A Deadly Shaker Spring (24 page)

Rose shrugged. “It seems random to me, but I can't be sure yet.”

“Wanton is more like it,” Wilhelm said. “The world is hounding us, hoping to drive us to extinction.”

“What about this attack on you?” Grady asked. “Did you see anything at all?”

Again Rose shook her head. “The attacker was behind me. I thought I heard a gasp when I scratched the person, but I couldn't identify a voice from that.”

“You scratched the guy? Did some damage, did you? Something we could see if we looked at a suspect's arms?”

“I think so.” Rose wanted to confide more in Grady, but Wilhelm was likely to interfere at any time, so she kept quiet.

“Are these useless questions finished yet?” Wilhelm asked. “May we begin to set our house right again?”

“You really should put locks on all your doors,” Grady said.

“Never!” Wilhelm's nostrils flared as if Grady had suggested eliminating Mother Ann from the lexicon of Shaker godhood. “We have always lived with our doors open to the world, welcoming, even when the world abuses our openness.”

Sometimes Wilhelm's contradictory logic confused Rose. He seemed to invite the world to their door even as he pitted himself against it. The better to convert them, Rose supposed, though she had yet to see his approach succeed. Their numbers continued to dwindle.

“Sure, you can go ahead and clean up now,” Grady said, his cheerfulness sounding forced. As Wilhelm bent to pick up some papers, Grady caught Rose's eye and flicked his head toward the office door. “I'll just be running along. I'll let you know what I find out.”

“Wilhelm, I'll be back to help clean up in a few minutes,” Rose said.

Intent on his task, Wilhelm grunted and ignored their departure.

* * *

“I know you, Rose; you've learned more than you're saying,” Grady said. He leaned against the dusty black Buick that served as one of Languor's two squad cars. He studied Rose, concern in his open face.

Reaching into her dress pocket, Rose extracted her list of apostates. “These are names of people who might be involved in the incidents here lately,” she said, handing the list to Grady. “They are all Shaker apostates who left North Homage about twenty-five years ago, angry with us, apparently. It seems they are living in Languor right now.”

Grady's boyish face grew serious as he studied the list. “Richard Worthington? I didn't know he was a Shaker.”

“He wasn't. He was brought up here and left as a young man, seventeen or eighteen, I believe. His widowed mother brought him here as a child. He left after she died.”

“He's been mighty vocal in town against the Shakers, that's for sure. Any idea why?”

Rose shrugged. “None. Unless his mother's death . . .”

Grady's head snapped up. “Something suspicious about his mother's death, you think? What was her name, anyway?”

“Faithfull. And nay, I don't know anything for sure.” She looked hard at Grady for several moments before continuing. “I'll tell you what I've pieced together, and what I suspect, and you can make your own judgments.” She told him that both Faithfull and Samuel had died of apparent heart attacks, with no physical warning, and she reported Josie's observation that suffocation with a pillow could look like a heart
attack—as it would have if Rose had died, too.

“Would have started to look like a whole lot of sudden heart attacks,” Grady said, “but I can see how it might have passed by unnoticed. If you'd died, I'd have looked into it mighty carefully, though,” he added. “Gennie would never have spoken to me again if I didn't.”

“What a comfort,” Rose murmured.

Grady cleared his throat and busied himself with the list of apostates again. “Okay, I'll check these folks out. Caleb Cox is a drunk, and we've had some suspicions about him setting some little fires and defacing a few houses when he's pie-eyed. Seems a decent enough sort when he's sober, but drink brings out the devil in him.” He reddened slightly. “Sorry, I meant no disrespect.”

“And I took no offense, I assure you,” Rose said with a light laugh. “Remember, Grady, though I'm a Believer, I've spent a good deal of time out in the world, and there is little I haven't seen. Violence offends me, and cruelty, but never bluntness.”

Grady nodded. “There's a couple of names here I don't recognize,” he said, looking back at the list of apostates. “Klaus Holker and Evangeline Frankell. Don't recall hearing those names in town. Are you sure they live in Languor?”

“Nay, not certain, but Charlotte thought she saw a man and a woman last Sunday, driving away after someone threw raspberry preserves against the Meetinghouse during worship. Apparently those two are now married. They may be the couple who ran the public meeting at St. Christopher's. They introduced themselves as Kentuck and Laura Hill.”

Grady shot her a stern look at her mention of the danger she'd put herself in, against his advice. “Okay, I'll ask around,” he said. “Meanwhile, I'd feel a lot better if you all would put locks on your doors.”

“We'll think about it,” Rose promised.

To Rose's relief, Wilhelm had left by the time she returned to the Trustees' Office. The defaced papers and books were stacked neatly on her desk. She looked them over briefly. The worst damage seemed to be in her loan-payment ledger, which was unfortunate but not disastrous, since the bank held duplicate records. She would try to decipher them, though it would take precious hours of her time.

She left the piles for later and set off for the Infirmary. She had missed her visits to Agatha and was concerned that her friend might have learned of the attack on her and be worried.

Josie's desk in the Infirmary waiting room was empty, so Rose made her way back to Agatha's room. As she reached the doorway, she heard Josie's encouraging voice. Agatha was no longer in a cradle bed. She sat up, without support, in a regular bed, while Josie guided her right arm in gentle exercise.

