A Simple Shaker Murder

by Deborah Woodworth

  Agatha took one of Mairin’s hands, and Rose took the other. “You have all three of us to protect you, because I know Mother Ann is here. So would you try to tell us your dream?”

  Mairin looked at her hands, securely held. “When I had bad dreams before,” she said, “everybody laughed at me. They told me I was just trying to be important.”

  “You are a child of God,” Agatha said. “We will never laugh at you.”

  “I have the same dream over and over. A snake climbs up a tree and onto a limb, and then its head falls off, and there isn’t any blood. But then I look on the ground, and all the blood fell like this.” Mairin nodded at the checkerboard drawing.

  Rose bit her tongue to keep from leaping in with more direct questions.

  “That is a very frightening dream,” Agatha said. “I understand why you’ve been afraid to talk about it. Does it seem as scary now?”

  Mairin paused a moment and her pinched features relaxed. “No. It’s better. Will it go away now?”

  Rose and Agatha exchanged a glance. “Sometimes, with really bad dreams like this one,” Rose said, “it helps if we talk about where it came from. Once I had a dream that terrified me, about a monster with huge teeth that was about to chomp on me, and Agatha helped me remember that I’d seen one of the brethren get hurt by a threshing machine. Once we talked about what I’d seen, I stopped having the dream. Perhaps we could think about where your dream is coming from.”

  To Rose’s relief, Mairin seemed to be considering her suggestion.

  “Close your eyes again,” Agatha said, in a low, soothing voice. ‘Think about what the dream reminds you of, and remember that we are here with you. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Mairin closed her eyes briefly. Rose expected a severe reaction, but when the girl opened her eyes again, they were dull with misery. “I don’t have to think about it,” Mairin said. “I remember. But I can’t tell.”

  “Why can’t you tell?” Rose asked.

  “I just can’t,” Mairin said. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Nay, of course not,” Rose said. “Only I don’t understand . . . did someone order you not to tell?”

  Mairin’s mouth tightened in a stubborn pucker, and she said nothing.

  In frustration, Rose took a risk. “Mairin, do your pictures bring back the day I first met you? The day Hugh died?”

  Mairin pulled her hands back and scooted away from the women.

  “That’s what your drawings and your dream are about, aren’t they?” Rose pressed, despite a warning glance from Agatha.

  Mairin pulled her knees up to her chin, and her eyes flashed.

  “Mairin, do you understand how important this is? Was someone else there when Hugh died? Did you see someone with him? Please, Mairin, I need to know in order to protect you, to protect all of us.”

  “Leave me alone! I can’t tell!”

  TWENTY

  ROSE BROUGHT A SILENT MAIRIN BACK TO THE MINISTRY House for the night. As they ascended the stairs to her retiring room, Rose heard a murmur of voices coming from behind the closed doors of the Ministry library. Mairin seemed not to notice, so Rose decided to give the girl a cup of chamomile tea and put her to bed early. Once Mairin was asleep, Rose would make a quick foray down to the library to find out what was going on.

  Mairin was settling into bed before she realized her doll wasn’t in its usual place. Her sullen silence dissolved into tears of rage. Rose tried to hold the girl, but she squirmed away and crawled under her bed, then under Rose’s, looking for the doll. When she couldn’t find it, she curled up in a corner, on the cold floor, her small chest heaving.

  Rose had no idea what to do. She considered calling Agatha or Josie from the hall phone, but she didn’t want to leave the child alone just then. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Mairin.

  “We will find your doll,” she said. “We got clean sheets today, so I bet your doll just became tangled up in the old ones. Gretchen will find her when she shakes out the sheets before washing them. I know you’re worried about her, but first thing tomorrow we’ll call over to the Laundry and warn them to watch for her.” She reached over and pried loose one of Mairin’s hands. ‘This has been a hard day. You’ll feel better if you get some sleep.”

  Mairin sniffled.

  “The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner morning will come, and we can call the Laundry about your doll. How about it?”

  Mairin allowed herself to be carried to bed, tucked in, and sung to until she slipped into sleep.

