Dancing Dead

by Deborah Woodworth

  “Oh? When and where did you see it?”

  “I wasn’t out when I shouldn’t a-bin, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. I couldn’t sleep, that’s all. Couple nights ago, it was. My retiring room’s at the end of the hall, looks out south over the village. I was just sittin’ in my rocker by the window, and there she was, prancin’ around in front of a window on the second floor of the South Family Dwelling House. Gave me a turn, she did.” Elsa looked offended, as if the specter had appeared with the primary intention of upsetting her.

  Still, Rose was dubious. “You were able to see her from such a distance?”

  “I got good eyes.”

  “Are you certain you weren’t closer?”

  “I said what I saw, and it’s the God’s honest truth. God can just go ahead and strike me down dead if I’m lyin’.” She stuck out her chin and glared at the window, daring the heavens to send a lightning bolt through the glass.

  There was no point in pressing further, and Rose knew it. She swung her chair up on some wall pegs. “All right, you may return to your work now,” she said. Elsa was not a particularly bright woman, but she had often proven herself to be a natural actress, so Rose had no idea if her protestations of innocence were true. The answer required investigation. Rose had nearly reached the doorway when she heard Elsa clear her throat in a calculated way. Rose paused, knowing more was coming.

  “If I was thee,” Elsa said, a sneer in her voice, “I’d look closer than Heaven for that ghost.”

  Rose glanced back over her shoulder.

  “By which I mean, I’d keep an eye on those folks y’all invited here—thee and thy friend, Brother Andrew, that is. I’m bettin’ one of them’s the ghost. Gennie’s on the outs with that man of hers, that’s what I hear, and I reckon that could drive a girl like her right over the edge.”

  Rose reached for the doorknob.

  “That little girl you like so much, that Mairin, you’d best keep an eye on her, too,” Elsa said. “I seen her stealing from the kitchen more’n once these last few days. Wouldn’t surprise me none if Mairin’s in cahoots with the ghost. Maybe the ghost’s really a devil, and that girl’s in its power.”

  Rose didn’t bother to answer, but she closed the door behind her more forcefully than was strictly necessary.

  Six

  ROSE WAS NOT IN THE MOST TRANQUIL OF MOODS AS SHE left the Laundry after her irritating and unenlightening talk with Sister Elsa. She still couldn’t say for certain it was Elsa playing ghost at night, nor could she eliminate her. Some outdoor work sounded good. Maybe it would clear her head. Right now she was ready to toss Elsa out of the community on her irksome ear, Wilhelm or no Wilhelm.

  She borrowed an old, empty basket from the Infirmary, then made her way toward the Meetinghouse, across the unpaved path that cut through the center of the village. She’d been noticing that the grounds were littered with debris left behind by the thoughtless people of the world who came nightly to watch for the ghost. So many hands were needed for spring planting that no one had time to tidy up the lawn.

  The minutes passed quickly and Rose’s basket was half full, when she glanced up and saw the brothers’ door to the Meetinghouse swing open. Perhaps one of the brethren had been making repairs to the large meeting room, she thought, in preparation for worship on Sunday afternoon. She knelt to snag a fragment of paper ground into the grass. As she stood again, she saw a woman sail through the open door as if leaving her own home. Rose recognized her easily from dinner at the Shaker Hostel. It was Mina Dunmore.

  Mrs. Dunmore had discarded her widow’s black for a belted dress in a garish shade of pink, which accentuated her thick waist. She favored Rose with a brief smile, the sort a lady might bestow on an admirer, and turned in the direction of the Ministry House. She left the door to the Meetinghouse wide open.

  Appalled, Rose left her basket on the grass, hurried to the Meetinghouse, and closed the door. Then she picked up her skirts and jogged toward the interloper.

  “Mrs. Dunmore,” she called out as she caught up to the slower woman, “might I have a word with you?”

  “Yes?” There was an imperious edge to Mina Dunmore’s voice.

  Daily physical labor kept Rose’s limbs strong, so she had no need to catch her breath. She did, however, need a moment to control her flash of temper. For Andrew’s sake, she wanted to avoid antagonizing hostel guests, no matter how improper their behavior.

