The Innocent

by Ann H. Gabhart

  “The sheriff gave me until Friday to surrender the property.”

  The elder almost smiled. “Then it is not too late to perhaps save what is yours. We will make payment of what is owed and then you can sign over the property to our Society. I assume you also had furniture and other household plunder.”

  “A few things.”

  “And livestock?”

  “A cow and some chickens.”

  “Did you make arrangements for their care before you came to our village?”

  “I did not. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Guilt stabbed her. How could she have forgotten to ask Mrs. Smith to come get the cow and chickens? At least the cow had almost gone dry and wouldn’t be suffering from a full udder. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Don’t be distressed, my sister. We will collect them and bring them here.” He looked pleased for the first time, perhaps because now he knew she had not joined them empty-handed. “Would you like to accompany us to the house to gather your belongings?”

  “Not unless it is necessary.” Carlyn had no desire to go through the sorrow of seeing her lost home again.

  “Nay, I know the house. I will take care of arrangements and make the necessary payment to Mr. Whitlow. Or to the sheriff.” His lips turned up in a slight smile. “You made a good choice coming among us, my sister. Once we have assessed the value of your property, I will draw up a paper for you to sign. Then you will no longer have to concern yourself with anything of the world.”

  “And if I should ever leave here?” She couldn’t believe she was thinking about what she might own, when the day before she had felt stripped of all possessions except her mother’s Bible.

  “We would hope you are not considering a return to the sinful world when you only just put your feet on the proper path here.” His eyes bored into Carlyn, but she didn’t look away from him. After a moment, he went on. “But if such a sorrow were to happen, you would be given the value of your property minus whatever must be paid on your behalf. Is that acceptable?”

  “Yea.” And with that word she stepped fully onto the Shaker path.

  12

  Tuesday morning, Asher sniffed the scraps Mrs. Snowden put in a pan for him, then lay down with his head on his paws without taking the first bite.

  “Poor thing must be missing his mistress,” Mrs. Snowden said. “Maybe you can bring him by later to see if he will eat then. Florence is coming today to help with the cleaning. Seeing her might cheer up the dog. You know, since she’s young like Carlyn. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, boy?” Mrs. Snowden patted the dog even as she gave Mitchell the eye.

  Mitchell planned to find plenty to keep him too busy to make it by the boardinghouse. He could get the dog something to eat, but he couldn’t take Asher everywhere with him. So after they got to the office, he led the dog into one of the cells. The dog turned sad eyes on him, but that wasn’t any different from how he’d looked all morning.

  “It’ll be all right, boy.” Mitchell scratched the dog behind the ears. “You’ll forget her after a while. We both will.”

  Asher turned his back to him and lay down with a huff of breath. Mitchell blew out a sigh to match the dog’s as he pulled the cell door closed. “Then again, maybe not.”

  Before the day was over, everybody in town knew he had a dog. Mrs. Snowden must have told Billy Hogan. So Mitchell wasn’t surprised when Curt Whitlow waylaid him as he headed to the office that afternoon to get Asher. Nor was he surprised to hear a volley of barking coming from the jail. Decidedly unfriendly barking.

  “Somebody told me you had a dog.” Whitlow cradled his heavily bandaged arm against his chest.

  “I do.” Mitchell stopped in front of the door. “Sounds like he’s going to be a great watchdog.”

  “Are you out of your mind, Brodie? You’re hired to protect the citizens, not terrorize them with a vicious dog.”

  “What makes you think he’s vicious?”

  “You have ears. Listen to it.” When Mitchell turned the doorknob, Whitlow went pale and stepped backward. “Don’t let him out.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s locked up.” Mitchell stuck his head inside the door and yelled. “Down, Asher!” The dog hushed barking at once. Mitchell turned back to Whitlow. “He seems an intelligent animal.”

  “Asher?” Whitlow fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat off his face. “Did you call it Asher?”

