The Refuge

by Ann H. Gabhart

  “Maybe because I threw up.” Leatrice blinked to keep back tears. “Can’t you make her go away, Papa? Please.”

  If only he could, but Flynn shook his head. “She’s Grandpa’s wife. I can’t make her leave, but we can find another place to live.”

  “With the Shakers?” She seemed excited about that.

  “No, but maybe you can go to school there.”

  That made her smile. Flynn smoothed the quilts down over her and kissed her forehead. “Now go to sleep. I’ll stay here with you for a while.”

  “To make sure the bears don’t get in.”

  “I told you no bears.” Seemed to him bears were the least of their worries. “Oh, did you happen to see where Miss Irene put her secret ingredient?” Whatever Leatrice had seen, he needed to check it out.

  Leatrice nodded. “Up on the top shelf in the cabinet, but the next morning I got a chair and looked for it before she got up and it wasn’t there. I couldn’t find it in any of the cabinets. She must have hidden it.”

  Flynn pushed a smile out on his face. “Well, it was a secret ingredient. Now don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You just turn over and go to sleep.”

  He stroked her back until she was breathing in and out slowly. Then he leaned against her bed and stared at the moonlight coming through her window. He thought about raising the window to let in some fresh air, but then he remembered the window was nailed shut against those bears Leatrice was afraid were coming for her. All because of that woman, as Leatrice called her.

  What was he going to do? He thought he had it figured out by buying the house down the road, but if Leatrice was right about Irene’s tonic, he couldn’t leave Silas alone with her. But then, how could he be sure she wasn’t putting that secret ingredient in all their food?

  Surely Leatrice was wrong about that. All sorts of roots and herbs went into tonics, many with vile tastes. But whether the tonic was harmless or not, Irene had still been in his bed. He had no idea what she might try next, and in spite of how he said Silas wouldn’t believe her if she accused Flynn of attacking her, that might not be true. Whether Silas had just married her for a cook or not, Flynn couldn’t be sure the man hadn’t developed feelings for the woman.

  His head drooped. Dear Lord, I don’t know how things got in such a mess. But I need help to know what to do.

  He raised his head and stared at the window. Maybe he should take Leatrice to the Shakers where at least she would be safe. Just until he got the house at the new place fixed up. Meanwhile he could keep living here with Silas to watch Irene. He could always claim a horse needed extra attention and sleep in the barn. Tomorrow he’d talk to Silas.

  Something woke Leatrice. When she opened her eyes, it was dark. Even darker than when her father had come into her room. The moon had been shining then. Now the moonlight was gone, but morning hadn’t come.

  She held her breath and listened for whatever had awakened her. Maybe bears scratching on the window. No, Papa said there weren’t any bears. He never lied to her. That was why he hadn’t answered when she asked if he liked that woman. He didn’t want to say he didn’t, but he wouldn’t lie and say he did. She knew he didn’t like her. She didn’t know how Grandpa could like her enough to marry her.

  But what if her father just didn’t know about the bears? They could be bears that only came around when it was too dark to see them. Would she be able to see them if they were scratching on the window? She pulled in a breath for courage and pushed up on her elbow to look toward the window. Nothing there, but right beside her bed, her father was stretched out sleeping on the floor.

  Poor Papa. He couldn’t be comfortable on the hard floor. And he didn’t have any covers. She had two quilts. As carefully as she could, she put her feet on the floor without touching him. She moved over to his other side before she reached for the edge of her top quilt and pulled it over her father. He grunted a little but didn’t open his eyes.

  She wanted to tuck the quilt around him the way Mamaw Bea used to tuck the covers around her, but that would be sure to wake him up. Instead she tiptoed around him again and crawled back in bed.

  Something caught her eye at her bedroom door. A shadow moved. That woman was in the door. Leatrice closed her eyes as if she hadn’t seen her and breathed in and out like she was asleep before she opened one eye a slit. She was still there, probably smiling because she knew Leatrice was afraid. When at last the woman left, Leatrice lay very still and listened. A door creaked open and then closed. Her grandpa coughed.

