“Maybe,” Della agreed. “But I stayed here one night. Oh, it was years and years ago. Couldn't sleep so I came down here for a little walk. Slipped and fell on my way back up and nearly broke my damned leg. But anyway. I saw something here. Not a baby but a man. It was most certainly a man. He stood watching the water for the longest time. I sat right here on the bench, so I wouldn't disturb him,” Della motioned to the seat. “Looked like he had more on his mind than I did, which was just indigestion.”
“What happened?”
“His troubles were a lot more than I'd originally thought,” Della laughed a little. “After a few minutes he turned around and faded right into the night. He wasn't real.”
“I know this is going to sound funny,” Taryn began, “but did you feel anything when he was here? I mean, were you afraid? Was it good energy, bad?”
“I know what you're asking and the answer is that I felt nothing but sadness for the poor fellow. He wasn't there to hurt me, or to hurt anyone. Just thinking, being alone. Kind of like we are now.”
“I think this park is full of ghosts,” Taryn blurted. She was thinking about the fire in her room and the male presence that had snuffed it out. Was it the same spirit? Or was the park just overrun with them, none of them connected?
“Yes, it is. Lots of heartache here, lots of sadness. Lots of happiness, too, but any time you get that much passion in a place, released or not, it's going to leave something behind,” Della smiled again, but she looked tired.
A shrill voice cut through the air behind them and Taryn turned to see a stocky woman in khaki shorts and a red, V-neck sleeveless top inching down the incline towards them. “Susan, Susan!” she called. “I thought I'd lost you!”
“Well, guess it's time to go back,” Della sighed with a mixture of regret and irritation. “It was nice talking to you.”
“But your name tag says...” Taryn gestured in confusion.
She snorted. “I like to mess with them sometimes. When you get to be my age and have lived with yourself long enough sometimes it's nice to try on someone else's skin.”
Taryn had just slid into the driver's seat when her phone went off. It was Rob.
“Did I screw up the alphabetizing?” she asked, only half joking. “You know I still have to sing the song to remember what order the letters come in, especially around 'P.'”
“Ha! You did fine,” he assured her. “I'm calling because I found something for you and I thought you might be interested.”
Taryn was anxious to get on the road, she was hungry and craving something really bad for her. She waited. The last thing she needed to do was run the car off the road while she talked. “Yeah? What did you find?”
“Two things, actually. One is a book of ghost stories about the Shakers. I think you'll like it. The other is an old research piece, a bunch of letters and journal entries. I don't think these are the kinds of things you're going to find at the gift shop there,” he laughed.
“Where did you find them?” she asked.
“I have my ways. Anyhow, I can stick them in the mail if you'd like. Should get there the day after tomorrow.”
Taryn bit her lip nervously. If they were important to him she didn't want to be responsible for something happening. “You sure you don't mind parting with them?”
“Oh, hell no. You're fine. Just send 'em back when you're done!”
Of course, it was highly likely that she'd already read the letters and journal entries; she had been spending a lot of time in the archives. But the ghost stories would be fun and, who knew, something might jog her memory.
Harrordsburg had an array of restaurants to choose from and she needed a break from the dining room at the park. Matt would be appalled at her turning her nose up at garden-fresh vegetables for a McChicken but there was only so much healthy food a body could take. Her doctors had all encouraged her to eat an anti-inflammatory diet to help cut down on the inflammation and pain from her EDS, and she tried to stick to it as much as possible, but living didn't seem like it would be very fun if she didn't occasionally splurge and eat something that would survive a nuclear attack.
The scenic country drive to Harrodsburg took her past small farms, green misty fields, and beautiful old stone fences. She stopped and pulled over once to take a picture of an old house that looked as though it had been abandoned for many years. Nature had taken over and was slowly choking the walls to death with ivy and honeysuckle not yet bloomed. She could barely make out the windows, with just a tiny sliver of glass poking courageously through the greenery. The front door was standing wide open, an invitation for travelers, and a broken wooden chair sat on the front porch and stared at the main road, waiting for visitors who never came.
Taryn got back in her car and began driving again, feeling sad. As much as she adored the old houses and found her passion in envisioning the past, sometimes the sadness was just too much to take. When she saw an abandoned structure falling apart like that she didn't just see boards, a collapsed roof, and broken window panes. Instead, she saw a happy family standing in front of it, proud to call it home. She saw the mother standing in the hot kitchen clanging pans, the smells of chicken and apple cobbler drifting through the house. She saw small children lying on a rag rug in the living room foyer, bickering with one another or playing. She saw a man coming home from work, stopping on the steps and smiling as he listened to the sounds drifting out: This was his family and where he lived.
Every old, abandoned house had once been someone's home, had once held dreams and hopes. She believed these places had feelings, almost as much as people did.
Miss Dixie afforded her the opportunity to see the past like most people could never imagine. But sometimes that past was just too much, even the good parts. Taryn felt an almost unbearable responsibility towards the churches, the houses, the schools, the tobacco barns...Like she wasn't trying hard enough to save them all.
