Killing Gifts Read online

  “What happened next?”

  “Nothing much. Sister Fannie chased us out and made one of those baby Shakers—Johnny Jenkins, it was—guard the door until the police arrived.”

  “Fannie said the police suspect that Sewell Yates had something to do with Julia’s death. Do you have any idea why they might think such a thing?”

  Otis’s eyebrows lifted and turned his forehead into a maze of crevices. “No one told you about Sewell?” He chuckled. “That Sewell, if he ever makes it to grown-up Shaker, that might be enough to make me believe in miracles. Sewell’s got an eye for the girls, he has. I’ve seen him flirt with every girl in this place, even the old biddies. Just can’t help himself. He had his eye on Julia and Dulcie both. Can’t blame him. They’re both pretty things, though Dulcie’s looking more and more like a Shaker these days. No wonder Theodore’s been so cranky lately. Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sewell had something going with Julia, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  “Did you observe anyone else being very friendly with Julia?” Rose asked.

  “Too friendly, you mean?” Otis grinned. “I’d have a hard time naming a man who wasn’t. Eyed her myself, a bit—but she wasn’t interested in the likes of me.” There was no obvious bitterness in his voice. “Well, let me think. Julia had set her sights on Johnny, that’s for sure. She’d get all slinky and bat her eyelashes when he was around.”

  “How did Johnny respond?”

  “Never saw him do anything he shouldn’t, if you know what I mean. Which doesn’t mean nothing happened. Johnny, he’s not above using a person to get what he wants.” This time there was an edge to his voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  Otis shrugged. “Just that he’s got himself most in mind.”

  “How did Theodore get along with Julia?”

  “She flirted with him, too, of course. She always liked a man better if he already had a girl. Theodore, he didn’t really mind. He’d say how bad she was, but I’d see him eyeing her when he figured no one was watching.”

  “What about Aldon?”

  Otis’s genial expression hardened. “Don’t like that man. Thinks he’s got a telephone line to God’s house. I never saw him so much as glance at Julia,” he said, with obvious regret, “but he sure is a strange sort.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I was wandering around one night—just looking at the snow, you know—and when I got near the old Stone Barn, I heard these sounds coming through the cracks in the wall. Sounded like an animal in mortal pain, but I knew there hadn’t been animals in that barn for ages. I got real curious, so I peeked in a window. It was Aldon, and damned if he wasn’t kneeling on the ground, with his shirt off, whipping himself with a bit of rope. He was putting some muscle into it, too. His back was all red, and he kept mumbling to himself. Gave me the creeps, I can tell you. I hightailed it on back to my room, and you can bet I stay away from him, if I can. He’s not right in the head.”

  “Did you mention this incident to Fannie—or to anyone else?”

  Otis shook his head. “Not till now. I figured it must be one of those weird things Shakers do in private, you know?”

  Rose neither confirmed nor denied his belief. Certainly, during Mother Ann’s Work, a century earlier, some Believers had tried to purify their souls by denying themselves food and sleep. Sometimes they danced or prayed for days on end. Aldon, who sounded overzealous, probably thought that by punishing his flesh, he was emulating early Shakers. In time, he would surely learn that confession served to purify without destroying the body.

  “You did the right thing,” Rose told Otis. It was the best way she could think of to keep him from spreading the story to the police. Maybe he would be superstitious enough to think evil would befall him if he opened his mouth. She had enough to handle without worrying about the world whispering rumors about odd, secret Shaker practices.

  She’d certainly gotten Otis to loosen his tongue, but she had run out of questions. Best to stop and move on. He seemed to enjoy talking to her now; she could always seek him out again.

  “I won’t take you away from your work any longer,” she said, favoring him with a smile. “Thank you for your insights.” She slid off the hay bale and headed for the barn door, aware that Otis hadn’t moved. No doubt he intended to take his belated nap right where he was.

