Josie ushered the group into the patients’ waiting room, where she kept a large desk, usually cluttered with apothecary jars and tins filled with herbal infusions, powdered barks, and crumbled dried herbs. For her part in the ceremony, Josie had tidied the desk and dusted off all the little bits of leaves and bark that seemed to bury themselves in the wood grain.
“Make this place clean,” Rose announced, as she had at the entrance to each building. The sisters got to work. With their transparent brooms and dustcloths, they swept and cleansed. The carriers of the gospel fire marched after them, purifying the newly swept corners and offering each area for Mother Ann’s approval and blessing.
The sisters seemed to stay closer now to Patience, taking their cues from her rather than from their eldress. Rose had noted this in each building but kept hoping it was only her imagination. In these tight quarters, it was clear. The sisters avoided Rose. They followed after Patience, sometimes even copying her movements.
“Has it been a good cleansing?” Josie whispered to Rose.
“You can’t imagine,” Rose said. For the moment, she gave up trying to lead and stood in a corner with Josie. Irene Dengler looked up from her sweeping and gave Rose a slight smile. She was the only sister who had so much as glanced in Rose’s direction since Patience had singled her out as unworthy. Rose nodded in gratitude.
As eldress, of course, she should be guiding the ceremony. In the days of Mother Ann’s Work, the eldress would be at least one of the instruments chosen to receive messages from the holy angel. Rose would be untruthful if she did not admit to some relief—much as she loved the Society, her talents had always been more practical than supernatural. She had fit well into the trustee’s position, but she sometimes felt herself lacking as eldress. She resolved to redouble her efforts toward spiritual understanding. But she doubted she would ever become more than an indirect instrument of Holy Mother Wisdom. It simply wasn’t in her nature.
Following Patience, the sisters wove out of the waiting room and headed for the sickrooms. Rose and Josie brought up the rear. They marched into Nora and Betsy’s room, singing a rousing tune. The girls were sitting up in their cradle beds, their eyes wide and their cheeks spotted pink with excitement. The sisters swirled around the girls, sweeping carefully underneath their beds and over their heads, as if chasing away evil spirits. Irene paused in her sweeping to pat Betsy’s head.
“Isn’t it lovely, Rose?” Josie’s plump face beamed. “I can just feel Mother Ann watching on with pleasure, can’t you?”
Rose drew in a breath to answer, but her response froze on her lips. Patience had stopped marching. She turned around to face the line of sisters behind her. They halted so suddenly that they ran into each other. Patience stretched her arms straight up in the air with her hands cupped as if holding a bowl. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw.
Her scream began as a low rumble in her throat, like the growl of a wild beast. The sound grew in power and swelled into a human cry of anguish.
“Nay!” Patience shouted. “Nay, sweet Mother, the feel of it is too terrible for me. Let me be free of it.” Her grimace of pain melted into a peaceful expression, as if her prayer had been answered. Slowly she turned in a circle, keeping her hands cupped and steady so as not to spill their contents. Her speed picked up. Twirling now, faster and faster, she moved her lips in silent prayer until, with a grunt, she flung her invisible burden toward the group of sisters gathered around Nora’s and Betsy’s beds. She lowered her arms and stood still, panting.
When she spoke, her voice was low and menacing. “You are fools,” she said. “There are no secrets from Mother, and what Mother knows, I now know. In this village there are sins the angels blushed to tell me. Even the children are sinners here.” She looked from Nora to Betsy, who clutched the sides of the cradle beds. “The sacred fire cannot cleanse the hearts in this room, in this village. The holy angel gave me all he could, and it wasn’t enough.”
Irene put a hand on Nora’s shoulder, and Patience flashed a dark look at her. “The sinner comforts the sinner,” she said. “If you have not given up all worldly ties, you are not a Believer!”
Patience’s fierce gaze scanned the group, then traveled over their shoulders. Rose looked behind her to find the brethren gathered just outside the sickroom door. Benjamin and Thomas stood in front, both returning Patience’s stare with simmering anger. Patience’s lips curved in what might have been a smile, if any warmth had reached her eyes. She took two steps toward the door, and the sisters parted to allow her to speak to the brethren. She pointed to Benjamin.
