Killing Gifts (22 page)

“What brings you out in this weather?” Otis asked, favoring her with an amused grin as she dripped clumps of snow on the floor. Theodore and Otis had returned to their pre-spring task of cleaning, oiling, and repairing the farm implements. “I'd sure stay warm and dry, if I had the choice.”

Theodore glowered at Otis and then at Rose before returning to his work. He was chipping hardened dirt from the tines of a hay rake, a job that seemed to absorb his attention far more than was reasonable.

“I don't intend to stay out any longer than I must,” Rose said. “I have some questions for both of you.”

“More questions?” Theodore rolled his eyes as if to imply that a smarter woman would have solved Julia's murder and gone home by now. Rose ignored him.

“Had you heard yet that Dulcie is awake and able to talk?”

“Why, that's wonderful news,” Otis said. “She'll be all right then?”

“It looks hopeful.”

“You must be so relieved that your fiancée will recover,” she said to Theodore. He nodded. His face was unreadable, but at least she'd gotten his attention. “I am so sorry that the child did not survive.”

Otis's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “Child? Theodore, you old rascal. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Shut up, you fool. It wasn't mine.”

“So that's why Dulcie wore those big old Shaker dresses—to hide her condition. Theodore, I'm sorry about the babe, I really am, but you two were getting hitched anyway, so what's the difference? Why didn't you just marry her? She's a sweet girl, she'll make a good wife for you.”

Theodore's knuckles whitened as he squeezed the handle of the hay rake. With a furious growl, he flung the rake through the air. Both Rose and Otis hunched over instinctively, though the rake hadn't come near either of them.

“It was
not
my baby!”

“Well, whose then?” Otis was asking just the right questions, so Rose listened.

“She wouldn't tell me, the little—”

“She probably figured you'd kill the guy,” Otis said.

“Damn right I would have. And her, too, if I'd caught them together.”

“She didn't want you in prison. You can hardly blame her for that.” Otis seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Why, because she's so sweet and good?” Theodore laughed without mirth. “I used to think so, too. A lot we knew. She's a whore. I brought her to work here to keep her pure for our marriage—to get her away from her tramp of a sister. But Julia showed up working in the store and brought her whorish ways with her.”

Otis laughed. “Well, Julia sure was Julia. She went after anything in pants, and it was more fun for her if he was married or celibate.”

“She went after me,” Theodore said, “but I stayed true to my future wife, and how did she repay me?”

“Did it occur to you that Dulcie might have been forced?” Rose asked.

“She wasn't. She admitted it, right to my face. Wanted to be honest with me, she said, so we could start our marriage without secrets. Hah! As if I'd marry her after what she'd done. I told her the engagement was off, and she could go crying to her lover. I'm not fool enough to take on a whore with a bastard.”

“Theodore, it is vital that I know who was the father of Dulcie's baby. If you have even a suspicion, please tell me.”

“If I knew, he'd be dead by now.” He stalked past her and left the barn without stopping to pick up his coat.

Fearing he might be angry enough to hurt Dulcie, Rose turned to follow.

“Sister,” Otis called after her. “Could you wait a minute?”

Rose turned but stayed where she was, ready to leave quickly.

“It's just that . . . Well, there's something I wanted to tell you. It might not help, but I can't get it out of my mind.”

Rose nodded to encourage him.

“I didn't say this in front of Theodore because Lord knows what he'd do. I mean, I don't mind teasing him a bit, but it ain't smart to rile him too much, if you know what I mean.”

“Are you trying to say that you think he might be the killer, because of his temper?”

“No, no, not at all. He does have a temper and a half, that's a fact, but I believe him when he says he doesn't know who the father is. Not just 'cause he doesn't lie worth a damn, either. Sorry, Sister.”

“I'm in a bit of a hurry,” Rose said.

“Yeah, I'm rambling, I know, it's just hard to explain, that's all. I've been thinking it's not so unbelievable that Dulcie cheated on Theodore. She really is sweet, and she tries to be good, but . . . I watched those girls grow up, Julia and Dulcie. They had a rough life.”

“I know that.” Rose thought of just walking away, but something kept her listening.

“Julia, she grew up real tough, and she went after what she wanted. But Dulcie was different. I was a little sweet on Dulcie, I guess, so I kept an eye on her. Because of Julia's reputation, lots of men thought they could get the same from Dulcie, and mostly she stayed good, but there was this certain type of man could get to her.”

“What type?”

“Well, really all they had to do was treat her gentle, at first, anyway, and maybe seem like they could take care of her real good—you know, someone who seemed real strong. If you're looking for the father of her baby, it'd probably be a man like that.”

