“It’s better not to lie. Sister Edna will know the truth anyway. There are probably watchers seeing us right now.” Carlyn raised her eyes to the third-floor windows of the Gathering Family House up ahead of them. “The truth will out.”
Those words echoed in her head once again as she left Sister Berdine on the path and moved away from the shadow of the buildings. When she crossed into the open field behind the Gathering Family House, she breathed easier. It was good to leave behind the Shaker rules and duties. She would have to go back, but at least for a few hours, she would shake free of the shackles of life’s necessary bonds and think of nothing but what had been and what might have been.
On the far side of the field, she found a stile to climb over the fence and then was glad to step into the woods. The day was not hot, but even so, she needed the shadows. Some of the trees still held their leaves, while others had shaken them down to the ground to make a rustling carpet of red and gold. It felt right to walk through the leaves, stirring them as she went. They showed the cycle of life. Death now as the leaves dried and crumbled, but come spring, the trees would bring forth green again. Life would start afresh.
Ambrose had already begun his new eternal life. She was in a village that purported to be heaven on earth, but Ambrose had crossed the divide and was experiencing glory with no concern for rules and duties. His smile would be lighting up his corner of heaven just as it would always light up a special place in Carlyn’s heart.
She sat down on a tree stump and read through both letters again. The words wrapped around her and comforted her. She had no idea how much time passed. It seemed the perfect amount. Then in the distance she heard a dog barking that made her think of Asher. It was only a short jump from Asher to Sheriff Brodie.
No guilt rose in her heart when the sheriff’s face came into her thoughts. He was kind to take Asher, but in spite of what Sister Edna and Sister Berdine said, he had offered nothing more. She had not expected more.
The dog sounded so much like Asher that Carlyn looked toward the east, the direction of her house. No longer her house, but it didn’t matter. Even if she did stand up and walk the miles back to that place, she would not find the happiness she longed for.
She had nothing. Not even the peace she had expected to find in the Shaker village. Instead, troubles found the Shakers in Harmony Hill the same as at any place, whether the rules were followed or not. Carlyn sighed at the thought of some of that trouble waiting for her when she returned to the village. Happiness seemed as fleeting as a butterfly on the wing. Something that might hover around a person and then without warning flutter away. But sadness seemed to soak into one like a cold rain that left shivers and the ague.
Pray anyway. That was her mother’s answer to every part of life. Joy or sorrow. Peace or war. Plenty or want. And hadn’t the Lord answered her prayer when she’d given herself over to accepting the truth?
The truth will out. Sister Edna had not been talking about Carlyn’s wish to know about Ambrose. She had been troubled by other things. Unnamed things that she must not be able to control by obedience to the rules. Life could not always be ordered.
Pray anyway. Carlyn could almost feel her mother’s hand on her shoulder and so she bent her head and prayed as the Shakers did. Without spoken words as she let the desires and sorrows of her heart rise up.
She was startled from those prayers by the sound of a horse and rider crashing through the woods. She leaped to her feet. She had no idea she was near any kind of trace, but she caught a glimpse of the horse through the trees. Her heart bounded up in her throat as she remembered the last time a horse and rider came up on her unaware. That didn’t mean this rider was Curt Whitlow or anyone else who meant her harm, but it seemed wisest to slip out of sight behind a tree.
After the rider was gone, Carlyn leaned against the tree and waited until her breath came easy again. Then she turned back to the Shaker village. As she walked, she tried to come up with acceptable words to confess her dereliction of duty.
Once out of the trees, she could see the buildings of the Shaker village across the pasture. Sturdy. Strong against the winds of nature. But what of the winds of man?
She had to go back to the Shaker village at least for now, but each step was forced. Each step was taken with dread. She wasn’t sure why, but it was as if she were carrying a shadow of worry back to Harmony Hill with her.
Pray anyway. There will be clouds and storms. But the Lord also gave us rainbows. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. And in the distance, the dog still barked.
25
By the time Mitchell rode back into town, the sun was going down. He’d found Sam Duncan’s cows. Not stolen. But Sam was right about his fences too. No breaks or holes and the gates were fastened. After some investigating, Mitchell solved the mystery and the cows were back home. Mischief turned out to be the cause, and the culprits, two neighbor boys.
A few days ago, Sam had come in from the hayfield to catch the boys roughhousing around his pond. He lit in on them and chased them home.
“It’d been different if the rascals had been fishing, but they weren’t even trying to catch their supper. Just acting up,” Sam told Mitchell. “Besides, it was going on night and those boys needed to be home helping their ma with the chores. Poor woman lost her husband at Missionary Ridge. Fighting on the wrong side, but sorrowful anyway.”
Mitchell hadn’t asked which side because the war was over. Sides didn’t matter now. Keeping the peace in his county, that was what mattered.
He was glad when Sam didn’t want the boys arrested, though a night in jail might have thrown a scare into them. But they were just kids, and there was their mother to consider. Not that she asked Mitchell to go easy on the boys. The boys would pay for the trouble they’d caused by helping Sam get up his winter wood. They might live hard for a while, but they’d be better for it. And their mother too, because in spite of his gruff exterior, Sam had a generous heart. He’d no doubt haul the wood the boys sawed and chopped over to their woodshed.
