The Believer (The Shakers 2)

by Ann H. Gabhart

  THE

  BELIEVER

  Other books by Ann H. Gabhart

  The Scent of Lilacs

  Orchard of Hope

  Summer of Joy

  The Outsider

  THE

  BELIEVER

  A NOVEL

  ANN H. GABHART

  To my sisters both by birth and by marriageJane, Rosalie, Dallas, Patricia, Kathy, and Diane. Also, in loving memory of joy, who died much too soon but whose laugh will never fade from my memory. Sisters make the very best friends.

  A NOTE ABOUT THE SHAKERS

  American Shakerism originated in England in the eighteenth century. Their leader, a charismatic woman named Ann Lee, was believed by her followers to be the second coming of Christ in female form. After being persecuted for these beliefs in England, she and a small band of followers came to America in 1774 to settle in Watervliet, New York and there established the first community of the United Society of Believers in Christ's Second Appearing, more commonly known as Shakers.

  When religious fervor swept the Western frontier at the turn of the nineteenth century, the Shakers, whose communities in New England were flourishing, found the spiritual atmosphere in Kentucky perfect for expanding their religion to the west. By the 1830s the Shakers had nineteen communities spread throughout the New England states and Kentucky, Ohio, and Indiana.

  The Shaker doctrines of celibacy, communal living, and the belief that perfection could be attained in this life were all based on the revelations that Mother Ann claimed to have divinely received. The name Shakers came from the way they worshiped. At times when a member received the "spirit," he or she would begin shaking all over. These sorts of "gifts of the spirit;' along with other spiritual manifestations such as visions, were considered by the Shakers to be confirmation of the same direct communication with God they believed their Mother Ann had experienced.

  Since the Shakers believed work was part of worship and that God dwelt in the details of that work, they devoted themselves to doing everything-whether farming or making furniture and brooms or developing better seeds-to honor the Eternal Father and Mother Ann. Shaker communities thrived until after the Civil War, when few recruits were willing to accept the strict, celibate life of the Shakers, and the sect gradually died out.

  In Kentucky, the Shaker villages of Pleasant Hill and South Union have been restored and attract many visitors curious about the Shaker lifestyle. These historical sites provide a unique look at the austere beauty of the Shakers' craftsmanship. The sect's songs and strange worship echo in the impressive architecture of their buildings. Visitors also learn about the Shakers' innovative ideas in agriculture and industry that improved life not only in their own communities but also in the "world" they were so determined to shut away.

  Ethan Boyd didn't like loud voices. Bad things happened when there were loud voices. Now Preacher Joe and the man with whiskers were yelling at one another. Ethan wanted to run outside and crawl up under the porch to hide with one of Preacher Joe's hunting hounds. The one Preacher Joe said was afraid of firearms. The one Preacher Joe said wasn't worth the powder it would take to shoot him. The one that liked to lay his head in Mama Joe's lap when she sat on the porch. She said Birdie was her dog and it didn't matter whether he could hunt or not.

  Mama Joe took in strays. That's why Ethan was sleeping on the cornhusk mattress on the little bed in the room off the kitchen. Orphans and strays.

  But then this man with his gray-streaked black whiskers was saying Ethan wasn't an orphan or a stray. That he belonged to him. Ethan scrunched as far back in the chair at the table as he could and held so tight to the bottom that the cane cut into his fingers. He darted his eyes to the man and then away to stare down at the table.

  The table was made out of two broad planks, worn smooth by years of use and Mama Joe's polishing. Mama Joe liked to polish things. Even Ethan. She was forever rubbing the dirt off his face with the corner of her apron. Ethan's eyes found the circle that was part of what Preacher Joe said was the grain of the wood. It looked like a little head with arms reaching away from it. Mama Joe had let Ethan poke two little holes for eyes in the circle, even though normally she'd wear him out for making holes in any of her furniture.