  Rose was exhausted and cast a longing look at her own crisp, clean sheets, but she had to find out what was happening downstairs in the Ministry library. Assured that Marin was deeply asleep, she went down to investigate. She couldn’t mistake the voices. Wilhelm and Gilbert were firing volleys at each other, barely pausing for breath. She thought she heard other voices, too, underneath the verbal battle.

  So Wilhelm was holding an evening meeting with the New-Owenites and without her. Her temper flared, and for once she didn’t care. She was tired of the subterfuge and especially tired of eavesdropping in her own village. She swung open the door with more force than necessary and stood framed in the doorway. Wilhelm, Gilbert, Earl, and Celia all turned to stare at her.

  Without a word, Rose swung down a ladder-back chair and joined the group. She crossed her right hand over her left, as if she were settling down to a Union Meeting, and looked from face to face.

  “Do continue,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be able to catch up.”

  Rose ignored the exchanged glances and waited.

  “We were just discussing ideas for a joint meeting on Sunday evening,” Gilbert said.

  “Joint worship,” Wilhelm said.

  “We understood you were busy with your duties,” Gilbert said, “or naturally we would have included you, Rose.”

  “Naturally,” Rose said. “So what are the plans so far?”

  “Well, you see, we all believe this is a very important time for both our communities—a time of testing, if you will. We feel the need of a guidance that is, shall we say, beyond our poor human understanding. Naturally, as Mairin is so linked—”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Rose, just hear us out,” Gilbert said. “The girl will come to no harm.”

  “I won’t allow that child to be the rope in your tug of war. She has been through too much already, and she needs to live a normal, quiet life.”

  “It is not thy decision to make,” Wilhelm said. “She is a chosen instrument. It isn’t our place to question Mother Ann’s Work. She has sent her gifts through this child, and it is up to us to accept them with praise and gratitude.”

  Celia crossed one slim leg over the other and began to swing it. “Personally,” she said, “I don’t care if Mairin ever draws another picture. I think you’re all making her into something much more important than she really is. You act as if she’s some sort of chosen creature, when she’s really just an uncivilized runt, impossible to deal with, and I can’t believe that Robert Owen or this Mother Ann person of yours would pick her to speak through.”

  “Robert Owen?” Rose asked. “Do you mean the Robert Owen of a century ago?”

  “Really, Gil, I have to agree with Celia.” Earl reached over and squeezed Celia’s hand. “It’s hard for me to believe that Mairin, of all people, would have what it takes to be a medium. Surely, guiding a seance is beyond her meager capabilities. Drawing pictures is a far cry from speaking with the spirit world.” He flashed a friendly smile at Rose. “You’ve been more than kind to her, but I can’t help feeling she should be in an institution. She isn’t quite right in the head. One never knows what she’ll say or do next. Putting her under the strain of a seance would just be cruel.”

  “You are planning a seance, with Mairin speaking for Robert Owen?” Rose stood up to command attention. “You will do no such thing!”

  “Calm thyself,” Wilhelm said. “We are discussing a simple worship
service, with Mairin attending. If Mother Ann thinks she is not strong enough, then Mother Ann will not continue to choose her as an instrument.”

  Rose sank back in her chair, despair sapping her strength. Wilhelm and Gilbert had each made up his mind about the nature of the proposed worship service, and no amount of arguing would show them that neither of them could have it all his way. In the ensuing fiasco, Mairin might be destroyed forever.

  “I agree with Celia and Earl,” Rose said, trying to hide her distaste. “Mairin isn’t up to it. Even attending a worship service, or whatever this is, would be too taxing for her. She is frail. She needs quiet and nourishment, to build her strength. I propose we put off this idea until she is truly well enough.”

  Gilbert flung back his head and stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. Moments of silence passed, and Rose dared to hope that she had persuaded him.

  “If we are to delay the seance,” Gilbert said, smoothing back his few remaining hairs, “then I want her returned to our care. We will build up her strength. You are far too busy, and it isn’t your responsibility, anyway.”

  “Gilbert, no, not again.” Celia’s whining voice drowned out Rose’s objection. “I don’t know what to do with her.”

  “Now, Cel,” Earl said, “it won’t be that bad. Tell you what, I’ll help. I’m a bit at loose ends now, anyway, with Hugh gone. I’ll take her riding—the Shakers have horses, I’ve seen them—and that’ll make her strong in no time. You’ll see.”

