“The Shakers?” He shouldn’t have been surprised, since she’d climbed down out of a Shaker wagon, but he was. Carlyn Kearney didn’t seem the type to go to the Shakers. But then other young women were there, turning their backs on the more common pursuits of marriage and children.
She lifted her chin a bit. “It is the answer to my problem. They will supply my physical needs in return for my labor.”
“They have strange beliefs.” Mitchell should have stayed silent, but the words slipped out.
“None of which I have to believe to live among them,” she said, then sighed. “But they also have many rules.”
“So I’ve heard. Like no marriages. Separating men and women.” Again he should have been silent.
“Those rules present no difficulty for me.” When she twisted the rope in her hands, the dog licked her arm. She shut her eyes a moment and pulled in a breath, as though summoning courage for her next words. “But they have a rule against dogs. I can stay with them, but Asher cannot.”
“They don’t have dogs?” That surprised Mitchell. “I didn’t know that.”
“Nor did I.” She glanced up at Mitchell, then back down at the dog. “But that is what they tell me.”
“So you’re hoping I know someone who might give him a home?”
“No.” She looked straight at him then. “I want you to take him.”
Mitchell searched for the right words. He had no place for a dog.
She spoke again first, her voice not much above a whisper. “I realize Mrs. Brodie might not want a dog, but Asher likes you. So I was hoping.”
“There’s no Mrs. Brodie.” A flush climbed into her cheeks at his words. “But I can’t have a dog. I live in a boardinghouse.”
“Mrs. Snowden’s?” When he nodded, she hurried out her next words. “I think she’s fond of dogs and Asher is a very good dog. Or he could stay here at your office.” She leaned toward him. “Please.”
He wanted to say no. He had to say no, but he couldn’t bring the word to his lips while staring into her eyes. Instead he said, “I hear a dog bit Curt Whitlow.”
“Is that so?” She sat back and stared down at her lap. The dog’s ears came up at the sound of Whitlow’s name and she stroked his head. Her hand was trembling again. “Was he badly hurt?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”
“Dog bites can be painful, I’m told.” She kept her eyes on the dog.
After a moment’s silence, he said, “I don’t think the two of us need to play games about this, Mrs. Kearney. Did your dog attack Curt Whitlow?”
She looked up at him boldly then, the way she had at her house with the gun in her hands. “Yes.”
“With cause?”
“Yes.” Her eyes stayed steady on his.
He clenched his hands at the thought of what her yes might mean. “Would you like to elaborate on that cause?”
“No.” She shut her mouth tightly as if determined not to let any other words out.
“I won’t be able to take the dog if you don’t tell me what happened. Not knowing what made him bite the man.”
“Asher was protecting me.” She moistened her lips and seemed to need to summon courage to continue. “I think you can guess the reason.”
Mitchell clamped down on the anger surging through him. “Did Whitlow injure you or violate you in any way?”
Her face stiffened. “When Asher attacked him, I managed to escape the man’s clutches before anything untoward occurred.”
“That’s good to hear.” Mitchell forced his voice to stay calm. What was it about this woman that made him want to protect her? He pushed the thought aside. He wanted to protect every woman in his county. That was his job. “I can arrest him for accosting you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. It would be my word against his. And I will be gone from his influence with the Shakers. It’s just Asher I worry about.” Her face softened as she pleaded. “Please take him. I beg of you.”
“All right.” He could hardly believe he’d said those words. He couldn’t have a dog. Especially a dog that had attacked one of the town’s leading citizens. Whether it was with cause or not.
A smile exploded across her face. She jumped to her feet and leaned across the desk to brush her lips across his cheek. “Thank you, Sheriff. I know Asher will be safe with you. I feel so much easier about going to the Shakers now.”
He had to bite back the words telling her he could find her a better place than one with the Shakers, but it was crazy to even imagine saying that to a woman he barely knew. He couldn’t let pity make him do something even more foolish than taking her dog.
