A Simple Shaker Murder (24 page)

“Robert Owen?” Rose asked. “Do you mean the Robert Owen of a century ago?”

“Really, Gil, I have to agree with Celia.” Earl reached over and squeezed Celia's hand. “It's hard for me to believe that Mairin, of all people, would have what it takes to be a medium. Surely, guiding a seance is beyond her meager capabilities. Drawing pictures is a far cry from speaking with the spirit world.” He flashed a friendly smile at Rose. “You've been more than kind to her, but I can't help feeling she should be in an institution. She isn't quite right in the head. One never knows what she'll say or do next. Putting her under the strain of a seance would just be cruel.”

“You are planning a seance, with Mairin speaking for Robert Owen?” Rose stood up to command attention. “You will do no such thing!”

“Calm thyself,” Wilhelm said. “We are discussing a simple worship service, with Mairin attending. If Mother Ann thinks
she is not strong enough, then Mother Ann will not continue to choose her as an instrument.”

Rose sank back in her chair, despair sapping her strength. Wilhelm and Gilbert had each made up his mind about the nature of the proposed worship service, and no amount of arguing would show them that neither of them could have it all his way. In the ensuing fiasco, Mairin might be destroyed forever.

“I agree with Celia and Earl,” Rose said, trying to hide her distaste. “Mairin isn't up to it. Even attending a worship service, or whatever this is, would be too taxing for her. She is frail. She needs quiet and nourishment, to build her strength. I propose we put off this idea until she is truly well enough.”

Gilbert flung back his head and stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. Moments of silence passed, and Rose dared to hope that she had persuaded him.

“If we are to delay the seance,” Gilbert said, smoothing back his few remaining hairs, “then I want her returned to our care. We will build up her strength. You are far too busy, and it isn't your responsibility, anyway.”

“Gilbert, no, not again.” Celia's whining voice drowned out Rose's objection. “I don't know what to do with her.”

“Now, Cel,” Earl said, “it won't be that bad. Tell you what, I'll help. I'm a bit at loose ends now, anyway, with Hugh gone. I'll take her riding—the Shakers have horses, I've seen them—and that'll make her strong in no time. You'll see.”

“Oh, must we? Earl, you know how hard I've tried with that girl.”

“I know, Cel. You've done your best.”

Celia gave her shiny hair a subtle toss. “At least
someone
understands what I've been through.”

“What
have
you been through?” Rose asked curtly.

All eyes turned to her.

“You see,” Rose explained, “it isn't clear to me that any one of you has bothered to work with Mairin. It seems you've all just passed her on to the next person, and no one has actually kept her. Charlotte has been spending extra hours teaching
her—did you know that? Mairin can neither read nor write. Yet she is clearly capable of learning. Agatha and I have made quite a bit of progress with helping her eat at a moderate rate; she has learned quickly. I can't believe that any of you, including Hugh, ever spent more than five minutes with her.”

Even Wilhelm sat in stunned silence. Celia's lips were parted over white teeth.
I see she takes care of her own teeth
, Rose thought. Apparently one visit to a doctor, to diagnose her rickets, was all Mairin had ever been allowed.

A slow flush spread up the fair skin of Celia's neck and face. “How
dare
you speak to me that way? What would you know about being a mother? You haven't had to live with the monster for the past two years, with no one to help, and these men who think all they have to do is dump the kid on me, and she'll magically become
like
me. Well, it isn't that easy, you know. That girl will never be like me!”

For which I give profound thanks
. Rose was wise enough to keep this prayer to herself.

“We do understand how hard it's been for you, Cel,” Earl said gently. “You've been a saint and more.”

“Yes, of course,” Gilbert murmured.

“No, I don't think you do understand, not really. I tried and tried to get her to eat right, but she gobbled like a wild animal. It was repulsive. She never listened to me, even when I gave her a good slap and sent her to bed without supper.”

“You . . . found it necessary to hit her?” Rose asked. “How often?”

“Well,
you
try controlling a wild creature without a whipping! In the beginning, she was so crazy I had to whip her practically every day and keep her locked in her room.” Celia's sapphire eyes narrowed into slits. “And before you go judging me, just remember that she's only good with you because of all my work! It's certainly nothing
you've
done.”

