Killing Gifts (21 page)

 

Several hours passed as Rose watched over the silent Dulcie. The sisters had stoked up a fire in the old black cast iron stove to keep the room especially warm. For once, Rose wasn't chilled, but the air was getting stale. She poured some rosewater into a bowl and placed it on a table near the head of the cradle bed. Maybe it would add a hint of sweetness and summer to Dulcie's troubled dreams.

The room darkened as if evening had arrived, though the noon meal was still a ways off. Rose rubbed some moisture off the window to discover snow falling thicker and faster than she'd ever seen before. She had planned a trip into Pittsfield, but it would have to wait. She would have to make use of the Society's telephone to find answers to some of her questions.

Finally, one of the sisters arrived to take over Dulcie's care, and Rose left her with strict instructions not to leave the injured girl alone with anyone other than another sister. It was the best she could do, and she feared it might not be good enough. It was already almost noon, and it seemed that each hour took her further away from a solution to these terrible events.

With everyone so busy, Rose decided to use the phone on the sisters' floor in the Brick Dwelling House, since they would be least likely to take time for a rest in their retiring rooms. She took along her notes and a ladder-back chair and settled down for a long conversation. The connection crackled ominously, but she managed to reach the Pittsfield police and the soft-voiced officer named Billy. To gain his assistance, she told him everything she had uncovered so far.

“Sure, I guess I can give you some time,” Billy said, “but it sounds like you've found as much reason as we have to think Sewell killed Julia. Even if you figure Dulcie's fall wasn't an accident, Sewell seems the most likely bet. He'd've had the most time of anyone to go to the old barn and push her.”

“I realize that, but neither of us has proof yet. I was wondering if you could tell me more about some of the others. You know them all, don't you?”

“Yep, went to church with them up until I left.”

“You left Aldon's church? Any particular reason?”

“Nothing that has a bearing on this case. Let's just say Aldon and I came to a parting of the ways. I don't want to say anymore. Not to a lady, especially a Shaker lady.”

“I've heard about his reputation with women. You certainly won't shock me.”

“Still, I won't say anything more. Honora's got it bad enough already. I don't have a lot of time, so you better get on with your questions.” Billy no longer sounded so genial, and Rose knew she would get nothing more about Aldon from him.

“Tell me about Johnny Jenkins. He seems ambitious to me.”

Billy laughed. “You can say that again. Ambitious as they come. I always figured that's why he married that snooty girl from Boston, because he thought he could get his hands on her family's money. But they wouldn't give him the time of day, didn't even come to the wedding.”

“Why do you think he wants to become a Shaker?”

“What? The snow's weighing down the lines, I can't hear you.”

Rose glanced up and down the long, dark corridor. No sign of another living being. Perhaps it would be all right to shout. “I asked, why did Johnny become a Shaker novitiate?”

“Good question. Only one reason I can think of—he suspects there's money to be had in Hancock. Probably spends his nights digging up the graveyard, looking for it. That'd be like Johnny Jenkins.”

“Don't you think it's possible that Julia got in his way somehow—maybe she tried blackmailing him, threatening to tell Fannie about his passion for wealth?”

“Nah, that wouldn't bother Johnny. He'd just go on to the next scheme.”

Rose was less certain, but there wasn't time to argue. “Do you know Helen Butterfield, by any chance?”

“Helen Butterfield? The name's familiar, but . . . Is she from Pittsfield?”

“I don't think so. She's a rather stout, older woman—arrived the same day I did, though I don't remember seeing her on the train.”

“That name . . . You know, if she's a widow lady from Williamstown, she just might be the Helen who was married to old Jake Butterfield. Retired years ago, Jake did. He was a good cop, knew his job.”

“Helen is a police officer's widow?”

“If it's the same lady,” Billy said. “You know, I gotta hang up. This weather will be causing accidents, and I'm the only one here just now.”

“I understand. Could you just tell me if the Helen Butterfield you knew had any connections with anyone here at Hancock?”

