Rose paced across the room as disturbing thoughts came to her mind. She thought of Andrew. Might she, too, feel tempted if she were younger and less experienced? Her thoughts were reaching a fever pitch when a tentative knock on the door brought her back to her surroundings. It must be nearly midnight. Surely Wilhelm would not be on her floor at such a late hour. A telephone system connected the entire village and both floors of the Ministry House; if an emergency required her presence, he would have phoned.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Rose.” Josie peeked her head around the door. “I won’t ask what you’re doing up at this hour, if you’ll let me in.”
“I will ask what you are doing up and wandering about the village,” Rose said, beckoning her inside.
“You know me, I’m up and about all times of the night.”
“Is someone seriously ill?”
“Nay,” Josie said, “but it has been an interesting night nonetheless. I saw your light on from the Infirmary, so I decided to bring you into it.” She untied the top of her cloak, which she hadn’t bothered to remove before dropping her round body into the largest visitor’s chair.
“I’ve just sent Elsa back to her retiring room,” Josie said. Sister Elsa Pike, an ambitious supporter of Wilhelm’s, often made life difficult for Rose and the other sisters.
“I’m almost afraid to ask what she was doing at this hour,” Rose said, pulling her desk chair closer to Josie.
“And so you should be. Elsa seems to have become overly concerned with our worldly visitors and their comings and goings. Apparently the New-Owenites do not keep the same hours we do. They roam about at night, meeting together and exploring the village. Elsa claims she’s been following them, or some of them, to see what they’re up to.”
“She confided in you? That surprises me.”
Josie let out a long, tired sigh. “My guess is she sees herself as Wilhelm’s eyes and ears. So, nay, she did not rush to confide in me. I saw her from the Infirmary window, as I was checking on my patients. I looked out and what should I see but Elsa sneaking around the corner of the Laundry—I always know her walk. She was following two people who were heading toward the barn. I had no idea what was going on, since I couldn’t see who was who in the dark, so I went outside and caught up with Elsa. Normally she would have saved her story for Wilhelm’s ears, but she was bursting to tell someone who the couple she was following were. I’ll admit, it did disturb me.”
“What disturbed you? Who were they?” Rose dreaded the answer. North Homage had been so quiet when she’d left for the East, with no one falling into the flesh, at least that she knew of. The New-Owenites had brought the peace to an end.
“According to Elsa, it was Gretchen and a young New-Owenite fellow, I think his name is Earl. Mind you, I couldn’t see them clearly myself, and I can’t say I trust Elsa.”
“Nor do I,” Rose said, “but she may well be right. I thought they might have exchanged a special look at worship last night. I told myself it couldn’t be any such thing—after all, I’m not sure they’ve even spoken together—but it lingered far longer than it should have, at least on his part. I hate to admit it, but Elsa may be right that our visitors are up to something. Did she see where they went?”
Josie’s full cheeks blushed pink. “Well, in fact, we both did—though, as I said, I only saw their backs, and from a distance. I’m quite fond of Gretchen, you know, and she’s been distracted of late. So I’m ashamed to admit that I followed them, alongside Elsa. They went into the barn. I was horrified and wanted to turn back at that point, but Elsa refused to stop, so I went with her. When we went into the barn, though, no one was there! Elsa was certain they were . . . sequestered somewhere together, but we explored the whole barn, and we didn’t hear a sound.”
“Did you actually see them go in the barn door?”
“We thought so. Though now I think of it, the area in front of the door was dark. We saw them walk toward the door, but then they faded into the shadows. I suppose they could have kept going around back or into the fields.”
“Or on into the orchard,” Rose mused. “I would never have thought to mistrust Gretchen. She has been a Believer for at least five years, since well before I became eldress, and she has always seemed at peace in North Homage. Have you ever known Gretchen to have problems here?”
“Nay, never,” Josie said.
“There must be more to the story, surely. Did you and Elsa go after them any farther?”
