A Simple Shaker Murder (19 page)

“We can't go on this way,” she said. “Have you spoken with Wilhelm? What does he say?”

“He won't even discuss it. He says it's worth the investment. I thought, with your authority . . .”

Rose stared again at the ledger and shook her head. “Two hundred dollars for furniture? I thought Matthew and Archibald were spending all their time repairing furniture for the South Family Dwelling House. How much furniture can a group of seven visitors need?”

“I asked Gilbert the same question, and he was vague, so I called Si at the Languor Furniture Store and asked him for a list. It seems they bought items such as full-length mirrors and new mattresses. Gilbert told Si he had authorization from Wilhelm to charge what they needed to the Society. Si said they put in an order for a couple of double beds, too. He said he wondered about that, what with our being Shakers and all. I took it upon myself to cancel the order. I haven't told Gilbert or Wilhelm.”

“Nor do you need to, Andrew. I will take care of this myself.” Anxiety had turned to anger, a more familiar emotion for Rose, and a more welcome one at the moment. “You may call Si, and these other merchants as well, and tell them all not to extend any more credit to any non-Believer. Wilhelm should never have authorized this without consulting with me first. He frequently forgets that I am now eldress.”

“Wilhelm has little use for women,” Andrew said.

“Wilhelm has little use for me, in particular,” Rose said, with a bitter laugh.

“Then he is a fool.”

Both sensed danger at this point and scraped their chairs farther apart.

“I'm afraid there's even more bad news,” Andrew said, a shade too quickly. “I got worried and began checking around the rest of the village. I borrowed a few journals from the deacons and deaconesses, and this is what I discovered.”

He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and handed it to Rose. It contained two columns—on the left, a list of the village's food and nonfood stores, as recorded by the Shaker deacons and deaconesses in their journals, and on the right, an inventory of those same stores, dated the day before.

“Our stores are disappearing,” Rose said. “Don't tell me the New-Owenites have just been helping themselves and not even telling us. I thought surely Wilhelm would have rationed an amount for them, as we would with any guests.”

“The deacons and deaconesses were as shocked as we are, though they had noticed that items seemed to be disappearing. They thought they were at fault for not recording accurately.”

“But how can this be? We put locks on the storeroom doors. Even Wilhelm agreed we had to do so, given the times.” It had been one of Rose's easier victories, once she'd reminded Wilhelm that the Millennial Laws had once called for locking up the stores. “Do you suppose . . . ?”

“Yea, I'm fairly certain,” Andrew said. “Somehow the New-Owenites have gotten keys to our storerooms, most probably from Wilhelm. They are draining our reserves. At this rate, we won't have food through the winter, even without guests.”

Andrew's long bones seemed to melt against his chair with weariness. “I'm afraid,” he said, “this is a battle we will need you to fight. I will do whatever I can to help.”

Rose leaned back, as well. In silence, she let her gaze run over the neatly organized cubbyholes stacked on her side of the desk, and their twins on Andrew's side. Andrew was lax about some Society customs, such as hair length and authentic clothing, but his organizing skills were above reproach, as was his devotion to his faith. She could trust him. The seeds of a plan germinated in her mind.

“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.”

W
ILHELM ARCHED HIS EYEBROWS WHEN
R
OSE 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.