The Innocent

by Ann H. Gabhart

  She sank down to the floor and leaned against the wooden door. She shivered as the damp chill of the earth soaked through her dress. She shook it off. She could stand the chill. She’d been cold plenty of times. She needed to think about the Lord’s light. It didn’t matter what the time of day. It didn’t matter whether one was in the bowels of the earth or the top of the highest tree. The Lord was the same. In him is no darkness at all.

  No darkness. Another verse tickled her memory. Something about the Lord being an ever present help in trouble? She was certainly in trouble. She didn’t want to die. She leaned her head over on her knees. Ambrose hadn’t wanted to die either. He had wanted to come home to her and father those children they had dreamed of having. He was such a good man. A man who had shown her that God was light and not darkness. Her mother had tried, but always her father’s condemning shadow had darkened her mother’s message.

  Away from her father, she had been able to see and embrace the joy of Ambrose’s belief. She had surrendered some of that joy and stepped back into darkness when Ambrose didn’t come home. But Ambrose hadn’t given up on the joy of his belief. He had written her a letter of love. A letter of release. Find love, he’d told her. Have children. Live a full life. And now it looked as if that would never happen.

  What about Mitchell? The sheriff’s face as he’d looked talking to her the day before came to mind. She liked talking to him. She liked thinking about him as a friend. She liked thinking that maybe he was thinking of her as more than a friend. In time, she could return his feelings. If there was time.

  Sister Edna had only just the day before shook her finger at Carlyn and quoted one of her Mother Ann’s sayings about time when she thought Carlyn wasn’t working efficiently enough. “Mother Ann says you must not waste one moment of time, for you have none to spare. For none of us know when our spirit is going to be called home. None of us. Brother Henry proved that.”

  Now it might be true for both Sister Edna and Carlyn. Better to drift away in a sleep like Sister Edna than to stare at death in the darkness.

  The sliver of moonlight pushed through the crack in the door again. The sight of it awoke hope in Carlyn. She didn’t have to sit there and feel doomed. She could do something. If nothing else, she could try to carve out a bigger hole in the door to let in more moonlight. If she could find a tool.

  She ran her hand gingerly over the floor around her. Nothing but hard-packed dirt. Next she stood and felt along the wall next to the door. The wall was shored up by stones stacked one on another. She pulled on one of the rocks that jabbed out from the wall. It wiggled up and down. If she jerked out the rock, would that weaken the wall and maybe bring the earth down on top of her?

  She could imagine Elder Derron returning to find her suffocated under the dirt and thanking his Mother Ann for ridding him of one more problem.

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Carlyn muttered and kept working on the rock. While she didn’t believe in Mother Ann the way one needed to in order to be a proper Shaker, she had read the books Sister Edna had given her about the woman. Ann Lee warred against dirt and against what she considered worldly sins, but she also wrote many things about sharing with the poor and helping others.

  She would not help Elder Derron murder people, however accidental he wanted to believe the deaths were. Instead, if she were able to send angels, they would be catching Sister Edna before she fell. Or leading the horses out of the fire along with Brother Henry. She wouldn’t send demons, as Elder Derron had suggested.

  The hair rose on the back of Carlyn’s neck and she couldn’t keep from looking behind her even though she knew no one was there. The darkness was no longer total. Her eyes had adjusted and she could make out the shape of rounded walls. She tried to remember what she had seen before the elder took away the lantern, but she had been too frightened by the sight of Curt’s body.

  Remembering that brought back to mind demons. She pulled in a breath to steady her nerves. There were no demons. Or angels either there in the dark cellar. She was alone. But it might be good to imagine angels. Shaker angels, if there were such a thing. Whirling and singing. Even stomping like the Shakers to chase away the threat of demons.