“Do you mean someone like Theodore?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Otis's face crinkled in confusion. He shrugged and grabbed an oily rag, as if he'd done his best and that's all he could do. Rose wasn't sure she understood everything he had said, but she was inclined to believe his notion that Dulcie might indeed have strayed. However, it only meant she was right to believe Dulcie was still in danger.

TWENTY-TWO

R
OSE PAUSED ONLY TO RIP OFF HER GALOSHES BEFORE RUNNING
upstairs to Dulcie's room. Fannie sat on a bench in the hallway, squinting at some knitting she was trying to do in the poor light.

“All is quiet, Rose,” Fannie said. “I knew you were worried, so I posted myself outside the door. Abigail and Gennie are with Dulcie.”

“Has Dulcie awakened again?”

“Not a peep out of her, poor child.”

“Has anyone else come up here?”

“No one.”

“The phones?”

“Still out, but that's not unusual. The snow should let up fairly soon, I think, and then the lines will be repaired. Run along and dry off now. I had one of the sisters put some clean dry clothes and shoes in your retiring room.”

“Bless you.”

Rose gratefully slid a dry wool dress over her head. Her retiring room smelled of wet wool and a hint of mildew, so she was glad to leave quickly. She went immediately to the kitchen, where the cakes and pies were getting more attention than preparations for the sparse evening meal. The fragrance of onion and potato was barely perceptible under waves of apple, cinnamon, rosewater, and yeast. For once, the kitchen was warm, with every oven fired up.

Carlotta was grumpily stirring a cauldron of soup, and Esther was nearby, crimping the edges of a piecrust. Rose decided to question Carlotta first.

“If you've come to tell me Dulcie woke up and that she was pregnant, forget it. I already know,” Carlotta said.

“Obviously, but how?”

“Did you really think Honora could keep her mouth shut? She couldn't wait to make an appearance down here and tell us all how she lost a baby, too. Like anybody cares.”

“Has there been any discussion about the father?”

“Everybody else thinks it's Theodore, of course. Not me. I'd bet money on Sewell.”

“Why?”

Carlotta gave her a pitying look. “No man and woman can be such good friends without it going a lot farther, not to my way of thinking.”

“You sound jealous,” Rose said. “After all, Dulcie had two men paying attention to her.”

Carlotta shrugged. “I didn't care.”

“Between them, Julia and Dulcie didn't leave many men for you, did they?”

Carlotta's raised her sharp chin. “I do okay,” she said. “Not that it's any of your business, but I got a boyfriend in Lenox. I don't have to run after Shakers and married men. If you want my opinion, it was Dulcie killed her own sister, probably for going after Theodore
and
Sewell.”

“Then who pushed Dulcie?”

“Chances are, she did it herself. Probably wanted to kill the baby and herself, both, out of shame.”

Rose was shocked into silence—not so much by the suggestion that Dulcie might want to kill herself and her baby, which was the sort of behavior she had encountered too many times in the world. Rather, she was stunned that the idea had not occurred to her before now. She tucked the notion away in a corner of her mind and left Carlotta to her work.

Esther was already rolling out another piecrust when Rose arrived at her side. “Go ahead with your crusts,” Rose said, “but I have some questions that can't wait.”

Esther did not look pleased, but she nodded.

“I know that you've heard all about Dulcie. What I want to know is—do you suspect that Johnny might have been the father of Dulcie's child?”

“
What?
How dare you suggest such a disgusting thing.” She'd shouted, and several curious faces stared in their direction. Esther saw them and rolled her piecrust so hard she pushed the roller through to the table.

“Then why does Johnny wander around in the middle of the night? Is he meeting you?”

Esther's shoulders sagged. “No, he isn't meeting me, or our children. He cares little about any of us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Nay, of course not. I want to know the truth.”

“The truth is that Johnny cares only for money. If he is wandering around at night, it has something to do with money.”

“Would he kill for money?”

“If you are asking whether he might have killed Julia, only if she threatened his grand plans in some way.”

“Such as with blackmail?”

Esther mashed the piecrust back into a ball and began to roll it out again. “I had six children with him,” she said, “and I never really knew him.”

 

Bringing with her a small oil lamp, Rose took Fannie's place on the bench outside Dulcie's room. When she was alone in the hallway, she pulled her notes from her apron pocket and began to jot down answers to her questions. She now knew a great deal, but the final answer still eluded her.

