A Simple Shaker Murder (28 page)

“You want to . . . Mairin, has someone threatened you?”

Mairin's mouth dropped open.

“That's it, isn't it? You saw someone hurt Hugh, didn't you? And that person has threatened to harm you if you tell. It's okay, Mairin, don't you see? You didn't tell me, I guessed, and furthermore, I can protect you. The whole village will protect you. Just tell me who threatened you.”

Mairin shook her head.

“If you don't tell, I will,” Nora said. “I've got to follow my conscience, Rose said so.”

“You don't even know.”

“I do so. I know some stuff you haven't told Rose, and maybe she can guess the rest, like she did before.”

Mairin lunged at Nora and pinned her to the ground before Rose could stop her. “Don't, don't,
don't.”

Mairin might be used to climbing trees, but she was still suffering the effects of malnutrition, while Nora was bigger and well fed. With a grunt, Nora twisted away from Mairin's grip and grabbed the smaller girl's wrists to keep her from trying again. Rose clamped a hand on Mairin's shoulder, and the fight went out of her.

“I'm going to tell,” Nora said. “See, she only told me because I found out she was going to hide, and I wanted to come, too, and Mairin wanted to scare me away. She said he'd hurt me if she told—me and you and Agatha.”

“Who threatened her?”

Nora's self-satisfied expression faded. “I don't know. She wouldn't tell me that.”

Rose sighed. If adults were as stubborn about keeping their promises as these children, the world would be a better place—and even more frustrating.

“So
you
are protecting
us
. Tell me, Mairin, why did you choose now to go into hiding? Was it your doll?”

Mairin wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself.

“Your doll that Agatha gave you?” Nora asked. “What happened to it?”

Mairin rocked harder. “Somebody hurt it,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Immediately, Rose understood. Mairin had not hanged the doll; it had been left as a warning to Mairin of what would happen if she talked. Rose lightly touched Mairin's shoulder. “Are you frightened about this evening's service?”

Mairin nodded. “I'm afraid someone will trick me into telling.
Then I won't be able to protect you anymore.”

“I see. So the man who threatened you will be at the service tonight, and you are terrified that if you say the wrong thing, he will hurt Nora, and Agatha, and me.”

“He will kill you. He said so.”

Rose rested her chin on her fists and thought. At least she now knew that Hugh had been killed and that a man was involved, someone who would be at the service. Maybe she could figure it out from there. Most important right now was to keep Mairin safe. Rose was certain that the real target of the threat was Mairin, not her friends. The child was in danger of being eliminated whether or not she told her secrets. Perhaps it was best for now to let her stay scared and hidden, at least until after the service. It wouldn't hurt to keep Nora out of view, as well.

“All right, you two. I want you to stay here, out of sight until I come back to get you. And keep very quiet. No giggling. Is that clear?”

The girls nodded.

“I'll explain to Charlotte, so no one notices that you're gone, too, Nora. It's close to time for evening meal, so the sun will set in a little while. It'll be dark in here. Sleep, if you can, but don't leave. Promise?”

“Promise,” both girls said together. Mairin's features brightened with relief, Nora's with excitement.

T
HERE WAS LITTLE
R
OSE COULD DO BEFORE THE SERVICE, SO
she decided to attend the evening meal. At least then she could keep an eye on everyone. She changed quickly into her beige wool Sabbathday dress, newly mended and laundered for winter use. She looked forward to having a new one, woven from Isabel's true butternut-dyed yarn. As an afterthought, she slid her list of questions about Hugh's death in the pocket of her dress. On her way out, she made a quick call to the Sheriff's Office and left a message for Grady to drive out to North Homage that evening, if he could. She wouldn't be surprised if it was never delivered.

She joined the sisters in prayer outside the dining room. As she prepared to lead them in, Josie arrived, red-faced and puffing. She stood just inside the door, catching her breath. Concerned, Rose sent the others in single-filed silence into the dining room without her.

“Is someone ill?”

“Goodness,” Josie said, shaking her head. “I shouldn't run so, not at my age. I'll be the one ill. Nay, I hurried because it's Andrew, calling from Bloomington, Indiana. Says he must speak with you at once. You'd best do some running yourself.”

The Infirmary was a short distance from the Center Family Dwelling House, but Rose's knee kept her from sprinting. It was several minutes before she grabbed up the receiver Josie had left hanging.

“Rose? Good. I don't have long. I'm on my way soon to have dinner with one more man who might have some useful information about our visitors, but I wanted to catch you first Is all well?”

“So far, but Wilhelm is determined to hold a joint service this evening with the New-Owenites.”

“Well, it could be quite a spectacle. I've learned a lot about these New-Owenites. A few leaders stayed behind to, um, take care of matters, while Gilbert and his group paved the way, shall we say.”

Rose pulled over a ladder-back chair. “There are more of them, aren't there, waiting to move to North Homage?”

“‘More' is a modest word for the number of folks waiting to pack their bags. Gilbert, it seems, made a study of Robert Owen's methods, hoping both to emulate his successes and avoid his mistakes. Robert had gathered new members by going around the country on a speaking tour and making all sorts of promises he couldn't keep about the land and the work that would be available to people who moved to New Harmony. They didn't have to contribute anything, just show up. It was a disaster. So Gilbert decided all he needed to do was find a town that was already organized, had farming and businesses already going, just a need for more people.”

“How
many
people?” Rose asked, holding her breath.

“About one hundred and fifty . . . so far. More are arriving every day, camping out in fields owned by a fellow who wants to come along.”

“Dear God. How can Gilbert believe such a plan would work?”