  The way Whitlow’s hand was shaking made Mitchell remember how Carlyn’s hands had trembled as she danced around answering his questions the day before. He balled up his fists and considered how much pleasure it would give him to punch Whitlow right in the face, but he couldn’t dole out punishment himself. That was for judges and juries. He couldn’t even arrest the man and throw him in jail. Not without Carlyn doing more than merely hinting the man had assaulted her.

  “Yes, Asher.” He uncurled his fists. “Not a common name for a dog. It’s from the Bible, if I remember right. One of Jacob’s sons.” Mitchell pushed the door all the way open. “You want to go in?”

  Whitlow didn’t move. “So you do have her dog.”

  “If you mean Mrs. Kearney, yes, I do. She asked me to take the dog since she was losing her house and had no way to keep him.” Mitchell leveled his eyes on Whitlow. “Now, is there something I can do for you today, Curt?”

  “You can get rid of that dog before it kills somebody.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about him. His bark is worse than his bite.” Mitchell kept his eyes on Whitlow’s face and let the silence build between them for a moment. “What happened to your arm?”

  The man slid his eyes away from Mitchell’s face. “Dog bite.”

  “No wonder you’re so nervous. What dog got you?”

  “A stray. Out on the road. I shot it. Dead.” Whitlow pointed toward the office. “I’ll shoot that one too if it bothers me.”

  “That would make Mrs. Kearney very unhappy.” Mitchell watched Whitlow’s face. “I think you’ve made her unhappy enough already.”

  “All I did was ask her to pay what was legally due me.” Whitlow’s voice was a little too loud. “Where is she?”

  “Out of your house. That’s all that matters to you.”

  “Well, no. She still owes me money.” A frown darkened the man’s face.

  “You have the house. I think you’d best forget trying to get any other payment from her.” The man was despicable. “Of any kind.”

  “What’d she tell you?” Whitlow’s face was flushed and sweating again. It was warm, but not that warm.

  “That she wanted me to keep her dog.”

  “That’s all?” Whitlow’s eyes narrowed.

  “No, that wasn’t all.” Mitchell met his stare.

  “You can’t believe everything a woman tells you. Especially one who owes money.” Whitlow looked down and fiddled with a loose edge on his bandage.

  “She doesn’t owe me money.”

  “No, but you’ve obviously been taken in by her looks.” Whitlow glared at him. “Agreeing to take in that dog. Mark my words, Sheriff. You’ll come to regret that.”

  “Could be.” Mitchell just wanted the man gone. The very sight of him made him sick.

  “Billy Hogan says she’s gone to the Shakers.”

  “Billy sometimes knows.”

  “Well, if that’s true, I better head out to my house to make sure they don’t strip it clean. Those Shakers take everything that’s not nailed down when somebody joins up with them.”

  “You have to stay away from Carlyn Kearney’s place until the agreed-on week is up.” Mitchell put iron in his words.

  “They’ll rob me blind.” Whitlow was almost shouting.

  “The things in the house belonged to her, didn’t they?”

  “I don’t know what she had in the house,” Whitlow said. “But those Shakers, they’re liable to tear the planks off the shed if they decide they want them. I have the right to protect my property.”

  “The
Shakers abide by the law. They won’t take what’s not hers.”

  “You can’t know that for sure, Sheriff. I’ve had dealings with those men out there. They’re a strange lot and not above doing whatever suits their purposes.” Whitlow yanked out his handkerchief again and then stuffed it back in his pocket without using it.

  “All right. I’ll ride out there tomorrow to check the house for you.”

  The man stalked away without another word.

  Inside, Asher stood with his nose between the bars, a growl rumbling in his throat.

  “I know, buddy. He deserves every tooth mark you gave him, but you can’t go after him now. Not if you want to stick with me.”

  Asher stopped growling, stepped back, and waited for him to open the cell.

  “You’re one odd dog.” Mitchell wrapped the rope around the collar he’d fashioned out of an old belt that morning. “It’s almost as if you understand everything I say.”

  The dog lifted one of his ears.

  “We’ll go out to her place tomorrow. Could be she’ll be out there helping the Shakers pack up her stuff.”

