Cradle to Grave (8 page)

Feeling like a guilty schoolboy summoned to the front of the class for a whipping, Rees rose to his feet and followed Elder Herman from the room.

Lydia was already seated in the Elder's office, Eldress Agatha by her side. The two Elders disappeared again and Lydia turned to Rees. “Oh, Will, Mouse is so distraught. She blames herself.” Lydia's eyes were red-rimmed, as though she'd been crying.

Rees nodded, not trusting himself to speak. By taking the Whitney children two months ago, Mouse had provided the spark that started the attacks.

The door opened and the four Elders entered. The second Elder was younger than Herman, with dark brown skin. They each took a chair from a peg and sat across from Rees and Lydia. “First, we want to tell you how very grateful we are to you for your assistance tonight,” Herman said. “Although I do wish you hadn't brought a gun to the community.”

Rees grunted.

“It is late,” Herman continued. “Please spend the night before returning to town tomorrow.”

“What about Mouse?” Lydia asked suddenly.

“She will go on as before,” Eldress Agatha said. “Perhaps now we can all put her foolish behavior behind us.” Disapproval weighted her voice. The other Elders nodded in agreement.

“Beds are being prepared for you,” Herman said after a brief silence. “But please finish your suppers first. There is no Union tonight. And, after today's excitement, I would suppose most of our Family will retire early.”

Rees and Lydia shared an affectionate look, the only conduct of a married couple they would be permitted here at Mount Unity. They knew from Lydia's past as a Shaker, and Rees's brief sojourn in Zion, that they would be separated for the night. Lydia would stay with the Sisters and Rees with the Brethren.

“You will share a room with Sister Hannah, Mrs. Rees,” Agatha said to Lydia. “Perhaps you can calm her.” She heaved a sigh, as though her patience had been much tried and was now at an end.

“You must know,” Lydia replied, springing to Mouse's defense, “how much she wants to care for children. It is her greatest wish.”

“Stealing someone else's babies is hardly the way to obtain her desire,” Herman said, his tone dry.

“Quite the opposite, I believe,” Eldress Agatha said in a wintry tone.

“Perhaps we should all retire,” Rees said, his gaze on Lydia. A vein throbbed in her forehead and it appeared she was holding her tongue by an effort of will.

“We will return to these matters tomorrow, after a good night's rest,” Herman said, sounding relieved.

Rees did not think Lydia would be any less quick to protect her friend in the morning but did not say so.

Chapter Seven

Rees slept poorly that night, but not because of the evening's excitement. He found it hard to settle. The gentleman in the next bed snuffled and wheezed all night. And Rees missed the comforting weight of Lydia's body next to his. How many years had he slept alone? Eight or nine? And now, after only two months of marriage, he couldn't rest without his wife beside him.

He finally fell into a light doze in the early morning. It seemed only a few minutes had passed when he was awakened by the Brother from the other bed. The sky outside the uncurtained window was black and Rees guessed that the hour was no later than four. But the cows would need milking, and the rest of the livestock needed feeding. Rees remained in the luxuriant warmth of the bed a few more minutes, until his roommate left to start his chores, before reluctantly hauling himself out from under the quilt. He ached all over and bruises dappled his left thigh and flank. Since the fire in the stove had been banked the previous night, the room was so cold the water in the ewer was frozen. Rees dressed hurriedly and went downstairs as quickly as he could.

The door to the dining room wasn't open yet, but the small waiting room was much warmer than the bedroom. Rees took up a post by the wall and waited. Gradually, the Brothers, their early chores complete, began arriving. Rees received a few curious looks but most of the men recognized him. Several of the Brothers acknowledged him with nods.

The aroma of frying bacon leaked around the door and into the cramped chamber. Water rushed into Rees's mouth, and he saw several of the young men sniffing the air like hounds on a scent. Finally the doors opened and they stepped into the dining room. Candles flickered upon the tables, bathing them in a golden light.

