The Innocent

by Ann H. Gabhart

  Funny how she remembered more of her mother’s daily Bible teachings than she did her father’s sermons from the church pulpits. His sermons always had a feeling of doom, while her mother told Carlyn about a compassionate Lord who knelt down to make mud to put on a blind man’s eyes. Who healed lepers. Who offered living water to the woman at the well. Who knew the weaknesses in people but loved them anyway.

  Her mother never doubted that love even when the cow went dry, the hens stopped laying, and the cupboard was bare. “God will provide,” she would say. And he had. A few turnips overlooked in the garden. A rabbit in a snare. Fish from the nearby river. Walnuts in the woods. Those food gifts from the Shakers.

  But Carlyn’s father always made it home eventually from his preaching journeys. No one had ever called her mother Widow Wilson. No one had gone to the sheriff to put them out of their house. Carlyn sighed as she stared down at the few things packed in the bag. Her life stripped to the bare bones. Asher got up from his spot on the floor and leaned his head against her.

  “I know.” She put her hand on the dog. “If wishes and tears could bring him home, he’d have been here long ago. Now it’s time to leave such behind and face an unhappy future.”

  Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

  She pressed down the clothes in the bag to make room for her mother’s Bible. Her mother had thrust it at Carlyn the day they left for Texas. Ambrose had already marched away to war and her mother wanted Carlyn to go with them to Texas. Carlyn had trembled at the thought of being under her father’s roof again, but she also trembled at being left behind. Alone. But Ambrose had promised the war wouldn’t last long. She had to stay and keep the house ready for his return. That’s what she told her mother.

  “Then keep this.” Her mother had held the Bible out to Carlyn. Its cover was worn even then and some of the page edges tattered, showing the many trails of Scripture her mother had walked through it, searching for answers.

  “I can’t keep your Bible. You’ll need it.” Carlyn was unable to take the treasured book from her mother’s hands.

  But her mother had insisted. “It eases our parting for me to leave the comfort of God’s Word with you. Each time you open it, I will be reading along with you. In my heart.”

  With her mother’s words echoing in her head, Carlyn let the Bible fall open and smoothed her hand over the page, as though she could absorb the words through her skin. “Oh Mother, if you were only still near to help me find the answers.”

  Maybe she should try to find her way to Texas. But no. She had her answer. She would follow the toll of the bell in the morning.

  6

  Carlyn lay awake through the night, fearing footsteps on the porch. Each creak and groan of the house, usually so comfortably familiar, now seemed to warn of new threats. She had never felt so alone.

  She told herself she was no more alone than she had been for the last few years, but the thought skittered away from her like water spiders on a pond. It wasn’t just her fear of Curt Whitlow and what he might do to her or Asher. No, it was the thought of the morrow. The thought of going to the Shakers and what that meant. With the black of the night pushing down on her, she couldn’t hold on to the whisper of belief that Ambrose might yet come home. Instead the name Widow Kearney echoed in her ears. Within these walls where she’d been so happy with Ambrose, she’d shunted aside common sense and held on to hope too long.

  Come morning, she would leave this house forever and, along with it, that hope of Ambrose returning to her loving arms. A sadness beyond tears gripped her. She wouldn’t pretend any longer, but neither would she forget the vow she’d made to him. Till death do us part. The army reported him missing. They had no proof of his death, and so she would stay faithful to her promise until she knew for sure he had gone to his eternal home.

  Carlyn welcomed the first hint of pink in the eastern sky, glad to have reason to rise from her bed. The sky was clear, promising another day of sunshine, but Carlyn barely took notice of anything more than the daylight. She did her morning chores by rote. Smoothing the covers on the bed. Milking the cow. Mixing the leftover cornbread with a bit of milk for Asher. She didn’t bother stirring up the fire in the stove. She thought it wise not to put anything in her queasy stomach.

