A Simple Shaker Murder

by Deborah Woodworth

  “As trustee, can you come up with a reason to make an immediate trip to Indiana?” Rose asked.

  “Indiana? I suppose so, but why . . . Indiana is where the New-Owenites came from, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed. I heard they’ve been living somewhere east of Bloomington for the last few years. The rest of them are still there, as I understand it, waiting for word from their leaders about where and when to move. My guess is there are people who know the New-Owenites far better than we do and can give us an accurate accounting.”

  “And you want me to go there and see what I can find out?”

  “Yea, if you can manage it without making Wilhelm or Gilbert suspicious.”

  “What should I be looking for? Anything in particular?”

  “This may sound odd,” Rose said, “but I seem to have too much information at the moment. I can’t sort my way through it. Some of the stories we’ve gotten are inconsistent. For instance, was Hugh soft-hearted, or did he beat Mairin and keep his wife a virtual prisoner? Are we to believe that Hugh was despondent over gambling debts and hanged himself? Or was he a monster who invited murder? I can’t shake the fear that Mairin saw something terrible and that she is in mortal danger, but I can prove nothing. I need to know what the truth is.”

  Andrew rubbed his chin and nodded slowly. “That doesn’t sound in the least odd. To be honest, I’ve had some of the same questions. Celia, for instance. And Gilbert. Are they what they seem?” Andrew glanced over at Rose. “I had an uncomfortable conversation with Celia yesterday evening at the Union Meeting.”

  Rose encouraged him with raised eyebrows.

  “I’m afraid she was rather . . .” Andrew fidgeted with a pen. “Well, she was downright worldly.”

  “I saw how she was dressed. It astonished me that Wilhelm did not object. You seemed untroubled, or I would have intervened.”

  “Nay, it posed no problem for me, but I was irritated that she would try to distract me. It was so clearly a calculated effort. She showed no respect for our faith.”

  “If I may ask, what did she say to you?”

  Andrew’s cheeks reddened. Rose was surprised, since Andrew had once been married and was well accustomed to dealing with the world.

  “I want you to know,” Andrew said. “She asked about my background, my marriage and all sorts of highly personal information like that. She paid no attention to the drawings, by the way. It was as if she had rehearsed a part and was going to deliver it, no matter what. After a while, she began speaking in a low voice, and I found myself leaning forward to hear her. She asked if I ever thought about . . .” Andrew took a deep breath. “About being with a woman again. She suggested it was unnatural for a man my age to embrace celibacy when I’d already had a wife and children. I tried to change the subject, but she ignored my efforts. Just after Gilbert got up to leave, she looked into my eyes and told me that she was coming into a lot of money, and she had no one interesting to spend it with. Then she told me to ‘think about it’ and let her know my feelings soon.” Andrew laughed without mirth. “This feels like a confession,” he said.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong. Celia treated you with disrespect.”

  Andrew sauntered toward a window. After, a moment of silence, he looked back at Rose.

  “What did Gilbert say to you?”

  “Gilbert?”

  “Yea, at the Union Meeting. Gilbert spoke to you at length. You looked uncomfortable to me, so I was just wondering if he was as insensitive to you as Celia was to me.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I feel much relieved for having told you my experience. Perhaps I can offer you the same relief, if it is necessary. And together we will have more information to work with.”

  “Ah, you will be an elder someday, Andrew.”

  “Nay, thank you, but I’ve no interest. Tell me about Gilbert.”

  She did. Andrew stayed by the window; he seemed to know that she needed distance from him to talk about Gilbert’s impropriety.

  “So,” Rose concluded, “it seems that both of their performances were orchestrated. But why? Did they plan it together, hoping we were weak links and would convert to their world more easily than some others? Or did each of them behave independently? It sounds as if Celia hopes to leave the New-Owenites, with Hugh’s money, whatever is left of it, and in the company of a man. Gilbert would hardly be happy with that plan.”

  “But he might have instructed her to pretend,” Andrew said.

