“May I stay and chat for a minute?”
“Why?”
“Well, as you may know, I’m just a visitor to Hancock Village, and frankly I feel a bit at sea.” She counted on Honora’s isolation to have kept her from learning of Rose’s real mission in Hancock. “Such terrible goings-on—murder, poisonings, and who knows what else. I wondered if you had some idea why all this is happening?”
“What poisoning? Who was poisoned?” Honora’s normally distrustful demeanor made it impossible to tell if she was surprised to hear of the poisonings or hopeful it had killed someone.
“Rat poison—that hired man, Theodore, found it spread all over the animals’ food and water buckets. No one was injured, thank goodness, not even an animal.” Rose watched closely, but Honora’s face gave nothing away.
Honora turned abruptly and deposited the basket in the kitchen. When she returned, she crossed her arms and said, “It was no man put that poison about.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was God’s own instrument. God has sent someone to smite you Shakers. I told you this would come to pass, and now it is beginning.”
“Do you mean that there will be more?” Rose closed the door to the hallway, in case their strange conversation should attract eavesdroppers. “Do you think there is someone who is in particular danger?”
Honora’s dark eyes lost their fire, and she leaned against the doorjamb as if weary. “I’m afraid for my husband,” she said, “for Aldon.”
“You fear your husband might be the next victim?”
“If you could get them to send him back to me, I could take care of him, keep him out of danger,” Honora said. Her wild bitterness had disappeared. Suddenly she was a wife, pleading for her husband’s life.
“You know that is his choice,” Rose said gently. “But I can promise you, if I learn Aldon wants to come back, I will urge him to do so.”
Honora’s face changed expressions several times, as if she were carrying on an inner dialogue.
“Honora? Can you name the danger that threatens Aldon? Is it one of the other novitiates, or one of the hired hands?”
Honora’s short laugh sounded more like a yelp. “They are all dangerous, every one of them. He can’t protect himself. He seems so strong; they all think he is strong, but the devil is stronger.”
Rose wondered if the time had come to give up. Honora drifted in and out of reality. She seemed unable to distinguish individuals, except for Aldon. To her, everyone else was them, and they were all evil.
“Perhaps I should go now and let you rest,” Rose said.
Honora looked straight at her. “I’ll never rest until Aldon is safe from the evil he has chosen,” she said. She disappeared into the kitchen and left Rose to show herself out.
Rose sat at the small desk in her retiring room with all her notes spread out in front of her. It was close to the dinner hour, and she and Gennie had just managed a quick exchange of information. Rose felt overwhelmed with tidbits and impressions, and she needed to update the list of suspects she’d made shortly after arriving in Hancock. She wrapped the thick wool blanket from her bed more tightly around her shoulders. If she weren’t wearing her indoor cap, she was quite certain she’d be tearing out her hair. Starting on a fresh sheet, she divided her paper into eight sections. In each section, she wrote the name of a novitiate or a hired worker who had been connected in any way with Julia Masters. They were still little more than strangers to her, yet somehow she must sort through their stories and find a killer. As quickly as possible, she jotted down her observations and questions next to each name, writing very small so that she could fit everything on one page and see it all at once.
She began with Dulcie Masters, Julia’s sister. Dulcie was the “good girl,” compared to Julia, yet she was pregnant out of wedlock. Dulcie had been alone with her sister’s body and had removed a piece of calico—was this to protect someone else or herself? Dulcie defended her sister, but clearly the two girls hadn’t gotten along well. Julia had enjoyed pursuing men who belonged to other women. Might Dulcie have been frightened that her sister would steal her fiancé, leaving her pregnant and alone?
Carlotta DiAngelo had been caught shoplifting, and Julia had escaped punishment. Carlotta was a bitter young woman, but would an old grudge be enough to set her on the path to murder? Carlotta was sweet on Sewell. Did she believe that he would have been hers, if only Julia had not pursued him?