“Not that I can think of. All I ever heard was what a good cook she was.”

“Thank you, Billy. I'll try calling some other folks in town and let you get back to work.”

Aldon's church would be a good start, she thought. Maybe she could learn more about the other suspects, and especially about Billy's disagreement with Aldon and the effect on Honora, from the church secretary. Church secretaries knew everything.

She picked up the receiver and jiggled the cradle. The line was dead. Maybe it was temporary—snow on the line, as Billy had mentioned. She hung up, waited a minute, then tried again. Nothing. Taking along her notes, she climbed the sisters' staircase to the third floor, where the hired women lived, and tried their phone. It was dead, too.

The bell rang for the noon meal. Rose reached the staircase and hesitated. She was so close, she might as well go up and have a look at those dolls Gennie described. She passed by the fourth-floor attic without encountering anyone. The fifth-floor attic seemed deserted as well, and dark as dusk with the noon sun in hiding behind snow-filled clouds. Nevertheless, she easily located the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. She found one doll, not two. She picked it up and held it close. It was a Shaker sister, and, as Gennie had said, the dried-apple head was obscenely decorated with painted red horns. She replaced the doll and felt around the drawer, then checked all the other drawers in the dresser. She found rags and kerchiefs, neatly folded, but no sign of a Shaker brother doll.

 

“Oh, don't worry about the phones,” Fanny said, as Rose pulled her aside before she could enter the dining room. “We have weather like this so often in the winter, and the phones go dead all the time. They will be back.”

“But isn't this rather dangerous? Perhaps we should suspend work for the day, keep everyone in the dwelling house and together. We could have a worship service.”

Fannie stared at Rose as if she had drifted into lunacy. “A worship service when there is so much work to be done? My goodness, how would we ever be ready for the celebration? Surely we can give our hearts to God and still keep our hands at work. Don't let this storm alarm you, Rose. We are used to it. Everything will be back to normal by tomorrow. You'll see.”

Rose gave in. She didn't want to frighten Fannie without good reason. She would just have to trudge around in the snow and gather information as fast as she could, and hope it was fast enough to protect Dulcie.

The meal was blessedly simple and quick. As they left the dining room, Rose slipped out of the sisters' line and reached the hallway before anyone else. She watched everyone head for their afternoon work, so she would have a chance of knowing where they would be, if she wanted to question them again.

Rose sat on a bench and pulled her notes from her apron pocket. She added what she had learned from Billy, the police officer, and had just begun to describe the violated Shaker doll when she heard rapid footsteps on the stairs.

“Rose, I'm so glad I found you. Hurry.” It was Abigail, who had closed the Fancy Goods Store, due to the weather, and had volunteered to help with Dulcie.“She's coming around,” Abigail said. “Quickly, come with me.”

Rose grabbed up her skirts, for once not concerned to hide her legs, and followed Abigail, who was already half a flight ahead of her.

“Abigail,” Rose called after her. “You didn't leave Dulcie alone, did you?”

“Don't worry,” Abigail said, panting with exertion. “I've left Honora with her.”

TWENTY-ONE

“S
TOP THAT INSTANTLY
!” R
OSE SHOUTED, AS SHE RAN INTO
Dulcie's room and saw Honora aim a hypodermic needle at the girl's arm. “Drop it on the floor. Now!”

Honora stared over her shoulder at Rose, needle suspended in mid-air. “I was just—”

“Don't argue, just drop that needle.”

“But it's the only one I have, and Dulcie is in terrible pain. I just wanted to ease her pain.” Honora straightened and spread her arms in a gesture of innocence, still holding the needle. “It's a sedative. You see, I brought my little kit with me. I've had it since the war.” She pointed to a small cracked-leather satchel, lying open on the seat of a chair.

Rose reached up and slipped the needle out of Honora's hand. Honora didn't fight. “Dulcie is in pain,” she repeated.