“Your sins are too many to recount. Mother knows them all, and she weeps for you. The sin of pride is only one, and perhaps the least. There are others . . . Mother warns me not to defile the air with them. They are too horrible. You must confess them all to the Society, or she will be forced to reveal them for you.”
Patience turned her attention to Thomas. “Your sins are recorded,” she said. “On earth as in heaven.”
Thomas blanched. He took a menacing step into the room, but a strong hand grabbed his arm from behind. Rose recognized Wilhelm’s corded forearm.
Patience closed her eyes and released a sigh that seemed to deflate her whole body. “The angel is gone,” she said. “Mother has left, and she has taken back her brooms and her holy fire. The cleansing gift is closed.”
Wilhelm pushed Thomas aside and stepped into the room. “Is Mother angry with us?” he asked.
Patience opened her eyes and studied him in silence for a few moments. “Mother was disappointed,” she said, “but there is hope.”
Wilhelm took another step into the sickroom and reached out his arms, palms upward, in supplication. “What must we do?”
“There must be a purging,” Patience said. “We must rid ourselves of the evil that has been allowed to thrive in this Society. All sins must be dredged out, confessed, atoned for—not just sins of deed, but sins of the heart and mind, as well. We must do this, or Mother, who loves us beyond human comprehension, will do it for us.”
TWELVE
A LIGHT, LATE SUPPER FOLLOWED THE CLOSING OF THE sweeping gift, but it did not end Rose’s misgivings. She had decided to dine in the Center Family house, preferring to face suspicious sisters and brethren than Wilhelm. She still had no idea why Patience had relayed an angelie message that she was unworthy, so she had no way to defend herself.
Gennie’s report of Elsa’s behavior during the cleansing was now known throughout the community. Elsa had enjoyed herself, but her only interesting accusation was that Patience was a witch, a follower of false spirits.
With Elsa accusing Patience of witchcraft, and Patience accusing numerous others of a host of sins, the dining room air was tight with foreboding. Rose found herself in the unaccustomed position of being grateful to Elsa for casting some doubt on Patience’s credibility. Some of the sisters seemed less wary around Rose now, while others still doubted her. Gennie, of course, was defiantly loyal, even to the point of speaking to Rose during the meal. Rose did not rebuke her. She knew Gennie had chosen the most public arena to show her support.
Patience was once again absent from the meal. Rose searched her memory and realized that, unless she had another source of food, Patience had not eaten in two days. And before that, she had eaten only a few bites of her meals. Rose looked at her own full plate. She wasn’t eating well herself just now, and waste was sinful. Unless she was ill, she was honor-bound to clean her plate. For a tiny second she considered pleading illness so she could retire to her room, but instead she swallowed a large bite of corn pudding. Once she started dissembling to avoid difficulty, it would be time to withdraw as eldress. Nay, she would not run away. After supper, she would find Patience, and they would have a good, long talk.
“If that woman thinks she can get away with this,” Gennie hissed under her breath, “then she needs her thinking corrected.” Gennie had remained calm through the evening meal, for Rose’s sake, but
once she was alone in her own retiring room, her temper erupted. She paced the room, flung the top sheet to the foot of her bed, threw herself on the mattress, then jumped up to pace again. Patience’s door had been open and her room empty when Gennie had arrived, so she didn’t care how much noise she made.
“She has got to be stopped,” Gennie announced to one of the other two beds, as if someone were in it. “Rose may believe in this holy-angel nonsense, but I don’t. That woman is no better than Elsa. She’s faking, she’s got to be. But why? What’s her purpose? Well, I’ll just have to find out.”
She was supposed to go to bed and stay out of it; Rose was planning to talk with Patience. But Gennie couldn’t do nothing. As if on cue, she heard Patience’s door close. At least she could listen in on Patience, maybe find out if she had some secret source of food no one knew about.