Rees experienced a sudden dislocation; everything seemed identical to the night before. But he did not join Elder Herman at his table, instead choosing to sit with three striplings who could barely be described as men. And the Sisters brought in platters of flapjacks and bacon and pitchers of syrup, not lamb. The moment passed and Rees settled to his breakfast with enjoyment, secure in the certainty that there would be no gunfire this time.

By dawn Rees and Lydia were in the buggy and heading for Dover Springs. Although one of the Shaker lads had harnessed Ares to the buggy and drawn it up outside the Dwelling House, no one, not even Mouse, had come to see them off. Lydia had taken her leave from her friend earlier, but Rees had seen Mouse only from a distance, in the dining room. The Shakers had scattered to their various chores. If it were not for the charred streak creeping up the side of the barn, Rees could almost pretend nothing unusual had happened the night before.

“Mouse is praying you are able to persuade the selectmen to take Mrs. Whitney's children from her,” Lydia said abruptly, her breath misting in the frosty air. “It is partially my fault. I told her about our visit to the cabin.” Rees took his hand from the reins to pat her wrist.

“It is not your fault. Mouse was determined to take those children before we arrived.”

“I added fuel to the fire though,” Lydia said, “and I'm sorry. I made things worse. Mouse is more determined than ever to take those children from their mother.”

“I am not at all positive I will succeed,” Rees said, frowning. “I am an outsider, after all. Why should the town fathers listen to me?”

“I know,” Lydia said with a nod. “I reminded Mouse that Mrs. Whitney, for all that the selectmen would prefer to expel her from the town, is still a local girl. She has at least some friends here. We saw that last night. I do not believe she will lose her children that easily. But Mouse won't listen to me. And, if you don't succeed, she will be devastated.”

Rees exhaled in frustration. “Her passion for those children could have cost one of her fellow Shakers his life. Or at least their barn. Doesn't she see that?”

“Maybe. I suspect she thinks if the children are sent to Mount Unity, everything will be worth it.” Lydia hesitated and then continued in a rush. “She will never marry and bear her own children, and her father, who was a drunkard, reminded her of that every day. When she sees Maggie, Mouse sees a drunkard like her father who has something precious that she herself can never have.” Lydia shook her head, her mouth twisted with regret. “Mouse is beyond reason on this, Will. I tried to talk to her but she won't listen.”

Rees sighed. Mouse's passion was an example of the old aphorism about good intentions: they could be dangerous without good sense.

*   *   *

Rees drove into the yard of the Ram's Head and allowed the stable boy to take Ares. Lydia, complaining of fatigue, went into the inn to lie down. Rees elected not to wait for Cooper but set off down the street to find him.

Dover Springs, Rees soon realized, was a village even smaller than his hometown of Dugard. But then with the proximity of Albany, by all accounts a large and bustling city, maybe the residents in this town felt they needed no more than a meetinghouse, a blacksmith, and a general store. There was no printer and no chandler, although when he peered into the store he saw candles for sale. He was quite surprised to find Constable Cooper and his shop a short distance outside of the village center. Although located on the main road, the shop fronted a stream or river; Rees could hear the rushing water. A path ran around the edge of the shop to a house in the back. Rees peered through the window. Cooper was surrounded by his apprentices and lecturing them on something. Cooper seemed a kindly master. When he threatened one of the boys with a stave, everyone laughed. Glimpsing Rees outside, Cooper ended his lecture and sent the boys off to have their breakfasts. The boys, the oldest not more than sixteen or so, burst from the shop in a mob. Although quiet at first, once they crossed the street they began yelling and whooping as they headed to their homes. Then Cooper emerged.

“Mr. Rees,” he said.

“You are appropriately named,” Rees responded with a grin.

“My father had a sense of humor,” Cooper replied. “But coopering provides a good living. I sell my barrels in Albany.” He glanced through the window of his shop.

“As opposed to serving as a constable,” Rees said.

“Poorly paid at best,” Cooper agreed. “What are you doing here now?”

“Just walking around,” Rees said. “Looking at the town.”

Cooper nodded, hesitated a moment, and then said, “Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on those children. I'll do my best to ensure they come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” Rees said. He hoped he could trust the constable to keep his word. Cooper did not need to promise even that much, but he had already displayed some concern for the Whitney family.