Dulcie did look as if a sedative might be helpful. Her eyes were closed, but she was thrashing about so much she was throwing herself against the sides of her jerking cradle bed. Rose handed the needle to Abigail and signaled both her and Honora to back away. She placed a cool hand on the girl's forehead. Dulcie's eyes shot open.

“Dulcie, can you hear me?”

The girl stared at her with a puzzled frown, which suddenly relaxed into a rapturous smile. “You are an angel. I'm in Heaven. God has been merciful with me and brought me to Heaven.”

“Nay, Dulcie, I am not an angel, and this is not Heaven.”

“Hell? I've been sent to Hell?” Dulcie's voice squeaked with panic. She tried to sit up and cried out in pain. Rose gently held her down.

“Lie still, Dulcie. You are badly injured. I'm Rose, don't you remember me? I am your friend. You've told me about your troubles, and I've tried to help you.”

Dulcie seemed to crumble inward. “Rose,” she said. “You are a Shaker.”

“Do you know where you are now?”

“I'm still in Hancock Village, aren't I?” Her voice was thick with grief. “I'm still here, on earth.” She grabbed Rose's wrist and pulled her down. “My baby—my baby is dead, isn't it?” she asked in a whisper.

“I'm so sorry,” Rose said. “The child did not survive.”

Dulcie released Rose's wrist and began to whisper frenetically. Rose leaned close to the girl's face to hear better.

“No, no, no,” Dulcie cried. “He took my baby and left me. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here.”

“I know you grieve the loss of your child,” Rose whispered, “but
you
are alive, and that is a reason to rejoice.”

Dulcie shook her head.

“You need to rest,” Rose said, “but could you just try to answer one question for me? Can you remember the accident?”

“Accident?”

“Yea, when you fell in the Round Stone Barn. Can you remember what happened? What I mean is, did you slip or did someone push you? It's terribly important that I know if someone pushed you, and who it was. Can you try to think back and remember?”

Dulcie's eyes filled with tears of unbearable sadness. With a surge of strength, she pushed Rose away and tried to sit up. The cradle bed rocked so sharply it nearly tipped over as Dulcie struggled to free herself from her blankets.

“Abigail, Honora, help me,” Rose shouted over her shoulder. The three women gently pushed Dulcie back into the cradle and held her while she squirmed. As suddenly as it had begun, the fit ended, and Dulcie's body went limp. Slowly, the women released their grip. Dulcie turned on her side and curled up like a baby, hiding her face with her arms as if she expected to be disciplined with a rod.

“A sedative might be a good idea,” Abigail suggested. “We've got something we use for pain, and it will put her to sleep, as well. Just let me. . . .” She pulled open several drawers built into the wall and rummaged around until she found a bottle. “Ah, this is it.”

“Are you sure it's safe?” Rose asked. She wished more than ever that Josie were there.

“Oh, of course,” Abigail said. “I take it myself when I have one of my headaches. And it's certainly safer than a hypodermic full of something that might be more than twenty years old,” she whispered to Rose.

“Here, dear, swallow one of these and you'll feel better.” Abigail helped Dulcie prop herself up on one elbow and handed her a glass of water with the pill. Without resisting, Dulcie swallowed the pill and lay back down. “We'll let you rest now, won't we, Rose?”

Outside in the hallway, Abigail said, “Why don't you two get away for a while. I'll be glad to watch Dulcie.”

“My sedative would have worked just as well,” Honora said

“Yes, dear, now why don't you go on and take a nap? You've been working so hard, and I can see how tired you are.”

“I
have
been working hard.”

“You, too, Rose. I know you have tasks to manage.”

With Honora out of the way for a while, Rose gratefully left Dulcie in Abigail's care. She did indeed have tasks, and very little time to accomplish them. With Dulcie awake, sooner or later she would reveal what happened to her in the barn, and someone was likely to be very nervous about what she might say. Rose intended to push the issue. It was risky, but she had to act quickly. She needed to be sure that Dulcie was safe. She would relieve Gennie of her dreaded kitchen work and send her to Dulcie's room, with strict instructions to let no one else in. If necessary, they could barricade the door. It was the best she could do. She only hoped it was enough.

