The Innocent

by Ann H. Gabhart

  22

  Mitchell was up before daylight, but Mrs. Snowden was already rattling pans in the kitchen when he came down the stairs.

  “Land’s sakes, you’re up early. I haven’t even got the coffee started yet, but I can fry an egg fast as anything.” Mrs. Snowden wiped her hands on her apron and reached for a skillet.

  Mitchell held up a hand to stop her. “I need to get going, Mrs. Snowden. A piece of bread and cheese will do.”

  “Bothered about that dog, are you?” She pulled the bread out of the bread box and sliced a thick chunk. “I went out back first thing I got up. Thought he might show up for his breakfast, you know, but didn’t see him. ’Course it is still dark out there and that dog’s the same color as night.” She sighed again and wiped her eyes with the tail of her apron.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Snowden.” Mitchell patted her shoulder. “No need to get so worked up over a dog.”

  “I suppose not. Not with the worse things that happened out there in that Shaker village. The fire and all. And a man dead.” She looked over at him as she unwrapped a block of cheese. “In the light of that, it seems past foolish to shed tears over a dog, but I can’t help wondering what might come of the poor animal. He was a dear old dog, and I feel bad letting him get away like that.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Asher’s a smart dog. He was waiting his chance.”

  “He’s off hunting his mistress, I’m guessing.” She put the cheese on the bread and handed it to him. “Not much of a breakfast. Eggs would be no trouble and wouldn’t take five minutes. The stove’s done heating up.”

  “No, no. This is fine.” Mitchell took a bite to prove it.

  “Do you think he’ll find her? The dog, I mean.” She poured him a glass of milk.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he headed out to her house. If he doesn’t show up around here, I’ll ride out that way to look for him.”

  “I’ll say a prayer for you, Sheriff. That you find Asher and whoever made the trouble out there at the Shaker town too.” She pulled her biscuit bowl out of the cabinet. “Florence will be here later. I could send her down to your office with your lunch.” She smiled over her shoulder at him. “A man has to eat.”

  “Don’t bother with that. If I’m close by, I’ll come in and grab a bite.”

  “You do that. Florence will want to tell you how sorry she is about Asher getting away. That girl has a heart of gold. And she’s a good worker too.” She pulled out the flour bin and scooped some into her bowl. “She’s going to make somebody a fine wife someday.”

  “I’m sure she will.” Mitchell chugged down the milk and put the glass on the table. “But a sheriff does best single.”

  “Single is no account. A man needs a woman to take care of him. Even those Shakers out there have womenfolk taking care of them, cooking their meals and washing their clothes. Not the way most men would want to live, I’m thinking, if you get my drift. But guess as how it works for them.” She plopped a big chunk of lard into the flour. “Not the way somebody like you would want to end up. An old man with no sons to carry on your name.”

  “Now, Mrs. Snowden, you’d best use your matchmaking talents on somebody else. I’m not ready for settling down.”

  “Humph.” She plunged her hands into her biscuit bowl and began working the lard into the flour with her fingers. “A man sees the right girl, he’s ready in a shake of a lamb’s tail. I’ve heard tell that happens now and again out there at the Shaker village too.” She sent Mitchell another look over her shoulder. “Could be, pretty Carlyn will be turning one of those Shaker men’s eyes.”

  “Or a dozen of them.” Mitchell managed a laugh as he went out the door, but it was forced. He didn’t want to think about Carlyn turning any man’s eyes, because the truth was, she’d already turned his. Mrs. Snowden was right. If Carlyn gave him any encouragement, he would be ready. More than ready.

  That was why he had to find Asher. So she’d have a reason to talk to Mitchell. So he could hang on to hope that maybe someday, if she found out her husband had been killed in the war, then she might eventually look at Mitchell with favor. A lot of ifs and maybes, but he didn’t want to deny their possibilities. Nor did he want to tell Carlyn he’d lost her dog.

  He should have asked Mrs. Snowden for one of yesterday’s biscuits in case he caught sight of Asher in the dawning light. Not that he really expected to.

