Killing Gifts (5 page)

“I believe,” Sewell said, “that part of making a heaven on earth is preserving and using what we have, and we have this lovely barn. So that's what we're going to do.” His words were bolder than his voice. He turned quickly and left, as if he feared he wouldn't be able to withstand any more argument.

 

Cold and hunger had replaced Dulcie's longing for oblivion with a stronger yearning for food and the warmth of her bed. She pushed through the snow, taking a circuitous route back to the Brick Dwelling House. She had just passed the south side of the Poultry House when she found herself face-to-face with the one man she wanted most to avoid—her fiancé, Theodore Geist. It was useless to walk away, so she offered him a feeble smile.

“Dulcie, how many times have I told you, you should stay indoors in weather like this. Where did you get that filthy cloak? Give it here and take my coat.”

Dulcie realized she was still wearing the old blanket she'd found in the barn. She had no idea how to explain it, so she pulled it tighter around her shoulders and laughed. “Don't be silly,” she said, with an attempt at lightness. “I wasn't feeling well, so I thought a bit of fresh air would fix me up. I'm heading right back to my room now.”

She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her by the shoulders. He was far bigger and stronger, and she knew it was no use struggling. She stood immobile and stared at his muscular chest.

“I want you to stop letting these Shakers give you clothes,” Theodore said. “First you start wearing that old Shaker dress that makes you look like a fat frump, and then they give you a ratty old cloak that shouldn't be given to a hobo. Why do you let them do this? You used to be fairly pretty, but now . . .” He looked her up and down, shaking his head.

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and she wrenched out of his grip. “I'm tired, Theodore, just let me go back to my room.”

Theodore grabbed her elbow and yanked her around. “What have I said about talking back to me?”

Dulcie wilted. She knew what would happen if she defied Theodore—and the truth was, she didn't want to do so. She just wanted him to take care of her. That was all she'd ever wanted, and it was the one thing she couldn't ask of him now.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I was being selfish, but I'm just so tired.”

Theodore squeezed her elbow a little too hard. “All right, then, you go back and have a short nap. Later we'd better have a talk. The police are asking questions.”

“They've already asked me a million questions,” Dulcie said. “What can be left?”

“They've been asking everyone here about you and Julia, whether you had fights or anything, and how you were getting along before she died.”

Dulcie's knees buckled, and Theodore's strong arms kept her from falling.

“Look, don't worry, okay? I told them you two got along fine, and nobody'd know better than me.” Theodore gave her a shake. “I'm taking care of this, got it?”

“But Julia and me, we fought a lot,” Dulcie said. “Especially at the end, but all the time we were growing up, too. Carlotta knows that.”

A crunching sound from near the Poultry House made Theodore loosen his grip, and Dulcie pulled away.

“Is anything wrong, Dulcie?” Esther Jenkins, bundled in a heavy wool coat and high boots, crossed the snow toward them. A few feet away she stopped and glared at Theodore. “Dulcie is frail, Theodore. You know that. You shouldn't keep her out in this weather.”

Dulcie did not appreciate the concern, nor did she care for Esther, who was always telling her what to do. Esther had a perfect oval face that always looked to Dulcie as if it belonged on one of those cameos that rich women wear. Even at her kindest, Esther sounded like she was directing the servants. You'd hardly know she was as poor as the rest of them, and even poorer once her husband, Johnny, up and joined the Shakers, leaving her with six little ones to feed. No wonder she'd shown up at the Hancock Fancy Goods Store one day, herding all six children, and said she wanted to be a novitiate.

Theodore put an arm around Dulcie's shoulders and directed her toward the Brick Dwelling House. To Dulcie's relief, he said nothing to challenge Esther. After all, Esther was a novitiate, and they couldn't afford to have Theodore lose his job. It would mean they couldn't get married, and it occurred to Dulcie that getting married soon would be the answer to her prayer. Then maybe she'd feel safe.

