A Deadly Shaker Spring
Page 23
Klaus stood silent and motionless, never taking his eyes from Evangeline. Wilhelm stepped from behind the Reverend Sim. Aware that there was no peaceful situation Wilhelm couldn’t stir into a frenzy, Rose intervened.
“He misinformed you,” she said. “But it was not entirely his fault,” she added, as an angry murmur arose from the crowd. “Mr. Holker’s mistake was in trusting his wife, Evangeline. She lied to him for years.”
“Why should we believe you?” cried a gruff voice from the middle of the group.
Rose turned her head toward Evangeline. Grady pushed her a step forward, holding her upper arm securely.
“Evie, is this true?” Klaus asked. When she merely glared at him, he approached her slowly. “Did you kill Faithfull?” Disbelief and grief choked his voice.
“It’s been twenty-five years, Klaus. How dare you feel anything for her after all this time! God knows you never felt anything for me, ever, just cheated on me, year after year.” Evangeline’s high voice deepened as she spat the words at him. “At first I thought I could get you to love me, but I gave up, and then all I asked was a child. But you couldn’t even give me that much.” She released an angry sigh. “Yes, I killed Faithfull. I thought if she were gone, you’d turn to me. We’d run away together, marry, have a family . . . I did it for your love and our children, and I never got either.”
Evangeline looked Klaus directly in the eyes. “She never loved you.”
“You told me she did! After all those years of telling me nothing, you told me Samuel killed her because she was going to run away with me. Why would you do that if it wasn’t true?”
“Because,” Evangeline said wearily, “it was my one chance for children. You were so obsessed with Faithfull’s death, with the Shakers being responsible somehow, with Sarah being her long-lost daughter. You wanted to punish them, anyway. I thought if I gave you a good reason, you’d just get Richard to foreclose, and we could have the land and the children, and . . .” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Now I’ll never have the chance for children, and it was all for nothing. A stupid mistake.”
“What do you mean?” Rose asked.
Evangeline drew in a jerky breath. “I killed Faithfull because I thought she really was in love with Klaus. Because he was so convinced of it. I thought it was the only way. If her death seemed suspicious to anyone, I assumed they would blame Samuel. But Samuel knew she was going to run away with him, so he figured out what I’d done. Then Agatha figured it out, too.”
“But why kill Samuel?” Rose asked. “He never betrayed your secret.”
“He was going to confess, and talk to Sarah, too. Caleb told us. I knew Samuel would talk about Faithfull’s death, what he’d figured out about me. So I had to make sure he didn’t—and get his journals, too.”
“Why not simply disappear?”
Evangeline’s face crumpled. Her square shoulders slumped, and her handcuffed arms hung loosely in front of her. Tendrils of her long gray hair fell over her eyes. She made no effort to brush them aside.
“I wanted the children,” she said, her eyes softening.
“Evie, you couldn’t have done all . . . How? You were home with me when Samuel died.” Klaus stood before Evangeline, gazing at her as if he were seeing a stranger.
Evangeline’s eyes sparked with anger. “It was your idea to have separate bedrooms,” she said. “I could do anything I wanted, sneak out in the night, take the car, anything. You’d never notice. So I called Samuel and convinced him to meet me in the Center Family kitchen after bedtime.” Evangeline shook her head, and a hank of hair swung loose from its pins and hit her shoulder. “I told him I could prove to him that I never killed Faithfull. I thought I could still make everything work out for the best. But when I arrived, I saw he’d fallen asleep in his chair, and his back was to the door. I got a pillow from the parlor, sneaked up behind him . . . it was so easy, just like with Faithfull.”
“Oh, Evie.” Klaus’s legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees. The subdued crowd shuffled their feet and exchanged chagrined glances, clearly aware of the enormity of their narrowly averted error. With Richard Worthington accompanying him, the Reverend Sim wandered among the men, speaking quietly, tapping a shoulder here and cupping an elbow there until they began to mount their horses or walk away.
“So pointless,” Evangeline said, her high whispery voice barely audible. “If I’d just left everything alone, Faithfull would have run away with Samuel, Klaus and I would still have married . . . and I still wouldn’t have any children. Everything would have been the same.”
TWENTY-SIX
“WE’LL NEVER GET THE FOUL SMELL OUT OF THIS room,” Josie complained, as she scrubbed the pine floor in Agatha’s Infirmary room with soap and water.
“I could break another bottle or two of rosewater, if you’d like,” Rose said.
“Rose Callahan, how wasteful! I’ll just scrub, thank you.”
Rose smoothed clean sheets over the new mattress on Agatha’s bed. Agatha herself slept in another room, tired but otherwise unharmed. Evangeline had allowed Josie to sedate the fragile former eldress, so she had missed the terror of the previous day. Rose had thanked God and Mother Ann and anyone else she could think of for that blessing. Someday, when Agatha was stronger, Rose would tell her what happened. But not now. The sisters worked in companionable silence for a time before Rose broached the subject that was on both their minds.
“Josie,” she said, “could you bear to talk about what Evangeline said to you in this room? There are some details that still bother me, and she seemed to be confessing to you.”
“It would probably do me good,” Josie said. “Ask your questions.”
“The cookies—the ones we found with Samuel. Did Evangeline explain those?”
Josie sloshed some cleanser full-strength on the floor and scrubbed vigorously. “Yea, indeed. The cookies were already there. I guess Samuel had put them out for Sarah, for their meeting later.” Josie sat back on her knees. “I have to wonder if it was a gesture of love,” she said. “Evangeline didn’t know that Samuel never ate sweets. She thought she was clever to think of biting into one cookie to make his death look like a heart attack during a midnight snack.