Sewell Yates seemed to like and be liked by everyone, even Aldon, who pronounced him weak, yet with good in him. He’d been observed in animated conversation with Julia shortly before her murder, and there had been rumors of a carnal relationship with her. He seemed incapable of violence, but Rose knew better than to trust appearances. There was something about Sewell—his haunted eyes, his sunken thinness, everything about him hinted at some hidden anguish. Might he have continued his affair with Julia, then killed her in a jealous rage upon discovering her dalliances with other men? It seemed unlikely. The murder seemed carefully—indeed, cold-heartedly—planned. Yet sometimes the gentle ones are slow to burn.
Theodore Geist, Dulcie’s fiancé—Rose admitted her dislike of the man. He could be disrespectful, even cruel, to Dulcie, and—again, according to Aldon—he had been unfaithful to her with Julia. His character was harsh, demanding. He had a quick and violent temper. He was the sort of man who believes a woman must be obedient and faithful, while a man may do as he pleases. But he also considered himself to be good and upright. Carlotta had mentioned that he might be relieved not to have Julia as a sister-in-law. Might he have regretted an affair with Julia and killed her to protect his reputation and his job? No one had provided any real evidence of such a relationship.
Aldon Stearn reminded her of Elder Wilhelm. His faith was deep, strong, and tended toward fire and brimstone. Though celibacy was a central tenet of Shakerism, he seemed unduly concerned with it, and with suspicions that everyone else was violating it. He was condescending to women. He cherished and celebrated his own holiness. What secrets might he hold inside? Honora said she was afraid for him and that he could not protect himself. What did she mean by that? Were her words the ravings of a woman driven over the edge? Or did she know something about her husband that no one else suspected?
Then there was Honora herself, a proud woman who had lost her respected place in the community. By all accounts, she had always been odd, but since her husband left, her behavior hinted at insanity. She had lost her husband and her position. She’d been left in poverty, living in one room in a church that used to be her husband’s. Several informants had claimed that Aldon had been unfaithful on numerous occasions. Honora had turned the other cheek, but her Christian forbearance had not kept her husband at her side. An insanely jealous wife might have planned such a bizarre murder to avenge her husband’s unfaithfulness—if Aldon had indeed dallied with Julia.
It had become clear that Johnny Jenkins was driven by the desire for wealth. He used people, including his wife and children, to achieve his goals. Though he showed no interest in women, there were hints from his past that he was not above illicit carnal liaisons. On the other hand, Rose suspected his obsession with riches superseded all other desires. If Julia had been a threat to him, it was more likely because she had found evidence that he meant to drain the Shakers’ resources.
Esther Jenkins’s behavior seemed contradictory. With Gennie, she had been friendly and open, expressing disapproval of her rich parents’ values; but when Rose questioned her, she had adopted an upper-crust arrogance and revealed as little as possible. Was she afraid that Rose might have the power to take her children away from her? She had denied knowing much about Julia and showed low regard for her “sort.” To Rose, it seemed that Esther had trapped herself with her own pride. She could not bear to admit her parents were right about Johnny, nor could she allow anyone else to raise her children. She needed Johnny back. Julia had set her cap for Johnny—indeed, she might already have captured
him. Rose could envision Esther, with cold-hearted calculation, eliminating Julia to save her own economic security and allow her to keep her children.
Rose read back through her notes, then added one more name to the bottom: Otis Friddle. He didn’t have an obvious motive for killing Julia, and he didn’t seem to have the energy to plan such a meticulous murder, yet he had found her body, and he hadn’t given a good reason for being near the Summerhouse. Had he been more attracted to Julia than he’d admitted? How might he have reacted to a cruel rebuff of his passion? It seemed farfetched, but she would keep him on the list for now.
On the edge of the page, she wrote two questions: (1) What does the attempted poisoning have to do with Julia’s murder? (2) Who was Julia’s lover at the time of her death—the one Julia believed was cheating on her? Rose wasn’t ready to write down any speculations yet. Unless someone was trying to muddy the waters—perhaps to make it seem like an angry outsider was the guilty party—she couldn’t see any logical connection between the two incidents.