  Rose hiked toward the Brethren’s Workshop, trying to remain grateful for her galoshes, even though her feet were soaked from the snow that had sneaked over the rims and inside. The time spent questioning Otis had felt longer than it actually was, and she was eager to find out as much as possible before the evening meal. Questioning one of the novitiates seemed like the logical next step, and she had settled on Aldon Stearn. She knew he’d been a Congregationalist minister, and she hoped that meant he was honest and forthright. She was also curious to judge for herself whether he was “right in the head.”

  The Brethren’s Workshop was a plain building two and a half stories high. Rose noted at once that it was badly in need of new paint, especially along the windows. When Rose first entered the building, she thought it was empty. Then she heard the gentle swish of straw and realized that someone in the far corner of the building was making flat brooms. She followed the sound and came upon Brother Ricardo, bent over a winder, his back to her. She cleared her throat, and he turned instantly.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your work, but I was told I could find Aldon here.”

  Ricardo smiled and pointed upward, which Rose interpreted to mean that Aldon was upstairs, not that he had achieved Heaven. She thanked the brother, who was back at his work before she’d turned around.

  She’d first seen Aldon Stearn when he had filed into the dining room with the other men. He was tall and distinguished, with well-groomed gray hair and a prominent chin. He held his head high, perhaps just a shade higher than humility demanded, but there was time for him to shake off pride before signing the Covenant.

  Rose climbed the stairs to the second floor. The afternoon had grown cloudy, and the lights were off, leaving the large room dim and gray. She walked a few steps into the cluttered work area and located Aldon, seated close to a window, which gave him barely enough light to work. He was struggling with a thin strip of wood with swallowtail shapes cut on one end. Rose recognized the beginnings of an oval box.

  Aldon wasn’t aware of her presence. With mild guilt, she watched him work, hoping for clues to his character. He seemed to be learning how to make Shaker boxes, a task requiring considerable skill. The wood had been soaked in a bucket of water to make it pliable, but it was also slippery. Aldon forced it into an oval shape over a form, only to have it slide through his fingers and pop out again. He grabbed the ends and tried again, his face contorted in frustration.

  Rose’s guilt overcame her curiosity. She cleared her throat. Aldon started, dropping the strip of wood, which bounced off his lap and onto the floor. He did not bend down to retrieve it. His dark blue eyes stared at her with fierce intensity. Rose began to wonder if she had made the wisest choice for her first interview of a novitiate.

  “Forgive me for ruining your concentration,” Rose said. “We haven’t met. I’m Rose, and I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” Aldon said. His rich baritone voice must have held his congregation spellbound. “You are that eldress from North Homage, and you are here to help us with our current dilemma. I must tell you that I find it ridiculous for Fannie to have called you all the way up here for something our police are far better equipped to handle.”

  Rose dusted some shavings off a ladder-back chair and sat down. “I have had some success with such problems before,” she said. “Fannie felt that, as a Believer myself, I might possess knowledge and understanding that the police lack.”

  “I can’t imagine what that might be,” Aldon said.

  Rose forced her mouth into a faint smile. “Can’t you? How interesting.”

  The two stared at each other for
several moments. Rose used the time to pray for a calmness of spirit that she often had trouble attaining. Aldon’s face gave little away. Finally, he shifted his eyes away from Rose.

  “If Fannie wants you to investigate this tragedy, then of course I will cooperate in any way I can. For the sake of our village, I want this cleared up as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you. I am told that the police suspect one of your fellow novitiates, Sewell Yates. Does this seem a reasonable suspicion to you?”

  Aldon leaned over and retrieved the piece of maple at his feet. He laid it on the workbench, dusted it slowly with a rag, and replaced it in the bucket of water. As he straightened again, he smoothed his thick gray hair back in place with a quick movement.

  “Sewell has far to go before he knows the joys of salvation,” he said, “but I can’t believe he would stoop to killing.”

  “What would you say are his spiritual weaknesses?”

  “He does not fear the wrath of our Father enough.”