Gennie heard familiar noises in the room next door. Drawers opened and closed. A light sound like the splash of water. Patience must be preparing for bed. Then the retiring room door opened and closed. The clicking sounds were quieter this time, but Gennie was sure she’d just heard Patience leave. Of course, she could just be visiting the bathroom. That would make sense. But usually the sisters left their retiring room doors open except when they were in them, dressing or sleeping. Patience’s door had been open before she returned. Why would she close it now? Of course. Patience wanted everyone to think she was in her room, asleep.
Gennie raced for her own door. She was so glad that she hadn’t undressed—and that she no longer had to worry about hiding her curls under a white cap. She closed her own door, too, just in case someone decided to come looking for her. Quickly she checked the bathroom and found it empty, as she’d suspected. She wasted no more time being quiet. She wished she’d insisted on wearing her own worldly clothes as she gathered up her ankle-length work dress to avoid tripping as she ran down the stairs.
When she reached the front door of the dwelling house, she quieted down. She really didn’t know if Patience had left the building. What if she were making secret visits to the kitchen? She eased open the swinging door between the dining room and the kitchen and peeked through the crack. The room was dark. She held her breath and listened, but not a sound reached her. Gently she slid through the door into the kitchen. If Patience was there, she was either dead or hiding in the pantry.
Gennie turned to leave, then stopped herself. She was being a coward, and she knew it. She had to make absolutely certain that Patience wasn’t ill or hidden, even if it led to an embarrassing situation. Gennie avoided thinking about possible danger. Patience was odd, but surely she wasn’t dangerous. Was she?
This is silly, she told herself sternly. She flipped on the light and called out, “Hello, is anyone in here?” She walked toward the pantry at the far end of the room. “I thought I heard a noise, so I . . .” She had nearly reached the pantry, and fear tightened her throat. She breathed in deeply and focused on keeping her voice steady. “I was feeling a little hungry,” she said, hoping there was no one nearby to notice the change in her story. “I thought there might be some of that apple cobbler left. Or, that is, maybe just some spiced apples,” she finished, realizing that apple cobbler would not be kept in the pantry. I certainly hope my life doesn’t depend on this performance, she thought.
She reached for the pantry door. Her sweaty palm slid on the handle. She wiped it on her dress and tried again. Feeling as if she might faint before she could see inside the pantry, she yanked the door open. The pantry was dark, but light from the kitchen spread a few feet inside. The shelves were filled with neatly stacked jars and sacks, all resting motionless, as they should. Thank God the Shakers were so fastidious, Gennie thought. If so much as a mouse had moved in that pantry, her heart would surely have frozen. They’d have found her in the morning, still clutching that doorknob.
Patience was not in the kitchen. And Gennie wasn’t sure where to search next. There were other kitchens in other buildings. She could be raiding those. But maybe she was going at this all wrong, Gennie thought. Maybe Patience really was fasting. Maybe fasting was part of her gift. Surely that would be how a Believer would think. And if that was the case, what other reason would Patience have for slipping out at night? She was so secretive about her precious experiments with medicinal herbs. Could they be connected somehow with her behavior? If so, she might have gone to the Medicinal Herb Shop.
No sooner had she thought the words than Gennie sped out the dwelling house into the darkness. It seemed cooler, but perhaps that was because Gennie was creating her own breeze. Eager again, she ran around the corner of the dwelling house and cut through the kitchen garden to reach the Medicinal Herb Shop. The moon had yet to appear, and she trod on at least two plants in her haste. They would be noticed, but with any luck, the kitchen sisters would assume that some clumsy but hungry neighbors had helped themselves to some food.
She knew her worldly status would not be enough to excuse her presence at the shop after dark, so she stole around the side of the building until she reached a small window. Gennie was barely five feet tall, so even on tiptoe she could not see inside. She looked around for something to stand on. The Shakers were so tidy, though, that nothing was ever left lying around. At least she could tell that the window was dark, so it was possible that Patience had gone elsewhere. She decided to take a chance. Bending her knees, she bunched her muscles and leaped into the air as high as she could, which was just enough to give her a split-second view inside the shop. She couldn’t be sure, of course, but it looked empty. She saw no movement, no pinpoint of light to indicate someone working. Just to be sure, she crouched for another jump. Again she could find no sign of anyone inside.
