A Simple Shaker Murder

by Deborah Woodworth

  “Near that thing that burned down,” Nora said.

  “The Water House? With the trees in back?” Rose winced as she threw her leg over the edge of the bed.

  Nora nodded. “That’s where she came out of when I got back from running around the Schoolhouse.”

  Rose froze in confusion. “Mairin isn’t missing?”

  “Nay. I mean, she was for a while, but then she got found again. When I got back, there she was. I asked where she’d gone, and she just said, ‘The woods,’ and that’s all she’d say, no matter how hard I asked.”

  Rose pulled her legs back under the blanket and studied Nora for a moment. “What aren’t you telling me? Why were you so upset that you had to come racing over here without even telling Charlotte?”

  Nora’s lower lip slid out. “Because Mairin was so scared, that’s why. She made me promise not to tell Charlotte she’d been gone.” Nora grinned. “But she didn’t say I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Where do you think she had gone—into the woods to climb a tree? Was she bruised or mussed up?”

  Nora shook her head and shrugged. With a shiver, she snuggled back against the blanket hung over the back of the rocking chair. She pulled the corners around her shoulders. “Mairin is very brave, you know. Something really bad must have happened to her, but she won’t tell me. So I decided to tell you, ’cause you’re watching out for her now.” She gazed at Rose with a child’s confidence that the adult in charge could fix anything, even if that adult could barely limp across the room.

  “You did the right thing.” Rose spoke with calmness, to hide her confusion and fear. “I’ll find out what happened. You’ve been a big help. Now, you’d better head back to the Schoolhouse—but on your way, stop down in the kitchen and tell Lydia I sent you to get something to eat. She always has some extra.”

  Nora slid off her chair and gave Rose’s hand an impulsive squeeze before running out of the room. Rose’s smile faded as soon as the door closed. For the first time since finding Hugh’s body, she was truly frightened. Until now, Mairin’s fear had always been associated with her terror of punishment. Otherwise, even violent death did not seem to touch her emotions. Something had happened in those woods, something terrifying enough to pierce even Mairin’s armor.

  THIRTEEN

  AFTER A NAP AND ANOTHER POULTICE, ROSE COULDN’T BEAR to stay in bed any longer. There was too much to be done. She poked at her knee. Its color was still ugly, but the swelling had subsided entirely, and if she was careful, she could move her leg with minimal pain. She eased to her feet and walked a few steps. With concentration, she could avoid limping.

  A plan began to form in her mind as she slipped her loose work dress over her head. Mairin must stay with the Shakers, to be raised and educated and cared for in the village. Rose had not felt so determined since the day she’d realized she was being called from the world back to the Society. Life with the New-Owenites would doom the girl; the Shakers could help her.

  She would talk to Celia, who was Mairin’s guardian—she’d probably be glad to see her go. Rose gathered up the journals and books she’d been studying, planning to return them to the Ministry library on her way out.

  She took the stairs slowly, leaning on the banister to lighten the load on her knee. Bringing along the stack of books had not been her wisest decision. Sometimes her Shaker nearness overwhelmed her common sense. At least she needn’t be too worried that Wilhelm might find her and question her reading material. During the afternoon, he usually preferred active work to spiritual study.

  A few steps from the bottom, the toe of her shoe caught on the hem of her long dress. She let the books fall. She had to, it was the only way she could grab the banister with both hands and keep from tumbling down the stairs. The volumes scattered. The largest, a book of memoirs, fell open and some colorful pages slid out. Mairin’s drawings. Rose must have stuffed them in a book without thinking.

  Rose steadied herself and caught her breath. She tested some weight on her injured knee. No additional damage. After thanking Holy Mother Wisdom for watching over her, Rose berated herself. Now she’d have to take the drawings back upstairs. Honestly, one would think she’d fallen on her head instead of her knee.

  The click of the front door startled her in mid-step. A forceful arm swept the door open to a blast of crisp air—and to Wilhelm. He saw Rose, frowned, saw the clutter of books on the floor, and frowned more deeply. Then he saw the drawings, and his expression cleared. He grabbed the pages, his wind-roughened features lit with excitement.

  “I doubt these are thy work,” he said. “Where did they come from?”