  Asher followed her every move as she shut all the windows and picked up the carpetbag and the gun.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  He trailed her out of the house and then waited while she pulled the door firmly shut behind them. She considered pausing on the porch to say a prayer of thankfulness for the shelter and love she’d known there. Her mother had prayed each time they left a house or entered a new one, whatever the circumstance of their move. But Carlyn was not her mother. She went on down the steps to the ground. She felt too empty to summon up thankful words.

  Pray anyway. She pushed her mother’s words aside. She was weary of prayers. Weary of life. She just wanted to go and get it over with.

  She cut across the fields away from the road. The going was harder, but fences could be climbed and creeks waded. She wasn’t ready to talk about where she was going to any of her neighbors. Plus, it seemed wiser not to chance seeing Curt Whitlow. Best to keep the gun unfired.

  Thou shalt not kill. She thought about the Bible in her bag. What did that mean when a man went to war? So many men had shot and killed each other. The Scripture didn’t say “except when at war.” It didn’t say “except when provoked or in danger.” It said “thou shalt not kill.”

  Why was she struggling with every thought? Why couldn’t she just accept the words in the Bible and not look askance at them? Was it because she didn’t want to think about the verse that said she could ask and it would be given, seek and find, when the prayer of her heart had not been given and what she sought most had not been found?

  She squared her shoulders and kept walking. She needed no answers other than the one already given. She would be saying the Shaker prayers from this day forward. She had no idea what those prayers might be. If they were blasphemous as her father claimed, she’d find a way to speak them without meaning.

  She wouldn’t worry about beliefs on this day, only about a roof over her head and food for her and Asher.

  Among the trees, she walked a ways in the wrong direction and had to retrace her steps. Asher with his nose for home was no use, for he had no idea where they were headed.

  Eventually, on the edge of the woods she came upon the stone fences that marked the Shaker land. Men in straw hats flowed across the field, mowing down hay. Intent on their work, they paid her no mind as she stepped out of the trees and made her way across the field to the road. It didn’t matter now who saw her. People would know soon enough that she had gone to the Shakers.

  If they didn’t know, it could be that some might think she’d come to a bad end. She smiled as she imagined them searching through the deserted house for evidence of wrongdoing. Perhaps the sheriff would suspect Curt Whitlow. But no, she had no desire to bear false witness against any person, even Curt. Another Bible “thou shalt not.” Curt and his threat were behind her. She would soon be one of many sisters and no longer part of the world she’d always known.

  The village buildings rose up in front of her. Sturdy, strong structures, severe in their plainness with no porches or covered entrance ways but impressive even so. She and Ambrose had ridden through the village once. When Ambrose found out she’d never seen a river, he took her down to the Shaker landing on the Kentucky River. The limestone cliffs and deep channel of greenish brown water had been amazing, but no more amazing than the Shaker town. That day, she felt as though the world was opening up before her. So much to see with Ambrose to guide her.

  In the middle of the village, Ambrose pointed out the Meeting House where the Shakers sang and danced their worship. Obviously with great enthusiasm. At times, Carlyn could hear them singing a few miles away at her house, although no words wer
e ever plain.

  But it was the white stone building across from the frame Meeting House that had captured Carlyn’s eyes and admiration. With the midday sun bathing it in light, the stones practically glowed.

  Ambrose noticed her awe. “That’s where the faithful Shakers live. The house for those who have been here longest.”

  “Are you sure it’s a house?” She had seen large plantation houses, but never anything like this square building with its stark exterior and rows of windows.

  “A house for many.” Ambrose laughed. Eventually they rode on past brick buildings as big as the stone house. Dark yellow frame buildings were scattered in and around the houses. Their workshops, Ambrose explained. The pounding of hammers, the clank of washtubs, and other sounds not so easily identified, but clearly the noise of industry, drifted out the open windows of the shops.

  That day the Shaker people had moved along the paths from building to building, each intent on his or her own journey and not at all concerned that Carlyn and Ambrose watched them with curious eyes.

  A few people were in sight on this day too, moving with purpose the same as then. Everybody but her.