  Leatrice turned on her side where she could see her father. He was asleep, but he’d wake up if something tried to bother her, whether it was bears or that woman.

  Then she wondered if that woman had been lurking there earlier while she and her father talked. She might have heard Leatrice tell Papa about the secret ingredient. What if that made the woman put that stuff in Leatrice’s food? Or Papa’s?

  She scrunched her eyes shut tight and tried to remember the prayer Mamaw Bea had taught her. Or maybe it was a Bible verse. Something about how much God loved her. Loved everybody. Maybe even that woman.

  The words wouldn’t come straight in her head, but she did remember the one Mamaw told her to whisper when she had to go to the outhouse at night. It was scary after dark in the outhouse. Not as bad as the cellar, because nobody ever locked her in the outhouse. She could run back to the house. Mamaw Bea hadn’t made fun of her being scared. She’d understood and told her to repeat this verse. Fear thou not, for I am with thee.

  It was easier to fear not when both the Lord was with her and her father was right there beside her bed.

  18

  APRIL 1850

  I welcomed spring with a lighter heart than I thought possible back when winter darkened my thoughts. Anna Grace was the reason. While I still missed Walter and ever would, I embraced this time of new beginnings and refused to think beyond each golden day.

  This day Anna Grace was fussy. I had already nursed her, but she still wanted to sing her unhappy song. Morning was coming, but now night still ruled. I guessed another hour before the rising bell would sound in the village.

  We had no clocks. Such were not allowed in the retiring rooms. Time was measured by the village bell. Rising time. Retiring time. Mealtimes. Worship times. But after a while, whether one had a working timepiece or not, a person developed an internal clock that rang different sorts of bells. Such was especially true for a mother with the demands of a nursing baby.

  Sister Helene slipped out of her bed and tiptoed across the space between us. “Let me take her.” She spoke in a whisper to keep from waking Sister Ellie and Sister Genna. “You should rest a few more minutes before the day begins.”

  I handed Anna Grace over without hesitation. I knew my child would be held with love. Anna Grace brought joy to our retiring room, even at times like this when she could not settle to sleep. Sister Helene starred in our group at those times by walking the floor with the baby and softly singing Shaker songs into her ears.

  “We can’t let her cries disturb the others in our house,” Sister Helene said.

  I knew she meant that, but I also knew she liked the feel of my baby’s head resting on her shoulder while she walked back and forth between our beds. She knew which of the floorboards squeaked and stepped over those every time.

  Sister Ellie did the same, but I thought Sister Genna stepped on them purposefully. She, the same as I, resisted the Shaker way. We were both captives of circumstances, hers different than mine but no easier to change. Her husband had gone to the frontier to find a new start.

  “He insisted he could do that faster without me along. ‘You go stay with the Shakers for a few months,’ he said. ‘No longer than a year and I’ll come back for you once I get settled out west.’” Sister Genna had shared her story without tears but not without anger warring with worry in her eyes. “And so here I am. Trapped in this village unless Jeremy returns.”

  “Perhaps he will yet. Something might have
delayed him,” Sister Ellie said.

  We were together in our retiring room during the time of contemplation before the evening meal. Sister Helene was with Eldress Maria. Sister Genna had waited to tell us her story when Sister Helene was not with us.

  “She is kindness through and through, but she believes she must follow the rules. Well, except for Anna Grace.” Sister Genna’s face softened as she looked at the baby in her cradle. Then her face hardened. “I have followed none of the rules, even to that of telling the truth. The two of you are the only ones I have not lied to.”

  “What lies have you told?” I asked. “Other than perhaps, the same as I, pretending that you might eventually follow the Shaker way.”

  “That I haven’t done. I am not a Shaker and could never be one. Nay, I told the leaders I was a widow so they would allow me in. They do not like to take only one of a marital union. They advise one to convince the reluctant spouse to come into the Shaker village too or to wait until one can do so. Especially if it is the husband who is reluctant.”