Her face turned sad again as she crouched in front of the dog and talked to him as though he could understand every word she said. Perhaps he could, for when she handed Mitchell the rope around the dog’s neck, he didn’t pull against it to follow her out to the waiting Shaker wagon. He did whimper when the wagon began moving away.
Mitchell watched her out of sight before he shut the door. “Well, Asher, you better hope she was right about Mrs. Snowden.”
The dog paid no attention as he settled down in front of the door.
“She’s not coming back. No matter how much we wish she would.” He only wished that, because having the dog was going to cause problems and plenty of them.
The dog turned to him for just a second, then stared back at the door.
Night was falling by the time Mitchell walked through town to the boardinghouse. He kept the rope on Asher, even though the dog showed no sign of running away. But Mitchell didn’t want to take any chances. At least until after he saw Curt Whitlow.
If the man thought he was above the law because of his money, he’d find out differently while Mitchell was sheriff. The very thought of the man touching Carlyn with violent intent was enough to make Mitchell ready to throw him in jail and lose the key. Without benefit of a judge and jury. But he couldn’t do that. She had left too much of what happened to Mitchell’s imagination. He didn’t like what he was imagining.
He didn’t like anything about it all. Not the thought of Curt Whitlow forcing his attentions on the young woman. Not the fact that Mitchell might never see her again after she joined up with the Shakers. The dog wasn’t reason enough to chase her out to the Shaker town. Maybe if he could find out what happened to her husband, that would be cause to see her again.
He pushed that thought away. He needed to block Carlyn Kearney completely from his mind. She was no longer his concern. Her dog was, but not her.
When he got to the boardinghouse, he tied the dog to one of the back porch posts, but Carlyn was right about Mrs. Snowden.
She peered out the back door at the dog. “You can’t tie the poor thing out there. He’ll be howling the whole night through and all my boarders will start looking for other rooms.” As though the dog heard her, he let out his first howl since Carlyn had left him.
“But I can’t leave him loose. Not yet. He might run away.”
She gave him a curious look. “I didn’t know sheriff duties included taking in stray dogs?”
“He’s not a stray. I promised his owner I’d take care of him for a while.”
The dog let out another howl, more pitiful than the last. Mrs. Snowden grabbed a biscuit out of her warming oven and headed for the back door. “I’d better take a look at this critter.”
Asher stood up and flapped his tail back and forth as soon as Mrs. Snowden stepped out on the porch. The dog was uncannily smart.
So was Mrs. Snowden, who shot Mitchell a sharp look in the fading daylight. “What are you doing with Carlyn Kearney’s dog?”
“She needed somebody to take him. It’s just until I find him another place.” That wasn’t exactly true. He’d promised to keep the dog. Finding the dog another place was a promise he made to himself because he couldn’t keep a dog. Not even Carlyn Kearney’s dog. Especially not her dog. The sooner he put her out of his mind, the better. “Right now I just need to figure
out what to do with him tonight.”
“Where’s Carlyn? Headed to Texas?” Mrs. Snowden gave the dog the biscuit. He took it from her politely with another sweeping wag of his tail.
“No. Gone to the Shakers.”
Mrs. Snowden clucked her tongue at that. “Poor child. Trouble can end a body in some sorry places.”
“The Shaker town isn’t a bad place.”
“Maybe not, but it’s no place for a young woman like Carlyn. Those old women out there aren’t much better than dried-up prunes.”
“She’s not old.” Mitchell tried not to think of how very young she’d looked sitting in his office earlier that day. And how lovely. Or how her lips had felt brushing his cheek.
“Indeed.” She sent him another look.
“I’ve heard they’re very kind to those in need.” He kept his eyes on the dog. The last thing he needed was for Mrs. Snowden to guess how Carlyn Kearney had awakened feelings inside him best left sleeping.
“So they say, but I’ve been hearing that some strange things are going on out there.”
“They do worship some different than the average churchgoer.”