When the bell rang for the evening meal, Rose was more than ready to put her work aside. She stowed it in the drawer of her desk, under some blank sheets of paper, just to be safe. She wished she could make better sense of what she had learned, and she prayed most fervently that nothing more would happen before she could do so.
SEVENTEEN
AS SOON AS ROSE ENTERED THE DINING ROOM, SHE KNEW that something must be wrong in the kitchen. Normally, the kitchen help had already arranged dishes, cutlery, bread, and pitchers of water on the tables by the time the diners arrived. Rose and Fannie sat down with the sisters, and they all waited in silence. And waited. With a gesture to Rose to stay put, Fannie went downstairs to find out what had happened. Within moments, she reappeared and signaled to Rose to follow her back down.
Carlotta was alone in the kitchen, hacking at a loaf of bread. “Don’t expect supper anytime soon,” she said. “Not if you expect me to do everything around here.”
“Why on earth didn’t you call for help?” Fannie asked. “Where’s Dulcie?”
“Dulcie couldn’t be bothered to show up. Don’t ask me where she is, because she sure didn’t tell me. I got a good mind to quit right now and let you cook your own meals.”
“Dulcie is usually so reliable,” Fannie said. “I hope she isn’t ill again. The sisters told me she’s been having dizzy spells.”
“Oh, she’s snuck off before, without you knowing, you can be sure of that. She just figures somebody else’ll do the work for her.”
Fannie shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like her. I’m worried.”
“So am I,” Rose said. Gennie had told her of Dulcie’s frantic visit to the Fancy Goods Shop. She should have paid more attention. “When did you see her last, Carlotta?”
“She was here at noon, not that she was much help. She was a real nervous Nellie, kept dropping things and forgetting what she was doing.”
“Did she leave before you did?” Rose asked.
“No, at least she stayed through the washing up. We left together and walked upstairs to our rooms. I told her she’d better have a nap or she wouldn’t be no good to anybody. Not that she listened to me.” Carlotta scooped up a pile of bread slices and dumped them on a platter.
“What do you mean?” Rose asked.
“I mean she went right out again. My room is just two doors down from her, and not more’n five minutes later, I heard her door open and close again. She was trying to be quiet, but I got good ears. I opened my own door a little, and I saw her going down toward the staircase. I knew she was going outdoors because she was wearing that ratty old jacket of hers.”
“I’d better go search for her,” Rose said.
“I agree,” Fannie said. “You go on ahead, and I’ll help Carlotta get the evening meal put together. On your way out, tell everyone to be patient, we won’t be long. Here, take some bread with you.” She grabbed a slice from the cutting board, narrowly missing Carlotta’s next swipe at the loaf.
Rose hurried back upstairs to reassure the hungry diners. On her way through the dining room, she caught Gennie’s eye and tried to tell her to stay put. She knew Gennie’s curiosity, but if they left together, everyone in the room would know of their connection. Gennie was much more valuable if she remained independent.
Despite Carlotta’s observation that Dulcie had been dressed for the outdoors, Rose knew it would be foolish not to search the Brick Dwelling House first. Dulcie might have returned. She might be unwell and resting in her room, or even hiding for unknown reasons in another room. Dulcie might just have wanted privacy—perhaps Carlotta had made one of her typical insensitive remarks. But what if something had gone wrong with her pregnancy, and she was desperately ill, yet afraid of discovery? The thought sent Rose’s feet into a run.
She began with Dulcie’s room. It was empty, and there was no sign of her jacket. Either she had never returned, or she had returned but kept her jacket with her, perhaps for warmth.
The Brick Dwelling House was huge, with three floors, plus two attic lofts used for storage. Most of the retiring rooms were unused but held furniture and could be inhabited comfortably at a moment’s notice. If Dulcie wanted to be alone, she could be anywhere. Now Rose wished she’d brought Gennie along. But it still wasn’t the time to raise an alarm—not until she knew that Dulcie wasn’t just trying to avoid curious, prying eyes by hiding in an unused part of the building.