  Sister Ellie nodded. “Yea, that is true. I was resistant to the point of rebellion when my husband began talking of coming to the Shakers, but a wife is bound to do whatever her husband says.” She looked down at her hands to hide the tears that seemed to come more often now when she thought of her Abby here in the Shaker village and her other children who had left. She grieved not sharing their lives the way she wished to do. “Sometimes I think I should have simply refused to come. He is a good man. He might have paid me some mind, but now he is a complete Shaker. He will never leave this place.”

  “But you can.” Sister Genna looked straight at Sister Ellie. “You have a daughter who will take you in.”

  “But what of Abby? And of my marriage vows?”

  “Such vows matter little in this place,” Sister Genna said. “Or perhaps wherever my Jeremy has roamed. He might have met a more likely woman. One who could give him living children. One he did not have to travel back to Kentucky to get.”

  I reached to hold her hand. “It has not been a full year. He might yet return or send you money for a stage to wherever he might be.”

  Sister Genna’s face had lightened a bit. “That is true. It is just that I fear lying and saying I am a widow might dare fate to make it so.”

  She still had no tears. Her sadness went deeper than that. Sister Ellie and I could do nothing but offer her our love and prayers. Just as the two of them, and Sister Helene too, were offering their love to me and to Anna Grace.

  Both Sister Genna and Sister Ellie were rocks for me during Anna Grace’s first weeks. Each had nursed babies through various ailments, and even though Sister Genna had lost her little one before he could have his first birthday, she knew much about being a mother.

  After Anna Grace’s too early entry into the world, we shared many times of worry. Anna Grace was so very small and appeared to have a tenuous hold on life. But we nursed her through every concern. We, because of the love of my sisters. While I was Anna Grace’s mother, Sisters Ellie, Genna, and Helene were the aunts and grannies. I did believe each of them would have lain down and died for Anna Grace the same as I.

  While not the mother-father family unit I believed the Lord planned for his people in spite of the Shaker teachings to the contrary, four sisters to one little baby seemed a perfect Shaker plan for taking care of an infant. Much better than a roomful of children to one or two Shaker sisters. Not only better for the child, but better for the sisters as well.

  We still had our assigned duties in the Shaker village. All had to work with their hands here in order to live the Shaker way. Hands to work, hearts to God. Once I was able again, I was given the task of cleaning in our Gathering Family House. Only on the sisters’ side of the house, for Eldress Maria said it would not do for me to carry a baby into the brethren’s side.

  The duty was not easy. In the retiring rooms, every corner needed dusting and sometimes scrubbing. A dead fly missed and left on a windowsill distressed Eldress Maria and brought a lecture on the necessity of cleanliness.

  “We must clean our rooms well, Sister Darcie, for good spirits will not live where there is dirt. Our Mother Ann assures us there is no dirt in heaven, and we want our village to be heaven on earth,” Eldress Maria told me at least three times a week.

  Often she would tell me the same was true of my heart. “If one is not vigilant, dirty little corners can hide in one’s heart. Those must be swept clean before one can become a proper Believer.”

  “Yea.” I always nodded as though I agreed with whatever she said and at times promised to take a mental broom to my heart to rid it of unclean corners and to sweep unclean thoughts from my mind. Not that I had such thoughts. My mind was occupied with how best I could care for my baby.

  Everywhere I turned, the eldress seemed to be watching, as though to be sure I properly cleaned every spot in the retiring rooms. At least that was what I believed at first. Then I noted how she would wait until she thought I was too busy sweeping or dusting to notice and surreptitiously reach to caress Anna Grace’s cheek or straighten her wrappings.

  Sister Genna unkindly said she was probably looking for dirt, but I knew that wasn’t so. Anna Grace made Eldress Maria smile, and for the good of all of us, I pretended not to notice. She had the power to send Anna Grace and me to the Children’s House, and I had no desire to move away from these sisters who loved us.