“Not their worship. Other things.” Mrs. Snowden screwed up her face as though trying to remember the gossip she’d heard.
“What things?”
“Can’t rightly remember. Maybe something Billy across the street said. He hears all sorts of things. Not that none of the Shaker men would come to him for a haircut. They do their own barbering. They do their own most everything. Hard workers.”
“That doesn’t sound like any kind of problem. A man should work.”
“True enough. The Good Book is clear on a man working if he wants to eat. That surely goes for a woman too, and I’ve heard those Shakers set a fine table.” Mrs. Snowden sighed. “Guess I shouldn’t be gossiping about them, but it just ain’t right them dancing in church. Can’t be nothing proper about that. I don’t care if they do claim holiness. But then the Good Book also says a person should leave the judging of others up to the Lord, so who am I to say? ’Cept it just can’t be right, can it?”
“It’s not illegal. I’ll leave whether it’s right or not up to the Lord. All I need to figure out is what to do with this dog tonight.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her finger against her chin for a moment. “He appears to be a nice enough dog, and he does look extra clean. I can’t smell him the least bit. Carlyn must have given him a bath before she brought him to you. Now, that was nice of her, wasn’t it?”
“I guess.” She didn’t really need encouragement to keep talking, but Mitchell stuck the words in anyway.
“I do hate knowing she’s out there with those Shakers. The least I can do is let her dog have a place.” She pointed her finger at Mitchell. “As long as he doesn’t bark.”
“It’ll just be until I can find somebody to take him.”
“No need to hurry.” She patted Asher’s head and untied the rope from the post.
The dog stayed beside Mrs. Snowden as they went in the kitchen as if he knew who was going to fill his plate.
“Florence will be excited to see him.” Mrs. Snowden smiled back at Mitchell. “She’s fond of dogs, you know.”
Mitchell managed to hang on to his smile. He hadn’t had his supper yet either.
10
Back at the Shaker village, Sister Muriel made no mention of Asher or the evidence of tears on Carlyn’s cheeks. That was just as well, for it was surely foolish to weep over a dog when she had so many other things to mourn. Ambrose missing, her home gone, her dreams being whipped away by the winds of reality. Losing Asher seemed the final blow.
With her face hidden in her hands, she had given in to the sadness ripping through her after she crawled into the wagon in front of the sheriff’s office.
Brother Thomas must have heard her sobs, for when he helped Carlyn down from the wagon, he said, “Don’t be in such distress, little sister. There are many sisters in our village. Sisters are far better than dogs. You will see.”
Carlyn wanted to tell him Asher was no ordinary dog, but instead, she managed to turn up the corners of her lips into what might pass as a smile to one with so solemn a face as Brother Thomas.
Sister Muriel escorted Carlyn inside the large brick building to a quiet room where she made it clear Carlyn had much to learn to become a Shaker sister. Her voice was soft, kind, but just as with Asher, there was no bend in her words. Carlyn would be expected to abide by the Shaker way. Unity of spirit and action was greatly to be desired, and that unity came from the discipline of following the Society’s rules.
“Must I learn the rules this night?” Carlyn was so tired she could barely stand. She looked longingly at one of the chairs hanging upside down on the pegs of the blue railing that circled around the room. The chair legs pointing up toward the ceiling looked so odd that Carlyn wondered if she was seeing things that weren’t there.
“Nay, my sister. That would not be possible, but worry not. The Ministry will assign a sister to guide you into our ways. Here at Harmony Hill, you will have many sisters to love.”
“I loved my husband.” Carlyn didn’t know why she said that. These people didn’t have husbands.
“But now you are putting that love aside for a greater love. A purer love. You can pick up your cross, and in time, the burden will seem light. Your brothers and sisters here will help you.”
“And the Lord. My mother would say he will help me.” Carlyn swayed a little on her feet. If only she could sit down.
“Yea, and Mother Ann will lend you courage and strength.”
“Who is this Mother Ann?”