  Carlyn stomped her foot so hard that her teeth clattered, but it did little except make her realize how very alone she was. She turned back to the wall to prize on the rock, but she couldn’t pull it out of the wall. There had to be something she could use if she had the courage to keep feeling in the dark spaces. She ran her hand along the wall, shrieking and jerking back when she touched something slimy. She rubbed her hand on her dress and pulled in a shaky breath. Nothing but a worm of some sort.

  Maybe if she sang the way she’d imagined the angels doing, she wouldn’t be as afraid. One of her mother’s favorite hymns came to mind.

  “God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.” Her voice sounded thin, as though the dark was swallowing up her words before they could reach her ears. She pushed her voice out stronger on another line she remembered from the song. “You fearful saints, fresh courage take.”

  Fresh courage. Dear Lord, that was what she needed. That and an axe to chop through the door.

  Her foot bumped into something and she barely held in another shriek. But whatever it was rolled away from her. Not a rock. It had moved too easily. She stooped down and felt around until her hand touched something. A canning jar. She pushed away the thought that Elder Derron might have brought water in it for Curt. It made no difference who had touched it last.

  She retraced her steps to the rock jutting out of the wall and smashed the jar against it. The glass pieces showered down around her feet. She still held the mouth of the jar, now with jagged edges protruding from it. She gingerly felt around on the floor for the biggest shard of glass, then went back to the door.

  The jar top could be her weapon when the elder returned. If he returned. He might leave her fate to his Mother Ann. The Shakers wouldn’t look for her. He would tell them that she had run away in the night. They would believe him. Even Sister Edna might believe him, should she regain consciousness. She would be glad not to have to accuse the elder.

  It could be she might not remember what happened. Carlyn’s little brother had fallen from a horse once and hit his head. He didn’t recall even getting on the horse. He kept saying he’d fallen in the creek.

  Carlyn wrapped the glass shard in a piece of cloth torn from her apron. With care, she scraped the glass against the wood next to the crack between the boards. The wood surrendered only a few splinters to her effort. But she kept on.

  How long did it take a person to die without food or water? Days? Weeks? If she could make the hole big enough, perhaps she could yell if somebody passed by. She kept scraping at the wood.

  Somebody would come. But would it be Ambrose to show her the way to heaven? Or Mitchell to offer her a new life here?

  She wanted that new life. She shut her eyes and pulled up Mitchell’s face. She wouldn’t give up. She had to believe that neither would Mitchell. Not until he found her.

  35

  Mitchell was pulling on his trousers before the last chime of three finished sounding in the room below him. He didn’t know what he could do in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t stay in bed another second. After he strapped on his gun, he picked up his boots to go down the stairs in sock feet. No need waking the whole house.

  Out on the porch, he dropped down on the steps to pull on the boots. The October air had a nip to it that warned of frost. If only the other warning that had kept him awake was as easy to decipher.

  The moon slipped down toward the horizon on its way to the other side of the world as he walked through the town. Nothing was out of the ordinary with all the businesses shuttered for the night. The only light he noted was over the hardware store. The Harleys who lived there had a new baby. Even the saloon at the far end of town was dark.

  Down the side street, nothing stirred at Curt Whitlow’s house. No way for Mitchell
to know if the man was home. Mitchell went back out to walk the length of Main Street again. But it wasn’t this town that had him awake in the wee morning hours. It was the Shaker town. And Carlyn.

  He stopped in front of Billy’s Barbershop. The man might know about the couple who had run away from Harmony Hill, but Billy wouldn’t be there for hours. Mitchell couldn’t wait that long. He’d go to the source. Demand to see Carlyn.

  And if she looked like something was wrong, he would tell her straight out to come away with him. She could have his room at Mrs. Snowden’s and he would bunk at the sheriff’s office until she got news about her husband. He could wait. It would be better to wait. To be sure his feelings for her weren’t just some wish-on-a-star dream. To give her the chance to decide if she could ever feel anything for him.

  He stared up at the stars overhead, glittering brightly now that the moon was gone. A great place to send wishes. Or better yet, prayers.

  “Lord, is it wrong to want her away from those people? To think I’m better for her than them?”