  “Oh, must we? Earl, you know how hard I’ve tried with that girl.”

  “I know, Cel. You’ve done your best.”

  Celia gave her shiny hair a subtle toss. “At least someone understands what I’ve been through.”

  “What have you been through?” Rose asked curtly.

  All eyes turned to her.

  “You see,” Rose explained, “it isn’t clear to me that any one of you has bothered to work with Mairin. It seems you’ve all just passed her on to the next person, and no one has actually kept her. Charlotte has been spending extra hours teaching her—did you know that? Mairin can neither read nor write. Yet she is clearly capable of learning. Agatha and I have made quite a bit of progress with helping her eat at a moderate rate; she has learned quickly. I can’t believe that any of you, including Hugh, ever spent more than five minutes with her.”

  Even Wilhelm sat in stunned silence. Celia’s lips were parted over white teeth. I see she takes care of her own teeth, Rose thought. Apparently one visit to a doctor, to diagnose her rickets, was all Mairin had ever been allowed.

  A slow flush spread up the fair skin of Celia’s neck and face. “How dare you speak to me that way? What would you know about being a mother? You haven’t had to live with the monster for the past two years, with no one to help, and these men who think all they have to do is dump the kid on me, and she’ll magically become like me. Well, it isn’t that easy, you know. That girl will never be like me!”

  For which I give profound thanks. Rose was wise enough to keep this prayer to herself.

  “We do understand how hard it’s been for you, Cel,” Earl said gently. “You’ve been a saint and more.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gilbert murmured.

  “No, I don’t think you do understand, not really. I tried and tried to get her to eat right, but she gobbled like a wild animal. It was repulsive. She never listened to me, even when I gave her a good slap and sent her to bed without supper.”

  “You . . . found it necessary to hit her?” Rose asked. “How often?”

  “Well, you try controlling a wild creature without a whipping! In the beginning, she was so crazy I had to whip her practically every day and keep her locked in her room.” Celia’s sapphire eyes narrowed into slits. “And before you go judging me, just remember that she’s only good with you because of all my work! It’s certainly nothing you’ve done.”

  Fire shot through her muscles, but Rose steadied her voice. “So, the whippings . . . you believe they worked?”

  “You bet they did. For a while, anyway. Until she started running away.” Celia’s harsh laugh almost broke through Rose’s self-control. “Mairin wants to be uncivilized. I think it’s in her blood—well, I mean, look who her mother was.”

  “Celia, you don’t mean that!” Gilbert said, his hands fluttering.

  Rose was distracted from her own shock by what she saw on the faces around her. Celia sulked, and Earl set about soothing her in a low voice. Gilbert seemed more flustered than angry, which puzzled Rose. Supposedly, the New-Owenites agreed with the Shakers that all races were equal, or else why would Gilbert choose Mairin to prove himself as a social reformer? Unless, she thought, Hugh’s money—probably soon to be Celia’s—is so important to him that he’ll cast aside his cherished beliefs to avoid alienating her.

  Wilhelm was grim, and so he should be. Surely he must now see that these people could never be good Shakers.

  “We have discussed this enough,” Wilhelm said. “Bring Mairin to the worship service tomorrow evening, and we will let Mother Ann decide whether the girl is strong enough or civilized enough to be a chosen instrument.”

  Rose closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Wilhelm was too devoted to his plan to see what was before him.

  “I agree,” Gilbert said. “Whether it’s the shade of Robert Owen or Mother Ann, bring Mairin tomorrow evening, and let the spirit world decide.”

  “Nay,” Rose said, “I will not.”

  “I must remind you,” Gilbert said, “that Mairin is not your charge. Since you refuse to cooperate with us, I’m afraid we must demand you give her back to us. She is no longer your concern.”

  “She is very much my concern, and I will not turn her over to you. If you are truly Mairin’s guardians, then you should be able to show me documentation to prove it. Can you?”

  The silence answered her question. “Then Mairin stays with me. It is a matter of conscience, since it is clear she has suffered under your so-called care.”