 

“Rose, I promise I would never hurt Dulcie—or Julia. Why won't anyone believe me?” Sewell looked and sounded like a wounded little boy. The effect was enhanced by the setting. They stood almost knee-deep in snow on the north side of the Meetinghouse, where Rose had found Sewell poking at areas of rotted wood with a screwdriver. The snowfall hadn't paused since morning, and Sewell was so caked with it that he looked as if he'd been rolling around making snow angels.

“Still, I believe someone pushed Dulcie and that it was the same person who killed Julia,” Rose said, nervously eyeing the screwdriver in Sewell's hand.

“But why? It doesn't make sense. Julia—well, I admit Julia could be a tease, and she always went after the wrong man. I told her so all the time, but she wouldn't listen. I guess someone might be angry enough with her to kill her. But Dulcie? Dulcie is so gentle.”

“Maybe Dulcie guessed who killed her sister.”

“She would have told me.”

“Maybe she thought it was you.”

Sewell's bony face turned nearly as white as the snow. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open so that he looked like an emaciated fish in a frozen sea. Rose pushed ahead.

“Sewell,” she asked, “do you believe in the cleansing of confession?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I want you to confess to me now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to confess to me the terrible secret that you carry in your heart. I have watched my sisters and listened to their confessions long enough to know when someone's soul is tortured. Tell me.”

“I had nothing to do with Julia's death or Dulcie's . . . accident. I promise you by all that is holy to me. I try so hard to be good. I'm a Shaker, or I will be as soon as I am allowed to sign the Covenant.”

“You must confess all your sins to become fully a Believer. And if those sins have nothing to do with these recent tragedies, then I promise to keep your confession a secret. You will have cleansed your soul, and unless you repeat those sins, no one here need know about them. I can offer you that.”

Sewell sighed with deep weariness and leaned against the Meetinghouse. “To have a cleansed soul . . .” he said, closing his eyes. Rose waited in silence, praying he would make the right choice. He opened his eyes and straightened. “May I have time to think about it?”

“There isn't much time.”

“Just a few hours. I will let you know soon. I promise.”

“All right,” Rose said, with reluctance. “Soon.”

 

The Brethren's Workshop was the next stop on Rose's list. Both Aldon and Johnny were working upstairs, putting the finishing touches on the last batch of boxes being made especially for the celebration. Privacy was impossible, so she would be forced to confront them together. Perhaps that might work in her favor. Rose could hear raised voices as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Aldon and Johnny were already battling, even without Rose's instigation. They quieted at once when they saw her.

“I have come with news and with several important questions. I need quick and honest answers.” She noticed that the men watched her guardedly, but they did not exchange glances. “I must tell both of you that Dulcie has regained consciousness and is able to speak, though she has yet to make much sense. I'm sure she will, in time. If someone pushed her in the Round Stone Barn, the truth will come to light. And although she has survived, there has been another murder. Dulcie was expecting a child, who died as a result of her fall. Was either of you aware of that?”

Throughout her speech, Rose had watched their faces, but neither had shown more than the slightest of reactions—whether shock or fear or regret, she could not tell. These were men whose passions were well hidden.

“I had no idea,” Johnny said. “Not that I paid much attention to the women.”

“Theodore has much to answer for,” Aldon said.

“Perhaps,” Johnny said, without looking at Aldon. “I wonder, though. Theodore made much of his uprightness. He bragged to me one day that he wouldn't even kiss Dulcie on the mouth, nothing at all until after they were married. He insisted they wouldn't even be together
after
they were married, not until they could afford to have a child. He was quite proud of himself for his determination.”

“A man can say anything he wishes,” Aldon said. “He is judged by his deeds, which may be performed in secret.”