  Rose hadn’t planned to argue theology with Aldon, but the harshness of his words disturbed her. “Perhaps Sewell is feeling the light and love of Holy Mother Wisdom,” she said.

  “That is the argument of a woman.”

  Though the Shaker way of life placed men and women on an equal plane, Rose was undisturbed by Aldon’s patronizing attitude. She had dealt with Wilhelm long enough to know that, while Believers strove for perfection, they did not always achieve it.

  “In your estimation, then, why should Sewell become more fearful of God’s wrath?” she asked.

  “He is weak and undisciplined. He has goodness in him, but his behavior is an abomination, always has been.”

  “You knew him before you both became novitiates?”

  “He was one of my parishioners,” Aldon said, avoiding her gaze. “He came to Hancock shortly after I’d settled in, and I was surprised to see him. He had often failed as a Congregationalist, and I’m afraid he will fail as a Shaker. I doubt he’ll stay past spring. The life is too demanding for him.”

  “What did Sewell do to make himself so unworthy in your eyes?”

  Aldon fixed her with a bright stare that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. “He lived loose and fast,” he said, in an intense whisper. “He drank and smoked and fornicated, and what little remorse he showed was no more than playacting. I wasted untold energy trying to win him to the ways of the Father, to show him how his behavior pained and angered his God, but Sewell’s soul is without strength. He cannot change, and he lures others to follow him. It would be better if he were to leave here and drink himself to death in the world, where he belongs. Then, perhaps, he will understand the depth of God’s fury.”

  Rose digested his words for a few silent moments. Wilhelm at his most inspired could almost shake the Meetinghouse roof, and the evil of carnality was one of his favorite homily topics. Aldon, she guessed, was destined to be an elder, though she hoped he would absorb something more of the Shaker theology beyond the blessedness of celibacy.

  “Do you know, has Sewell continued his bad habits after coming to Hancock and proclaiming his intention to become a Believer?”

  Rose thought she saw a faint wince cross his face as he nodded.

  “Was he involved with Julia Masters?”

  “Do you mean, did I catch them fornicating together? Never. However, I observed them many times in deep conversation, apparently thinking they were hidden from view. Knowing Sewell’s character, I drew my own conclusions. The girl was a temptress, no better than a whore, and Sewell is weak enough to fall into the flesh.”

  “Did you know Julia?”

  Aldon’s jaw tightened. “She, too, was a parishioner, as was her family. Her parents were God-fearing, for all the good it did them; their children were cut from coarser cloth.”

  “Dulcie, as well?”

  “Both of them.”

  “Did you have occasion to see anyone else paying attention to Julia?”

  “More than I can remember, since she was fifteen. She led astray many of the more promising young men in my congregation.”

  “And since she began working here in Hancock?”

  “All the hired men, certainly, including Theodore.”

  “Theodore Geist, the man Dulcie’s is engaged to?”

  Aldon raised his face to the ceiling and smiled, as if sharing a private joke with the Heavens. “Their engagement is nothing but a sham.”

  “Are you suggesting that Theodore is unfaithful to Dulcie? Have you seen this for yourself?”

  Aldon did not answer. Rose decided not to press him until she could hear what others had to say. “I’d like to speak with you again later, if you are willing.”

  Aldon inclined his head in a gesture of noblesse oblige.

  Though it would cost her a thorough confession, Rose gave a silent prayer of thanks for those who were obsessed with their own holiness—they watched their “inferiors” so carefully, and they made such willing gossips.

  TEN

  GENNIE HAD ALREADY SPENT MUCH OF HER PRECIOUS FREE hour wandering around Hancock Village, learning the layout. The number of empty, deteriorating buildings stunned and saddened her. To be truthful, she had no idea how to proceed. In North Homage, it had been easy. She knew everyone, and she knew where each person was assigned to be.