Fire shot through her muscles, but Rose steadied her voice. “So, the whippings . . . you believe they worked?”

“You bet they did. For a while, anyway. Until she started running away.” Celia's harsh laugh almost broke through
Rose's self-control. “Mairin
wants
to be uncivilized. I think it's in her blood—well, I mean, look who her mother was.”

“Celia, you don't mean that!” Gilbert said, his hands fluttering.

Rose was distracted from her own shock by what she saw on the faces around her. Celia sulked, and Earl set about soothing her in a low voice. Gilbert seemed more flustered than angry, which puzzled Rose. Supposedly, the New-Owenites agreed with the Shakers that all races were equal, or else why would Gilbert choose Mairin to prove himself as a social reformer?
Unless
, she thought,
Hugh's money—probably soon to be Celia's—is so important to him that he'll cast aside his cherished beliefs to avoid alienating her
.

Wilhelm was grim, and so he should be. Surely he must now see that these people could never be good Shakers.

“We have discussed this enough,” Wilhelm said. “Bring Mairin to the worship service tomorrow evening, and we will let Mother Ann decide whether the girl is strong enough or civilized enough to be a chosen instrument.”

Rose closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Wilhelm was too devoted to his plan to see what was before him.

“I agree,” Gilbert said. “Whether it's the shade of Robert Owen or Mother Ann, bring Mairin tomorrow evening, and let the spirit world decide.”

“Nay,” Rose said, “I will not.”

“I must remind you,” Gilbert said, “that Mairin is not your charge. Since you refuse to cooperate with us, I'm afraid we must demand you give her back to us. She is no longer your concern.”

“She is very much my concern, and I will not turn her over to you. If you are truly Mairin's guardians, then you should be able to show me documentation to prove it. Can you?”

The silence answered her question. “Then Mairin stays with me. It is a matter of conscience, since it is clear she has suffered under your so-called care.”

“I warn you, we'll call the sheriff and get him out here, if we have to.” Gilbert's pedantic style did not lend itself well
to authority. He sounded more like a whining little boy.

“Then by all means, do so.” Ignoring the painful twinge in her knee, Rose spun around and left the parlor, to prevent herself from saying everything else that was on her mind.

Afraid of wakening Mairin, Rose eased into her dark retiring room and quietly closed the door. She thought she heard a whimpering sound, as if the girl were having bad dreams. She stood a moment and let her eyes adjust until she could make out Marin's bed, with its jumbled pile of sheets and blankets. She tiptoed toward it. The bed was empty.

In panic, Rose switched on the bedside lamp. She heard a cry from the corner, and she turned toward it. As earlier, Mairin was a small, tight ball, her arms thrown protectively over her head.

Rose knelt in front of her. “Did you have a very bad dream, Mairin? Did it frighten you to find me gone when you woke up?”

Mairin breathed in short gasps and said nothing.

“Can't you tell me what is wrong?”

Mairin didn't move.

Rose rolled off her still-tender knee. She didn't dare touch Mairin, let alone pick her up. Perhaps it was time to call Josie.

“I'll be right back,” Rose said. “I'll just be out in the hall, if you need me.”

Josie promised to come quickly with a strong batch of peppermint-valerian tea, and Rose returned to her room, switching on all the lights as she entered. Across the room from where Mairin still crouched, Rose saw a small pile of fabric on the floor, which she recognized as Mairin's winter cloak, selected for her from the spare clothing the Shakers kept on hand for children. She hadn't needed it yet, and it had been hanging undisturbed, tied snuggly over a wall peg. Rose's ingrained instinct to be tidy sent her toward it.

Rose was surprised it had fallen off. Her gaze shifted automatically to the hanger. It hung askew from its wall peg, pulled off balance by an object tied to one side. It was Mairin's
doll. She still wore her butternut Sabbathday dress, but the kerchief had been removed from her chest One corner squeezed the doll's soft neck like a vise. The other end was knotted to the hanger.

Mairin was still curled tightly across the room, as far from the doll as she could get. Rose watched her, paralyzed by uncertainty—and by fear. Had someone sneaked into the room during the day and arranged the doll so horribly, just to terrify Mairin? Had Mairin awakened, decided to run away, and found the doll like that? Or had the girl hanged the doll herself, out of anger with Rose?