  Even so, his heart lifted a little as he headed down the last stretch of walkway to his office. But no dog was curled in front of the door or anywhere around the building. He went back up the street and down it again, searching through the shadows. He even walked around the Whitlow place as the sun came up, but while the dog next door raised a ruckus, Mitchell didn’t see any sign of Asher.

  On the way back to his office, a few men stopped him to ask about the fire. He told them what happened without elaborating, then noted what they had to say. A man could learn some unexpected things by listening even if what was said wasn’t exactly backed up by fact. A wisp of smoke instead of a whole cloud of it still indicated a fire somewhere.

  At the office again, he found a note to go see the judge about a case coming up. By the time he was finally free to ride out to Carlyn’s place, the sun was high in the sky.

  He was almost to the livery stable when Sam Duncan reined in his horses and called to him from the seat of his farm wagon. “Sheriff, glad I found you.”

  “What’s got you in town on a Wednesday, Sam?” Mitchell shaded his eyes against the sun and looked up at him. The man’s mouth was turned down and his eyes tight. “Something wrong?”

  “Somebody made off with three of my cows. Stole them right out of my barn lot last night. Went to milk and they was gone. I come after you to track down the rustlers ’fore the trail gets cold.”

  “You sure they didn’t just break down the fence and wander off?” Mitchell had investigated several stolen cow cases that turned out to be nothing more than strayed cattle.

  “They didn’t break through my fences, Sheriff.” The farmer’s face tightened into an even fiercer frown. “Somebody took them, and we’re wasting time sitting here talking.”

  There was nothing for it but to get his horse and follow the farmer out to his place clear on the other end of the county. Whether it turned out the cows were standing at the barn door when they got there or not, that was his job. Looking for dogs would have to wait.

  Riding back to the Shaker village would have to wait too. He had crimes to solve there, but first he’d have to chase down Sam Duncan’s cows.

  What he really needed to be chasing down, or who, was Curt Whitlow. Mitchell was sure the man could give him some answers. But Mitchell would have to find him first. He had too much to find. Curt. The person or persons who burned down the Shaker barn. Asher. Maybe even his heart that he’d lost to the woman Asher was surely trying to track down.

  All that would have to wait. Somebody had to go find Farmer Duncan’s cows, and Mitchell was the only somebody available. Perhaps it was time to hire a deputy.

  23

  The truth will out. Sister Edna’s words kept circling in Carlyn’s head all through the morning. After their garden duty ended, she and Sister Berdine had been assigned to the washhouse. Mountains of soiled sheets, towels, and clothing waited to be washed. At least the Shakers had wash mills, large water-powered wooden contraptions that did the scrubbing and saved the sisters’ knuckles. Even so, the loads of wet clothes had to be transferred from tub to tub. The splash of the water and the slap of material gave little opportunity for talk among the workers.

  But when they went outside to hang the clothing on lines strung behind the washhouse, Sister Berdine carried her basket to the line near Carlyn. After a look behind her to be sure no one was paying attention, she asked, “What happened? When you didn’t show up for the morning meal, I feared Sister Edna might have locked you in the dressing room or something.”

  Carlyn draped a sheet across the line and smoothed
out the damp cloth before she pinned it. The wooden pins were another Shaker innovation, according to Sister Alice.

  “I don’t think there are locks on the inner doors,” Carlyn said.

  “Something delayed you.”

  “We were talking, so when the bell rang, I had not finished my chores.”

  “Talking?” Sister Berdine made a face. “You mean she was browbeating you.”

  “Nay. Sister Edna told me to go on to the eating room, but I didn’t think I should leave her alone until she got off her knees. She is getting up in the years.”

  With a snap, Sister Berdine shook out a towel to pin on the line. “I can’t believe you sound almost sorry for her.” She reached for another towel. “That woman has done everything possible to make your life here miserable.”

  “She does cling to the rules.” Carlyn pulled a pillowcase out of the basket. It was good to be outside. The sun was warm on her face and the fresh smell of the laundry filled her nose. Small, ordinary pleasures. Maybe that would be where she would find her happiness from now on. A piece of apple pie. The feel of dirt in her hands. Warm water for a bath. The smile of a friend. Simple things.