  When Ethan told her the circle was his face, she smiled and ran her hand over it softly the way she sometimes stroked his hair. Then she traced the little bit of lighter wood that surrounded the circle like a halo. "See that;" she said. "That's the good Lord's love wrapping around you. Remember that, Ethan, no matter what else might happen, his love is always there. You can count on that"

  "But will you always love me too, Mama Joe?" Ethan kept his eyes on her finger tracing the circle in the wood. He was afraid to look in her face. Afraid her answer might not be yes.

  She reached over, put her hand under his chin, and raised his face up to look at her. "Yes, my little child" She smiled, and the deep wrinkles around her faded blue eyes softened. She dropped her work-roughened hand down to lay it flat against his chest over his beating heart. "My love will always be right there in your heart" She took his hand with her other hand and placed it over her heart. `And your love will always be right here in my heart. That's the way love is. It stays:'

  Then she picked up the knife she'd been using to peel potatoes for their supper and carved a small heart inside a bigger heart right in the middle of her table below the circle. After she dusted away the wood shavings from the hearts, Ethan put his hand over them. He felt warm all over. And safe.

  Now as the two men's voices got even louder, Ethan stared at the circle with the two points for eyes and the hearts below it. Mama Joe wasn't there. She'd gone to help one of the churchwomen who was sick. She did that a lot. Ethan didn't mind. Preacher Joe told him funny bedtime stories, and Mama Joe was most always back in time to cook them breakfast.

  All of a sudden the whiskered man slammed his fist down on the table right on top of the hearts. Ethan was sure the wood would splinter and break under the force of his anger, but it stayed strong. Ethan felt his own heart beating in his ears.

  Preacher Joe's face was a funny purple color as he pointed toward the door. The other man's eyes narrowed until they weren't much more than two slits in his wind-reddened face. He stared straight at Ethan as he said, "I'll be back:"

  Preacher Joe stepped between the man and Ethan. Preacher Joe was usually a little stooped over, but now his back was stretched up straight as he faced down the man. "Our door will not be open to you:"

  "He's my boy."

  Ethan gripped the bottom of his chair even tighter as the man's words slid around Preacher Joe to grab at him.

  "The Lord says different:" Preacher Joe's voice was quiet now. Quiet, but firm and calm and sure.

  The man laughed and Ethan was glad Preacher Joe was blocking his eyes from him. "Your God has no say in this"

  "The good Lord has say in everything. Your life and mine. And the boy's. He stays with us:"

  "We'll see about that" The words were more growled than spoken.

  The man slammed the door behind him so hard that Mama Joe's Sunday dishes on the shelf over her worktable rattled. Ethan squeezed his eyes tight shut, afraid the plates were going to fall off and shatter all over the floor. She'd brought them all the way from Virginia when she first came to Kentucky. Sometimes she stroked the roses on them the way she'd stroked the hearts on the table. She said they made her think of her dear mother who had moved up to heaven to live with Jesus.

  Preacher Joe turned away from the door and lifted Ethan out of the chair and sat down with him on his lap, even though he'd told him many times that a boy of six was way too old to be sitting on anybody's lap. Trembles were shaking through Ethan, an
d Preacher Joe held him tight against his chest as he stroked his head. "There, there, child;' he murmured in his ear. "`The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil; he shall preserve thy soul."

  Ethan knew that was from the Bible. Half of what Preacher Joe said was from the Bible. The words were like a soft blanket over Ethan, and the trembles left him. Preacher Joe said he could depend on the Lord's words.

  "Will he be back?" Ethan whispered against Preacher Joe's bony chest. He was afraid the trembles would start up again, but he held his breath and they didn't catch hold of him.

  "I can't say for sure,' Preacher Joe said after a long moment. "But don't you worry your head about it. We'll go see the sheriff in the morning and he'll send the man on his way. You can trust the truth of that. You're our boy now."