  Rose hesitated. She recognized the light in Wilhelm’s eyes—the fire of zealotry. In this mood, he was capable of anything. If he learned Mairin had drawn the pictures, the child would become his tool. He would use her to further his own ends, and never mind the consequences. Her sanity would be a small price to pay.

  “They are not what you think, Wilhelm.” She held out her hand for their return. “They are of no use to you.”

  “On the contrary, they interest me greatly.” Wilhelm ignored Rose’s hand and took the drawings into the library.

  Rose followed, avoiding the books still scattered at the foot of the stairs. When she caught up to him, Wilhelm had spread the drawings across the desk and was leaning close to them.

  “Where did you find these?” he demanded. “In one of those journals? They look like the work of a child; perhaps one of our own sisters was chosen as an instrument at a young age. Is there no hint as to the artist?” Wilhelm picked up the purple tree drawing and flipped it over. A crease appeared between his bushy, white eyebrows. “This paper is new. What kind of trick is this? Is this thy notion of a proper way to pass the time during thy convalescence?”

  Rose noted that it never entered his mind to wonder if she could be a chosen instrument. If it was her work, he assumed it was only time-wasting play. She sank into a chair, wishing she’d followed Josie’s orders and stayed in bed.

  “Unless . . .” The glint returned to Wilhelm’s eyes. “That girl in thy room, that New-Owenite child. Did she draw these?” He ran his blunt fingertips across the surface of all three pictures.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “she is not the lunatic she seemed to me. In my poor human blindness, I could not see. Chosen instruments have often been called mad by the world. Because the girl has been of the world, I failed to grasp the message sent so clearly by the Heavens—God has chosen her to carry out His will. She is to bring our two groups together and make us one. Only one of their own could lead the New-Owenites into the light of Mother Ann. A child shall lead them.”

  Wilhelm was no longer aware of Rose. His eyes devoured Mairin’s drawings, squinting at every detail. Rose slipped from the room. She closed the door behind her and released her breath in a long sigh.

  “Are you certain this isn’t too much for you?” Rose asked. “If you aren’t feeling strong enough, you have only to say so.”

  “Don’t fret, now,” Agatha said, waving her thin hand with a flash of her old impatience. “The girls and I will have a wonderful time. Gertrude can bring us tea and some of that lovely cider cake she keeps in a tin.” Nora’s and Mairin’s faces lit up at the mention of cider cake.

  “You know Gertrude is a terrible gossip,” Rose said.

  “Not if I tell her how important silence is for protecting the children.”

  “You’re probably right,” Rose said. Gertrude would enjoy keeping silent more than having a good gossip, as long as she believed it was for the higher good.

  “Hand me that basket, would you, Rose?” Agatha’s thin hand waved toward her desk, where a basket lay covered with a piece of scrap cloth. Rose set it on Agatha’s lap.

  “My dears, look what Sarah brought for you.” Agatha pulled aside the cloth and lifted out two dolls, identical except for the colors of their dresses and their hair. They were made entirely of cloth, hand-sewn, with smiling embroidered faces. Agath
a handed to Nora a doll in a dark blue Shaker work dress with a white kerchief pinned over its bodice. A few strands of embroidered black hair showed beneath the doll’s thin white cap. Nora squealed and held the doll to her chest.

  Agatha handed the second doll to Mairin. Its dress was of fine butternut wool, also covered across the bodice with a white kerchief. One red curl had been embroidered on the doll’s head, so that it peaked out from under her cap.

  Mairin held the doll delicately, as if she feared it would break. She looked up at Agatha.

  “Do I have to give it back?”

  “Nay, child, the doll is yours forever.”

  Nora had already begun telling a story with her doll. Mairin placed hers on her lap and began to rock gently.

  “I suggested to Sarah that she make a doll for each of the girls,” Agatha said. “They’ve had so little in their lives, and it’s not as if they’ve signed the Covenant and vowed to share everything in common. They are only children, after all.”

  “The dolls are lovely,” Rose said. “Was it your idea that Mairin’s should look a bit like me?”

  Agatha merely smiled.

  “Run along now, Rose. Do what you need to do.”

  “I’ll leave them in your hands, then. Nora, Mairin, do you solemnly promise me you will stay here with Agatha until I come to get you?”

