A Deadly Shaker Spring

by Deborah Woodworth

  The Center Family dining room had never held so much noise. Rose wove through the chattering Believers and children to the kitchen. She nodded to the kitchen sisters, who were preparing a snack to keep the children busy. She entered a pantry and hid her cache of journals behind stacks of preserved fruits and vegetables.

  Back in the dining room, she wandered among the Believers, allaying fears when she could and keeping her eyes open for Josie, Agatha, and Sarah.

  Richard Worthington parked his new Ford on the road and walked to the crowd in the field, arriving in time to see Klaus grab the reins of Floyd Foster’s horse and heave himself into the saddle. The horse, used to a lighter load, whinnied and bucked, but Klaus held on and brought the animal under control.

  “Hold on, now, men,” he shouted. “No need to push too fast here. We’ve still got some planning to do.” A few men listened, but most seemed not to hear him through their own demands for vengeance against the Shakers. Klaus reached down and grabbed Floyd’s . collar.

  “You’re the one who got them too riled up,” he said. “Help me get them quieted down before this gets out of control.”

  “But I thought you wanted—”

  “I want them riled up, but not crazy. Just do it, talk to them.”

  Floyd gave him a hard look and walked toward a cluster of gesticulating men. Klaus rode to another group and tried to calm them with his neighborly style.

  Worthington stood on the edge of the group, watching. The plowed dirt beneath the hooves and feet had hardened to a solid mass. The din of angry voices increased in volume. Klaus wasn’t as powerful as he thought he was.

  “What’s going on here? I thought you was on our side,” a man in overalls shouted at Klaus.

  Another man, from Floyd’s group, caught the fury and yelled, “Yeah, what the hell are we waitin’ for? You told us what they’re doing to kids. Why are we standing around?”

  “You said they hid that murderer all those years,” Clem boomed.

  Worthington took a step back, then another. The men went for their horses again. Klaus still tried to regain his control, but Floyd had changed sides. The battle was lost, Worthington thought, and war was about to begin. He turned to leave, oblivious to the black mud caking his shoes.

  “Mr. Worthington, you gotta help me.” Caleb Cox appeared at his elbow. “Please,” he said, “I gotta get to North Homage fast.”

  For once the man didn’t look—or smell—drunk. Worthington threw him an irritated look, but he paused. “Why? If I were you, I’d head the opposite direction,” Worthington said.

  “I’m worried sick about Sarah,” Caleb said. “You can see what’s happening here. I gotta get to Sarah, get her out of there.”

  Worthington saw a gleam of something—cunning or maybe just determination—in Caleb’s normally blurred and guileless eyes.

  “Can you drive me to North Homage?” Caleb asked. “You don’t even have to drive me into the village. You can drop me at the entrance, and I can still do what I gotta do.”

  Worthington nodded briskly. “Hurry up,” he said.

  As she circulated through the dining room, Rose glanced frequently at the door, hoping to see Sarah and Josie arrive with Agatha between them. She pretended to be calm, for the others’ sakes, but her mind restlessly prodded and pried at the pieces of information she had. The more she could figure out about Faithfull’s and Samuel’s deaths, the better prepared she would be to reason with the crowd heading their way.

  What puzzled Rose most was why this was happening now, twenty-five years after Faithfull’s death. Why would Klaus and Evangeline and Caleb and Richard Worthington all band together now? According to Richard, Klaus had recently discovered that Faithfull had planned to choose him over Samuel. Was this the truth? If so, Klaus would have had a motive to kill Faithfull, because at the time of her death he believed she was rejecting him. But why kill Samuel? It didn’t make sense for Klaus to punish the Shakers unless he truly believed Samuel killed Faithfull, and North Homage had known it and protected him all these years.

  Could Samuel have killed Faithfull, after she’d rejected him? Was that truly the sin he could not confess? Rose could not ignore the possibility, despite his seemingly heartfelt confession of falling into the flesh and planning to run away with Faithfull.