Rose closed her eyes to think. Theodore was probably not the father of Dulcie's child, but who was? Otis and Johnny seemed least likely. Esther had confirmed the recurring accusation that Johnny cared deeply for wealth. Dalliance with a kitchen worker promised to another was surely something Johnny would avoid. At the least, such behavior would interrupt his single-minded pursuit of control over Hancock's assets.

The bell rang for evening meal, and doors opened and closed, but Rose sat still, willing the pieces to fall into order. Theodore had rejected Dulcie after discovering her sin. Had the real father turned her away, as well? Might she truly have tried to kill both herself and her child, out of shame and despair? Rose's heart ached at the thought that Dulcie had been so alone in her torment—and that no one, including Rose, had been there to help her.

Rose heard a faint clicking sound and opened her eyes. Except for the light from her small lamp, the corridor was now in complete darkness. The room to Dulcie's door opened, and a small figure peeked out. “Fannie? Are you out there?”

“It's me, Gennie. It's Rose. It looks like all the lights have gone out.”

“Abigail said this happens sometimes in a snowstorm. What should we do?”

“You two must be hungry,” Rose said. “I'm sure they'll have plenty of candles and oil lamps in the dining room. Why don't you and Abigail have your evening meal, and I'll watch over Dulcie.”

Gennie disappeared inside the room for a moment, and then reappeared. “Abigail said that would be okay, but she will eat quickly and return to spell you.”

“The poor dear's been quiet,” Abigail whispered as she and Gennie turned the sickroom over to Rose. “I'll be back in a jiffy.”

Rose could no longer read her notes, so she watched Dulcie's shadowy face and worked from memory. She thought there was one person she could eliminate from her list of suspects, and it was going to make Gennie furious. The recent conversation with Officer Billy had given her the clue. Helen Butterfield was surely not the killer. Rose had a strong suspicion that Grady had a lot to do with Helen's convenient ever-presence. If so, he might find that Gennie was even less inclined than before to marry him right away.

In the dark, quiet room, Rose found her eyes closing. She hadn't realized how tired she was. It wouldn't hurt to rest a few moments, surely. If the night held more surprises, she wanted to be strong enough to face them.

 

The click and creak of an opening door jolted Rose out of a sound sleep. “Rose? It's Abigail. I'm back. If you hurry, you can still have a bit of company for the evening meal. Has Dulcie said anything?”

“Not a word,” Rose said, hoping it was true. She wished she hadn't fallen quite so deeply asleep.

“Well, you run along then. Fannie said we should all eat and go right to bed. The kitchen workers had to stop their baking, and Esther volunteered to take out the cakes and pies already in the ovens. We're running low on oil, so Fannie told her not even to do the washing up, just wait till morning, she said. She's certain the lights will come back on in the morning, so we can pick up with our work. We have so much to do, with Mother Ann's Birthday just day after tomorrow.”

“Surely she isn't still planning a big celebration,” Rose said. “No one will be able to get here.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” Abigail said. “Snow can melt so quickly, especially late in the winter. Besides, Fannie has asked Mother Ann to intercede—after all, it's her own birthday, and she wouldn't want all this lovely food wasted.”

Rose was too tired to suggest that Mother Ann might have more pressing matters that needed her divine influence. But perhaps Mother would have a few moments to help Hancock through this difficult time. Rose sent a silent prayer of her own for help finding a killer before any more human life was lost.

As Rose reached the dining room, the men began to file out. Fannie must have told them to leave as soon as they had finished eating, rather than wait for the sisters. Sitting around would just waste oil and candles. Rose stood aside and waited as the men walked past her and toward the men's staircase. Each held a light that cast eerie shadows on his face. Rose shivered, remembering the Pullman porter Hezekiah's words about demons roaming the corridors of Hancock Village. These were live men, of course, yet one of them might be a murderer. She watched each face as it went past her.

The spectral images reappeared as she closed her eyes to sleep that night, after a sparse and lonely meal. As each man's face drifted across her eyelids, a corner of her mind observed his demeanor. Aldon appeared first, looking strained and grim. Johnny peered at the level of oil in his lamp, perhaps wondering if he had enough to continue his nighttime inventories. Theodore dragged with exhaustion, and Otis grinned at Rose as he passed—surely pleased at the prospect of extra sleep.

Sleep was overtaking Rose, confusing her inner sight. The next figure to appear had a grotesquely wrinkled face and was dressed for worship. With her last ounce of conscious will, Rose suppressed the image. It was the dried-apple doll come to haunt her dreams, and she would not allow it to do so. For the day ahead, peaceful sleep was her best ally.