  I already walked the length of the village to take my meals at the Children’s House, since Eldress Maria said I could not bring a baby into our Gathering Family eating room. I could hardly leave Anna Grace alone in our room two floors above. I did not mind the walk or being among the children with their fresh faces. The same as the adults, they were silent during the meals so I could not talk with them.

  Sister Corinne, the one in charge of all the children, appeared to be very strict, but the other sisters smiled often and quietly corrected any misbehavior. At times they touched this or that child’s shoulder with affection, especially if the child looked sad, for not all the children were smiling. Some looked a little lost, as though they missed their mothers.

  Perhaps I merely imagined that loneliness because I worried of what might happen when Anna Grace was old enough to be weaned. I had no idea what age the Shakers might insist that happen. I could have asked Sister Lettie, but I did not. I thought it better to simply embrace the blessing of each day.

  Sister Lettie came to check on Anna Grace so often I began to worry something might be wrong. But when I asked, Sister Lettie laughed as only she could. Free and easy.

  “Nay, young sister. I just like having my hands on a sweet baby again. You and your sisters here are doing a fine job of taking care of this one.” She peered over at me, perhaps aware I did not embrace the Shaker beliefs. “See, it is a good thing to have sisters to help you.”

  “Yea.”

  That I could not argue even if I knew that only one of the sisters in my room was a committed Believer. Sister Helene did believe the Shaker way was the only way open to her. No, I said that wrong. She believed the Shaker life was the best way open to her. She did not look at the road out of the village with any kind of desire. She had come to the village at a young age and had grown up in the Children’s House the same as the children who sat around me at mealtimes.

  When I went to the Children’s House for my meals, I kept Anna Grace swaddled in a wrap close to my body and shakered my plate every time. Then I returned to the Gathering Family House to chase every iota of dirt out of the sisters’ rooms in order to please Eldress Maria.

  This morning Sister Helene walked the floor until the gray light of dawn stole into our room. Then she settled the baby in her cradle just as the rising bell began to clang. I had not gone back to sleep but instead had watched her walk my baby back and forth long after Anna Grace was surely sleeping. I had often done the same for the joy of holding her close, smelling her sweet baby scent and letting her fine hair tickle my cheek.

&n
bsp; With the rising bell, we began our morning routine by sharing the small dressing room off our retiring room. A pitcher of water and a bowl let us do our morning ablutions. Plus we had a chamber pot, so we didn’t have to make the trek out to the privy during the night hours.

  We had no time for dallying, as we all had duties before the morning meal. Sister Ellie had kitchen duty this month, and Sister Genna was weeding the strawberry rows during the day but cleaned two of the brethren’s rooms before the morning meal. The weeding was hard on the back, she said, but she liked being outside instead of having laundry duty or candle making. The Shakers had huge patches of strawberries. The sweet jams they made from the berries were delicious on our biscuits.

  My duty was to clean our room first. I hurried to empty the slop jar before Sister Helene had to leave for her morning duty. She never spoke about her morning duties, merely saying it was a necessary task. Sister Genna, ever the realist, was sure Sister Helene was one of the watchers in the early morning hours.

  “Watchers?” At first I didn’t know what Sister Genna meant, but then I remembered Sister Helene’s warning that somebody was always watching in the Shaker village to make certain all behaved according to Shaker rules. “Oh, those assigned the duty of keeping an eye on what is happening in the village.”

  “Yea.” Sister Genna snorted. “The elders and eldresses intend to prevent any wrong male-female behavior.”

  It did not seem a proper job for sweet Sister Helene. To have the duty of watching for misconduct from her lookout post, wherever that might be. Sister Genna told me to look up the next time I was outside, and I would note where watchers could stand in attic windows or even in the roof gables.

  “And here in our room,” Sister Genna added.

  “But Sister Helene loves us,” I protested.

  “I don’t deny that, but not more than she loves the Shaker rules.” Sister Genna glanced toward the door to be sure no one could overhear her words. “If you are wise, you will be careful what you say in front of our sweet sister.”