  “What did you think of our Meetinghouse?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Mina Dunmore looked genuinely puzzled.

  “Our Meetinghouse—the building you just left. I assume you wanted to have a look around, see where we hold our worship services? We will worship tomorrow after the noon meal, if you’d like to see what a service is like.”

  “Ah yes, the worship service. I hadn’t realized . . . I mean, I’m sure it’s quite intriguing.” Mrs. Dunmore backed away.

  “You are certainly under no obligation,” Rose said. “I only thought, because you took the trouble to explore the building, you might be interested. I wondered if you’d heard something about the service?” She knew she was goading the woman, but she wanted to create discomfort. She wanted Mina Dunmore to stay out of the village’s private buildings unless she’d been invited.

  Mrs. Dunmore snickered. “Oh yeah, I heard a thing or two about those services of yours. I was raised strict Methodist myself, so I don’t hold much with all that dancing. I’ve heard it gets mighty wild sometimes.”

  “Nay, it’s normally quite tame,” Rose said.

  “I’ll take your word for that.” Mina stepped farther away. “Well, I know y’all work real hard, so I won’t keep you from it.” She turned and walked straight to the Ministry House. Without hesitation, she entered.

  So much for the subtle approach. Next time I’ll have to block the way.

  Rose considered marching into the Ministry House and dragging the woman out by the sleeve, but she saw Wilhelm cross the path and head directly toward the building. He was probably planning to work on his last bit of personal packing for the move. For once, she was delighted to see him. When he caught the worldly Mina Dunmore wandering through the Ministry House, the woman would wish she had stayed in her room all day. Rose was tempted to follow and watch, but there was work to be done.

  Children burst through the Schoolhouse as if sprung from a trap. Sister Charlotte had assigned them a few hours of Saturday work, to allow them to end the school year more quickly. Most of the children followed Charlotte to their dwelling house, where they’d be given time to expend their energy before enduring a silent evening meal with the adults. A small group ran toward a cluster of parents, who waited with cars or wagons to tote their offspring back to town or to their farms. The Shaker school was known as the best in the county, so it never lacked for students, and the local farmers were glad for the chance to have their children finish the year in time to help with planting. Rose stood with the people from the world, watching for Mairin.

  Nine-year-old Nora, Mairin’s best friend and self-appointed protector, emerged from the Schoolhouse, followed closely by the older but smaller girl. They stopped and leaned their heads together, sharing a secret, giggling. Rose waited, not wishing to intrude. In time, the two girls saw her, waved, and raced each other to reach her. Nora, whose limbs were normal, was winning until she pulled back to let Mairin catch up. They arrived at the same time.

  “Hello, you two. How was school today?” Rose asked.

  “Mairin read part of a story,” Nora said. “She did it perfectly, too. Sister Charlotte said so.”

  Mairin kicked at the ground.

  “Mairin, I’m so pleased with your progress,” Rose said. She touched the girl’s shoulder lightly. Because of a lifetime of beatings, before the Shakers took her in, Mairin was leery of being touched. However, she raised her face to Rose and beamed. She had come far, and she knew it. A few short months earlier, she had been unable to read or write more than her name and
a few words.

  “Nora, would you run along with Sister Charlotte? I’ll take good care of Mairin. I want to talk with her about something.”

  “Okay. See you later, Mairin.” Nora turned a cartwheel, knowing that Rose wouldn’t mind, and ran off toward the group Charlotte was leading to the Children’s Dwelling House.

  Mairin watched Nora race off, then gazed up at Rose with a mixture of pleasure and uncertainty in her eyes. As always, Rose felt her heart constrict. She had grown deeply fond of this odd, vulnerable little girl. She held out her hand, and, to her delight, Mairin placed her own within it.

  “Let’s walk a while, shall we?”

  Mairin said nothing, but followed Rose docilely. The afternoon had grown steamy, a harbinger of summer. Rose led the way past the burned-out foundation of the old Water House and into a thick grove of sugar maples. The trees had leafed out but were still a light spring green, and the budding undergrowth was studded with wildflowers. A faint, not unpleasant whiff of moist soil and decomposing foliage wafted up as their feet kneaded the earth. Mairin yanked on Rose’s hand and pointed to a delicate, pale purple cress flower poking up through the previous autumn’s coverlet of leaves. They arrived at a small clearing and sat on a fallen log shaded from the afternoon sun.