  Yet Faithfull had been ill the day she died. She was being watched over in the Infirmary. The Infirmary had only one entrance, so Samuel would have had to sneak past the Infirmary sisters, as well as anyone in the sickrooms. Rose was doubtful this could have happened without arousing someone’s suspicions. Agatha had been suspicious, though—of something, someone. A niggling fear surfaced in Rose’s mind. What if one or more of the apostates left twenty-five years ago because Agatha confronted them with her suspicions? It would be like Agatha to ignore danger to herself, if it meant protecting her Society. If she hadn’t enough proof to bring the guilty to justice, she may have hoped to keep them from killing again.

  Rose stopped dead. Agatha, in danger. If she knew where the guilt lay, and if the apostates knew she could speak again . . . Rose scanned the dining room. Had Sarah and Josie arrived with Agatha yet? No sign of them. Rose ran to the hall phone. Still no answer at the Infirmary.

  She flew out the door and down the path toward the Infirmary. Fine dirt coated her shoes and the rim of her dress, but Rose noticed only her racing thoughts. Just one person could easily have killed Faithfull, and that person could be with Agatha right now. Samuel must have known or guessed the culprit, and carried that knowledge in his heart for half his life.

  At the Infirmary door, Rose paused with her hand on the knob. If what she feared was indeed happening, she must enter quietly, take them by surprise. If she wasn’t already too late. Through an effort of will, she slowed her breathing and steeled herself.

  She heard no sound from inside. Opening the door a crack, she peeked inside. The waiting room was empty. She entered and eased the door closed behind her. She held her breath and listened. A murmuring reached her from the hallway. Relieved, she tiptoed toward the sound. If they were talking, maybe nothing had happened. Perhaps it was all her imagination, and she’d find Josie and Sarah still preparing Agatha to be moved.

  She reached the hallway. A distinct voice carried across the still air. It was neither Josie nor Sarah nor Agatha’s halting efforts. Hoping to hear more clearly, she edged closer. The door to Agatha’s room was partially open, and the voice issued from inside. The door opened toward Rose and hid her approach.

  As she neared the room, she stepped on a creaking floorboard. To Rose, the sound screeched through the hallway and filled the building. The voice stopped. A jolt of fear shot through her legs. She froze, her foot still pressing on the board. Moments of silence. Rose imagined the voice’s owner tiptoeing to the door, looking out, seeing her. Beads of sweat dampened the rim of her cap. But the voice began again, with no difference in tone. Rose raised her foot from the offending board before silence returned.

  Why did she hear only the one voice? Were the others already dead? Rose clamped her teeth together to stop a grieving whimper from escaping. She reasoned with herself. If the others were dead, why would their killer be speaking out loud?

  She took a chance and rushed the last few steps to the cover of the door. She slipped behind it and peered through the crack between the door and the jamb. She could see most of the room, and it became clear at once why only one voice spoke. Sarah and Josie were tied to ladder-back chairs, their mouths covered with layers of rolled gauze. Agatha lay still on her bed. Gauze covered her mouth, as well. Rose told herself that Agatha must be alive. Why silence her if she was dead?

  A figure moved in front of the sisters, facing them. Rose recognized the rigid posture and gray curls, now disheveled, of Laura Hill—Evangeline Holker. Rose had been right. Evangeline was the most likely suspect, once Rose had remembered that Josie had been in Cincinnati the night Faithfull died. Evangeline and Faithfull were the two Infirmary nurses at that
time, with only one extra inexperienced sister assigned to the Infirmary when Faithfull fell ill. It was Evangeline who had determined the cause of Faithfull’s death. It would have been easy for Evangeline to give her a sedative, while pretending to check on her condition, then hold a pillow over her face until her breathing stopped forever.

  Evangeline seemed to be explaining to the sisters how and why they were to die. “It’s only fair that you know,” Evangeline said in her high, prim voice. “You’ll never be able to tell anyone. The only person I really wanted to die was Faithfull, and even that was a mistake, after all. If Klaus had been less deluded, none of this would have happened. He had convinced himself she would run off with him, and like a jealous, love-struck girl, I believed him. And there she was, sleeping away in this very room, with only me to keep watch. It was as if God meant for her to die, as if He gave me permission.” Evangeline stretched out her arms in supplication, and Rose saw a flash of silver in her right hand. No gentle pillows this time. She had a gun.