Gennie was panting, sticky with sweat, and feeling shaky. Since leaving North Homage, she’d done much less physical labor, and she wasn’t as strong as she’d been. It had been a while, too, since she had been so nervous—or so excited. She peered around her to make sure no one had decided to roam about after dark—a frowned-upon activity in the Society—then slid around to the back door. Her plan had been to follow Patience, but something told her that secrets resided in the Medicinal Herb Shop. She wanted a look at some of those journals the workers were always scribbling in.
She hesitated with her hand on the back doorknob. Now she was really stepping over the line. If she was caught, she’d never be allowed to stay or even return, and her behavior would reflect on Rose, perhaps throw suspicion on her. Yet Rose truly needed her help. If she could find out what these people were up to, it might help erase Patience’s smear on Rose’s good name, and possibly explain what happened to Nora and Betsy. It was worth the risk.
The door would not be locked, Gennie knew. As deputy sheriff of Languor County, Grady had warned the Shakers repeatedly to install locks, but so far they had refused. And with any luck, the brethren would be efficient as always, so the door would open smoothly and quietly. She turned the knob and eased the door open a crack. She peered inside and saw nothing to alarm her. She had a full view of Patience’s end of the room, and it was empty. She edged the door open another inch to see into the rest of the room. It, too, looked unoccupied.
She heard something in the distance—it sounded like the wail of a wild animal. Was that a branch cracking underfoot behind her? She dove through the door, pulled it shut behind her, and leaned her shoulder against it. Alternately gasping and holding her breath, she listened for sounds outside. Nothing. It was her guilty imagination, administering punishment. Grady would probably put a protective arm around her shoulders and tell her to leave the detecting to him, if she told him about this episode. She decided she wouldn’t tell him.
Gennie turned and took in the room. A marbled moon had risen and sent pale streaks through the high windows and across the worktables. It was enough light, she decided. Better not risk turning on a lamp. Both tables had been tidied, so nothing was left in midexperiment. Gennie located the journals—one set precisely in the corner of Patience’s table
, two more in a neat stack on the brethren’s table, and a fourth, still open, on Andrew’s small desk.
She went first to Andrew’s. Flipping back page after page, she found herself getting bored. It contained nothing but lists of herbs produced and packaged, comments about the crops, ideas for increasing or improving yields, new ideas for businesses, and an occasional comment about the weather, all written in a sprawling hand. Didn’t Andrew participate in the experimenting? Rose had seemed to remember him saying that he did. So where were his ideas for various concoctions?
She moved on to the brethren’s table and lifted off the top journal. It contained precise columns of names and numbers—customers, orders, amount of product delivered, remuneration received, and profit for the Society. The profits were solid, if not stunning. The journal contained no personal comments or observations. Surely it belonged to Thomas Dengler.
As she reached for the next journal, probably Benjamin’s, a shadow crossed her hand. It had no shape and was gone so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it, but her heart gave a lurch and she froze. She forced herself to look toward the window. Unbroken moonlight filled the small square. Must have been a bird; it was too quick for a cloud.
Gennie exhaled and pulled the journal toward her. Benjamin’s handwriting was virtually illegible. Pages were filled with what looked like calculations, some crossed out, some with exclamation marks next to them. Short comments filled the margins, but Gennie could make out none of them in the dim light. At least this was more what she’d expected to see, but she’d never be able to interpret this scribbling. She flipped through all the pages. Most showed the same pattern, but a few contained paragraphs of writing. Gennie squinted with all her might and could make out only a few words—“shade” and “sun” seemed scattered through the pages, along with the names of various months. He must have been recording observations about growing conditions and patterns.
Sins of a Shaker Summer Page 10