  She was at the northwest end of the village, just beyond the Brick Dwelling House. She knew that the buildings just across the road were mostly unused. The old Schoolhouse hadn’t heard Shaker children’s voices for years, and it had been sold just a few years earlier. The Ministry Shop, where once the elders and eldresses had worked, was far too big and lonely for Fannie, the last remaining eldress, who chose to stay with the others in the Brick Dwelling House.

  Just in front of her, Gennie saw the saddest sight of all—the abandoned Meetinghouse. It had held no dancing worship for decades, Abigail had told her, and it was due to be razed soon. The distinctive gambrel roof had been transformed at some point into gables, so the building was two stories high. Lots of room, and no one using it. Soon it would be gone. Investigations notwithstanding, Gennie would never forgive herself if she left Hancock without seeing the inside of their Meetinghouse.

  As she approached the building, the effects of its abandonment became clear. The white paint was flaked and discolored in places, and several broken windows had been replaced with boards nailed to the outside. A shutter hung askew, its nails corroded through. Was this the future for Rose and the village that had raised Gennie?

  Out of habit, Gennie walked through the unshoveled path to the sisters’ entrance. She tried the door, fully expecting it to be locked or nailed shut. It swung open, making a scraping sound, as if it no longer fit the frame. Tentatively, almost expecting to encounter a bevy of dancing Shaker ghosts, Gennie entered the building and stood just inside.

  The ghosts were there, in the middle of the dingy pine floor, clustered in a loose circle, jumping and twirling in Shaker dancing worship. Except they were doing it all wrong. The men and the women were mixed together, weren’t they? That wasn’t right. Gennie blinked several times to clear her vision—and her feverish imagination.

  “Mummy,” squealed one of the figures, “they’ve found us. Now they’ll make us stay apart, and we’ll never, ever be together again.”

  “Hush, now,” said a deeper, calmer voice, which Gennie realized belonged to the only adult in the group. The other figures—five or six of them, as far as she could tell—were children of varying ages, but none older than perhaps ten years. As her eyes adapted to the poor light from the few unboarded windows, she saw two boys and four girls. All of them, including the woman, wore jackets over simple clothing reminiscent of Shaker dress.

  “I don’t know who you are,” said the woman, “but you might as well come on in.”

  “My name is Gennie Malone. I’m new here, just started helping out in the store.”

  “You’re not a new novitiate then?” There was relief in the woman’
s voice.

  “No, not at all.”

  A small towheaded creature attached itself to the woman’s arm. “Mummy, Mummy, she’ll tell on us. Don’t talk to her.”

  “Hush, now, honey. Sarah, take everyone over to the corner and tell them a story,” the woman said to the oldest child, a serious-looking girl with blond curls and spectacles. “Run along now, go with Sarah.” With some difficulty, she detached the towhead and handed him over to a larger boy, who took his hand and dragged him off.

  “I’m sorry about all the fuss. My name is Esther, Esther Jenkins. I’m a Shaker novitiate.”

  “Are you a teacher?”

  Esther glanced over at the children and shook her head. “These are my children,” she said. “Have you had much experience with Shakers before now?”

  “I’ve heard about them,” Gennie said.

  “I see.” Esther’s shoulders slumped. “Then you know that I am not supposed to be here with my children?”

  “Yes, I do, but I assure you, I have no intention of giving you away. I’m not a Shaker myself, nor ever likely to become one, but someday I hope to be a mother.” She held out her left hand with shy pride. “I’m engaged to be married.”

  “Then you understand,” Esther said. “I just wanted to be with my children. Giving up the care of my little ones has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. They are so precious to me, more precious than my own life.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you give them up to become a Shaker?”

  Esther raised sad gray eyes to Gennie’s face. “I truly hope your marriage is a long and happy one, blessed with love and children. Mine was not. Johnny—my husband—he always had such grand plans, and six children slowed him down.”

  “He left you to take care of six children by yourself?” Gennie was horrified and, to tell the truth, a little frightened.

  “Worse. He decided to join the Shakers. He’s a novitiate, like me. He pressured me to join, too.”