  “Still, I’ve never been sorry that she died. She was a bad mother. She gave up both her children to the Shakers—you, Sarah, she just gave you away, while I’ve been denied children all my life.” She began to sniffle. She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. Rose could see the horror in Josie’s and Sarah’s eyes, and she guessed what they must be thinking—what kind of woman kills two people and is about to kill three more, yet cries for the children she never had?

  “Agatha must have been spying on us, because she suspected what I’d done and told me either to confess and face justice, or leave. I convinced Klaus to go with me. I told him Faithfull died a natural death, and he turned to me in his grief.” Her voice held a sneer. “At the time, I thought I was in heaven and everything was perfect,” Evangeline said. “But my life with him has been my punishment.”

  Evangeline turned toward the door, and Rose’s heart missed several beats. She was afraid to pull away from the crack for fear Evangeline would see movement and come out to investigate. But Evangeline was looking at something on the floor next to the door. Her face was composed, free of compassion or remorse. She looked like a woman with a job to do. She picked up a can and carried it to Sarah. With an awkward movement, she hefted the can to her chest, while holding the gun in her other hand. She sloshed some of the contents of the can over a squirming Sarah, who closed her eyes and screamed in her throat. The acrid smell of gasoline permeated the hallway.

  Oh, dear God and Mother Ann and Mother Lucy, Rose thought. She means to burn the Infirmary, starting with its inhabitants. In a flash, Rose realized it would be a mistake to charge into the room. She knew nothing about guns, but she feared a shot might spark a fire. She had to get Evangeline out of that room.

  Before Evangeline began dousing Josie, Rose ran on frantic tiptoe back to the waiting room. She hadn’t time to make a phone call. Her eyes darted around the room as she desperately sought an idea. So many gentle Shaker healing products—tins and bottles of dried herbs, powdered roots, syrups. Her gaze lighted on the coatrack holding Josie’s long Dorothy cloak, and the glimmer of a plan came to her.

  The coatrack was solid pine, but Rose found she could lift it easily. She stuffed a bottle of rosewater in each of her apron pockets. Careful to avoid making noise, she lifted the rack and carried it to the end of the hallway. When she found a spot that seemed just far enough away, she eased the rack to the floor. Quickly she arranged the cloak so its back faced the hallway, and its top rounded over two hooks, creating the illusion of shoulders. With the hood pulled over the top, the rack could be mistaken at first glance for a person, or so Rose fervently hoped.

  She crept back to Agatha’s door. Peering again through the crack, she winced as she saw Evangeline douse Agatha’s body with gasoline, then splash the remains of the can on blankets around the room. Rose knew she had only moments. She pulled one bottle of rosewater from her pocket and threw it against the wall, as near as possible to the coatrack.

  She heard Evangeline cry out, heard the can bang on the floor. Rose positioned herself at the end of the door, still just behind it. Her peripheral vision told her when Evangeline rushed through the door. Rose expected her to be cautious, to pause before bursting into the hallway. She thought of bumping her with the door or grabbing the arm with the gun as it extended beyond the edge. But Evangeline was rattled. She fired a shot into the opposite wall before she’d even cleared the doorway, then ran into the middle of the hallway.

  Rose grabbed the second bottle of rosewater from her pocket and raised it over her head as Evangeline’s trembling hand aimed her gun at the coatrack. The dark blue cloak began to move.

  Evangeline fired two shots before Rose brought the bottle crashing down on her arm. The gun hit the floor as the bottle smashed, splattering rosewater all over Evangeline. Her astonishment was short-lived. She saw Rose and fury distorted her face. As she lunged for Rose, a movement from the coatrack distracted her. With the strength of youth, hard work, and fear, Rose used the moment to grab Evangeline, pinning her arms to her side. Evangeline squirmed and kicked Rose, who winced as the sharp heel cracked her shin. But she held tightly to Evangeline’s arms. With a suddenness that almost threw Rose off balance, Evangeline stopped struggling.

  As they both watched, the coatrack tottered and fell toward them, as if wounded. As it hit the floor, Caleb Cox rolled from behind the cloak. He groaned and pulled himself to the wall before growing silent.