  “Perhaps. I still have difficulty believing Celia could be so much under Gilbert’s influence.” Rose heaved a sigh and pushed out of her chair. “What do you say? Will you go to Indiana and try to find the answers to some of these questions?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. It might be awkward to contact you while I’m gone.”

  “If you learn something important and feel it can’t wait,” Rose said, “call through the Infirmary. Josie will understand.”

  SEVENTEEN

  WILHELM ARCHED HIS EYEBROWS WHEN ROSE ENTERED THE Ministry House dining room for breakfast the next morning. The sun had just begun to rise and the small room was lit by two candles and a few gray streaks from the windows. Lately Wilhelm seemed to be avoiding the use of electricity whenever possible.

  “I am surprised to see thee,” he said. “Does this mean thy heavy duties allow thee time to discuss Society matters with me?”

  Rose forced a cheerful expression and took a sip of tea. “We do have a few items to discuss, Wilhelm. May I have some bread?”

  “Where is the child?” Wilhelm asked, as he pushed serving plates toward her. “The girl should be here with us. I have questions to ask her.”

  “I’m sure you do, but Mairin is still sleeping.”

  “Sleeping? I’ve been up doing chores for an hour. She will never make a Shaker this way.”

  Rose thought it a good moment to take a bite of bread.

  “Has she had more gift drawings?” Wilhelm’s expression brightened. “Is that why she is sleeping through the morning—because she was up in the night, drawing?”

  Lies did not come easily to Rose, so she chewed slowly and thought quickly. “Mairin has terrible nightmares,” she said finally. She had hesitated a moment too long.

  “So,” Wilhelm said, tapping the air with his fork, “the ‘nightmares’ are her trances, her experience of being an instrument. If she were a Believer, of course, the experience would be blissful, but at least she has been lucky enough to be chosen.” He slathered strawberry jam on a second slice of bread. “Bring the drawings here as soon as we’ve finished. I want to examine them.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. You’ll leave that poor child alone.” Tact, Rose, tact, she thought, as Wilhelm’s face tightened in fury. “I don’t want to wake her. Her health has been damaged by years of neglect.”

  “As soon as she has awakened, then. I need to see those drawings as early as possible today, to be prepared.”

  Rose was losing her appetite. “Prepared?” she asked. “Prepared for what?”

  “For the worship service, of course.” Wilhelm pushed back his chair and stood. “One is scheduled for tomorrow evening. Do thy plans still allow time for such frivolity as worship?”

  “Wilhelm, I know we have a worship service coming up, but I don’t see what Mairin’s drawings have to do with it. You showed them at the Union Meeting, and the New-Owenites ignored them. The last time you invited them to a worship service, they walked out. I doubt they’d bother to attend another.”

  “They will if Mairin is there.”

  “Wilhelm!” Rose stood and faced him, hands on hips. “I will not have you put that child on display, all so you can win converts!”

  Wilhelm leaned over the table on his fists. Instinctively Rose took a half step back, then forced herself forward again. She was not a novitiate; she had survived many battles with Wilhelm. She had seen those eyes turn to blue slits above a grinding jaw. He might startle her, but he no longer frightened her.

  “It is not thy
place to withhold gifts from the Society—thy sisters and brethren, or does that no longer mean anything to thee? Those drawings are gifts from Mother Ann. They belong to all of us. They are a message to all of us, for our protection and our future. It is thy duty, as eldress, to share those drawings with everyone.”

  Rose was torn almost beyond endurance. She truly did not know if Mairin’s drawings were gifts from Mother Ann or the products of a child’s tortured mind. Yet how could she, a Believer, deny that Mother Ann might be speaking through the child, if for nothing else than to save her life? If there was the slightest chance that the drawings were Mother Ann’s Work, then they belonged to the whole Society.

  “I will bring the drawings to the worship service,” Rose said. “But Mairin must stay away.”

  “She must be there.”

  “Nay, she is too fragile. I won’t allow it.”

  Rose and Wilhelm were still hissing at one another when the kitchen door swung open and Lydia appeared, holding a folded sheet of paper.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but . . .”