“Gilbert didn't study hard enough. He didn't understand that by promising utopia and asking nothing immediate in return, he'd entice all sorts of folks with no skills and no ideals, just as Robert did. Gilbert told them he'd have a complete village for them, with money to take care of them and free education for their children. He mentioned nothing about Shakers already living there, or about faith or vows of nonviolence and celibacy. The leaders I spoke with are at their wits' end and about
ready to send them all ahead to North Homage.”

“What?
Can you stop them?”

“Apparently Gilbert sent word yesterday that it shouldn't be long now. I've tried to let them know that Gilbert's promises can't possibly be kept, but so far no one seems to be listening. It'll take something dramatic, I'm afraid.”

“That's what I'm afraid of, too,” Rose said. “Did you find out anything about Hugh?”

“Quite a lot. I got to talking with a young man named Tommy who has been with the New-Owenites from the beginning. He's frustrated enough to leave, so he was eager to unburden himself.” Andrew chuckled. “It seems most folks thought of Hugh as an easy touch, generous to a fault. Anybody with a sob story could get money out of him. However, Tommy said there'd been some complaints about Hugh making promises and not keeping them. Seems to run in the family.”

Rose kept her appreciative laughter short, aware that they had little time. “Could gambling debts have been a factor?” she asked.

“Tommy said he'd heard second- and third-hand rumors about gambling debts, but he himself didn't know anything definite. He said Earl and Gilbert might have gotten wind of a gambling problem, because both of them had been at odds with Hugh in the days before they all left. Everyone suspected Earl was half in love with Celia; at least, he was always being nice to her, and she was never nice to anyone. At any rate, Tommy knew there wasn't much of a marriage between Celia and Hugh.”

“Was Hugh cruel to Celia?”

“According to Tommy, it was the other way around.”

The line crackled, and Andrew's voice disappeared for a few moments. Rose waited, unwilling to break the connection herself. She fiddled with the lid of an apothecary jar Josie had left on her desk. In the silence, the tinkle of glass against glass made her aware of her isolation. Her thoughts wandered nervously to the evening service. No one would be there to support
her, and she had no time to convince Wilhelm he could not control the outcome.

“Are you still there, Rose? Good, because there's more. Before they left, Gilbert and Hugh had been arguing. Tommy said he heard part of one argument, and it seemed to be about money for the community and whether the project lived up to its ideals. There was something about ‘the ends justifying the means,' but Tommy wasn't clear about that. So that's about all I've found out for now. I'm late, I'd best get going.”

“Wait, Andrew. One more question. Did anyone see Hugh mistreating Mairin?”

“Nay, no one did. It's interesting—again the story seems to be twisted around. Tommy, and several others remarked that they suspected Celia of neglecting and mistreating Mairin. Hugh seemed to be rather fond of her, in his ineffectual way. He talked about changing his will to provide for her.”

“Truly? I wonder how Celia reacted to that!”

“Not well, is what I was told. They were heard to argue about it. Rose, I really must go now. If I find out anything else that might help, I'll call; otherwise, I'm heading home on the morning train. I wish I could be there tonight. Take care.” The receiver clicked, and Rose felt a wave of loneliness.

“I wish you could be here, too,” she said softly.

Rose glanced at the small clock on Josie's desk. Nearly seven. The evening meal would be ending, and very soon everyone would gather across the street in the Meetinghouse, the Shakers' place of worship. There might be time to snatch some bread from the kitchen first, but Rose wasn't hungry. Instead, she took her list of questions from her pocket and unfolded it. Many of the questions had now been answered, but she still didn't know with certainty why Hugh had died.

She found a pen in Josie's desk drawer. Next to each of her questions, she wrote down what she now knew. When she'd finished, the pattern of lies was clear. Hugh's alleged cruelty was a sham. If Celia had complained that he was a tyrant to her, she was lying. But why? If she wanted to be thought innocent of murdering her husband, surely she would have
been wiser to claim that she loved him. She certainly loved his money and had every intention of inheriting all of it. If she was involved, she had an accomplice; no matter how unpleasant her temperament, she didn't possess the strength to hang a man.

Gilbert, as far as she remembered, had not called Hugh cruel. But by all accounts he wanted Hugh's money, one way or another. If Hugh had started to withdraw his backing, either because of gambling debts or disapproval of Gilbert's methods, Gilbert might have thought he'd have an easier time if Celia inherited. Gilbert was pedantic and single-minded in pursuit of his utopian dream—was he also ruthless enough to kill for it?

Earl was solicitous of Celia and criticized Hugh. Was he in love with Celia—or perhaps only with her money? Like Celia, Earl had expensive tastes. His devotion to New-Owenite principles could easily be deception, to move him into the inner circle.

As for Hugh's purported gambling debts, Andrew had found no proof of them. Yet during her painful stay in the South Family Dwelling House kitchen, Rose had heard the New-Owenites express concern about the debts—and about who might come to collect them. Any or all of the visitors might have been tempted to fake Hugh's suicide, rather than let him waste his inheritance.

Finally, Rose had to consider the brethren, Matthew and Archibald. Archibald surely was a follower. If he were involved in Hugh's death, it would probably be under someone else's influence. Matthew's, perhaps? He was infatuated with Celia and inclined to simmering resentment. Might he have convinced himself—or had help doing so—that he could have Celia simply by eliminating her husband?

Rose wished she could make her mind work faster, but it stalled. She knew one thing for certain—Mairin was in mortal danger. She had seen the killing, and the killer knew it. She was safe for now, but he wouldn't let her live indefinitely. Her habit of drawing pictures was altogether too threatening.