  That was one of the Shaker songs she was learning in the practice sessions. ’Tis a gift to be simple. ’Tis a gift to be free. Was that the truth she was supposed to find?

  “So she was telling you the rules.” Sister Berdine hung another towel on the line and turned back to Carlyn, doubt evident in every word.

  “Nay. She was not herself. She was worried about something, but didn’t say what.” Carlyn shifted to the side to let the wind blow the wet sheets away from her. “Perhaps we have misjudged her.”

  “Right. And Shakers don’t whirl when they dance.” Sister Berdine laughed. “That sister takes pleasure in every wrong she catches us doing because it makes her feel that much holier when she can point out how unholy we are. I can’t imagine what she could have told you to make you miss breakfast and now defend her even when her ears aren’t listening.”

  “I’m not defending her. Just telling you what happened.”

  “What I think must have happened is that you went back to bed and had a most interesting dream,” Sister Berdine said.

  “I did want to pull the covers up over my head when the rising bell rang this morning. Dream more.” Carlyn looked over at Sister Berdine pinning a shirt to the line. “If you could dream whatever you wished, what would you dream?”

  “That’s easy. I’d dream a handsome man would ride through Harmony Hill, take one look at me, and decide he couldn’t live without me.” Sister Berdine sighed and held a handkerchief next to her cheek before she draped it over the line.

  “Sounds like a fairy tale,” Carlyn said.

  “That it does.” Sister Berdine grabbed another shirt out of her basket. “And one that’s not likely to come true.”

  “What about that brother you said was watching you at the meetings?”

  “That one?” A little color bloomed in Sister Berdine’s cheeks. “He’s not exactly Prince Charming, but he’s not so bad.”

  “You sound like you’ve talked to him.”

  “We’ve met a few times.”

  “Met?” Carlyn stared over at her. “How?”

  “There are ways if a person is determined.” Sister Berdine wouldn’t meet Carlyn’s eyes.

  “Are you thinking of leaving?”

  “A girl can dream, can’t she?” Sister Berdine sighed.

  “But what would I do without you here to talk to?”

  “Talk to Sister Edna, I suppose.” Sister Berdine grinned across the line at her. “I think I have as much to worry about on that count as you. What with the way that sheriff was looking at you yesterday morning before Sister Edna messed things up. He has no problem filling the handsome prince role. Is he married?”

  Now the color bloomed in Carlyn’s cheeks. “He’s not, but I was.” Carlyn corrected herself. “I am.” She pinned another pillowcase to the line. It was surely a betrayal of Ambrose to even think about the sheriff, and yet the thought was there. Sister Edna was right. She was entertaining sinful thoughts.

  Sister Berdine reached between the lines to touch Carlyn’s hand. “It is not wrong to be lonesome, my sister. I know the feeling well, and it must be doubly hard for you to have known love and lost it.”

  “But I can’t be sure he’s lost.” Carlyn pulled her hand away from Sister Berdine and took another sheet from her basket.

  “There are many things we cannot be sure of.” Sister Berdine ran her hand along the wet clothes. “Whether we will be given breath to live through the day to bring in these clothes after they dry. Whether a rain cloud will appear to delay the drying.”

  Carlyn looked up at the blue sky. “There are no clouds.”

  “Yea, and we look to the promise of another day with the need for clean clothes, but do you not think Brother Henry was doing the same before the fire took his life? We face an unknown future.” Sister Berdine gave her a sympathetic look. “And with your husband you are burdened with an unknown past as well.”

  “It would be easier to know. At least to be sure of what has already happened.”

  “Yea.”

  Carlyn smoothed out the sheet. “I prayed for answers.”

  “Then I will join my prayers to yours.” Sister Berdine looked up with that smile that meant she was about to say something a Shaker sister should not say. “And you can join yours to mine that Brother Payton becomes more courageous and a bit, just a bit, better looking.”