  “Are you still mad at me?” Mairin asked. Her voice, like her face, was expressionless, as if she didn’t care about the answer. Rose knew better.

  “Nay, I am not.” Rose gazed intently into Mairin’s eyes. “Are you still angry with me for going away for a while?”

  Mairin’s small chin lifted. “You promised you’d help me with my reading,” she said.

  “I know I did, and I should have told you I was going. I forgot my promise; that was wrong.” The apology felt somewhat like a confession, and it crossed Rose’s mind that Mairin might someday be called to become a Believer, perhaps even an eldress.

  “Mairin, have you been going out at night just because you are angry with me?”

  Mairin shook her head, and the sunlight burnished her fluffy brown hair. “Well, maybe at first,” she admitted, with a shrug, “but then I forgot to be mad anymore because I met the angel.”

  “You mean the sister who dances at night?”

  Mairin nodded.

  “And you think she is an angel, not a ghost?”

  “I’m sure she’s an angel.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—” Mairin stopped herself and avoided Rose’s gaze. She slid off the log and knelt in the grass to pick a tiny wood violet. “These smell sweet if you have a whole bunch of them,” she said, “and they taste good, too.” She chomped the flower off its stem and chewed.

  Rose refused to be distracted. “What is an angel, Mairin? Can you tell me?”

  “It’s someone God sends to help you and protect you,” Mairin said, with confidence.

  “I see. This woman you’ve seen dancing, how does she help and protect you?”

  Mairin was silent so long that Rose wondered if she’d even listened to the question. Finally, she said, “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else? Not even Nora?”

  “Did the angel ask you to keep this secret?”

  “Nay, but I’m afraid they’ll take it away and—”

  “Take what away, Mairin? Your angel?”

  Mairin shook her head. “Come with me,” she said, “and you’ll see.” She scampered back toward the village, leaving Rose to follow as fast as she could. When they reached the edge of the maple grove, Mairin ran through the grass to the back of the abandoned South Family Dwelling House. She stopped at the cellar door, where once the South Family brethren had brought root vegetables into the earthen basement for winter storage. Mairin pulled open one side of the heavy door, grunting with exertion, and disappeared down the steps. Rose hurriedly followed.

  Small, low-ceilinged storage rooms opened onto a narrow hallway with a dirt floor, which ran the length of the root cellar. The cool air smelled of dampness and neglect. It was a place the Shakers rarely had occasion to go anymore, and, probably for that reason, it had become one of Mairin’s favorite hiding places.

  Mairin led Rose to an inner room near the few stairs leading up to the basement kitchen. As she approached the opening, Mairin began to tiptoe. She stood at the entrance and peered inside for a moment. Rose was ready to explode with curiosity. She looked over Mairin’s head into the cavelike room. All evidence of stored vegetables and jars of preserves had long since been removed, but in one corner, perched on a low shelf, Rose saw a deep, round utility basket. One of its wooden grip handles had broken off and stuck straight up. Rough spots indicated places where the wood had cracked and popped out of the weaving. An old, well-used basket—yet Mairin approached it as if it were a holy relic.

  A small, piteous cry came from inside the basket. “Good heavens, Mairin, do you have a baby in there?” Rose rushed toward the basket.

  “Shh, you’ll scare it,” Mairin said. Rose had never heard so much emotion in the child’s voice. Mairin reached into the basket and scooped up a tiny bundle of fur—calico fur. With intense gentleness, she held the tiny creature to her chest and stroked its head with two fingers.

  “It is a baby,” she whispered. “And it doesn’t have a mother, just like me. That’s why the angel sent it to me, because I know what it’s like not to have a mother.”

  “May I hold it?” Rose asked.

  “Well, all right, but be very careful. It’s so little.”

  “I promise.” The kitten had almost no weight. It couldn’t be more than a few weeks old. It was a miracle the creature had survived.