In the end, Taryn ended up not at a chain with burgers but at a small-town diner, eating the same kind of food she'd most likely have had at the park. Still, it was a change of scenery.
The restaurant, called “Evelyn'”, looked like the inside of an old woman's purse had exploded. The walls were ensconced with pictures of flowers, lighthouses, and horses. Shelves containing angel statues, more lighthouses, and collections of salt 'n pepper shakers were scattered throughout the room. Each table held a cheap Dollar General vase full of plastic flowers, squarely atop an intricate doily.
It smelled wonderful.
The wait staff all looked matronly with ample bosoms and waistlines, another good sign for the quality of food. Taryn didn't always trust food prepared by teenagers who would rather be anywhere else. Her waitress' name was Sandra, at least according to her name tag, and when she smiled she revealed a missing front tooth. She probably weighed over three-hundred pounds but could dance around the tables holding heavy trays of food as good as any ballerina.
After Taryn ordered a dinner of salmon patties, macaroni and tomato juice, mashed potatoes, and cornbread muffins she sat back and observed the room again. It was full to capacity, mostly older couples who chewed their food slowly and didn't look at each other. Above Taryn's head was a faded black and white photograph of an elderly woman with shockingly white hair, a floral-print dress, and thick glasses. She smiled a sweet smile and leaned up against a fence post, her hands crossed primly in front of her. It was the only photo of a person.
“That's Evelyn,” Sandra supplied when she returned with a plate of deviled eggs. “She's the owner's great grandmother.”
“Oh, that's nice,” Taryn smiled. “Was she known for her cooking?”
“She was known for everything,” Sandra laughed. “She cooked for the old one-room schoolhouse here in town for a long time. Then her husband opened a hardware store and she helped him run it. Had eleven kids, if you can imagine. They all lived in top of the store over there.” Sandra gestured out the window to a building across the street. It was now a dry cleaner's on one side a
nd a flea market on the other.
The food was delicious and Taryn ate every bite. Then she ordered butterscotch pie and took it to go. She'd be hungry again later.
An elderly woman rang her up at the antiquated cash register and Taryn waited patiently as she hunted and pecked for all the numbers. “You from here?” she asked with a grunt.
“No, just here working,” Taryn supplied.
“You in some kind of medical supplies?”
Taryn was taken by surprise. Nobody'd ever asked her that before. “Um, no, I'm a painter. I'm working up at Shaker Village.”
“Oh, yeah,” the woman bobbed her head. With one last grunt she hit a button and the drawer sprung open. Taryn handed her the cash and she began the slow process of counting out the change. “Lots of people come here for that. My great-granny was a Shaker. That's her, there,” she gestured to the picture above Taryn's table.
“Evelyn?” Taryn asked.
“Yes, that's her. Joined up with her family when she was a little thing. Turned eighteen and went through the whole ordeal of becoming a real Shaker, cause they won't let you do that any sooner, and then took off about a year later. Don't know why but glad she did. I wouldn't be here if she'd stayed.”
“Where'd she go?” Taryn asked with interest.
“Here in town,” the woman shrugged. “Had some cousins here and stayed with them. Her little brother, my great uncle, came with her eventually. He went on to become a judge.”
“What year would that have been?”
“Oh, I guess around 1855. Bad days for folks here in Kentucky. Lots of people joining the Shakers then, lots of people leaving, all for the same reason.”
“The war,” Taryn murmured.
“Yep, that's right.”
The Shakers were pacifists so they received exemption from military duty. They'd even approached President Lincoln in the Civil War with a petition for exemption from the military draft. It had been granted.
Taryn thought she was finished talking but just as she started to thank her and say goodbye, the woman gave a watery cough and then started up again. “Yeah, that's my great-granny Evelyn. And my great uncle, Junior. Charles was his real name, of course. Rogers, they were. Last name Rogers. Reckon once they left they never saw their parents again. Strange thing about those folks.”
Taryn signaled her agreement. “Yeah, they had some interesting ways of doing things.
“Would've been a sight, though, to have seen them doing their singing and dancing. Folks from around here used to go and watch them for hours making fools of themselves. The women dancing around like they was little kids and the men jumping and yelling. They didn't have the movies and the video games back then, see,” she muttered in distaste. “You had to be entertained in other ways.”
Taryn suppressed the urge to giggle.
“Anyway, I hope you enjoy your stay. Come back and see us again.”
Taryn thanked her and walked back to her car, the heat still wafting up from the pavement even though the sun was set.
Chapter 11
Using what she knew about the Shakers, Taryn sat down
at her desk and attempted to make a chart, using the people she knew about and what she'd already seen. So far, she knew an elder had been murdered.
Although there were elders and eldresses in the different Shaker communities, there were actually four who oversaw the whole thing. They lived in New York and were called the “Central Ministry.” All the societies had ministers and these trained the neophytes went out into the world beyond the Shakers to preach and find new members.
Within the smaller communities there were different groups called “families” and these also had two elders and eldresses. Two of each, who were in charge of their spiritual life and well-being. Families also had Deacons and Deaconesses and these guys oversaw the crafts, farm work and stuff. The Trustees, on the other hand, oversaw the legal things and business side of the Families. It was hard to say, without looking at the records, who the elder truly was. He could've been a legitimate elder, or he could’ve been a Deacon or Trustee and over the years the identity was confused. She hoped Rob's book would help with this. She was still trying to avoid the archive room, thanks to Andy.