“Agatha! What a wonderful surprise!” Rose said.

At the sound of Rose's voice, Agatha's thin face softened. The right side of her mouth still drooped, but the left side curved into a greeting smile. She said something that came close to “Rose” and held out her left hand. Rose ran to her side and took her hand in both of her own.

“Agatha has been making wonderful progress,” Josie said, beaming at the former eldress as if she
were a prize-winning pupil. “Her will is powerful, and maybe all those prayers of ours didn't hurt either.”

Agatha's face grew serious. She extracted her hand from Rose's and pointed toward the empty hanging shelf which had held her old journals.

“You asked me to take them and read them, remember?”

Agatha nodded lopsidedly. She said a few indistinct words—five words, Rose thought.

“Josie? Did you understand her?”

“Say it again, dear,” Josie said to Agatha. Agatha repeated the five words.

“‘Did you' . . . I got that much. Did I what? Read the journals?”

Again Agatha repeated the sentence, this time with some irritation.

“‘Did you find the evil?'” Josie said. “She's asking if you identified some source of evil in those journals; is that right, Agatha?” Agatha gave her crooked nod.

“I read both your journals and Fiona's for the same years,” Rose said. “I found the names of four apostates, and I found out about—” She hesitated to discuss Samuel and Faithfull's liaison and their child, Sarah, in front of anyone, even Josie.

“I've got piles and piles of work to do,” Josie said briskly. “I'll just leave you two to talk, shall I?”

Again Rose hesitated. Could she understand Agatha without Josie, who had so much more experience interpreting the garbled language of stroke victims? She decided it best to try. “Thank you, Josie, that would be fine.”

“Agatha, it may be difficult for me to understand you, so do be patient with me,” Rose said after Josie left. “It is important that I learn what you know about what went on in North Homage twenty-five years ago. I know about Samuel and Faithfull and about Sarah, their child.” Agatha closed her eyes and nodded again. She remained quiet for a moment; she seemed to be gathering strength. She refocused her eyes on Rose and said distinctly, “Others.”

“Others? The apostates? I have their names from the covenant, and I believe they are all in Languor and are responsible for some strange incidents we've had here. Nay, don't be alarmed, everything is under control.” She had no intention of disturbing Agatha with the full story.

“The names I have are Caleb Cox, Richard Worthington, Klaus Holker, and Evangeline Frankell. Is that all of them?” Agatha nodded.

“You were so careful in your journals, Agatha. You used only initials and never mentioned specifics when someone's reputation was at stake.” She thought she saw regret flash across Agatha's face. “Some questions are left unanswered—such as: Was Faithfull's death truly due to a sudden heart attack?”

Agatha's sparse white brows drew together, wrinkling the paper-thin skin of her forehead. She said nothing, but her left shoulder hunched up and lowered.

“Were you not sure?” Agatha nodded.

“Did you . . . did you suspect she had been killed?”

Agatha took a deep breath and held it. On the exhale, she closed her eyes and nodded.

“Can you tell me who you were suspicious of?” Rose asked. “Even if you weren't at all sure,” she added, as she noted the look of anxiety on Agatha's face. “You know you can trust me not to besmirch someone's name without adequate evidence.”

Agatha's face scrunched as if she were in pain, and Rose regretted her question. Naturally Agatha would have qualms about voicing suspicions that could harm an innocent person, no matter how much she trusted Rose. Agatha fell back against her pillow as though her sinews had snapped. She began to gasp for breath.

“Josie!” Rose shouted. “Josie, come quickly.” She touched Agatha's arm gently. “Rest now, don't strain yourself. Josie will be right here with something to help you sleep. Just forget about my question. We'll be fine.”

Agatha's eyes shot open and she stared at Rose.

“Oh, dear, dear,” Josie fussed as she bounced into the room. “Leave it to our Agatha to overtire herself first time out. Well, we'll just give her a sedative and help her get that strength back.” She gave Agatha an injection. “Don't you worry, now, Rose, it isn't your fault if Agatha insists on pushing herself too hard. She always was like that, you know. So very conscientious. But she'll be back again tomorrow, you'll see.”

“W
ELL
?” W
ILHELM SAID AS HE TOSSED A COPY OF
the
Cincinnati Enquirer
on Rose's desk. Since Cincinnati was the nearest large city and a major market for Shaker goods, the Society always tried to read their newspaper. It was open to a section containing guest articles and letters from readers. Rose had been so busy that she had not looked at a newspaper in days. She glanced over the headlines in puzzlement.

“What is it you want me to read, Wilhelm?”

Wilhelm's thick finger stabbed at an article on the right-hand side of the page. The headline read: “A Stranger in Our Midst.” As she began reading the article, her stomach tightened.

The Shakers, also known as the United Society of Believers in Christ's Second Appearing, are a strange and secretive lot
, the article began. Rose skimmed through it quickly, her sense of dread deepening. The byline said “Kentuck Hill”—the name used by the man who spoke against the Shakers at the town meeting Rose had secretly attended. She was certain he was also the author of the
Languor County Watcher
, though the style of this article was far more sophisticated.
A man skilled with language
, Rose thought.

The article continued: