  “Yea. She will expect that, but she does have a kind heart under her gruff exterior. I have worked with her often since coming here.” She handed the peels back to me. “I hope the fresh air helps.”

  “Thank you.” I started away. “I will come back to help serve the meal.”

  “Nay, don’t concern yourself. One of the other sisters can help. And worry not about missing breakfast should you not feel better by then. I put a couple of apples in the cloak pockets. Eating an apple seems to help whenever my stomach has an upset.” She laughed a little. “Although I’ve never had an upset for the reason you have.”

  She raced back to the kitchen door then, easily leaping over a patch of snow near the door. I could remember running like that. Skimming across the ground like a rock skipped over a pond surface. Granny Hatchell would laugh and tell me she almost expected me to sprout wings and turn into a butterfly. But now I waddled like a fat goose, with the baby weight pulling me down.

  The hens came running to peck at the peelings. Hens were worse than pigs about eating anything.

  The bell on top of the Centre House rang out the signal for the morning meal. I looked toward the path to the Gathering Family House and then turned the other way. I needed time alone. Solitude was not easily found in the village. One was always with others and busy with this or that duty.

  They did have established prayer times to consider one’s day and seek the Lord’s mercy and grace. At least that was what I did. I certainly had no thought of praying to the Shakers’ Mother Ann. I couldn’t say whether the others did or not, since all prayers were silent. Perhaps some merely pondered the tasks awaiting them or those already done.

  Heaven only knew, I sometimes failed to come up with prayers when I knelt by my bed. Not that I did not need to pray and pray earnestly for what lay ahead of me, but I couldn’t seem to think ahead or even pray ahead. Perhaps it was best to only consider each day and be thankful. Hard times might lurk in my future if I could not find a way to leave the Shakers, but what could a woman with no family do?

  I could almost hear Sister Helene’s voice in my ears assuring me that I would always have the love of the Shaker sisters. I didn’t doubt her sincerity, but would they let me be a mother to my child?

  With that thought poking me, I went not toward the kitchen, but instead in the direction of the barns. I had not been to the barns behind our Gathering Family House. Each of the family houses in the village had their own outbuildings with barns, sheds, corncribs, henhouses, and the like. The brethren cared for the stock, although sisters tended to the hens and milked the cows. Such was women’s work, and while women here were leaders in the society the same as the men, the division of labor was much the same as for families outside of the village.

  I had not been assigned the milking duty as yet, but I learned how to strip milk from a cow’s bag at my mother’s knee. I smiled, remembering Walter’s awkward try at milking when both Granny Hatchell and I were sick with the grippe. He had proclaimed there must be some special trick to the task and not one a river man could fathom.

  A warm feeling spread through me at the memory, and I put my hands gently around the baby I carried and whispered, “I’ll teach you to milk, my sweet boy.”

  I was that sure I was carrying Walter Junior, even though only the Lord could know whether a boy or girl grew within me.

  Nor did I have any true way to know for sure in which barn the Shakers might have stabled Sawyer. The men speaking of Walter’s horse having problems bothered me. The horse had been ever ready to do whatever Walter asked of him. A sound animal. While I couldn’t cure the horse of whatever might be wrong with him, I wanted to see him nevertheless. I needed to do that for Walter.

  With all the Shaker men at breakfast, I had no worries of upsetting them by intruding on their duties as I quietly went into the barn. The barn aisle was swept clean, and in the stalls, the horses munched on their hay. The Shaker men had obviously been busy in the hours since the rising bell rang. A wheelbarrow of stall refuse waited at the far door for one of the brothers to tend to after the morning meal.

  I walked along the stalls. Being among these animals living in a natural way was somehow comforting. Perhaps tha
t was what so bothered me with the Shakers. How the way they lived did not seem natural and as the Lord intended when he created man, male and female, and told them to go forth and be fruitful.

  A horse nickered and reached his head out over the half door at one of the last stalls. Sawyer.

  I remembered the apples in my cloak pockets, and although I felt sure Sister Nila had not intended them for a horse, I held one out toward Sawyer.

  “You remember me after all these months.” I stroked his neck as he chomped the apple.

  His ears perked up and his tail swished. He didn’t look sick to my non-horseman eyes. I had the crazy thought of saddling him and riding out of the barn, away from this Shaker village to . . . And that was where my thoughts hit a stone wall. Even if I were foolish enough to climb up on the horse in my condition, where would I go?

  I leaned my forehead against Sawyer’s head. His nose was soft as velvet. He stayed still, as if sensing my need for quiet. The baby kicked then to remind me I had to do whatever was right for him. That was not riding a horse off into the unknown. Here with the Shakers was where I must stay for now.

  “One day at a time,” I whispered. “Let me not look ahead but trust in your providence, Lord. Just as you provided manna for the Israelites one day at a time, you are providing food for me and my child. Forgive me for worrying about the morrow and help me be glad for the day.”

  I said the prayer and meant every word, but worry for the future wriggled down and made a hard knot below my heart.

  The sound of a door opening awoke a bit of panic in me. Could I have lost track of the time and the breakfast hour was already over? The Shaker brethren would not be glad to find me out of my place in their barn. At least I would have something to confess to Eldress Maria when next she asked me to list my wrongs.