  Carlyn felt as lost here as she had when she strayed in the wrong direction in the woods. Even more so. In the woods she could retrace her steps. Here, her next steps were a mystery.

  She continued hesitantly through the village. Asher stayed close by her side, as uneasy in this strange place as she was. It was all Carlyn could do to keep from running back the way they had come, but where could she go?

  A small building next to a three-story brick house had a sign indicating it was a post office. She might find help there. Or maybe she should go into the meetinghouse to seek a preacher to guide her.

  She jumped when the bell began to toll from the top of the white stone house. Men and women spilled out of the workshops and headed toward the stone building, answering the summons of the bell. Others moved down paths toward other houses. With the sun high overhead, the bell must be calling them to the midday meal.

  Carlyn stepped off the path, set her carpetbag down, and kept her hand on Asher’s head when the rumble of a growl sounded in this throat. The men all kept their eyes away from Carlyn, but several stole a peek at Asher or maybe the gun she was pointing down at the ground. Worried the gun might make them uneasy, she laid it down next to her bag.

  She didn’t know whether the sight of it bothered the women or not, since most of them kept their heads bent, their caps sliding forward to hide their faces. Here and there one glanced her way, but it was as if Carlyn were no more interesting than a fence post. She considered calling to them for help, but they were so like sheep following after their leader she hesitated to disturb their order.

  The caps were all white and the skirts of their blue, gray, and rust red dresses were covered with aprons. The generous white collars draped around their shoulders concealed evidence of their feminine shape. Most kept their hands hidden under the aprons. They not only didn’t speak to Carlyn, they exchanged no talk at all as they glided past with only the rustle of their skirts and the soft patter of their shoes on the rock walkways.

  Then one sister stepped out of line toward Carlyn. She was plumper than most of the others, the neckerchief not completely hiding her abundant figure. Her round face was flushed, perhaps from the warmth of the day or perhaps from daring to break from the ranks to speak to Carlyn. Her light brown eyes shone with kindness and made up for the lack of a smile on her lips.

  “My sister, are you in need?” The woman’s eyes skittered to the gun on the ground and then back to Carlyn’s face. “A plate of food can be brought to you.”

  “I have come—” Carlyn started, but another sister called out from the pathway to cut off her words.

  “Sister Annie, you will miss the midday meal if you tarry.”

  The woman beside Carlyn looked over her shoulder toward the one on the walkway. “Nay, I will hurry,” she assured her.

  “It is best to give oneself time without the need for haste.” The Shaker sister frowned at Carlyn, then scurried past them toward the stone house without waiting for a reply.

  “Yea, Sister Benita is no doubt right.” Sister Annie looked back at Carlyn with a smile now. “Even so, it would not hurt me to miss a meal, as you can tell by looking, although all the afternoon, my stomach might grumble in complaint like your dog here rumbles. He won’t bite me, will he?” She looked down at Asher, still smiling.

  “No. He just feels anxious around so many strangers.”

  “Oh dear, I suppose I do seem a stranger without telling you my name. I’m Sister Annie and it has been ages since I rubbed a dog’s ears. Do you think he’d let me pet him?” She held her hand out toward Asher’s nose.

  As if Asher knew what she wanted, he bumped his head up under her hand. The sister laughed out loud before she slapped her other hand over her mouth. “For a surety, I will have to confess this pleasure to the eldress.”

  “Can you not have pleasure here?” Unease filled Carlyn at that thought.

  “Oh yea, we find much pleasure in work well done and the laboring of the dances. The love of my sisters is reason for happiness and, of course, Shakering one’s plate. That is eating the fine food at our dining tables.” She looked toward where the men and women were disappearing inside the stone house and her smile faded.

  “Don’t miss your meal on my account,” Carlyn said. “Just direct me to where I might speak to someone about your society.”

  “Are you coming among us?” Sister Annie’s face lit up. Then her eyes went to Asher and a shadow crossed her face.

  “Is something wrong?” Carlyn asked, worried again about the gun on the ground.