  “I warn you, we’ll call the sheriff and get him out here, if we have to.” Gilbert’s pedantic style did not lend itself well to authority. He sounded more like a whining little boy.

  “Then by all means, do so.” Ignoring the painful twinge in her knee, Rose spun around and left the parlor, to prevent herself from saying everything else that was on her mind.

  Afraid of wakening Mairin, Rose eased into her dark retiring room and quietly closed the door. She thought she heard a whimpering sound, as if the girl were having bad dreams. She stood a moment and let her eyes adjust until she could make out Marin’s bed, with its jumbled pile of sheets and blankets. She tiptoed toward it. The bed was empty.

  In panic, Rose switched on the bedside lamp. She heard a cry from the corner, and she turned toward it. As earlier, Mairin was a small, tight ball, her arms thrown protectively over her head.

  Rose knelt in front of her. “Did you have a very bad dream, Mairin? Did it frighten you to find me gone when you woke up?”

  Mairin breathed in short gasps and said nothing.

  “Can’t you tell me what is wrong?”

  Mairin didn’t move.

  Rose rolled off her still-tender knee. She didn’t dare touch Mairin, let alone pick her up. Perhaps it was time to call Josie.

  “I’ll be right back,” Rose said. “I’ll just be out in the hall, if you need me.”

  Josie promised to come quickly with a strong batch of peppermint-valerian tea, and Rose returned to her room, switching on all the lights as she entered. Across the room from where Mairin still crouched, Rose saw a small pile of fabric on the floor, which she recognized as Mairin’s winter cloak, selected for her from the spare clothing the Shakers kept on hand for children. She hadn’t needed it yet, and it had been hanging undisturbed, tied snuggly over a wall peg. Rose’s ingrained instinct to be tidy sent her toward it.

  Rose was surprised it had fallen off. Her gaze shifted automatically to the hanger. It hung askew from its wall peg, pulled off
balance by an object tied to one side. It was Mairin’s doll. She still wore her butternut Sabbathday dress, but the kerchief had been removed from her chest One corner squeezed the doll’s soft neck like a vise. The other end was knotted to the hanger.

  Mairin was still curled tightly across the room, as far from the doll as she could get. Rose watched her, paralyzed by uncertainty—and by fear. Had someone sneaked into the room during the day and arranged the doll so horribly, just to terrify Mairin? Had Mairin awakened, decided to run away, and found the doll like that? Or had the girl hanged the doll herself, out of anger with Rose?

  Rose had just pulled down the doll and hidden it in a drawer when Josie arrived. She said nothing as Josie gathered Mairin in her plump arms and guided her back to bed. The girl obediently sipped her tea and closed her eyes when told to, as if her will had broken. After a whispered thanks to Josie, Rose moved her rocker next to Mairin’s bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, and watched the child sleep. As her own weary eyes closed, Rose sent a silent plea to Mother Ann to show her how to help Mairin—or to make it clear that she could not.

  Mairin spent a restless night, despite the sedating tea. Though Rose had left the paper and crayons near at hand, Mairin did no more drawing. In the morning, she seemed to have withdrawn into herself entirely and did not speak as she dressed. Rose did not push her. Neither mentioned the previous night. The girl’s eyes were dull and puffy; Rose wondered if she had only pretended to sleep.

  Since the Sunday worship service had been moved to evening at the request of the New-Owenites, the day was open. The Shakers, of course, treated it as a work day, taking the opportunity to tackle projects they needed to catch up on, such as preserving, repairing, and thorough cleaning. Charlotte had planned a morning of school for Mairin and the Shaker children, to make up for the missed hours the morning of Hugh’s death. Then she’d scheduled a nature walk. Rose would be free to work on the answers to her list of puzzling questions.

  A piercing north wind further discouraged conversation as Rose and Mairin walked toward the Schoolhouse. Mairin had refused to wear her cloak, so Rose had given her a wool kerchief to wrap around her shoulders. The girl kept her head down. Rose had tied another kerchief around the girl’s ears to keep them warm. Without the cloud of hair around her face, Mairin looked even tinier than usual. Rose tried to think of something soothing to say. Nothing came to mind. She wished Agatha were with them.