  “She’s beautiful,” Rose said.

  “How do you know it’s a girl?”

  “Well, see her coat? All those colors? That’s called calico, like the fabric, and a calico cat is nearly always a girl. Where is her mother, do you know?”

  “She died.” Mairin’s tone had gone flat. “I buried her in the orchard and said a prayer and everything. There was another kitten, too—a black one with one white paw—but it died, too. I buried them together. I think they’ll be happier together. Can I have her back?”

  Rose handed the kitten into Mairin’s eager hands. “Where did you find them?”

  “Out back, under those big bushes. They were all alive when I found them, but the mama and the black kitty were real sick. I tried to feed them. I took some milk from kitchen, and I found some soft rags in the Sisters’ Shop.”

  So that’s what Elsa was talking about when she accused Mairin of stealing food. Rose glanced into the basket and saw it was lined with the fine blue wool used to make cloaks. Maybe she wouldn’t mention to Sister Isabel that she’d found the missing wool. Not yet, anyway.

  “Mairin, is this where you’ve been coming the past few nights when you’ve run away?”

  “Mostly. I wait a little while, and if I think folks are looking for me, I hide somewhere else. I wanted the kitten to be my secret.” Mairin stroked the kitten’s fur and leaned close to hear her purr. “I didn’t even tell Nora. She’s going to be real mad at me.”

  “She will forgive you if you explain.”

  “I tried hard to save the other kitties,” Mairin said. “I put them all in the basket and carried them in here and watched them as much as I could. But first the baby died and then the mama died, and I was really worried about this baby, but she’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “She seems to be,” Rose said, “but she’s terribly young to be without her mama. We need to take her to Sister Josie. She will know how best to care for her.”

  “Nay!” Mairin turned away, hugging the kitten tightly. “The angel gave her to me.” The kitten mewed sharply. Mairin loosened her grip, and the kitten burrowed into the crook of her arm.

  “No one will take her away from you, Mairin. You saved her life, and she needs you. But she’s still a tiny baby who may be sick. We must bring her to the Infirmary. Josie will know if she needs medicine to get stronger.”

  “But I ca
n keep her?”

  “Yea, you may keep her. If Josie says she’s well enough, we’ll move her to an empty room on the top floor of the Children’s Dwelling House until she is big enough to go outside. Come now, put her in her basket, and we’ll carry her together.”

  Mairin nestled the kitten in her bed of wool. An angel might or might not be responsible for bringing these two together, but this kitten might prove to be a godsend. Mairin now had something to care for—a creature, weaker than herself, who needed her. If the kitten did not survive, though . . . Rose sped a silent prayer to Mother Ann, who had lost all four of her children and knew how it felt.

  Rose offered Mairin the utility basket’s one good handle and grabbed the other side, so they could transport the kitten together. Awkwardness was less important than encouraging Mairin’s protective feelings. Rather than negotiate the heavy cellar door, Rose guided them through the abandoned dwelling house kitchen. Gray light from a grimy window, forgotten during the building’s final cleaning, barely lit the empty room. A few worn items still hung from pegs—a broom with a cracked handle, a tattered cloak, a pan with a charred bottom. The old stove and sink were missing, pressed into service in the Shaker Hostel kitchen.

  They moved through the bare dining room and into the hallway. One cracked bench; empty pegs lining the wall; dust motes swirling in sunbeams, like bits of colored glass in a kaleidoscope . . . Had the shade of a long-dead Shaker sister twirled her way though these sad corridors? Why? And if not a shade, then what? Who?

  Dread stabbed Rose like a hunger pang. She stopped and put down her end of the basket. “Mairin, why did you say the angel gave you the kitten?”

  “Because I found her the night the angel danced here. She was dancing to get my attention. I could see her from the window of my room. She kept bowing to me, and I knew she wanted me to come closer, so I sneaked out to watch. The angel was in the window, looking right at the mama kitty and her babies. She wanted me to see them. She wanted me to find them and take care of them.” Mairin knelt beside the basket. Her hand hovered over the sleeping kitten. “I couldn’t save them all,” she whispered. “I tried really hard.”