Mitchell would ride back out that way next week to make sure the boys took their punishment seriously. That night in the county jail could still be arranged.
The afternoon had been well spent, but it was spent. He couldn’t ride out to the Shaker village now. They wouldn’t welcome his questions so late in the day. He wasn’t sure he had any new questions to ask anyway. He could ride out to Carlyn’s place to look for Asher, but by the time he got there it would be night. Mrs. Snowden was right about the dog being nearly impossible to see in the dark. If the dog decided not to come to him, it would be a wasted trip.
He’d go by there in the morning on the way to the Shaker village. By then, he might have some new questions. By then, Asher might have come back to the boardinghouse for something to eat. Mitchell wasn’t looking forward to telling Carlyn he’d lost her dog. Plus, he still needed to talk to Curt Whitlow. That was where he might find some answers. Or at least, those new questions.
This time when he knocked on Whitlow’s door, his wife opened it. A wide-eyed little girl peeked out from behind her mother’s skirts and promptly stuck her thumb in her mouth.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I need to talk to Mr. Whitlow.”
“He’s not here.” Dark smudges under her eyes made it look as though she’d been missing sleep. Could be lots of reasons for that. A sick child. A wayward husband. She met his eyes straight on. “Junior told you that last night.”
“I thought maybe you’d heard from your husband today.” Mitchell kept his voice calm. “It’s important I talk to him.”
“Is it about that girl?”
“What girl?” Mitchell asked.
The child switched her big-eyed stare from Mitchell to her mother. Mrs. Whitlow gave a bare shake of her head at Mitchell, then bent down to kiss the little girl on her forehead. “It’s your bedtime, Thelma. Run upstairs and get into your nightie. I’ll be up to tuck you in bed in a few minutes.”
The little girl reluctantly let go of her mother’s skirt and started toward the stairs rising up behind Mrs. Whitlow in the hall. The woman watched her all the way to the top before she stepped out on the porch and pulled the door shut behind her.
“Children don’t always understand what they hear. That one’s still young enough to miss her father coming home at night, though heaven knows why. He’s not been here half the time since she was born.”
Mitchell wasn’t sure what to say. “She’s a pretty child. Is she the youngest?”
“She is. A good one to end on. A sweet-natured child. She must have took back after my mother. Certainly not Curt or me.” She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I know you didn’t come here to talk about my children. So why have you come?” She tilted her head and stared up at Mitchell.
Night was coming on, but he could still see her face. She was an attractive woman, a bit on the plump side but pretty enough that most people wondered why she’d ended up married to Curt, who was some years older than her. Gossip claimed her father had pushed her into the marriage. That he owed Curt money.
“I told you, ma’am. I need to talk to your husband about his whereabouts day before yesterday. Was he here at the house with you that day?”
“Why do you want to know?” She frowned, and then as though fearing that might line her face, she smoothed away the creases between her eyes.
“There’s been some trouble out at the Shaker village.”
“You mean the fire?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “That has nothing to do with Curt. He can’t stand those Shakers. Says they’re out to steal the whole county.” She shook her head a little and touched her lips with her fingertips. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. Curt’s always telling me I talk too much. But you can’t think Curt had anything to do with that fire. He wouldn’t do anything like that. Even if he was angry over that widow woman’s house.”
“What widow woman’s house?” Mitchell asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know.” She slid her hands down her skirt and looked away from Mitchell out into the yard. “Curt owns houses all over. That’s his business. My business is taking care of the house and children.”
“You mentioned a girl.”
“Did I?” She gave a nervous little laugh while her fingers played over her skirt again. “I don’t recall what I said.”
Mitchell let the silence build between them, but her guard was up now. She wasn’t going to say any more about any girl or anything else without weighing every word first. Finally he said, “I see. Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, Mrs. Whitlow.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you out, but Curt doesn’t always tell me where he’s going.” She tried a smile, but it didn’t quite work.
“I understand.” Something was bothering the woman, but he couldn’t force her to tell him whatever it was. “If you need anything while Curt’s away, you send one of your boys after me.”
He was halfway across the yard when she came out to the edge of the porch and stopped him. “Sheriff?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned around. “Is there something I can do for you now?”
She hesitated, then pushed out the words. “There is something.” In the dim light he could see her moistening her lips.
He stepped back toward her. “I’ll help if I can.”
She took hold of the porch post as though needing support. “The truth is, Sheriff, I am a little worried about Curt. I don’t want the children to know, but Dr. Baker was by here earlier. He said Curt was supposed to let him treat his arm today. You know, where that dog bit him. Curt is away a lot on business.” She swallowed as though the word “business” put a bad taste in her mouth she had to get rid of before she could say anything else. “But he was concerned about his arm. It’s healing up, but I don’t think he would have forgotten that he was supposed to see the doctor to check on it. I’m probably worried for no reason, but . . .”
“Yes, ma’am, but to be sure, I’ll check around for you.”