“My dear little sister, you are a true innocent, are you not?”
“Innocent? No. That is for children. I am not a child.”
“Are we not all children of God?” Sister Muriel raised her eyebrows at Carlyn.
“Yes,” Carlyn whispered the expected answer as tears popped into her eyes. She did want to be a child of God, but she felt so alone. And so tired.
A frown flickered across Sister Muriel’s face as though Carlyn’s answer was somehow lacking. “You need to surrender your worries to the Lord and then you can find peace.”
“Peace,” Carlyn echoed.
“Yea, peace. But forgive me, my sister, for concerning you with things that can wait until you have rested.” Sister Muriel touched Carlyn’s shoulder. “Follow me.”
Sister Muriel led Carlyn down the entrance hall to two staircases that seemed to nearly float in the air as they spiraled upward. Clinging to the railing, Carlyn fought the vertigo that staring at the steps above her brought on. She was thankful when Sister Muriel stopped on the second floor and ushered her into a room with a bed that was little more than a cot. Here, the same as in the room below, a ladder-back chair hung on a blue railing that circled the room. What good was a chair hanging upside down when she desperately needed to sit down?
“Tonight, you will rest here,” Sister Muriel said. “Tomorrow you will be given a bed at the Gathering Family House as a new convert.”
The word “convert” banged into Carlyn’s ears. She had no desire to convert to their religion. She was there for the bed however uncomfortable it looked and to put her feet under their table. After hearing her father rail against the Shakers’ blasphemous ways, she could not imagine accepting what they believed, but it was not necessary for them to know that. A bed was a bed and Carlyn was determined to be thankful for whatever food she found on their table.
In everything give thanks. She had struggled with that since the letters from Ambrose stopped coming. How could she give thanks when Ambrose was missing from her life? But she could give thanks for a roof over her head. For the sheriff keeping Asher. For food to eat. For Curt Whitlow no longer able to bang on her door and make demands.
A young sister with a shy smile brought Carlyn warm water to wash and a plate of food. Sister Muriel pulled a plain white cotton nightgown from a chest drawer and laid it on the bed.
>
“I have a gown in my bag.” Carlyn pointed to the carpetbag someone must have carried up to the room before she returned to the Shaker village.
“Nay.” Sister Muriel waved her hand in dismissal. “You will no longer have need of worldly clothes, my sister, but if you wish to cling to the bag for a while, such will be allowed. Come morning, we ask you to wear the clothes supplied in the top drawer of the chest. You will find the Shaker dress quite comfortable and serviceable.” Sister Muriel pointed at her own plain dress. “It is good to have unity of dress with your sisters.”
“If that is what you want.” Carlyn didn’t care what she wore.
“It is also good to have an attitude of cooperation, my sister. Such a mind-set will serve you well here.”
“I will work at whatever tasks you ask to earn my keep.”
“There is nothing to earn. We labor with our hands for the good of all.” Sister Muriel held her hands out toward Carlyn. “Work is worship.”
Carlyn had no idea what to say to that. How could work be worship?
Sister Muriel must have noted her puzzled look. “With rest, things will be easier to understand.”
“Yes,” Carlyn murmured.
After Sister Muriel opened the door into the hallway, she turned back for a last bit of instruction. “Remember, if you have need to leave the room, use the staircase on this side of the hall. This is the sisters’ side. The opposite side is for the brethren.”
With a smile, Sister Muriel was gone. Carlyn stared at the closed door. She had the strangest urge to pull open the door and flee down the proper stairway and out of the Shaker village before it was too late. Too late for what, she wasn’t sure, but she was filled with a sudden dread of the days ahead.
She shook away the foolish thought. Her weariness clouded her thinking. In the morning the future would not look so drear.
She shed her clothes and pulled the Shaker gown over her head. The material was soft and smelled of sunshine. The Shaker ways seemed strange, but if all the Shaker sisters were like Sister Annie and Sister Muriel, there would be comfort living among such kindness.
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