FIVE

A
FTER A LONG AFTERNOON SPENT SITTING AND WATCHING
the countryside glide by, Rose and Gennie were more than ready to head for the dining car. Their coach seats were softer than the typical Shaker ladder-back chair, but neither woman was used to being sedentary for more than a brief spell. The porter had just come through, announcing first call for dinner, but there was no need to hurry. As a Shaker, Rose was accustomed to a timely supper, to save evening time for work or worship or perhaps a Union Meeting. The other passengers, however, were of the world and showed little interest in early dining. Rose and Gennie had plenty of time to refresh themselves in the women's washroom before joining the short line waiting to be seated in the dining car.

Rose was glad to see Gennie excited again. She'd come back from her exploration of the train looking shaken. When Rose had asked if she'd had a scare, Gennie had said only that crossing from one car to another had made her a bit nervous. Then she had turned her face toward the window and studied the scenery until her head drooped against the back of her seat.

As they stood in line, Rose noticed that Gennie's eyes darted among the other passengers, as if looking for someone.

“Gennie, are you certain nothing is wrong?” Rose asked.

“What? Oh, no, nothing at all.” Gennie flashed a quick, confident smile. Rose sensed this wasn't the truth, but she didn't press. Gennie belonged to the world now. Pride had become more important to her, and it was no longer Rose's job to wean her from it. Rose supposed her own sadness over this state of affairs must be close to what a parent feels when a child grows up and seems to forget everything she was so carefully taught.
Perhaps this is a lesson for my own humility,
Rose chided herself as a dining car waiter escorted them to their table.
I can't teach everyone to be a Shaker!

They sat side by side in silence, Gennie again by the window, until their soup course had been served. Though she was used to eating in silence, Rose longed to get Gennie talking. To be truthful, she felt intimidated by the nearness of a waiter, who stood at attention in front of their table, steadying himself against the wall of the dining car. Not by so much as the flicker of an eye had he betrayed any surprise at seeing Rose still in her long, loose Shaker dress and thin white cap. With his starched white jacket and his impassive face, he looked more like an ebony statue than a man, but Rose knew that if she signaled to him, he'd be there instantly. She noticed that the other diners ignored the waiters, stationed every few tables, as if they were not quite human. She could not. Shakers served one another, and they believed that all people, whatever their skin color, were equal in the eyes of God. While Rose believed fervently in such a way of life, it was making conversation awkward for her.

When it was time to remove their empty soup plates, Rose noticed that another waiter—younger and bigger—spoke briefly with their waiter, then exchanged places with him. As their new waiter swept away the soiled plates and carried them to the back of the car, Rose took advantage of his absence. She touched Gennie's arm lightly and said, “I hope you aren't regretting your desire to come along on this trip. I know it's far away from Grady, and from home, and—”

“Rose, I'm not scared, honest! Oh, I know I've been much quieter than I usually am, but I've just been thinking, that's all. Now, let's talk about how we're going to solve this crime. What's the plan?” She gazed at Rose with raised eyebrows over brown eyes that brimmed with confidence in Rose's ability to figure everything out.

“Well, I guess we can talk about that now, if you wish.”

At that moment, the waiter returned carrying two plates of roast beef, potatoes, and crisp green beans. Rose was unused to so much food after so little work, and she was alarmed at the prospect of eating everything on her plate to avoid wasting it.

“Would you care for coffee now or later, miss?” The waiter asked, looking toward Gennie. Rose noticed that he did not make the same offer to her.

“After, thanks,” Gennie said, with her most charming smile. The waiter nodded and withdrew to his position in front of their table.

“So what should I be?” Gennie asked. “A novitiate maybe? I think I could pull that off without too much trouble.”