It was highly possible that the elder could've been killed by an outsider. Not only did the Shakers do business with them, but once their population started declining and they didn't have as many men around they needed to hire out. The hired hands chopped wood, stacked hay, and did other odd jobs. They were usually paid every day and it was good money if you could get hired on and didn't mind not being able to talk to the women.
Money seemed to be high on the list of motives when it came to murder, with love (or jealousy) right behind. She'd stick to those two motives for now.
When her phone rang Taryn answered it absently. She was stuck when her aunt's attorney began talking on the other end.
'Taryn? I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time,” he apologized. He always sounded so flustered, like he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.
“I'm fine. Everything okay?”
Taryn's Aunt Sarah had passed away back in the fall, a fact Taryn was still trying to deal with every day. Although she hadn't seen her aunt in years, she'd always been someone Taryn had admired from afar; indeed, she was one of the few adults who had treated Taryn with love and respect. As the only surviving relative (Sarah had never married or had children), Taryn inherited her estate in New Hampshire.
“It's fine, it's fine. I checked on the house today and everything looks good. I was wondering, however, if you planned on coming up here soon?”
Taryn let out a deep breath. She'd been avoiding that so far, the idea of going through Sarah's belongings and walking through the rooms of that old farmhouse without her just felt too much. Taryn had already lost her parents, her grandmother, her fiancé (or husband, depending on who she was talking to). If she lost Matt she would truly be all alone in the world; she had nobody left.
“I am hoping to come up this summer,” she replied. “I'm on a job at the moment and can't leave.”
“Well, my advice is to hire a manager or overseer to keep an eye on it,” he lectured. “Nobody's vandalized it, yet, but it's a big house in a remote area. People are going to start getting curious.”
Taryn felt a moment of panic. She certainly didn't have the money to hire anyone. She even did her own taxes and hoped the IRS had a sense of humor.
As though reading her mind, the attorney laughed. “I know someone and can send you their information. Your aunt didn't leave behind a fortune, but you'll have enough to get someone for a few months and still have a nice sum left over.”
Taryn let of a sigh of relief. Well, that didn't sound so bad.
“Okay, that's good. If you can just email me then I'll get in touch with them.”
She hung up the phone feeling a little depressed, her Shaker ghosts and drama momentarily put to the side.
“Sorry I’m late,” Julie sang as she arranged bottles of spirits on the small table. She was set up outside, since the weather was nice, and a couple of guys cleared room for the musicians who would be showing up later. “All kinds of hoopla in my neighborhood and I'm too nosy not to get involved in that.”
“What happened?” Taryn asked from the table next to her. She wasn't super hungry, but an appetizer plate of fried green tomatoes (one of the South's most reverent offerings) hit the spot.
“Someone broke into the house next door. It's being built, you know? Anyway, they went in and sold the copper and stuff. Been happening a lot lately,” Julie confided.
“I heard about that. Any idea who's doing it?”
“Not a clue. But it's not just here. You hear about it in Danville, Lexington, Richmond...” Julie let her voice trail off as she ducked under the table to retrieve a runaway cup. “It freaks me out a little, though, because I live alone. Knowing that there were burglars next door doesn't put my soul at ease.”
“Well, maybe it means they've hit your area now and are going to move on to someplace else,” Taryn suggested weakly. She would've felt the same way.
“You know, I kinda feel bad for the crooks, too. Not a lot of jobs around here and people are desperate. Not just because they're druggies but because they got bills to pay.”
Taryn acquiesced. She often felt financially desperate herself. Before the Shaker Town job came along she was on the tip of accepting a job from a company that wanted her to paint a series of chain bar and grills for them to hang in their entrances.
Taryn finished her meal but then sat back, intent on listening to the band. They had a little bit of a heavy metal bluegrass sound to them, “metal grass” or “punk grass” some people called them, and they were good. She wished she'd left sooner, though, when she saw Andy stalking up to her table.
“You mind if I sit here?” he asked prissily.
Taryn shrugged and moved her plate over to make room for him. He looked out of breath and out of patience.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I have to stay here at least two more nights,” he huffed. We've had a water leak at the house and have to replace some pipes. No telling what that's going to cost me.”
“We were just talking about money,” Taryn said, gesturing to Julie. Julie was busy laughing with a small group of German tourists as they pointed at the American beers on display and scratched their heads. They wouldn't find much comparison to what they were used to.
“So how's the work going?” she asked. She didn't care for the man but he was all she had at the moment.
“Fine, fine,” he answered with a wave of his hand. “I was knee deep in records today.
“Yeah? What did you find?”
“Mostly school stuff,” he shrugged. “They seemed to have a hard time keeping a teacher towards the end of the nineteenth century. Just one right after another.”
Taryn's ears perked up. That was, after all, her area. “What happened?”
Shaker Town (Taryn's Camera Book 4) Page 10