  “Looks are not everything.”

  “Indeed.” Sister Berdine reached for a clothespin. “So concentrate your prayers on the need for courage. For all of us.” She nodded her head toward the washhouse. “We may need it posthaste. Sister Edna is headed our way. I fear we have been caught exchanging too many pleasantries.”

  They both snatched up something to hang on the line. By the time Sister Edna was near enough to speak to them, Carlyn’s basket was empty and Sister Berdine’s almost so. But that didn’t change the frown darkening Sister Edna’s face.

  “The sun only shines for so many hours a day, Sisters. It is best to get the laundry hung on the lines with diligent efficiency to take advantage of those hours.” Sister Edna appeared to be back to her normal self.

  “Yea, Sister Edna.” Sister Berdine managed to look contrite as she hung up the last shirt in her basket. “We will hasten our labor.”

  “Yea,” Carlyn murmured in agreement as she started toward the washhouse.

  “Give your basket to Sister Berdine, Sister Carlyn. She will have to work doubly quick. Elder Derron has need to speak with you,” Sister Edna said. “Immediately.”

  “Has Sheriff Brodie returned with more questions about the fire?” Carlyn was ashamed at how her heart lifted at the thought of seeing the sheriff.

  Sister Edna’s eyes narrowed on Carlyn. “I am not privy to the elder’s reasons for sending for you. I have been told to bring you to the Trustee House. So that is what I will do.” Her words were clipped as if each cost her effort. Dark shadows lined her eyes and her hands were trembling. When she saw Carlyn looking at them, she thrust them out of sight under her apron and turned away. “Come. It is our duty to do as our leaders ask.”

  Carlyn handed her basket to Sister Berdine with a shrug and hurried after the other woman. When she caught up, she asked, “Elder Derron is not one of the Ministry, is he?”

  “Nay, but they appointed him to oversee much of the financial workings we have with those of the world. It is a position of much import. And danger.”

  “Danger?” Carlyn asked.

  “The ever necessary exposure to those of the world. Such worldliness can rub off on a person if he lets down his guard.”

  “Elder Derron seems very devout.”

  “I did not say he wasn’t.” Sister Edna slowed her pace to send Carlyn a pointed look. “I merely said worldly temptations might be stronger on a brother or sister who is continually exposed to
such. You should understand that since you are struggling to give up your own worldly thinking.”

  “Yea.” She should be like Sister Berdine and simply agree with whatever Sister Edna said, but then she went on. “I hope it’s not Sheriff Brodie with more questions.”

  “Are you being truthful, Sister Carlyn?” Sister Edna turned to look at her again. “Moments ago you sounded eager at the thought the sheriff might be the reason you were called from your duties.”

  “Yea, I am telling the truth. It is better if I do not see the sheriff again.” Carlyn ignored how that thought pushed tears toward her eyes. “Much better.”

  “I do not know the reason the elder wishes to see you, but temptations do fall into our paths at times even here in our heaven on earth. That is why one must be vigilant and why there are watchers to keep those tempted to stray away from the slippery paths of sin.” She put her head down and began to walk faster. “Rules are good and necessary. Mother Ann rewards those who learn the rules and do not stray.”

  She sounded more as though she were trying to convince herself than Carlyn, so Carlyn followed along without speaking. It was plain the worries bothering the sister that morning were still trailing along after her.

  No horse was tied to the hitching post in front of the Trustee House, and even while Carlyn breathed easier, a finger of regret poked her at the same time.

  Sister Edna climbed the steps, pulled open the door, and hurried past the whirling stairways to Elder Derron’s office as though the midday bell was already sounding and she feared they would miss another meal.

  Carlyn wasn’t sure of the time. Clocks were scarce in the village. The days were ruled by the ringing of the Centre House bell. A worker was not to be forever watching the time. But she judged it was barely past ten. Unless the sheriff was there, they had little worry of being delayed long by Elder Derron. He would state his business with her and release them back to their duties. She had no idea what he could have to say of such import to interrupt their workday. Such was not the Shaker way.