“The poor tired man had dozed off with one of his journals open in front of him. Probably planning to show parts to Sarah. Evangeline took the journal, of course, after she saw that he had written down so much about his relationship with Faithfull. She had already convinced Elsa to steal the rest of his journals for her.
“She claimed she hadn’t really planned to kill him. But she did, she smothered him, as she had Faithfull, just as though neither was a real, wonderful person with so much good to give to the world.”
Josie wiped a sleeve across her cheek and slopped a wet rag into a bucket.
“Did Evangeline mention anything about some pages from an old Shaker journal that were given to Sarah?” Rose asked.
“Ah, yea, she did. The pages were from Klaus’s journal, she said. He was playing a ‘fool’s game,’ she said, stringing poor Sarah along with enticing tidbits about her mother.”
“Did Evangeline admit to attacking Sarah in the Sisters’ Shop?”
“Yea,” Josie said. “Another ‘mistake’ was what she called it. The other apostates were at the barn, releasing our animals, and she followed Sarah over to the Sisters’ Shop.”
“But why?”
“From the beginning, she had been afraid that if Sarah figured out who her father was, she would approach him and piece together the truth about her mother’s death. Unlike Samuel and Agatha, Sarah would surely make the information public. She was quite dangerous to Evangeline.” Josie stood and arched her back. She grimaced with pain, but she did not complain.
“Do you need to rest?”
“Nay, not until this room is spotless.” Josie lowered herself to her knees again, but before returning to her task, she tilted her face up to Rose. “Be gentle with Sarah, won’t you? There’s good in h
er.”
Rose nodded briskly. “Sarah will be a better Believer for her experiences.” She did not wish to reveal Sarah’s struggle, even to Josie. Caleb had been wounded attempting to save her life, yet she had forsworn further contact with him. Sarah’s faith was enduring a hard test.
Josie did not press for details. She turned again to her scrubbing. “I am glad to be old and near my time,” she said. She shook her head. “I don’t envy the young their emotions. Evangeline was always far too emotional. I noticed that when she was my Infirmary nurse. She’d get a notion, and no amount of reason could talk her out of it. I always thought she belonged in the world. Foolish girl.”
Rose put her hand on Josie’s shoulder. “More than foolish, I’m afraid.”
Rose took an appreciative bite of chive-blossom omelet with its mild onion flavor. She marveled how the kitchen sisters could dress up simple eggs for dinner, so that for one meal Believers could forget what winter and the Depression had done to their larder. She’d had a peaceful night’s sleep, the Society was safe from mobs and foreclosure—her contentment would have been perfect if she were seated with the other sisters in the Center Family dining room, rather than across from Wilhelm in the Ministry House. However, she had delayed the meal long enough, and she had no more excuses.
“Has Sarah confessed?” Wilhelm asked, as he slathered raspberry preserves on a thick slice of brown bread.
“Nay, but soon,” Rose said.
“She should confess to the community, during worship. Her behavior warrants it.”
Rose took another bite of omelet and chewed slowly. “Her confession will be thorough. I’ll see to that.”
Wilhelm darted her a stern glance, but he said nothing.
“She sincerely wishes to remain a Believer,” Rose said.
“She’ll need careful watching.” He pushed a hunk of bread around his empty plate to capture every morsel. “Thy duties as eldress are too demanding—”
“Wilhelm, I assure you—”
“Too demanding for thee to continue as trustee,” he finished.
He slipped a folded paper from his work-shirt pocket and handed it across the table to Rose. She opened it and noted the return address. Mount Lebanon, New York. The Lead Society, where the Shakers’ central leadership resided. Her heartbeat edged up a notch as she began to read. The beginning held the usual fond greetings and blessings, so she skimmed to the second paragraph.
We’ve met and prayed daily and believe we now have a solution for you and Rose. Despite an uncertain start, we feel that Rose should continue as eldress, for now. Surely she will grow into the calling, as have others before her. We are in complete agreement with you, Wilhelm. It is too much to ask of her that she be both eldress and trustee, and being the only remaining Shaker village in the west, North Homage needs a strong trustee. We have such a person, and he has expressed willingness to accept the call, to come west and help you. His name is Brother Andrew Clark. He is a devout Believer and a diligent worker. We are certain he can be of service to you.
Rose read no farther. She folded the sheet and handed it back to Wilhelm.
“I phoned the Lead Ministry and accepted their offer, of course,” Wilhelm said. “Brother Andrew can arrive within the month. Thy time for preparation is short. I’ll expect thee here soon, in thy new home.”
Rose put down her fork and leaned back in her chair. She gazed around the small bright dining room, her eyes lingering on the wall peg where Agatha’s sugar-scoop outdoor bonnet used to hang. Now her own bonnet hung in the same spot. She was needed here, now. It was time. Her gaze returned to Wilhelm, who watched her in silence, eyebrows arched.
“Tomorrow I’ll begin my preparations for moving,” she said. “It won’t take more than a few days.” She picked up her fork. She bit into a whole chive blossom, and the rich flavor exploded in her mouth. It had been some time since food had tasted so good to her.
ALSO BY DEBORAH WOODWORTH
DEATH OF A WINTER SHAKER
SINS OF A SHAKER SUMMER
A SIMPLE SHAKER MURDER
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
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