Josie shook her head. “I must admit, I was curious, but I wasn’t about to encourage Elsa to sneak around spying on the sisters. Not that she needs any encouragement. I talked her into coming back to the Infirmary with me, so I could keep an eye on her. Then I sent her along to bed.”
“Just as well,” Rose said. “Best to keep Elsa out of it, if we can. I’ll have a talk with Gretchen. Meanwhile, we’d both better try to get some sleep.”
“Amen to that,” Josie said. She hoisted herself out of her chair and swung it upside down on a couple of wall pegs.
Rose gathered up the book she’d been skimming and put it back in the wall cupboard. As Josie opened the work room door, Rose said, “Josie, I was just wondering . . . I don’t remember Gretchen or any of her people living in Languor, do you? Is she from this area?”
“Nay,” said Josie. “I believe she came from somewhere in Indiana or Ohio, but I’m not certain. Is it important?”
“I’m not sure,” Rose said.
EIGHT
“GOOD OF THEE TO TAKE TIME FOR A BREAKFAST AT THE MINISTRY House,” Wilhelm said, as Rose sat in the chair across from him. She had expected him to give her a dose of irony, so she made no response. She bowed her head in prayer, silently thanking the Father and Holy Mother Wisdom for food and for the wide, strong trestle table that stood between her and Wilhelm.
Though she’d had only a few hours sleep, Rose was eager to track down all the information she could about their visitors before the situation worsened.
“I assume there is a reason for thy rare visit?” Wilhelm asked.
Rose smiled. “Have some baked apple?” She was learning, finally, to rise to his bait only when it really mattered. However, she had to admit he could still irritate her.
“I thought it would be useful for us to chat about our visitors,” she said, scooping some of the sweet fruit onto her own plate.
It was Wilhelm’s turn to say nothing, as he took a large bite of apple. By the time he had torn off a hunk of bread and begun slathering it with apple butter, Rose understood that she would receive no encouragement from him.
“What do you know about these New-Owenites?” she asked.
Wilhelm frowned. “All I need to. They would make good Shakers. What is thy specific concern about them?”
“I have numerous concerns,” Rose said. “But I’ll start with the worship service last night. It was a disaster.”
Wilhelm’s bushy eyebrows drew dangerously close together, but Rose ignored the portent and continued.
“You and Gilbert Griffiths are both deluded if you think you can join our two communities. Your vision of the New-Owenites suddenly devoting themselves to the teachings of Mother Ann is as ridiculous as Gilbert’s notion that somehow he can convince us to forget the faith that we breathe every moment of our lives. All you two will accomplish is a rift within both groups. Disgruntled New-Owenites might become Shakers, but unhappy Shakers will replace them. Gilbert won’t change, and neither will you. What possible good can this do?”
Wilhelm took another bite of bread and chewed slowly, staring at the wall behind her. She knew there was nothing there to contemplate but her palm bonnet hanging from a wall peg. With a lazy blink, he brought his gaze to her face. His deliberateness was meant to rattle her, and to her frustration it was beginning to succeed. She steeled herself to stay calm.
“Thy faith is poor and weak,” he said. “I believe that Mother Ann watches over us always. The arrival of these visitors from the w
orld is her doing. They are meant to become Believers. They need faith, and they have been sent to us to find it. Surely that must have occurred to thee.”
“But, Wilhelm, the New-Owenites are just as convinced they can turn us into their followers. Neither group will win, you must see that. It will be a constant struggle. We’ll be arguing with them and with each other, and the last thing we need is to be fighting among ourselves.”
Wilhelm’s lips curved in a way that Rose had come to dread. “There is no need for thee to worry,” he said. “The way is clear. More apple butter?”
Rose crossed the central road and walked toward the Laundry, enjoying the crisp warmth of an Indian summer morning. She was still worried about the effect of the New-Owenites on the village, but her breakfast chat with Wilhelm had set her mind at rest on one issue—he did not yet know that Sister Gretchen had been seen out at night with a man from the world. If he had known, he could not have resisted blaming Rose for Gretchen’s behavior. Elsa would surely tell him soon, though, and Rose intended to be armed with knowledge if Wilhelm saw fit to confront her.