“Daddy.” A little girl in a blue cloak ran up the path and straight to Cooper. He picked her up, dislodging her hood and revealing a mass of blond curls. “Mama says breakfast is ready.” She eyed Rees curiously with round blue eyes. A young woman paused at the top of the path. Her eyes lighted upon Rees with interest.

“I'll eat later, Genevieve,” Cooper said to his wife as he put the child down. “After the meeting. I don't have time now.”

“Not even a cup of coffee to warm you?” Mrs. Cooper asked. The constable shook his head.

“No.”

“Come sweetie,” said Mrs. Cooper, extending a hand. The little girl hurried to her mother's side.

“How old is your daughter?” Rees asked. He could not help contrasting this pampered child, surely almost of an age with Nancy, to that neglected little girl.

“Just four.” Cooper smiled. “I also have an eight-year-old son and a little boy of one year. Do you have children?”

“A son. Just one. So far.” Rees didn't want to try to explain his complicated family.

“Let's go.” Cooper gestured toward the town center. “You'll be happy to know that I rode out to the Cooke farm early this morning and spoke to Mr. Cooke about his son. That young scamp will not be teasing the Shakers again.”

Rees turned to stare at the constable. Teasing? “Someone might have been killed,” he said, keeping his voice calm with an effort. “And what about the other boys?”

“Don't worry,” said Cooper with a smile. “I'll take care of them, too.”

“By speaking to their fathers?” Rees thought something more was called for.

“None of the boys will misbehave again. I promise you that,” said Cooper. Rees bit his lip but didn't say anything further.

As they climbed the slope, they joined a steady stream of men, all crossing the icy town center.

“Yes, most of these men will attend the meeting,” Cooper said, catching Rees's quick exclamation. “I pray to God it won't go on forever. Some people just can't stop talking.”

The parade of men crossed the road to the meetinghouse on the other side. “We're meeting in the church?” Rees asked.

“Only place big enough besides the inn. We, I mean this area, was separated from Albany County a few years ago and renamed Schoharie County. And so far even the county seat has no courthouse, although there are plans to build one. So”—he swung his hand at the fine gray stone building with its tall bell tower—“we meet here.”

Rees followed Cooper to the benches at the front and sat behind him. A table and chairs had been set up facing the hard benches, and several men were already in their seats rustling papers and whispering. The ubiquitous whiskey jug was making the rounds and at least one of the men drank off his first glass in one draft and helped himself immediately to a second. As Rees watched the sly whispers and inside jokes pass from one selectman to another, he wondered how many of the cases on the docket had already been decided.

Hoofbeats clattered to a stop outside. A few minutes later Mr. Randall limped into the meetinghouse. He listed to the left and the cane in his right hand rapped a staccato rhythm on the floor as he crossed to the final empty seat at the table. He was dressed all in gray and wore his lank gray hair loose to his shoulders. He carefully lowered himself into his chair, put on a pair of round spectacles, and hooked his fingers in his waistcoat pockets.

The meeting was called to order and the chairman, a man with brown hair and a tired lined face, rose to his feet. “First order of business: Poor Relief for Mr. Peleg Thompson. Most of us remember his parents.” He looked at the men sitting on either side of him at the table. Nods all around. “Pel was born here in Dover Springs and worked as a wheelwright until last fall when a wagon fell upon him. His shoulder and hip were so severely injured he could no longer work and now he and his wife have fallen into the most dire extremity. There being no one who can take him in, his children having moved west, we have decided to give him two pounds for his care. We'll revisit his case in May.

“Second case: Joanna McNally. An elderly widow, she was put in the care of Widow Jackson and has since died. We will pay for her burial.

“Third case: Widow Leah Axston and her three dependent children. Since she was born in Albany, she is the responsibility of that city and will be warned out of Dover Springs.”

Rees's attention began to wander. This scene, he knew, must be playing out in towns and villages all over the northeast. In late winter, when all the resources of the poor must be exhausted, especially for women and children, the requests for Poor Relief surged. But Maggie Whitney, for all her obvious poverty, owned property, and so should be considered in a different category.