  Deputy Grady O’Neal ran from the waiting room into the hallway, his gun drawn.

  “What the—?” He knelt over Caleb quickly. “He’s alive. Now what’s going on?” he asked, as he took Evangeline from Rose’s aching arms and handcuffed her.

  “This is Evangeline Holker,” Rose said. “Shaker apostate and murderess.”

  “Samuel?”

  “And a Shaker sister named Faithfull, who died twenty-five years ago. In both murders, she used a pillow to smother her sleeping victim.”

  Grady grabbed Evangeline’s hands and pushed up her sleeves. Both wrists showed healing scratch marks. “So she’s also the one who attacked you.”

  Rose nodded as she knelt over a groaning Caleb. “Just a superficial wound,” she said. “We can leave him for now.” She sprinted into the room where the three sisters were still captive. Grady followed, shoving Evangeline into a chair where he could keep an eye on her. She seem resigned.

  Grady and Rose untied Josie and Sarah, then reassured themselves that Agatha was breathing regularly, merely sedated. Josie pushed them aside and began to fuss over her.

  Grady sniffed the air. “I can tell this is going to be an interesting story, full of interesting smells,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to wait to hear it.”

  Rose darted a questioning look at him.

  “They’re coming, Rose, just like you feared. I need to get back out there fast. You stay here.”

  Rose ignored him and raced toward the Infirmary door. “Why did you come here first?” she asked, as he caught up with her, dragging Evangeline along.

  “Richard Worthington,” Grady said. “He had a change of heart, I guess. He brought Caleb in to look for Sarah, then caught me as I got to North Homage. Told me a mob was coming this way and then came back with us to help. When I couldn’t find you, I got worried. Gretchen said Josie, Sarah, and Agatha were still in the Infirmary, and she’d seen you race off in that direction. I still wasn’t worried until I saw Caleb head that way, too. That’s when I figured the Infirmary was the place for me.”

  “So Caleb must have been looking for Sarah, to protect her, and heard she was with the rest of us in the Infirmary,” Rose said.

  “That’s what I figure.”

  “I wonder why Richard decided to help us.” They were close to the Center Family Dwelling House, and Rose broke into a trot.

  “Something about his kid, doing it for him.”

  They reached the Center Family house as four men emerged from the west doorway and stood side-by-side.
The group included Elder Wilhelm, Richard Worthington, the Reverend Sim, rector of St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church, and the sheriff’s department’s third officer.

  The cloud of dust at the entrance to North Homage resolved into a mob of about thirty men, most on horseback, a few in cars. One man in front yelled and pointed at the Center Family house as he spotted the small group near the door. The Reverend Sim stepped in front of Wilhelm as the mob moved in their direction. Rose and Grady, the latter pushing Evangeline ahead of him, joined the four men.

  Horses, cars, and shouting men, many holding rifles, left the unpaved road and gouged through the spring bluegrass. A husky man in front seemed to have taken leadership. He pulled up about fifty feet from the dwelling house, and the others stopped as well. They seemed puzzled by what they saw. They recognized Languor’s Episcopal priest, his feet planted apart and his arms crossed in a protective stance, in front of the Shakers’ elder. Beside the Reverend Sim was one of the sheriff’s men, and Richard Worthington stood next to him, impassive and stern. The presence of two women, one in handcuffs, and Languor’s deputy sheriff further confused them. Moments passed in silence.

  Klaus Holker, straggling behind on a defiant horse, worked his way to the front of the group. He slid from his mount and stared. “Evie? What’s going on?”

  Evangeline rolled her eyes and didn’t bother to answer. It was Grady who spoke. “Mr. Holker, your wife’s been arrested for the murders of Samuel Bickford and Faithfull Worthington,” he said. “And for the attempted murders of four Shaker sisters.”

  Klaus’s face sagged. He dropped his reins, and the horse pranced away to look for its owner. Confused now, rather than enraged, the men behind him muttered to one another. Their self-appointed leader poked Klaus in the shoulder.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Clem demanded. “You said your name was Kentuck Hill, and Brother Samuel killed hisself because of killing that Shaker a long time ago.”