  The next morning, the dog ran alongside Mitchell’s horse. Mitchell was getting used to the dog’s company, and Asher had completely won over Mrs. Snowden, who enticed the dog to eat by feeding him bacon from her hand.

  “You shouldn’t lock the poor thing up in jail.” She had looked distressed when she found out that’s where Mitchell had left him yesterday. “Let him stay here with me in the kitchen.”

  But the dog was eager to be along on this morning trip. His ears were up and his tail ready to wag.

  Mitchell felt some of the same anticipation. He was fighting it, but Whitlow was right. Mitchell had let a pretty face turn his head. Not that he planned to do anything about it. He didn’t. The woman was not available. She was in love with her husband. It didn’t matter if the man was dead. He was alive in Carlyn Kearney’s heart. On top of that, she was a Shaker now. That closed every door to romance even if she did find out her husband being missing in the war meant he had moved on up to his heavenly home.

  Maybe it wasn’t all bad. He hadn’t thought of Hilda once in three days. It was good to be ready to move on with his life. To imagine a house with a picket fence around the yard where kids could play with a good dog. He would have to be careful not to let Mrs. Snowden know that, because Florence wasn’t part of those dreams. But he could imagine Carlyn Kearney there, whether it was reasonable or not.

  The place looked deserted when he rode up to the house. No chickens scratched in the yard. No cow grazed in the pasture. No pretty widow stood in the door with a gun in her hands. Even so, he got off his horse and went up the steps. Asher trailed along behind him, his ears flat against his head now. The dog didn’t have to go in the empty house to know she wasn’t there. His nose had already told him.

  When Mitchell knocked on the door, it creaked open like a ghost was inviting him in. The house was stripped of any sign of the woman living there. No chairs or tables. No dishes and pans. Everything was gone. They must have moved her out the day before. Still, somehow her presence lingered. A faint odor of lavender water. Or perhaps that was simply his imagination.

  The dog pushed past him to sniff through the empty rooms. Mitchell followed him into the kitchen. A fine dusting of ashes showed where the cookstove had been. Asher padded away to a different room, but Mitchell stayed there. He could almost hear the echo of the happy times Carlyn and her husband might have had before the war tore them apart.

  Asher came back in the kitchen to pull Mitchell away from his imaginings with a whine. When Mitchell looked down at the dog, he dropped something at his feet.

  “What’d you find, boy?” Mitchell reached down to pick up a handkerchief that must have been missed by the Shakers. He held it to his nose. Definitely lavender water.

  The dog raised his nose toward the ceiling and let out a mournful howl.

  “Poor boy.” Mitchell stuffed the hankie in his coat pocket and touched Asher’s head.

  He went out the back door and around the house to his horse. He’d seen all he needed to see, including Whitlow’s shed with all the planks intact. He started to mount up when he noticed the dog had taken up position by the front door like a sentry on watch.

  Mitchell whistled. The dog didn’t move.

  “Come on, Asher. Let’s go.” Mitchell clapped his hands.

  The dog turned his head away, as though listening for a different call.

  “You can’t stay here, you crazy dog.”

  The dog looked back at him but didn’t budge.

  Mitchell sighed. At least he’d been smart enough to bring the dog’s rope with him, because he couldn’t leave him here. Asher cowered at the sight of the rope, but once Mitchell had it tied to his collar, he reluctantly came off the porch.

  “She’s gone from here, Asher.” Mitchell stroked the dog’s back. “She won’t be back. But Whitlow will be out here checking on his planks, and he’d shoot you in a minute. Then what would I tell her if she ever does come back for you?”

  Sometimes people left the Shakers. Shaker leaders came to town from time to time looking for members who’d slipped away in the night. Usually a couple tempted away from the celibate life. Mitchell touched the handkerchief in his pocket. If only he could figure out a way to tempt Carlyn away from the Shakers.

  When Mitchell rode back into town, two Shaker men were waiting in front of the sheriff’s office. Mitchell slid off his horse and attached the rope to Asher’s collar again. He’d taken the rope off after he’d walked his horse and the dog a little ways up the road. He expected the dog to run back toward the house, but he didn’t. With his ears down and his tail low, the picture of dejection, he nevertheless stayed with Mitchell.