  His only answer was the twinkle of the stars and the bay of a hound chasing through the woods to the south of town.

  She didn’t belong with the Shakers. He was sure of that. He even thought she knew that, but she believed she had no other way. He could offer her another way. Sister Edna and Elder Derron couldn’t stop him.

  The eastern horizon showed the first faint pink trace of dawn as he rode into the village. No Shakers were stirring, but they would be soon.

  Mitchell tied his horse in front of the Trustee House and walked through the village. Everything appeared as peaceful here as it had in town. Could be his feeling of something wrong was simply due to his unsettled feelings about Carlyn. He stopped and stared up at the house where she would be sleeping. He imagined her peering out the window to see him there and then slipping down the stairs to come out to him.

  He shook away the unlikely thought and made his way around the house to where the Shakers had already cleaned away the refuse from the burned barn. As Mitchell turned back toward the Trustee House to wait for the village to come awake, he spotted a man far down the path. Mitchell stepped behind a tree and waited. If someone had come back to make more trouble for the Shakers, he’d catch them in the act this time.

  He fingered the butt of his gun, but didn’t pull it out. It could simply be a vagrant passing through the village. But no. When the figure drew closer, it was a Shaker.

  The man hurried through the gray dawn light, peering not only behind him from time to time, but up at the building tops as well. He was obviously worried someone might be watching. Mitchell scanned the area. He expected to see a sister also stealing back to her house after an illicit rendezvous, but no one else was in sight.

  Then the man drew closer, and Mitchell was surprised to recognize Elder Derron. The last man he expected to be sneaking about the village.

  Mitchell started to stay hidden next to the tree, but he needed to confront the elder sooner or later. Best to get it over with. Besides, the man was acting decidedly nervous. If the elder had come upon another threat to their village, he’d be glad to see Mitchell.

  But he wasn’t. Instead, at the sight of Mitchell, the man stopped in his tracks, a look of something very near panic on his face. Mitchell had seen the same look on other men’s faces right before they turned tail to run from the law.

  “Elder Derron, is something wrong?” Mitchell spoke before the man could flee.

  The elder recovered his composure. “Sheriff, you startled me.”

  “Sorry, I should have called out to you.” Mitchell stepped closer to the man. The beads of sweat sliding down the elder’s face didn’t fit with the cool morning.

  “Yea, that might have been best.” The elder pulled out his handkerchief to dab at his forehead. “You caught me coming back from the bathhouse. It is good to start the day fresh. Our Mother Ann teaches that good spirits can’t live where there is dirt.”

  “I see,” Mitchell said.

  The elder moistened his lips. “Did the eldress send for you?”

  “I came to talk to your Sister Edna.”

  “Yea, of course. But you have to realize she may be out of her head for some time.”

  “Out of her head?”

  “Yea, such a tragedy that she hit her head when she fell. Or perhaps when she was pushed.” The elder sounded more like himself. “We locked the girl in the vagrant house. Since it seems she was the cause of Sister Edna’s fall.”

  “The girl?” Mitchell narrowed his eyes on the man. “What girl?”

  “Why, Sister Carlyn, of course. Didn’t they tell you that when they came after you? There has been naught but trouble since she came among us. Men of the world sneaking about our village. The fire. Now, poor Sister Edna. Everybody knew Sister Carlyn had an uneasy relationship with her Shaker guide, but we would have never suspected such a tragic ending.”

  “Sister Edna told you the girl pushed her?” Mitchell watched the man closely. Something sounded a little too eager in the man’s telling of what happened.

  “Didn’t she tell you the same?” The elder pulled his hat brim down lower on his head and kept his eyes away from Mitchell’s face.

  “I just got here.” He could pretend to know more than he did only so long. “I haven’t questioned her yet, but I think I should talk to the girl first. Hear her story.”

  “Very well, if you think that best,” Elder Derron said. “I’ll show you the way. But you can’t allow her claims of innocence to sway you in your duty. It is quite plain she is responsible for Sister Edna’s fall.”