Rose had just pulled down the doll and hidden it in a drawer when Josie arrived. She said nothing as Josie gathered Mairin in her plump arms and guided her back to bed. The girl obediently sipped her tea and closed her eyes when told to, as if her will had broken. After a whispered thanks to Josie, Rose moved her rocker next to Mairin's bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, and watched the child sleep. As her own weary eyes closed, Rose sent a silent plea to Mother Ann to show her how to help Mairin—or to make it clear that she could not.

Mairin spent a restless night, despite the sedating tea. Though Rose had left the paper and crayons near at hand, Mairin did no more drawing. In the morning, she seemed to have withdrawn into herself entirely and did not speak as she dressed. Rose did not push her. Neither mentioned the previous night. The girl's eyes were dull and puffy; Rose wondered if she had only pretended to sleep.

Since the Sunday worship service had been moved to evening at the request of the New-Owenites, the day was open. The Shakers, of course, treated it as a work day, taking the opportunity to tackle projects they needed to catch up on, such as preserving, repairing, and thorough cleaning. Charlotte had planned a morning of school for Mairin and the Shaker children, to make up for the missed hours the morning of Hugh's death. Then she'd scheduled a nature walk. Rose would be free to work on the answers to her list of puzzling questions.

A piercing north wind further discouraged conversation as Rose and Mairin walked toward the Schoolhouse. Mairin had refused to wear her cloak, so Rose had given her a wool kerchief to wrap around her shoulders. The girl kept her head down. Rose had tied another kerchief around the girl's ears to keep them warm. Without the cloud of hair around her face, Mairin looked even tinier than usual. Rose tried to think of something soothing to say. Nothing came to mind. She wished Agatha were with them.

They were late. When they arrived, school had already started. Rose took Mairin around to the back entrance, so she could slip in through the storeroom and into the classroom without drawing attention to herself. On impulse, she gave Mairin a quick hug around the shoulders before sending her inside.

“Stay close to Sister Charlotte and Nora, okay?”

To Rose's surprise, Mairin's eyes glistened for a moment, as if tears threatened. Then she lowered her gaze and closed the door behind her.

Rose stood just outside the women's entrance to the South Family Dwelling House, considering her options. Protecting Mairin from the evening service had been essential, but it had also left Rose with even fewer sources of information. By now, Gilbert would have surely ordered all the New-Owenites to avoid talking with her. Celia might not obey him, especially if she saw a chance to get rid of Mairin forever. And Earl seemed to waver in whichever direction Celia was going.

Hugh's alleged suicide note bothered her. If she could throw its authenticity into doubt, maybe she could get some help resolving this mess—and perhaps even get the police on her side before Gilbert made good his threat to call them.

While walking back from the Schoolhouse, Rose had watched Gilbert leave the South Family Dwelling House and head back toward the Ministry House, probably for another go-round with Wilhelm. Celia and Gilbert were not with him, and the white Buick was parked beside the dwelling house.
Rose felt certain that they would not observe the Sabbath with either work or worship, so they'd most likely be back in the dwelling house, relaxing.

She entered the dwelling house, purposely making noise to make it clear she had a right to be there. She needn't have bothered; the raucous laughter coming from the parlor drowned out her gesture. Celia cackled, apparently at something Earl had said, and other voices joined in. Rose stood quiet and tall in the parlor doorway. It was her second grand entrance in as many days—Agatha would enjoy hearing the story, assuming Rose survived to tell it.

Earl and Celia, along with another man and woman, sat around a table, playing a card game and smoking cigarettes. Their baggy brown work clothes had been replaced by elegant evening wear—at least, that was what it looked like to Rose, though she was ignorant of the world's rules regarding acceptable dress during the day. Celia was especially stunning. An emerald-studded comb held back her glistening hair on one side, and a satin gown of the same shade draped low beneath her neck and skimmed over her narrow hips. A flowery scent blended with the smell of cigarette smoke. The worldly scene, right here in a dwelling house, sent a stabbing pain through Rose's heart as she envisioned a day when the Shakers would no longer be strong enough to hold their community together, and their buildings would be sold off to the world.