  “Nay. Well, there are rules, but I am not the one to explain such to you. Wait here, and I will bring you food, for although you may deny it, I can see you have been too long without a proper meal. I’ll find a bit of sustenance for your handsome dog too.” With a last tousle of Asher’s ears, she started toward the stone house.

  “Eat your own meal first,” Carlyn called after her.

  “Yea, if I’m not too late.” She hurried her step and disappeared into the building.

  Carlyn picked up her things and moved back into the shade of an oak tree. Suddenly too tired to stand, she sank to the ground and leaned against the tree trunk. Asher settled beside her, his head in her lap.

  A peace she hadn’t expected settled over her as Carlyn rubbed the dog’s head. “She was nice, wasn’t she, Asher? And she liked you too. Perhaps the Lord’s answer will not be so hard to bear.”

  She kept her voice low, but it still sounded loud in the blanket of silence that had fallen over the village after the people all disappeared into the houses. A horseman rode past on the road, but he paid no notice of her there under the tree and continued on his way through the village. A bee buzzed past her head. A hen cackled. Her ears welcomed those familiar sounds in the quiet village.

  She had not expected silence, but she was used to such from living alone so many months. “Not entirely alone,” she said, as though Asher might know her thoughts. “But you are a dog of few words. Or barks.” She almost laughed then. Her mother was right. The Lord did at times supply answers when most needed.

  But not about Ambrose. That was it. She just needed an answer. A sure answer so she could know where she stood. Married or widowed. She blew out her breath. It wouldn’t matter here. None were married in this place. All were merely sisters. She could be a sister.

  “A sister with a dog,” she whispered. “Wonder where your brother dogs are?”

  She looked around. No dog had barked a warning of their arrival in the town. That was not common. Dogs generally raised a ruckus when new people came calling, and even more so when a strange dog invaded their territory. Perhaps they kept their dogs somewhere away from the road that went through their village, or could be they were inside under the table hoping for a scrap of food to be dropped. What had Sister Annie said? That they found
pleasure in Shakering their plates. The dogs might Shaker the floor.

  A smile pulled at Carlyn’s lips again. The village must be good for her to find reason to smile twice in such a short time. Smiles had been too rare lately.

  She was nodding off when the men and women began coming out of the stone building, the men through the door closest to her and the women through the other door. Carlyn remembered Ambrose saying the Shakers strictly separated the sexes and that was the reason for two doors. Men stayed on one side of the buildings with their own stairways and women on the other. It had to do with their religion, he said.

  That she could understand. After all, their church was the same with the separate doors for the men and women and the men’s side of the church so they wouldn’t be distracted from the gospel by unruly children. Carlyn’s father said it was only proper to take extra measures to be sure the men of the church were fed spiritual food. Then, the men, properly fed, could explain the Scripture to their families.

  But Ambrose said it wasn’t that way among the Shakers. He claimed women were church leaders in the sect, as strange as that sounded. Everyone knew it wasn’t proper for women to speak up in church, much less attempt to lead men in spiritual matters.

  When Carlyn had asked Ambrose how he knew so much about the Shakers, he told her his mother lived with the Shakers for a couple of years after her mother had died of the consumption. Then her father had remarried and she’d gone home again, but Ambrose said she never had a harsh word to say about the Shakers.

  Funny that Carlyn hadn’t remembered that until just now here in the Shaker village. Or perhaps that buried memory had pulled her to the village as surely as the tolling of the bell.

  Carlyn left the gun on the ground and got to her feet when she saw Sister Annie coming across the road. A tall, slender woman glided sedately alongside Sister Annie’s more labored pace. But then Sister Annie was balancing a plate of food as she walked. She handed it over to Carlyn, who hadn’t seen so much food since Ambrose marched away to war. Meat, boiled potatoes and green beans with stewed apples and a biscuit to boot. Asher looked up at the plate with hopeful eyes, but Carlyn thought it best not to drop the biscuit his way with the sisters watching her.