  “Did someone see her push Sister Edna?”

  “Nay, but she is nevertheless responsible. Mother Ann has assured me of that.”

  “Mother Ann?” Mitchell gave him a hard look. The woman who founded the Shakers had been dead for decades.

  “Yea, I hear doubt in your voice, but though our mother has passed on from this earthly realm, she continues to lead us through visits of the spirit.” The Shaker stepped off the pathway to walk around Mitchell. It was as if he needed to keep his distance. “Follow me. You will see.”

  Mitchell was definitely seeing that something wasn’t quite right with the elder. Mitchell studied the man’s back. He kept his shoulders very straight and no longer looked around as he had before Mitchell stopped him. In spite of what he said about coming from the bathhouse, his pants were far from clean and his shoes had dirt caked on them. Strange that he hadn’t cleaned his shoes since he seemed so bothered by dirt.

  “Have you been digging this morning?” Mitchell asked.

  The elder’s shoulders jerked as though Mitchell had struck him with the words. “Nay.” He shot a glance back at Mitchell. “Why would you think that?” He spoke a little too quickly, almost tripping over his words.

  “Your shoes.”

  He looked down but kept walking. “Oh. Yesterday I spent time in a garden. I will have to confess that I forgot to properly clean my shoes before I put them on this morn.”

  “I’m surprised you found any mud even in the garden. It’s been dry for a while.”

  “Dirt can cling to one’s shoes whether there is rain or not when the ground is properly tilled.” He spoke without looking back. “The house is just up ahead.”

  The rising bell began to ring and once more the elder jumped. He had to have heard that bell thousands of times in his years at the Shaker village, yet the dongs seemed to unnerve him this day.

  At the small house, the door was slightly ajar.

  “Oh, dear heavenly Mother, she’s gone.” The elder reached for the doorknob with shaking hands.

  “How do you know she’s gone?”

  “The door is no longer locked. She knew her guilt. She will be gone.” He pulled the door open wider and moved aside to let Mitchell go in.

  Carlyn was not there. Nothing looked touched except for a burned down candle. “Are you sure she was ever here?” Mitchell stepped back outside to where the e
lder waited.

  “Yea, I locked her inside myself.”

  The lock showed no sign of being forced open. The bad feeling that had kept Mitchell from sleep grew stronger. “Who has a key besides you?”

  “The only key is kept at the Trustee House. On a hook inside the cupboard in the front room so it will be available when needed. We do not turn vagrants away, but neither do we want them wandering about our village in the night hours. We must keep our sisters safe.”

  “Did you put the key back there last night?” Mitchell looked at the grass around the door. The ground was too dry to show tracks.

  “Nay, it was after midnight and it seemed reasonable to leave the key at the Gathering Family House so that one of the sisters could carry the girl her morning meal.”

  “Did you entrust the key to someone for safekeeping?” Whoever had that key must have let Carlyn out of the vagrant house and would know where she was.

  “Things were very frenzied with Sister Edna being carried to the infirmary and the peace of the house in upheaval.” The elder shoved a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled it back out. “The key could be anywhere now.”

  Mitchell didn’t know why Elder Derron avoided giving a straight answer, but he was sure the man knew exactly what he’d done with the key. The elder was a man who paid attention to details. “I didn’t ask who had the key now. I asked where you left the key after you locked the door here.”

  “Why does that matter? She’s gone. And good riddance.” The elder’s voice rose as he slammed the door of the house shut. “She was nothing but trouble from the day she showed up here, carrying a gun and with that dog. Now that dog is keeping Brother Willis from his proper duties. Nothing but trouble.”

  Mitchell had never seen Elder Derron so animated. Or so strange, but Mitchell couldn’t worry about the elder. He had to find Carlyn, and the dog might be the answer. Carlyn wouldn’t leave the village without him. “Is the dog still here?”