  Two pairs of blazing eyes turned on her. To her credit, though her mouth hung open in alarm, Lydia didn’t slink back into the kitchen. She held out the piece of paper toward Wilhelm, who frowned at it as if it were a poison mushroom.

  “What’s that?”

  “A message, Elder. From Andrew.”

  “Well, why didn’t he come in himself?”

  “It wasn’t him brought the message, it was another one of the brethren.”

  Wilhelm’s frown deepened. “Give it here. And clean up now—we’re finished.”

  Lydia slid over to Rose’s side of the table, perhaps thinking it safer, and gathered up an armload of dishes. She hurried back into the kitchen.

  Wilhelm read the note, then crumpled it and tossed it on his soiled plate.

  “What is it, Wilhelm?”

  “Nothing. No concern of thine.” He reached the dining room door and turned back to her. “I want to see those drawings before the service,” he said, and was gone.

  Stifling her guilt, Rose reached across the table and grabbed the crumpled paper on Wilhelm’s plate. Hearing Lydia push on the kitchen door, Rose stuffed the note inside her kerchief and hurried out of the dining room. The parlor was empty, so she closed the door behind her and smoothed the paper on the desk. It said:

  Having problems with some customers in Ohio and Indiana not paying as promptly as they should. Given our current financial situation, have decided on quick personal visits. Left by train last night, but didn’t want to disturb you. Back in a couple of days.

  Andrew

  Rose couldn’t help grinning. It was clever of Andrew to slip off so quickly, giving Wilhelm no time to object. It was the sort of plan she would have followed, when she was trustee and more subject to Wilhelm’s control. Even more clever was Andrew’s pointed reference to the village’s financial dilemma, caused by the New-Owenites—and, indirectly, by Wilhelm. No wonder Wilhelm had said it was not her business.

  Placing the note back under her kerchief, Rose climbed the stairs to her retiring room to awaken Mairin, get her some breakfast, and deliver her to the Schoolhouse, where Charlotte was waiting to give her some extra Saturday lessons. Rose was eager to pursue her own investigation of the New-Owenites. She did not delude herself that Andrew’s note would leave Wilhelm chastened enough to give up his dream. In fact, it was likely to have the opposite effect—Wilhelm might feel increasing pressure to bring the New-Owenites into the fold, so that they would be giving as well as taking.

  Hoping not to frighten Mairin, Rose tiptoed through the door and eased it closed behind her. She turned around and saw immediately that Mairin was not in the room. Her small nightgown was once again thrown across her unmade bed, and her clothes were gone. Her Shaker doll, somewhat crumpled from frequent hugging, lay on the pillow. Rose was getting used to Mairin’s disappearances, so she calmed herself with the thought that the girl probably was preparing for the day, as she had done before.

  Rose went down the hall to the bathroom and called Mairin’s name. There was no answer. She phoned downstairs and checked in the kitchen. Nay, Mairin had not been there. Now Rose was ready to panic. Wilhelm had left the dining room in a hurry. What if he had somehow spirited away the sleeping child, while Rose was shut in the parlor? Surely he wouldn’t do such a thing. But he might have asked Sister Elsa Pike to do it. Elsa was the one sister who blindly followed Wilhelm and paid little attention to Rose, her eldress.

  A call to the Center Family Dwelling House, where Elsa lived, went unanswered, so Rose called the Laundry. Gretchen answered and assured Rose that Elsa had been ironing since breakfast and had not been gone for even a moment.

  Rose hung up the wall phone and caught her breath. Mairin had left her doll as she did when she went to school. All right, Rose decided, she’d check one more place. And then she’d panic. There was no point in calling the Schoolhouse. The phone was tucked away in the hallway, and Charlotte often didn’t hear it.

  The Schoolhouse was quiet as Rose entered the front door. She peeked into the classroom and saw Charlotte’s thin white cap and Mairin’s light brown fuzz bent close to each other over an open book.

  “Mairin!”

  The girl’s serious look brightened at the sound of Rose’s voice. But Rose’s relief had unaccountably turned to anger.