  Both girls nodded, and Rose left. It was the best she could do, to keep Mairin safely out of sight for a time. She hoped it was enough. But worry plagued her as she set out for the South Family Dwelling House. When she had picked up Mairin after school, the girl had been as blank as a new ledger page—no sign of the fear Nora had reported, nor of any other emotion. She had not seemed to notice Rose’s outstretched hand. Perhaps the new doll, and Agatha’s influence, would bring Mairin back.

  Then there was the problem of Wilhelm. Rose was fairly certain she knew what he would be planning, now that he had Mairin’s drawings. He’d called a Union Meeting for that evening, and she’d had no justifiable reason to object. He had already sent word to the New-Owenites to attend, as an opportunity to learn. She knew what he would attempt to teach them. She also believed the New-Owenites would never agree to leave Mairin with the Shakers, once they saw her as a pawn for Wilhelm. She could see only one option at the moment—she had to convince the New-Owenites that she did not agree with Wilhelm, that she would support the New-Owenites in their resistance to conversion. She could start by warning them, at least indirectly, about Wilhelm’s probable plans for the Union Meeting and by urging them not to attend.

  The foyer, parlor, and family meeting room of the South Family Dwelling House were all empty—messy, but uninhabited. Rose heard a murmur of voices coming from upstairs, so she resisted the temptation to clean, and she climbed toward the second-floor retiring rooms, resting her knee every few steps. She looked into the first room, on her right at the top of the stairs. It had once held eight beds, and surely it had seemed less crowded than now, when it contained only two beds and three people. The air reeked of cigarette smoke and unwashed linens.

  In addition to the built-in drawers, two large dressers stood along the wall, obscuring the window. Drawers hung open to show unfolded clothing piled inside. Rose counted five ladder-back chairs and two rockers, all serving as clothes hangers. The wall pegs were empty. A full-length mirror leaned against the wall facing the doorway, throwing Rose into momentary confusion. She had never seen herself in a full-length mirror, wearing traditional Shaker garb. Only her pale, freckled face and her hands showed, in stark contrast to the other female inhabitant of the room.

  Celia Griffiths sat cross-legged on an unmade bed, her feet bare and her loose trouser legs hiked up to her knees, revealing shapely calves. Her ivory silk blouse was unbuttoned about an inch below the point of modesty. She stared at Rose as she took a long drag on a cigarette and stubbed it out in an empty jam jar.

  Gilbert Griffiths and Earl Weston occupied the two rockers. They, too, were smoking, and they shared, as an ashtray, one of the Society’s white soup bowls perched on an ash-dusted oval candle table.

  Over the years, Rose had come to know and accept her human flaws, even as she strove for perfection, as did all Believers. But the one trait that still conquered her will was her temper. Agatha had taught her dozens of prayers pleading for patience, and she knew them all by heart. The litany raced through her mind, as it had on other trying occasions. She felt herself calming down. Then Earl allowed his cigarette ash to drop on the pine floor. Rose gave up her prayers.

  “Is this how you care for your own belongings, or do you reserve such behavior for when you are guests in another’s home?” Rose tried to keep her voice low and steady, but the fury was unmistakable. Celia and Earl were surprised into silence, while Gilbert jumped to his feet and stubbed out his cigarette.

  “So very sorry,” he said. “We forgot you folks don’t smoke. Earl, put that thing out. Vile habit, of course, but I’m afraid we’re just more lax about such things. We become so engrossed in our struggle to bring education and happiness to mankind that I suppose we do tend to forget the niceties.”

  Perhaps he meant for his smile to be engaging, but it sent Rose’s temper into the danger zone. Her hand jerked, as if to express her impulse to slap his self-satisfied face. Her own surge of anger alarmed her, and this time she prayed harder. She threw herself on the mercy of Holy Mother Wisdom and felt, finally, a blessed calm quench her rage. She breathed in deeply.

  “We no longer smoke or drink alcohol,” she said, “out of concern for our health, but we certainly do not tell others that they must do the same. However, we must insist that you not smoke inside our buildings. Most of them are old and susceptible to fire. We don’t want you to be hurt.”

  “Of course, of course,” Gilbert said. “We will do our smoking out of doors from now on, I can assure you of that.”