For the sake of thoroughness, Rose quickly searched the two first-floor communal rooms; the large meeting room, where worship was held; the waiting rooms; and all the Ministry rooms, even Fannie’s. Taking the sisters’ staircase, she moved to the second floor, to the retiring rooms inhabited by Believers. She included her own retiring room, in case Dulcie might be waiting for her. She skipped the brethren’s side, since she couldn’t imagine Dulcie seeking refuge in the retiring room of a Shaker brother.
Rose’s arms were feeling the strain of opening and closing doors, one after another after another. She had found no sign of Dulcie on the second floor or on the third floor, where the hired workers lived. She was not waiting for Theodore, that much was clear. Time was passing. Even with the delay in serving the evening meal, the diners would be finished soon, in a hurry to return to their duties.
She’d best search the attic lofts. It would be cold and dark and dusty up there, but she had to be certain. She climbed the staircase to the first attic level. She’d never examined the Hancock attics before, and she saw at once that they would be brighter during the daytime than she’d expected, due to a clever system of double skylights, which would allow natural light to penetrate both levels. However, the sun had long ago set, and grime had collected on the skylights, blocking the weak moonlight. Rose could see the dark shapes of furniture piled everywhere. She stood a few steps from the landing and listened intently. She heard no movement or sound of breathing but her own—and blessedly, no little rodent sounds, either.
She moved on to the top attic level. The air was stale and musty, but moonlight from the roof skylights made it slightly brighter than the attic below. She could make out shapes more clearly. None of them moved. She looked around for anything out of the ordinary helter-skelter of hastily stored items. One recessed corner, off to the left of the stairwell, struck her as odd. It was filled with furniture, as was the rest of the attic, but there was something almost roomlike about their arrangement. She went closer. A small pine desk, with a scratched surface, stood just inside the alcove. Behind it, facing outward, was a ladder-back chair with a woven seat. Despite one broken tape, the chair would surely hold an adult without collapsing.
The setting gave the impression that someone had recently been working at the desk, perhaps arising to go down five flights to evening meal. A small jar of ink rested in one corner, the ancient label stained with drips of black. Rose saw no pen. The alcove was cut off from the skylight, so it was far too dark for someone to work in. Rose looked around and found an old oil lamp
set on the floor to the right of the chair. She picked it up. It still held oil.
Rose was torn. Dulcie could be in trouble, and she shouldn’t waste any time in finding her. Yet something drew her to investigate this strange little attic corner. She took a step and her toe kicked a small object. She reached down and picked up a box of matches. She struck a match and lit the lamp.
She turned around slowly in the small area, using the lamp to light the back corners. Nothing unusual caught her eye, just dust and spiderwebs. She examined the desktop. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat. A spot of blood had run along one of the deeper scratches. It looked as if some attempt had been made to wipe it off, but the red tinge remained. Rose leaned closer. Nay, she thought, surely dried blood would not still be so red. It had to be ink.
On impulse, she picked up the ink jar. There was liquid inside. She placed the lamp on the desk and unscrewed the lid. The jar was half full of a bright red substance. She sniffed it. Paint. Scarlet paint, still quite fresh. She replaced the lid and put the jar back precisely where she’d found it.
The desk had one drawer, which she pulled entirely out of its enclosure and laid on the desk. It held paper; a dried-up, old fountain pen with a black-stained nib; and, pushed to the back, a rolled-up rag. Her hands shaking, Rose unwrapped the cloth. Inside were three small paintbrushes, of the sort that might be used for spirit drawings—drawings once given as heavenly gifts to Believers who were dreaming or in a dancing trance. One of the brushes had been used and crudely cleaned. It still held traces of red paint.
Rose’s instincts told her she’d found something significant, but she had no idea what it meant. This was no time to dawdle and figure it out. She’d return later. She placed the lamp and matches back on the floor, put the spent match in her apron pocket, and headed back downstairs.
The evening meal was ending as Rose reached the first-floor landing. Lines of silent men and women filed into the hallway and began to scatter. Fannie’s worried, questioning eyes sought out Rose, who shook her head slightly.
Killing Gifts Page 17