“Well said, my brother.” Johnny's response was edged with sarcasm.

“Which brings me to my questions,” Rose said. “If Theodore was not the father of Dulcie's child, who was?” She gazed expectantly at the men.

“I'd say it's obvious,” Johnny said. “Sewell. He has never been able to stay away from the women, and becoming a Shaker novitiate doesn't seem to have helped him control himself.”

“Do you have proof of your accusation?”

“If I had actually caught him falling into the flesh, I would naturally have told the eldress. But he certainly seems compelled to flirt with every woman around.”

“He is friendly,” Aldon said to Johnny. “Almost childlike in his innocence. Something you could learn from. He certainly does not possess your greed.”

“How dare you—”

“That's enough,” Rose said sternly. “Johnny, I'm afraid I must ask you—why have you spent so much time in the attics and unused retiring rooms? You've been seen, at least once in the dead of night.”

“Who is telling these lies about me?” Johnny jumped to his feet and stepped an inch too close to Rose. She felt the menace of his muscular body.

“Take care, Johnny,” Aldon said, “or soon everyone will know you for who you are. They aren't lies, and you know it. You've been taking inventory of everything in the village.”

“So what? Someone has to do it.”

“In secret, in the middle of the night? I think not. I have seen for some time that your purpose in joining the Society comes from the world and the devil. You are worse than a bread-and-butter Shaker, because you want so much more than food and shelter. You want everything. You perceive wealth around you, and you want it for yourself. That is why you spread tales about the others, especially the men. You hope we will all be denied the right to sign the Covenant, and you will be the only young man left in the village. Then it will all be yours, or so you think. It wouldn't surprise me at all if you were the father of Dulcie's child—if you sinned with both her and her sister—and you decided to get rid of them when they wanted a share of the wealth.”

Johnny's fair complexion flushed a deep red and his hands tightened into fists. Rose wondered if she would have to throw herself between the men to prevent violence. Then Johnny stretched out his fingers as if forcing himself to relax. “You have good reason to lie,” he said, his expression calculating. “You are the one with secrets. Poor Sewell, I've seen you pretend to be a friend to him, and then you turn around and say how weak he is, how lacking in faith. It suits your purposes, doesn't it, that everyone sees Sewell as the carnal one. But it's really you, isn't it?” Johnny's voice had dipped dangerously low.

The air crackled with rage, and Rose's mind raced. If she calmed them down—as indeed she should—she might learn no more. If she allowed the anger to escalate, she might be responsible for violence. She took a grave chance.

“Aldon,” she said, “I had a recent chat with a Pittsfield police officer named Billy about your activities in your former church. Why don't you tell me your side of the story?”

She expected fury, denials, almost anything but what happened next. Johnny looked puzzled but intrigued. Aldon moved not a muscle. His dark eyes burned through her as his lips curved into a smile. “I don't have to do any such thing,” he said. “Billy told you nothing. And now, I have work to do. This conversation is over.”

Both Rose and Johnny gaped at him as he picked up an oval box and began to sand the rough edge of a swallowtail joint. Doubts flooded Rose's mind. How could Aldon have known she was bluffing? Did he know there was nothing to tell? Did Billy have his own reasons for insinuating what he did? She was certain of only one thing—that Aldon would not say another word to her, perhaps ever.

 

The snow showed no inclination to stop or even to taper off. Rose had given up keeping herself dry below the knees as she plodded toward the Barn Complex, where she hoped to complete her questioning of the men. Then she could change into dry clothes and talk with the women, who were all in the Brick Dwelling House. The thought of dry, warm feet kept her moving toward what was likely to be another trying interview, this time with Theodore Geist. Perhaps Otis, too, though she had yet to find a compelling reason why he might have killed Julia and injured Dulcie. It would surprise her greatly if he proved to be the father of Dulcie's child. She still favored Theodore. Aldon was right that words are easy to utter, and they prove nothing about the purity of one's actions.