  The Shakers climbed down from their wagon. Only one of them, the younger man, gave Asher a glance. The older Shaker completely ignored the dog. He was all business as he stepped toward Mitchell.

  “Sheriff Brodie, we meet again. We spoke concerning one of our converts some weeks ago.” As though he didn’t expect Mitchell to remember, he spoke his name. “Elder Derron and this is Brother Mark.”

  “Of course, Elder Derron.” Mitchell reached his hand out and the elder shook it without enthusiasm. The other Shaker stayed a few steps behind the elder. “What can I do for you? Have you had more trouble with Mr. Jefferson?”

  Jefferson had been distraught and sure his daughter was being coerced to join the Shakers, but Mitchell had seen no evidence of that. She was of age and had seemed content there in the village.

  “Nay, Sister Willene’s worldly father has at last accepted that Sister Willene has made her decision to live a Believer’s life.”

  Elder Derron lifted the corners of his mouth in a slight smile. Something about the man had bothered Mitchell when he met him that first time at the Shaker village, and the same feeling was poking him now. The man’s face was too solemn, almost stony, but the inability to smile was hardly a crime.

  “That’s good to hear.” Mitchell didn’t think it was all that good. The woman had been young and with much of life before her, but if she wanted that life to be in a Shaker village, who was he to say that was wrong? For her anyway. He was readier to judge the right and wrong of Carlyn Kearney spending her life at their village.

  As if the man read his thought, he said, “We come on behalf of a different sister. Sister Carlyn Kearney who joined with us this week. I understand you gave her until Friday to pay the amount she is indebted to Curt Whitlow.” The elder stared straight at Mitchell. “Is that what you told her?”

  “I said she had until Friday to vacate the property.”

  “It seems reasonable that, whether it was spoken or not, it could be assumed that if payment is made before that time, the property will not have to be surrendered. We are prepared to pay off the loan on the house with the going rate of interest added to the overdue amount.” There was no give in his voice or posture.

  “That is reaso
nable.” Mitchell didn’t smile, but he felt like it. While he hated the thought of Carlyn becoming a Shaker, he wasn’t sorry Curt Whitlow was going to be bested in this transaction.

  The elder looked at the dog for the first time. “I was told our young sister came to the village with a dog. Is that the one?”

  “Yes, she asked me to keep him for her. He’s a fine dog. He would have been a good addition to your village.”

  “Nay, we have no use for pets there. Only animals that earn their feed.”

  Mitchell laid his hand on Asher’s head. “This fellow has done that and more, but he’s not particularly fond of Mr. Whitlow.”

  “Yea. Some say dogs are good at reading a man’s character.” The Shaker’s face didn’t change, as if he had done no more than comment on the sun shining down on their shoulders.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Now if you have a few moments to accompany us, we can complete our transaction and return to our village.” It was more an order than a request. “We feel it best serves our interests to have a witness of the payment.”

  The Shaker man had obviously had dealings with Whitlow before.

  13

  The Shaker village wasn’t a bad place. Carlyn told herself that each morning when she knelt by her bed to offer her morning prayers. Sister Edna told her she must pray but did not tell her what to pray. Even if she had, she couldn’t have known if Carlyn followed her directions since the prayers were offered up silently.

  Carlyn had no idea what Sister Edna or the other sisters around her were praying or even if they were. They assumed a posture of prayer just as Carlyn did, and so it seemed only reasonable they were thanking the Lord for the blessing of a new day. Carlyn needed to be doing the same instead of letting her thoughts swirl around like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind.

  But if she came up short of proper prayer thoughts in the morning, she had more opportunities at meals and during designated times for rest and contemplation as the day went by. All in silence. At mealtimes, they marched into the eating rooms and stood at their seats. When all were at their places, everyone knelt to silently offer thanks for the provision of food. Then they stood again with their right hands on the chair backs. At the chosen moment, like a giant centipede whose legs all worked in unison they pulled out their chairs and sat down at the tables.