Rose shook her head and thought quickly. She wanted to keep Gennie out of danger as much as possible for both their sakes. If Gennie lived with the hired women in Hancock Village, Rose would spend half her time worrying about what sort of danger she might foolishly plunge into headlong. A boardinghouse in Pittsfield would be the safest place for her. “Nay, I'd rather you spent more of your time getting to know the hired workers,” Rose said. “You know what it's like—we have to hire people for much of the work, especially the farming, because our brethren are too few and often too far advanced in years to do it all themselves. But then we've let the world into our lives, and sometimes we can't control what happens as a result. The hired workers won't talk to us, or sometimes they aren't as honest or they don't work as hard as a Shaker. Hancock has dwindled sadly; you'll see when you get there. They have had to hire an uncomfortable number of people from the world, who live and eat and work beside them. I need you to be my eyes and ears among those workers.”

“Sounds like fun,” Gennie said. “Just please, please don't ask me to work in the kitchen. You know how I hate that.”

“No more than necessary, I promise. They have two girls already, and the kitchen is one place the sisters still work regularly. I think the Fancy Goods Store might be the best place for you.”

Both women paused at the thought of Gennie stepping in for the dead girl.

“Did you ever meet her, Rose? Julia, I mean.”

“I did, just briefly, when I visited Hancock last autumn. I was in the store one afternoon, speaking with Sister Abigail about how well some of the goods were selling—I've always wanted us to open a Fancy Goods Store in North Homage, you know—when this lively girl with blond curls came bursting in and began to chatter away. She must have talked for twenty minutes straight about her men friends and the dances they were taking her to. I remember she complained quite a lot about how few party dresses she had. She didn't seem to care that her audience was two Shaker sisters, who had no use for party dresses.”

“Sounds boring,” Gennie said. “I hope I don't start doing that.”

Rose laughed. “I will be sure to tell you if you head in that direction. But, nay, she wasn't really boring, just . . .” Rose's pale forehead furrowed as she cast her mind back to that day. “In a way, she was charming. She wanted pleasure, excitement, the admiration of men.”

“Was she one of those spoiled rich girls? I've seen a few of them since Grady and I got engaged. Just because their people didn't lose everything in '29, they think they're better than everyone else.”

Gennie's anger was apparent in her voice, and Rose understood. Gennie's family had not been so lucky. Rose chewed a bite of her roast beef—really, it was nearly as tender as a Shaker recipe—to give Gennie a chance to calm down.

“Though I do not know for certain,” Rose said, “I suspect Julia was just the opposite—a very poor girl, who'd had little gaiety in her life up to that time. She seemed starved, in a way, and starvation can sometimes lead one to grab more than one's share. I felt sorry for her.” Rose took a sip of water. “I could see, though, that she would have been immensely appealing to men, especially men of a certain type.”

Gennie's fork clattered on her plate, and Rose smiled. “Remember, Gennie,” she said, “I am not such an innocent as all that. I have seen a great deal beyond my own village—sometimes more than I wanted to. The world can be very cruel to its children.” Rose scooped up the last bite of mashed potato and forced herself to eat it. The waiter was instantly at her elbow to remove the empty plate. As he did so, his eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. She smiled at him, but he had already gone.

“So do you suspect that one of these ‘men of a certain type' killed Julia?” Gennie asked. “A lovers' quarrel maybe?”

“It's possible,” Rose said. “I'll know more when I've spent some time at Hancock. But it's an idea you might pursue more easily than I. Sister Fannie told me that most of the hired hands grew up in Pittsfield and have known each other for years. Try to get them talking about each other and about Julia.”

“Yes, what a good idea!” Gennie almost bounced in her seat with excitement. “All I need is one good gossip to start with, and I'll be able to name all of Julia's gentlemen friends in no time.”

Again the waiter appeared, as if he had dropped from the ceiling. He held two cups of steaming liquid. He placed one cup near Gennie's right hand and moved the milk and sugar next to it.

“But I didn't order anything,” Rose said, as he placed the other cup before her.

“It's a sweet, warm lemonade, Sister. It'll help ward off the chill.” He bowed slightly and returned to his impassive stance in front of their table.