Many of the sisters worked by rotation, spending six weeks helping with the laundry, then moving on to the kitchen or the gardening, or any of a dozen other jobs. However, as Laundry deaconess, Gretchen spent most of her working time either washing the Society’s clothing in the huge washing machines on the Laundry’s ground floor, or drying or ironing on the top floor. It seemed grueling work to Rose, and occasionally she would offer Gretchen a different rotation, to give her a change. But Gretchen always said she was content and rather enjoyed laundry work. Rose hoped she hadn’t been hiding a growing discontent with her Shaker life.
The steamy Laundry air smelled of soap and lavender rinse. Rose found Gretchen upstairs, ironing a blue Sabbathday surcoat. The weather was still warm enough for the other laundry sisters to hang clothes to dry outdoors, a job preferable to ironing, so Gretchen was alone. She held the heavy iron poised over a sleeve as she saw Rose top the stairs.
“Has there been a problem with the laundry?” Gretchen asked. Her normally cheerful face was pinched with worry.
“Nay, the laundry is fine, as always,” Rose said. “Stop a moment and talk with me.” She lifted down two chairs. Gretchen watched, her iron still hovering in the air. “It’s all right, Gretchen. I just want to chat with you.” Rose had never felt so aware before of Gretchen’s youth; she couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six. She was so competent and devoted, she seemed much older. But now she looked young and frightened.
“Elsa saw us, didn’t she.” Gretchen up-ended the iron and slid into the chair next to Rose. “She was hinting like crazy this morning before we went in to breakfast, so I’m not surprised you found out. Does Wilhelm know?”
“Not yet, though I’m sure he will soon. Let me help you, Gretchen. Tell me what there is to know, and I’ll see what I can do to shield you.”
“I’d like this to be my confession,” Gretchen said, sitting straight in her chair.
Rose nodded her assent, and Gretchen took a few moments to compose herself. No matter what was coming, Rose was grateful it would be revealed without too much fuss. Now that she was eldress, she was learning to handle torrents of tears, but she surely did not regret their absence.
“I do not make a habit of speaking to men alone at night, I want you to understand that,” Gretchen began. “But I confess that I did so yesterday. I had no idea Elsa would be out spying on me, instead of in her own bed.” Her voice hardened.
“Leave Elsa to me.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. This is my confession, and my own behavior deserves reproach. I met with a man from the world, alone, after dark. But that is all I did, Rose, truly.”
“Who is the man, Gretchen?”
Gretchen’s right hand began kneading the fingers of her left hand, as if in soothing reminder of rubbing a stain out of cloth. “It’s not what you think, Rose.”
Gretchen bit her lower lip, increasing Rose’s fear that “it” was even worse than she’d thought.
“He . . . the man I was talking to . . . Gretchen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “It was Earl Weston. We grew up together. We were the best of friends. Over time our friendship . . . well, we were engaged to be married.” A pleading note slipped into her voice. “You were engaged once, weren’t you, Rose? During your time in the world? You understand. We broke the engagement years and years ago, but he was a special part of my life, and I can’t just forget that. I know I should, but I can’t. When I saw him again . . .” Gretchen frowned at the floor as if it were responsible for her misery.
“Seeing him again stirred old feelings?” Rose asked.
“Nay, I promise, those feelings are gone. My heart belongs to Mother Ann and the Society, yet . . . I suppose there is a little piece of it that still belongs to him. Can you understand that?”
“Yea, I do understand,” Rose said. And she did. “Is that why you met with him? Because that little piece of your heart called to him?”
“Because I thought I could do some good.”
Rose raised her eyebrows in a question.
“Earl was a good man,” Gretchen said. “I hated to see him so involved with those Godless people. He wasn’t like that when I knew him. He refused to become a Shaker, but he was still a believer. Now it hurts my heart to listen to him talk. He thinks God is a lie, and faith is just ignorant superstition.”