  “Mairin, you mustn’t ever leave without telling me.” Rose’s voice was harsher than she’d intended—harsher than she’d ever used except with Wilhelm, when it was hard to get his attention. She knew instantly she’d made a mistake. Mairin’s happiness at seeing her evaporated. The girl’s skin was just dark enough to hide a flush, but Rose saw misery dull her eyes as her face became a blank mask.

  Rose knelt beside Mairin’s chair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. I was afraid something bad had happened to you, and that made me sound angry. Can you understand that? Please forgive me.”

  “You were afraid for me?”

  “Yea, child, very afraid. I don’t want any harm to come to you; that’s why I need to know where you are when you aren’t with me or Agatha. Okay?”

  Mairin’s expression cleared.

  “I’ll tell you what. Promise me that you’ll always let me or Josie take you to school. Will you do that?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. And if you have to visit the bathroom during the night and don’t want to wake me, just write me a quick note, okay? Then I won’t worry.”

  To Rose’s alarm, Mairin hung her head. Charlotte placed a hand on Mairin’s shoulder. “It’s all right, dear. No one blames you. Rose, Mairin was never taught to read and write. I only just realized it yesterday, and that’s why we’ve decided to spend extra hours on lessons. Mairin is quite eager, but she was embarrassed to have you know.”

  Rose lost her temper more easily than she wept, so it surprised both Charlotte and herself when the tears appeared and spilled over her eyelids. “Of course,” she said, “take as much time as you need. I’ll help, too, when I can, and as you learn, I’m sure Agatha would love to be read to.”

  “Mairin, would you go to the storeroom and get more paper for me?” Charlotte asked.

  “Sorry,” Rose said, once Mairin was gone. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “I don’t usually blubber like that. If anything, I’m furious. Gilbert Griffiths is always spouting off about the value of education—why on earth didn’t he insist Mairin get reading lessons? I’m quite sure she has the ability.”

  “Oh, she has the ability,” Charlotte said. “She learned her alphabet in one morning. And don’t ask me to explain those people. It seems to me they’ve treated Mairin like some sort of freak show they captured in the wilds. They just want to show her off, but they don’t seem to have taken her seriously as a human being. I hope you’re planning to put a stop to it.”

  “Oh, I am,” Rose said. “I most certainly am.”

  Rose squatted in the small
Ministry House garden, pulling out dead roots and breaking up the soil. It was a task that didn’t truly need to be done, but Rose couldn’t just wait and do nothing. She was watching for an opportunity to search the South Family Dwelling House. While waiting for Andrew’s report, she intended to find out everything she could about the New-Owenites and their reasons for being in North Homage.

  Gertrude had said none of the New-Owenites had shown up for breakfast. She’d called all the workshops, and none of them had reported visitors yet that morning. So the visitors must have slept in; perhaps they were even now deepening the mess in the South Family kitchen.

  She counted the New-Owenites one by one as they strolled from the building. Gilbert first, then Earl, followed by Celia and the others. They went in different directions, as if they had assignments. Rose waited until the last one was out of sight before she slipped around to the back of the dwelling house. She entered by way of the cellar door Mairin had shown her. She moved quickly through the storage rooms and even faster through the frightful kitchen and up the stairs to the main floor hallway. There she paused for a few moments, listening. Aside from the tick-tock of the large clock in the hallway, she heard nothing to indicate human presence.

  She took the women’s staircase out of habit, though she guessed she was as likely to run into a man as a woman on these stairs. She must be getting used to the filth. Mother Ann had told them always to “keep a clean habitation,” and Rose had taken the advice to heart, but she was able to stay calm as she noticed the dust gathering in the corners of the stairs. There was more important work to be done. Once this was over, the sisters could give the dwelling house a thorough cleaning, and she would talk with Wilhelm about a sweeping ritual, too, to restore purity.

  Most of the first-floor retiring room doors were ajar, which made Rose’s task easier. She peeked in the room she had already visited. It was little changed, except that the chairs were empty. The room looked as if it had already been torn apart in a search, so Rose set to work without taking much care to replace items as she’d found them. If anything, she had to stop herself from neatening up as she moved among the drawers and cabinets.