She rubbed her hands up and down the post. “You will be discreet, won’t you?”
“Nobody will ever have to know about this conversation but the two of us. Not even Mr. Whitlow.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Brodie.” She let out a relieved breath. “I’ve heard you’re a man a person can trust.”
“I do what I can, ma’am.”
That was what he had told the mother of the two boys earlier that afternoon. He’d said the same thing often during the war. But sometimes it hadn’t been enough. The feeling was growing inside him that maybe it wouldn’t be enough here either.
You can with the Lord’s might. His mother used to tell him that whenever he complained about something being hard to do. His father’s advice had been less holy and more down to earth. If you come up on a rock too big to move, take a pickax to it. Break it down to a size you can move.
As he headed toward the boardinghouse, he could see his mother smiling at his father and saying, “Sometimes the Lord helps you swing that pickax.”
Mitchell looked up at the stars coming out. Two days in a row he was finishing the day with the stars and thinking about his mother. And for the second night in a row a prayer rose up from his heart for Carlyn. For himself. Even for the dog. Hadn’t his mother always told him that no prayer was too small for God? Or too big.
He wondered when he’d stepped away from that little-boy belief in prayer. Maybe the war had caused that. Not that he didn’t pray when the cannons started firing. Desperate prayers for courage in the face of battle. But then he’d left the prayers on the battlefield. He didn’t need God once the guns went silent. He could handle the rest of the times. But maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he did need the Lord’s might behind his swing of the pickax to break up the rocks in his path.
“Just point me down the right road so I can find out the things I need to know.” He whispered the words.
That little-boy hope was in his heart as he stepped up on Mrs. Snowden’s back porch. But no Asher appeared out of the night or stood to meet him when he went through the door.
Mrs. Snowden looked around from washing dishes. Her face fell when she saw he was alone. “You didn’t find him.”
“Not yet.”
She shook her head a little as she dried her hands on her apron and lifted his supper out of the warming oven. “You think it’s wrong to pray for a dog, Sheriff?”
“I hope not, Mrs. Snowden. I sincerely hope not.”
26
The confessions and apologies Carlyn rehearsed on the walk back from the woods became naught but a stuttering mumble when she faced Sister Edna at the Gathering Family House.
Without a word, Carlyn followed her into the room where the sister listened to confessions. Sister Edna settled behind her writing desk and waited for Carlyn to take down a chair from the pegs to sit across from her. Still she did not speak. The silence thumped against Carlyn’s ears, but she saw no reason to step into more trouble with careless words.
At last Sister Edna broke the silence. “What have you to say for yourself?” In spite of the scowl that darkened the sister’s face, her voice lacked its usual fire. She seemed weary of the continual necessity to upbraid Carlyn.
Carlyn answered with the truth instead of her practiced words. “I needed time alone. To mourn the true knowledge of the death of my husband.”
“We have no marital ties here. Have you not read the book I gave you days ago?” She tapped the book on the desk, then held it up so Carlyn could see the title, The Principles and Practices of a People Called the Shakers. “On these pages you find the rules we must adhere to in order for our Society to prosper. The directives are written so even those of the world can understand.”
“I am reading the book as you instructed, but I have not finished it.”
“Or obviously paid attention to anything you have already read.” Sister Edna let the book fall open. She didn’t have to riffle through the pages to find the passage she sou
ght. “Listen well while I read you principle number eight. ‘A united interest in all things in their general order; but none are required to come into it, except as a matter of choice.’” Sister Edna peered up at Carlyn. “You did choose to come among us, did you not?”
“Yea,” Carlyn answered weakly.
Sister Edna began reading again. “‘For this order is not a principle; but is the result of mutual love and unity of spirits; and cannot be supported where the selfish relations of husband, wife, and children exist. This order is the greatest and clearest demonstration of practical love. “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”’” Again she looked up. “That is the Christ speaking.”
“I am familiar with that verse,” Carlyn said.
“But the question is, do you practice it? Leaving your duty for your sisters to perform in your absence is not a demonstration of practical love. Item four states that ‘to be a proper Shaker, one should be diligent in business serving the Lord. All—’” She poked the page and repeated, “‘All labor with their hands according to their strength and abilities; all are industrious, but not slavish. Idleness is the parent of want.’”
“I will work tomorrow.” Carlyn tried to speak with as much sincerity as she could muster, but the words lacked conviction even to her own ears. She would work. She did not mind working, but now her spirit was tired. Too much had happened in the last few days.
The same strain she was feeling seemed to be reflected on Sister Edna’s face even though she was saying the expected Shaker words. The woman smoothed her hand over the book’s page. “A proper Shaker knows her hands are to be devoted to work every day except the Sabbath.”
“Yea, if one is able, but today sadness overwhelmed me. Such as was overcoming you this morning.”
“A fleeting worry.” Sister Edna threw out her hand in dismissal of Carlyn’s words. “Mother Ann’s teachings show us that happiness does not so much depend on circumstances as we think. Within our souls the foundations must abide.”
The Innocent Page 21