“So you hoped to convince him otherwise?”
Gretchen nodded.
“And was he receptive?”
“Nay.” Gretchen grimaced. “He tried very hard to convince me that I was wrong to believe as I do.”
“Did he attempt to convert you to his way of thinking?”
“Well, a little, maybe. But there’s no need for you to worry on my account, Rose. I would never leave. You know that, don’t you?”
Rose was silent for a moment. She was fairly certain that Gretchen was devoted; that wasn’t what worried her. Gretchen was indeed unlikely to leave. But would Earl Weston know that?
“You mustn’t see him again,” Rose said.
Gretchen looked stricken. “But he was such a good friend, and I want so to help him.”
“Just as he wants to help you. Don’t you see it is pointless? You won’t change your mind, nor will he change his, but neither of you will give up, so you’ll argue until even the good memories of your friendship are gone. And you will be setting a bad example for the other sisters. What good could possibly come from seeing him again, even in broad daylight?”
“He trusts me,” Gretchen said.
“But what does that—”
“He tells me things.”
“What things?” Rose felt her hopes stir.
“About his people, those New-Owenites. I know you are worried about Hugh Griffiths’ suicide—whether it really was a suicide. After hearing Earl talk, I think you are right to worry. Those folks aren’t the close friends they pretend to be, and Hugh wasn’t as liked as everyone says.”
Rose leaned forward. “Tell me exactly what Earl told you.”
Gretchen leaned, also, her misery blotted out by eagerness to share a good story. “He said that Celia didn’t really love Hugh. She only married him to be near Gilbert, who only cares about his ideas. Hugh was besotted with her, though, and he was terribly jealous because he was convinced that Celia and Gilbert were . . . together.” Gretchen paused in her enthusiasm to look embarrassed, but it didn’t last. “Earl was trying to prove to me that men and women should be able to just change around and divorce and remarry all they want, and then there wouldn’t be this sort of jealousy. Of course, I told him it only proved that men and women are much better off not marrying at all!”
Rose was torn between pride in Gretchen and alarm that the conversation had become so intimate. She was also, she had to admit, grateful for the information. So she swallowed her reprimand and asked, “Did he mention anything else?”
“Nay, nothing in p
articular,” Gretchen said with obvious regret. “But I could find more out.”
“Gretchen!”
“I only meant . . . Rose, you must know I wouldn’t break my vows. I’ll keep my ears open, and I’ll let you know immediately if I hear anything more about our visitors.”
Rose still felt uneasy, but she decided to leave Gretchen’s behavior to her conscience. Surely she had learned her lesson.
Rose trusted Gretchen’s intentions, but not Earl Weston’s understanding of the need for distance between them. She lost no time in tracking Earl down. One of the brethren had seen him enter the West Dwelling House, another of North Homage’s unoccupied buildings. It must be pleasant to have the leisure to wander around aimlessly, she thought, as she climbed the wooden steps to the single front door. She was not in the most tolerant of moods.
The unused dwelling house was cold and dim inside, and Rose entered carefully, not sure what condition it might be in. Eight or nine years earlier, the brethren had begun renovations, hoping to turn the house into a shop for Shaker goods, but times had gotten too bad, both for the Shakers and for their customers.
Rose left the door ajar to admit fresh air and some light. She’d hoped to find Earl near the front of the house, but sounds from just overhead told her he was on the second floor. Reluctantly, she left the circle of light and climbed the stairs, holding fast to the railing, just in case. But the brethren must have been keeping an eye on the building, because the staircase was sound.
The old pine steps were creaky enough that she was sure Earl would be at the top to greet her, but the hallway was empty when she reached it. She went directly to the room she’d heard footsteps in, a retiring room on the east side. The door hung open. Earl stood at the window, which gave him a panoramic view of most of the village of North Homage, as well as the acres and acres of land beyond.
A Simple Shaker Murder Page 6