  Ethan was silent for a moment, not wanting to say the words, but he had to. They were pushing against his mouth so hard they were almost breaking his teeth. "Is he my father? My born father"

  "So he says:" Preacher Joe's hold on Ethan tightened. "But even if there is truth in his words, he forfeited his right to you when he deserted you and your mother when you were a mere babe in arms"

  I remember my mother' Ethan couldn't really remember exactly how she looked, but he remembered the touch of her hands. Her laugh echoed somewhere in his memory. Sometimes when he smelled blackberry jam he could almost see her face. He had no such memories of a father. "I don't remember him:"

  "No way you could. You weren't much more than a babe in arms when your mother died. You had no father then and had not for some time"

  "Did you know my mother?" Ethan looked up at Preacher Joe. Surely he had asked this before, but if so, he had lost the answer.

  Preacher Joe smiled down at him. "No, we had no acquaintance with your mother. It was her sister that brought you to us. She had kept you with her for some months, but then she came up in the family way again, and with the worry of another mouth to feed, her husband began to resent what little you were eating or so she told us. She claimed he was a hard man and she feared he might be unkind to you. She cried when she left you:"

  He seemed to remember that. Tears. Perhaps it was her face he saw when he smelled the blackberry jam instead of his own mother's. "I'm glad she brought me here:" He lay back against Preacher Joe's chest and felt the man's breath going in and out. Slow and steady. He wished he could stay right there in Preacher Joe's lap all night long.

  "So am I. Such a gift you were to us. A wee little blue-eyed lad with a smile brighter than a shiny stone in a creek bed. It's hard to believe that's been nigh on three years ago now." Preacher Joe's arms tightened around Ethan. "The good Lord has a way of blessing us in some surprising ways"

  By the time Ethan said his prayers and climbed into bed to let Preacher Joe pull the cover up under his chin, he had almost forgotten the sound of the whiskered man's loud and angry voice. Preacher Joe's voice was calm as he read a few verses out of the Bible by the light of a candle. Mama Joe still wasn't home. Preacher Joe said that the churchwoman was having a baby and that some babies were slow in making their way into the world. That Mama Joe would surely be home by breakfast, but if not, he knew how to fry up some eggs.

  He tousled Ethan's dark hair and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Good night, son. May the good Lord watch over you.

  Ethan turned over and went to sleep. He was sure if Preacher Joe asked the Lord for anything, it would be done. After all, Preacher Joe was always saying the good Lord was his best friend.

  A rough hand clamped over his mouth jerked Ethan from his sleep. The room was pitch-black, and at first he wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming. Then the smell of the woods and tobacco smoke and some other odor Ethan didn't know filled the room. The man's whiskers scratched against Ethan's face as he spoke into his right ear. "Not a peep out of you if you don't want your old preacher friend to get hurt. Got it?"

  Ethan tried to nod, but he was too petrified to move. The man's hand was mashing into his face until Ethan thought his cheekbones might snap like he'd seen chicken bones do when Mama Joe was cutting up chicken pieces to fry. His wide-open eyes began to adjust to the darkness until he could make out the shape of the man beside him getting ready to swallow him up. Ethan feared he might wet the bed and then what would Mama Joe think when she came home.

  "Don't be scared, boy. Your old pa won't hurt you. Not as long as you do as you're told:"

  Ethan tried to pull away from the man, but his hold was too strong.

  'Ain't no use struggling. You're going with me one way or another. Now I'm gonna take my hand away. If you holler, I'll kill the old preacher man:' There was the slide of metal on leather and then the man was holding a knife up in front of Ethan's face. He turned the long blade from side to side so that it caught light from somewhere in the darkness and flashed in Ethan's eyes. Ethan lost his breath and his head started spinning.

  The man took his hand away from Ethan's mouth and Ethan gasped for air. The ragged sound of his breathing was loud in the silence of the night.

  "Put your clothes on:" The man wasn't holding on to him anywhere now, but the knife was still shining in the darkness. "If you don't do as I say, you'll be sorry. You and the old man"

  Ethan tried not to make a sound as he felt for his clothes on the chair at the end of the bed. Then he searched under the bed for his shoes. He hadn't worn them for days, not since the last Sunday, but he thought he might need them wherever the man was taking him. He didn't aim to knock over the chamber pot that Mama Joe put under the bed for him so he wouldn't have to go to the outhouse in the middle of the night. But he hit it with his foot. He jerked toward it to try to keep it from turning over and banged his head on the bed.