Rose could now see that her beverage was pale in color. She raised it to her lips and breathed in the citrus fragrance. It triggered a stab of homesickness for her village, where some of her most peaceful hours had been spent sipping rose hip and lemon balm tea as she noted the day's activities in her journal. She prayed silently and fervently that the terrible event in Hancock would prove to be the tragic result of a lovers' quarrel and nothing to do with the Shakers, so she could return home in short order, maybe even by Mother Ann's Birthday—and with an easy mind.

Rose emerged from her reverie to find Gennie, her curly head at a speculative tilt, watching the waiter, who seemed not to notice. It was then that Rose realized—not only had he called her “Sister,” but he knew that Shakers were not supposed to drink stimulants.

 

“Gennie, I wish you'd give up the idea that I'm a sheltered fuddy-duddy, rapidly approaching old age. I work from before sunup to well after sundown; I can easily climb a short ladder to the upper berth. Besides, this is your first rail journey—you should have the window.” Rose was in the lead as she and Gennie made their way back to their Pullman car, which was being transformed into a sleeping car. They had walked the length of the train, up to the baggage car, to tire themselves out and work off the heavy dinner. They were more than ready for bed. When the Society paid her travel expenses, Rose always sat up in a coach car, so even a windowless upper berth was a luxury that embarrassed her.

“Well, all right,” Gennie said. “I'll admit, I want to see what the world looks like, speeding by at night. I'm so excited, I'll never be able to sleep.”

Conversation stopped as they pushed open the heavy door leading to the linkage connecting with the next car. The world whizzed past them as they crossed the unsteady metal flooring that covered the couplings between the coaches. The train noise seemed deafening to Rose, who was more used to the gentler sounds of hungry livestock and dancing feet on a smooth pine floor.

She pulled open the tight-fitting door to their Pullman sleeping car and held it for Gennie. The sudden quiet, as the door slammed shut, was a relief. They turned sideways to pass other passengers returning from the washrooms. Rose felt uncomfortable, being forced to walk so close to several men, but she was grateful that she could spend the night in a bed, instead of sleeping in a seat and awakening stiff and achy.

Gennie headed for the women's washroom, as Rose surveyed their accommodations. Their berths were located about halfway through the coach. Curtains hung across both upper and lower berths, and a short ladder lay ready for Rose to clamber up into her bed. As she hooked her foot on the first rung, Rose glanced toward the end of the car and noticed a porter still hanging curtains at the last set of seats. She recognized the impassive face and broad shoulders. It was their waiter. Times were tough for railroads, too. They cut their crews wherever possible, and whoever was lucky enough to remain would do the work of two.

The porter looked across at her and gave her a slight nod. He finished hanging the curtain and walked toward her. Curious, she waited. With a quick glance up and down the car, he stopped before her, clearly trying to keep some distance between them.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.

“Of course. May I know your name?” she asked.

He seemed surprised by her question. “My name is Hezekiah, Sister.”

“And mine is Rose, Hezekiah.” She was relieved that he did not extend his hand. The handshake was so accepted in the world, and so awkward for her. “You called me ‘Sister,' ” she said. “Do you know about us?”

“I know that you are a Shaker by your dress,” Hezekiah said. “I know you are good people. I wondered if you and the young miss might be traveling to Hancock?”

“Indeed, we are. Do you come from Pittsfield?”

For the first time, Hezekiah smiled, a gentle smile that revealed a row of strong, yellow teeth. “I was born in Mississippi and raised in Pittsfield, Sister. My folks wanted to get as far north as possible.”

“I'm afraid I'm from North Homage village, in Kentucky.”

“I meant no offense.” Hezekiah glanced toward the end of the car as if afraid someone would overhear his faux pas and chastise him.

“And I take no offense, I assure you.”

He lowered his eyes, perhaps sensing he was overstepping his bounds. “Begging your pardon, Sister, but I know the folks at Hancock, used to do farm work for them before I got this job with the Pullman Company. My folks used to talk about the Shakers, how they was so kind and generous. That's why I wanted to work for them. They treated me fine. It was Sister Fannie gave me the letter that got me this job, just a couple months ago.” His spine straightened when he mentioned his job, and Rose understood his pride.