  Rose was not assured, but she merely nodded.

  Gilbert cocked his narrow head like a thin bird. “May I ask to what we owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

  Rose blinked rapidly. Did this man ever speak from his heart? She trusted Wilhelm more—at least she knew his true dreams. But Gilbert—was he a zealot, or just an irritating but clever con artist? She regretted the need to warn these people of Wilhelm’s plan, but it had to be done. There was no chance at all that they might be tempted to become Believers, and heaven forbid that they should!

  Gilbert swept some papers off the woven seat of a ladder-back chair and offered it to Rose, who shook her head.

  “Nay, I’ll only be a minute. I’m here to bring you a warning of sorts. As you may or may not already know, Wilhelm hopes you will all choose to become Believers.”

  Gilbert’s eyebrows rose slightly, but otherwise none of the New-Owenites showed much reaction. Earl seemed to be suppressing a smile.

  “You’ve heard that Wilhelm has called a Union Meeting for tonight, after the evening meal, and he is urging you to attend. I urge you not to.”

  “And yet we’ve never actually seen one of your Union Meetings,” Gilbert said, “though we’ve heard about them, of course.”

  Earl broke into a smile. “Yes, I imagine they are quite a relief, given how little contact is allowed between your men and women.”

  In fact, the meetings did provide sisters and brethren a way to chat in a safe and chaste setting, but Rose was not about to feed Earl’s worldly amusement at the Shakers’ expense.

  “Normally, it would not be worth your while to attend, but believe me, this evening’s meeting is likely to be unpleasant for you. I’ll leave it at that.” Rose retied her bonnet and turned to leave.

  Gilbert rushed forward to hold the door for her. Rose paused to gather her cloak more tightly around her skirt, so she wouldn’t brush against him on the way out.

  “Thank you for the warning,” he said. “We will certainly keep your words in mind.” An undertone in Gilbert’s matter-of-fact voice brought Rose’s gaze to his face. His smile was pleasa
nt, his gray eyes absent of malice. But Rose was glad to leave.

  FOURTEEN

  BY SOME MIRACLE, MAIRIN AND NORA HAD WORN OUT BEFORE Agatha. When Rose checked on them, just before the Union Meeting, both girls were wrapped in blankets and snoozing on Agatha’s bed. Mairin’s Shaker sister doll lay against her cheek. Gertrude had returned to lend a hand, which kept her from revealing Mairin’s whereabouts, while allowing her a chance to gossip to Agatha. Rose excused Gertrude from the meeting and asked her to stay in Agatha’s retiring room until Josie arrived to put the girls to bed.

  As soon as she entered the Center Family meeting room, Rose was thankful she’d tucked Mairin away out of sight. The New-Owenites, all of them, had arrived and were clustered together at one end of the room.

  Rows of ladder-back chairs faced each other across a space large enough to prevent contact, but small enough for voices to carry to aging ears. The windows were shuttered against the damp chill of the November evening. To save electricity, as few lamps as possible were lit, and shapeless shadows of Shaker clothing flowed across the walls.

  In the old days, the elders and eldresses would have assigned Believers to specific seats, to prevent romances, but in North Homage such strictness hadn’t been necessary for years. Conversation with the dwindling number of brethren was shared without jealousy or favoritism by the sisters. Tonight, however, the New-Owenites added a new wrinkle. Many of the sisters, especially the older ones, were shy about talking with men of the world, so they quickly seated themselves across from brethren. Two or three sisters would lean together nervously, clearly planning to share one brother.

  The New-Owenites seemed to be biding their time. At first Rose feared they would refuse to sit down. Perhaps they would actually try to take over the meeting. Then they began, one at a time, to find seats, always after it had become clear which Shaker would be in the opposite seat.

  Andrew sat at the end of the brethren’s row, and at once Celia glided across the room to sit facing him. A sister heading his direction changed her mind, leaving the seat next to Celia unoccupied. Celia wore an evening-length gray silk dress that clung to her body and formed a soft drape outlining her thigh as she crossed her legs. Andrew looked startled but not alarmed. He was, after all, used to conversing with women from the world. Rose felt a twinge of emotion that she did not care to identify. She thought it best not to sit next to Celia and appear to be vying for Andrew’s attention.