  The man jerked him out from under the bed by his ankles. Ethan grabbed his shoes and held them against his chest. The man hissed, "You better hope the old preacher can't hear so good:"

  But there was nothing wrong with Preacher Joe's hearing. His eyesight was failing, but not his hearing. From the next room they heard his bed creak as he raised up to call, "Are you all right, Ethan?"

  The man moved away from Ethan toward Preacher Joe's room. The knife winked in the dark again.

  "Run, Preacher Joe, run!" Ethan screamed as loud as he could.

  But of course he didn't run. He came straight toward Ethan to save him. The man who said he was Ethan's father clubbed Preacher Joe over the head with the fist that held the knife, but he didn't stab him. Preacher Joe fell to the floor and lay still. Ethan dropped his shoes and ran toward him.

  The man grabbed Ethan by the hair before he got there. "He ain't dead, but he will be if you don't come along with me peaceably like"

  A sob swelled up in Ethan's throat. He held it back. "I dropped my shoes'

  "You won't need them. I've got a horse"

  The man yanked him by the hair toward the kitchen door. As Ethan passed by the table, he reached out and touched the hearts. Behind him Preacher Joe groaned, and then the man pulled him out of the kitchen into the dark night and kicked the door shut.

  The horse moved through the darkness under the trees as if a lantern was showing it the way. The woodsy smell of damp dirt and rotting leaves mixed with the smell of the man tight behind Ethan in the saddle. Ethan jumped when a great horned owl hooted and flew out of a tree before them with a crashing of wings among the branches. He couldn't stop shaking.

  Ethan had been in the woods at night. On foot with Preacher Joe and his hunting dogs as they chased after raccoons. He liked the woods, day or night. The good Lord's blessing on them, Preacher Joe said sometimes as he stopped to lay his hand on the bark of a particularly big oak tree. If the hounds hadn't yet found their prey and begun baying to send Preacher Joe and Ethan chasing through the trees after them, Preacher Joe might say a prayer. Something to celebrate the woods and the night and the Lord. Preacher Joe had a lot of celebration prayers. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

  Eth
an couldn't pray that now. He wasn't being blessed. He was being stolen. Even if the man did say he belonged to him. Ethan didn't want to belong to him. He wanted Preacher Joe to be his father. He wanted Mama Joe to touch the top of his head while he was eating his breakfast. But instead this man had hold of him, taking him away from them. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut tight and prayed as hard as he could. Please, I want to go home.

  Remember the way. Preacher Joe had said those words to him plenty of times when they were out in the woods around their house. Pay attention to where you are so you can find the way home if need be. They'd even made a game of it at times with Preacher Joe letting Ethan lead the way. He always found home sooner or later.

  He would this time too. The man would have to let him down off the horse sometime, and then Ethan could get away. He could walk home. All he had to do was watch for landmarks to guide his trek back to Preacher Joe's. Ethan opened his eyes wide and tried to pick out things to remember about this or that tree they were passing by, but it was different on the horse. The horse's feet-not his feet-were feeling the path. And no moon was shining down through the branches. The woods were always full of moonlit shadows when they went hunting in the night.

  That didn't mean he couldn't watch and see. He'd know the way home once he was off the horse and on his own feet. But at daylight, when the man finally stopped beside a creek and let him off the horse, he tied one end of a rope around Ethan's waist and the other end to his belt before he pointed him toward the creek to get a drink.

  Ethan scooped up some water in his hands while the man dropped down on his belly and put his face right into the water. The horse was drinking on the other side of them. It was a nice brown color with a white blaze on its face. The horse had made it through the woods in the dark with ease. It could find the way back in the daylight even easier. The horse raised his head and looked toward Ethan as if it knew what he was thinking. Then it shook his head and sprayed water and mouth foam on Ethan.